The Shift of the Tide

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Slowly, as if afraid of startling me, he put his hand over mine. It felt oddly familiar, comforting. Safe. “I will if you will.”

  Uncomfortable with the strange intimacy, I dropped my hand. He let it go, but not without brushing his fingers over my skin in a way that sent a shiver through me. “I’m not sure I can,” I told him. I’d slept for days.

  “Nakoa is holding a formal dinner tonight. That’s what I came to tell you. The topic of Kiraka and the safety of the island will be discussed. If you want to confront the dragon again,” he focused over my shoulder, that long-distance stare, “then you’ll have to be in top form, to convince him.”

  I would see Kiraka again whether Nakoa allowed it or not, but best not to jeopardize my cousin’s peace. “All right.” To my surprise, a yawn overtook me. Perhaps I could nap. “We can go back.”

  Marskal laughed softly, shaking his head. I slanted a questioning look at him.

  “I’m a doomed man,” he explained. “Whether you argue with me or when you’re unexpectedly docile, I have no idea what you’re thinking.”

  I gave him a radiant smile, though it felt like a shadow of my old one. “I am Tala.”

  He muttered something under his breath I didn’t catch.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing I care to repeat. We don’t have to go back to the palace yet, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To rest. I know you don’t want to be inside again so soon.”

  And he claimed he didn’t know what I was thinking. “You’re willing to sleep outside?”

  He raised his brows at me. “I’m a soldier, as you’ve pointed out. I’ve probably slept more nights outside than in, at least in the last twenty-five years.”

  “All right. Here—in the shade?” Funny that I felt hesitant. This negotiating was new to me.

  “Perfect.” He lay back, his body immediately relaxed, a groan sighing out of him, but he kept one eye cracked, fixed on me. He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers.

  I frowned at it. “What am I meant to do?”

  “Lie down and take my hand.”

  “Why?” But I did as he bade me, lying back and lacing my fingers with his. That felt good, too. Skin on skin. His hand warm and steady, like his presence.

  “So I’ll wake up if you move.” He squeezed my hand gently and closed his eyes.

  “You don’t trust me,” I said softly. He’d gone so still he might already be asleep. But his lips curved in a slight smile.

  “That’s not the reason, quicksilver girl.”

  ~ 9 ~

  Inoa’s ladies arrived in full force to bathe and dress me for my formal appearance. Fortunately Marskal conceded to modesty—of which I had little, but I was willing to play on his scruples—and let me out of his sight long enough to tend to his own hygiene.

  I had fallen asleep, deep and dreamless, and had awakened with my hand still in Marskal’s. A strange emotion rolled through me—along with a long-ago memory of sleeping with my siblings, curled together like puppies. Safe and warm. How odd to feel that again, especially now. His eyes flicked open the moment I turned my head to look at him, and he’d assessed the light, sat up and pronounced that we should get back to the palace to clean up. No moment of sleepiness. No hesitation in pulling me to my feet and putting us on task. The man confounded me.

  It felt good to get clean, though. The ladies chatted quietly to each other in Nahanaun, which let me ignore their conversation. I’d never been tended to much in my life—not a Tala custom, so much—but in my heart of hearts I enjoyed the pampering. They washed my hair with gentle thoroughness, bathing and oiling my skin with tender care.

  Because they’d been so kind, I let them braid my hair into one of their intricate styles, and apply their makeup. Apparently none of my clothes met their approval, for they presented me with a new gown. Made of deep blue silk that hung off the shoulders with fine silver chains, the loose drape came close to my usual style. Not so much the middle part. After a swath that covered my breasts, more silver chains held up the skirt, skimming low on my hips and falling in angular panels that parted around my legs as I moved.

  In the mirror they wheeled in—from Dafne’s rooms, I was certain—I examined myself. My skin gleamed pale. Some of that was in contrast to the intense blue, dark as the sapphire depths of the sea. But Marskal was right that I’d lost my tan. My belly showed white as the cliffs of Annfwn, while my shoulders and cheeks glowed pink from the sun.

  The ladies added silver jewelry—bands for my upper arms in the shape of hummingbirds, which wrapped around to dip slim beaks into stylized flowers tucked into their tails, and a similar torque around my neck. I watched their faces for signs of irony, but they seemed reverent. More small silver hummingbirds decorated my braids, and with a pang I realized my usual jeweled pin had been lost to dragon breath. It had been a gift from my mother, and the first thing I’d learned to take with me when I shifted—and bring back successfully. Perhaps it still existed out there somewhere, wherever my other forms lived, and when I shifted again and came back to human, I’d have it again. I had no idea how else to retrieve it.

  Too much there to contemplate.

  Marskal arrived, dressed in the formal uniform of Ursula’s elite guard. I’d seen him dressed so for court at Ordnung once or twice, but had never paid attention. The Hawks had adopted Ursula’s sigil as high queen, a gold and silver hawk stooping on a field of ruby red, a sun and crescent moon on either side, Danu’s star at the peak. He’d shaved clean and trimmed his already too-short hair. Perhaps I could convince him to grow it long, though I didn’t know where that impulse came from. I had no business wishing anything about him. Now that I’d survived Kiraka’s test, I would almost certainly become the dragon. No sense reneging on my resolution to eschew lovers now.

  Though, for the first time in a long time, I regretted it. I had a need to be petted. And I’d felt good waking up beside him. Not so alone. But I would be alone. I needed to learn to embrace that.

  Marskal clicked his heels together in the glossy black boots, and put his fist over his heart in the Hawks’ style, bowing low. “I stand ready to escort you, Lady Zynda.”

  I didn’t bother to correct him that time, instead taking the arm he offered. I was learning to save my arguments with him. “Did you pack a formal uniform and fancy boots, to drag all over the Nahanaun archipelago, just in case?”

  He slid me a look, then returned to scanning the shadows. “I accompanied my queen on a mission that could require war or diplomacy. I came prepared for both, of course.”

  “Of course,” I agreed with a smile.

  We moved through the open hallways, the evening breeze bringing the scent of sea, night-blooming jasmine, and hints of the feast to come. His boots made a light clicking on the wood, while my bare feet made no sound.

  He cleared his throat. “You look very beautiful tonight.”

  Surprised at the curl of pleasure at the compliment, I plucked at the skirt with my free hand. “Not my idea.”

  “I wondered if the hummingbird jewelry had been yours. You could remove it and I’ll keep it for you, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  I blinked at the sting of tears. How fragile I’d become. How strange that this moss—this man saw it in my heart. “It’s all right. That’s my First Form, so I have affection for it beyond… recent events.”

  “What does that mean—First Form?”

  And how glib with Tala secrets I’d become. Still, I’d already said it and I found myself unwilling to shut the door I’d opened. “All shapeshifters have a First Form, the one we intuitively take on the first time we shift. For most shapeshifters, it’s also their only form.”

  “Because it’s your favorite?”

  “It’s difficult to say. Probably not, because the first shift usually happens very young, even in the cradle, and infants are unlikely to have seen the animal they shift into, much less have formed a favorite.”

 
He nodded. “That explains why Willy and Nilly took early forms that they couldn’t have seen.”

  “Willy and Nilly?” I searched my brain, appalled at the possible memory loss.

  “Apologies.” He broke his vigilance a moment to give me an abashed smile. “Ash calls Astar and Stella that, because they’re forever dashing about and shapeshifting willy-nilly.”

  I laughed at the image. Ami’s shapeshifter toddlers were running merry rings around them. “I forgot you would have spent time around shapeshifter children. They can be a handful.”

  The hall opened onto the grand esplanade, incandescent with torches and teeming with people. The previous formal dinner we’d attended on Nahanau had been a tense and unhappy occasion, the night before we were forced to abandon Dafne to Nakoa’s doubtful intentions. I’d been especially torn, wanting to stay near the dragon but unable to refuse Dafne’s implicit plea—and Jepp’s explicit demands—that I be the one to fetch help. Just like that night, music played and dancers entertained. Dafne, arrayed in dazzling copper and decked in dragon jewelry, sat next to Nakoa on a living throne the twin of his. The vines trained into chair shape bloomed with blossoms of all colors.

  Nakoa wore similar colors and his habitual frown. A large and imposing man covered in tattoos that mimicked dragon scales, he sported wildly curling hair that fell to his shoulders, streaked with white, reminiscent of lighting racing through black thunderclouds. His dark eyes fixed on me, assessing with a keen intelligence that reminded me uncannily of Kiraka. We’d somewhat cavalierly dubbed him the dragon king when we’d first arrived on his island. In retrospect, the joke had been entirely too prescient.

  “Cold?” Marskal asked, and I darted him a wry look.

  “In this heat with torches everywhere, I don’t see how that would be possible.”

  “You shivered. And you’ve been… unwell.”

  That understatement made me laugh, catching Dafne’s attention. She smiled at me, clearly happy to see me on my feet and more my usual self. On her other side, seated on a throne of equal size, though less elaborate, Ursula looked over, also. She and Marskal exchanged some set of signals I’d never quite deciphered. Hopefully the message had to do with security and not me.

  She had a more careworn, tight expression. Though she’d left King Groningen in charge back at Ordnung, she had a massive and varied realm to govern. Between that—and the ongoing issues and conflicts that entailed—and her recent, near-mortal collision with the High Priestess of Deyrr, she carried a heavy burden. No wonder Harlan wanted to get her home again. Standing next to her chair and just behind, Harlan kept an eye on her and all comers. Ever vigilant.

  Speaking of, Marskal led me to my seat at a table near the royal dais. He handed me into the chair, and I let him, since it was easier than arguing that I was perfectly capable of bending my knees. However, when he remained standing behind my chair and signaled a server to bring me food, I drew the line.

  “The rest of the Hawks are sitting over there.” I pointed to the next table over, where several of his cohorts looked to be enjoying the wine and telling stories.

  “I’m fine here.”

  “You’d be a few paces away.”

  “I thought we were done arguing about this.”

  So did I. “I’m not a queen to have a guard standing at hand. At least sit.”

  “As my lady commands.” He sounded wryly amused, though why my irritable poking at him should do that, I didn’t know. Taking the seat beside me, he still solicitously passed me every dish, holding it for me and extolling its charms, as if I were a youngling needing enticement to eat. In truth the food all seemed wrong. Too dense, too rich. The bright flowers, redolent of nectar, kept catching my eye. With his newly acquired knack, Marskal seemed to see it in me. “You need to eat, Zynda,” he murmured when I poked at a piece of meat. “You’re much thinner now.”

  I’d made an entire body out of ash—what miracles did they expect? Though shapeshifting obviously wasn’t a direct process, with equal mass converting to the same, I still hadn’t had much strength to draw on. I choked back the words, though, grimly forcing myself to eat, however much my gut roiled.

  “Here.” Marskal took my plate away and set something else in its place. A bowl of honey, with fruit and slices of fresh bread. I stared at the change, bemused. He tore off a piece of bread, dipped it in the honey and held it out to me.

  I met his determined gaze. “Will you make chirping noises so I can pretend I’m a baby bird in the nest needing to be fed?”

  He didn’t crack a smile. “With my nephews and nieces, we play hungry horsey and fork-loads of hay. Whatever metaphor gets it done.”

  That tickled my humor enough, the image of the weathered warrior pretending to fork up hay for a recalcitrant child—along with the surprising warmth at his thoughtfulness in figuring out that the honey would be more appealing to the hummingbird still in me—that I opened my mouth, challenging him to finish out his promise. His brown eyes deepened in color, intent as Nakoa’s ever could be, and with infinite care, Marskal placed the honey-soaked bread on my tongue. I closed my lips over his fingers as he withdrew, holding his gaze. A high flush touched his tanned cheekbones and his hand hovered there, as if he’d forgotten what he was doing.

  “Delicious,” I said, unable to resist teasing him further. I’m not often a flirt. Especially not since I’d given up lovers, and even before that I’d been nothing like my brother, Zyr, who is both incorrigible and irresistible. But something about the lovely night and the party brought it out in me. Torchlight, flowers, and music. It reminded me of home. I’d escaped death and I hadn’t had a lover in forever. For very good reasons, but they seemed less important now. Perhaps I should give this stalwart mossback a try.

  “More,” I suggested.

  Marskal’s eyes narrowed, going suspicious. He reached for the finger bowl, briefly washed his hands and attacked his own plate. “I think you can handle the rest yourself, baby bird.”

  “Let’s dance.”

  He gave me a surprised look, glancing at the open-air esplanade, where dancers—professional and otherwise—leapt and swirled with the music. “I don’t dance.”

  “How disappointingly mossback of you.”

  His jaw tightened. “Fine. Eat everything on your plate and I’ll dance with you.”

  “Is this another gambit you use with your nieces and nephews?”

  Unexpectedly, his serious face cracked into a full grin. “Absolutely.”

  I found myself grinning back, delighted with this playful side of my serious soldier. “Deal.” Applying myself to the fruit, bread and honey—and the goblet of fruit juice Marskal set beside my plate with a brow raised, daring me to challenge the addition—I found that sort of thing did go down easier than the meat. We sat with a group of Nahanaun nobles, all who conversed in their native tongue, leaving us out, which suited me fine.

  “There.” I showed Marskal my clean plate. “Now you have to—”

  A gong rung, and the musicians went silent. Nakoa rose to his feet, offering a hand to Dafne to bring her up beside him. A petite woman regardless, the top of her head barely reached the level of his dark nipples. He put a protective arm around her and she looked up with a smile full of love. For a moment, his face softened, gazing down on her with a reverent joy that made my heart catch. There is also being loved.

  “Saved by the gong,” Marskal wryly observed, turning in his seat.

  “I wonder how they manage to have sex,” I whispered to him, needing to taunt him just a bit more. “She’s half his size. The logistics must be daunting.”

  If I’d expected to fluster him again, I missed my target. Instead he met my sally with an intent and level gaze. One that oddly brewed the heat in my belly. “The rewards are no doubt worth the effort.”

  This time it was me who looked away, grateful that Nakoa began speaking.

  My relief lasted only moments, because the news was not good.

  Not that I cou
ld understand all that he said. I picked out a word here and there, particularly mo’o, which meant dragon. But the tone and his grave mien, the way he held his war staff and banged it for emphasis, gave me warning. Dafne leaned against him, not looking in my direction. Ursula did, but revealed nothing in her lean, hawkish face.

  Nakoa finished delivering his decision and the crowd stood, made obeisance, and began to disperse. So much for dancing. The group of royals descended from the dais and Dafne beckoned to me. Marskal and I fell in behind Harlan and Ursula, Dafne and Nakoa decorously leading the way. I declined Marskal’s arm, pretending to be adjusting my arm bands. Despite my earlier flirtation, it wouldn’t do to echo the couples. Time to get down to business. Which did not include dallying with anyone, no matter how intriguing, I reminded myself.

  Our group made for a table set up on the edge of the esplanade, privacy guaranteed by a wide outposting of guards and waiting servants. Ursula, Nakoa, and Dafne sat at the table, lit with more gentle lantern light, and bearing carafes of wine and glass goblets. Harlan, naturally, remained standing behind Ursula’s chair after seating her, though he accepted a glass of wine. I refused Marskal’s offer to pour me some. My poor hummingbird brain had enough to deal with.

  “Sit, Marskal.” Ursula pointed to the empty chair beside me. “I can’t convince this boulder to do so, but you I can order. And you’re part of this conversation.”

  Marskal gave her the Hawks’ salute, obeying with an alacrity that belied the hesitation I sensed in him. He’d rather follow Harlan’s example, but I was just as happy not to have him hovering behind me. An interesting choice of words on Ursula’s part, since as High Queen, she could command Harlan’s obedience, but she clearly made a point of not doing so. Such were the diplomacies between lovers—another caution for me.

  “Allow me to translate,” Dafne began, laying a hand on Nakoa’s arm and glancing at him for permission. He nodded, sitting back in his chair with folded arms, and studying me with that unrelenting dragon gaze. “Lieutenant Marskal has conveyed your request to visit Kiraka again.”