The Shift of the Tide

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “I’ve seen dogs humping pillows, which appears to be sexually satisfying, but that doesn’t make them the same species,” I retorted.

  Marskal gave me a slow grin. “But that doesn’t produce viable offspring. It’s all rubbing with nothing to show for it.”

  “The dogs might disagree. The lack of pillow-puppies doesn’t seem to deter them.”

  “True. But then, there’s a lot to be said for pleasurable rubbing.” He stroked a brown finger down my arm, the sensation sending a hot shiver through me. When I looked up, his serious brown eyes burned into mine. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. A silly answer, but coherent thought—something not reliable since the extended hummingbird phase regardless—seemed to have fled the moment he touched me. Along with my breath.

  “You don’t know?” He searched my face. “Surely you’re not a virgin.”

  That made me laugh. A good, from-the-belly laugh. Though I remembered the campfire discussion with Jepp and Dafne, when we drank that excellent Branlian whiskey and Dafne confessed to that very thing. I leaned closer to Marskal, who seemed both pleased and confounded by my amusement. Flirting took my mind off the trial ahead.

  “No, darling mossback man, I am most decidedly not a virgin. The Tala don’t trouble themselves much over such conditions.”

  His lips quirked in a slight smile, the movement drawing my attention. He had quite a nice mouth, really, sensuously curved when he wasn’t being so serious. “Ever had a mossback lover?”

  “Why?” I brushed his cheek with my lips, delighted to hear him catch his breath in turn. “Are you volunteering?”

  “Yes.” He said it so immediately with such conviction that he took me by surprise. His hand came up to thread through my hair and cup my head, his mouth capturing mine at the same moment. Startled, I didn’t think to push him away. The feel of his lips on mine turned me inside out in some odd way. He tasted of sunshine and exertion, different than any Tala man I’d kissed. Not quite definable. Harder. Edged. Perhaps a residual of that essential immutability. He was like a rock. No, like the earth. Solid and grounded. A stable point to hold onto.

  Experimentally I opened to him, allowing him in, and he made an incoherent sound, deepening the kiss, wrapping his other arm around my waist to pull me close. Arousal flooded me in a sweet wave and I felt singingly alive for the first time since I’d awakened, fascinated by those flowers and not understanding why. Heat pulsed through me, full of sweet and bright. Safe and loved. Human.

  I pulled back a little—not all the way—but enough to break the kiss and stare into his eyes. They’d darkened with desire, his mouth stern with it.

  “Were you the one that fed me, all those days that I was a hummingbird?”

  He gazed back at me, his expression unreadable. “Not all of them,” he finally said. “Only at first, when you were too weak to fly. After that you fed yourself.”

  “All that experience from the farm.”

  A dip of his chin. “I’ve rescued a baby bird or two before.”

  “I’m not a baby bird in need of rescue, Marskal.”

  He relaxed the arm around my waist, I thought to let me go, but he used both hands to comb his fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face, expression rapt. A sense memory came with it, of his hands cupping me while I fluttered to escape. My heartbeat quickened. “No, you’re a beautiful woman, and I want to be your lover.”

  Taken aback, I didn’t reply. The feel of his hands in my hair, the admiration in his eyes, it was like warm sun on my skin, making me want to purr and be petted. Marskal leaned in and brushed a kiss over my lips, sweeter than honey. “Say yes,” he murmured.

  “Maybe,” I replied, unable to resist teasing him, but I deepened the kiss, flicking my tongue against his, just to hear him groan. “Right now I have a dragon to meet.”

  My own words penetrated and I pulled away in truth, disentangling myself. I had a dragon to meet. In another hour, I might be a dragon—and I’d been seriously considering taking him as a lover. “We need to get going. Moranu knows what I was thinking.”

  Marskal shrugged a little, packing up the remains of breakfast. “You were resting and taking your mind off your cares. And if you’re not too stubborn to admit it, you’re better for it. Your eyes are brighter and your color is better now.”

  No doubt due to that humming sweet desire he’d sparked in me. “You did that on purpose, to distract me.”

  “I kissed you because I wanted to—and because you dared me.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “You always claim to hear words I don’t speak. Besides, I can’t be your lover. I’m taking Final Form.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “You act as if you have. In another hour I might be a dragon.”

  “Or she might set you another task. Why not enjoy the last days of being human?”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

  “You weren’t thinking that when you were kissing me.”

  I growled in frustration. “You made me lose my head.”

  He looked thoughtful, rising to his feet, and shouldering the pack, then touching his hands to each of his weapons in obvious long habit that came without thought. “Let’s walk and talk, since you’re in such a hurry to risk your life again.”

  I hastened to catch up with his long-legged stride.

  “I might point out,” he continued, “that there is no actual rush. You could have taken some days to get stronger.”

  He had a point, but I wouldn’t confess my fear that if I thought too long about what might happen up there, I’d succumb to the temptation to flee and fly far away, never to return. “If I find out the next steps from Kiraka, I can go see what Jepp wants.”

  He gave me an incredulous look. “Now you pretend to care about that?”

  “I do care,” I insisted. “Thwarting Deyrr is important, too.”

  “But this Final Form thing is more important.”

  “Yes. We all have our roles to play.”

  He made a derisive sound, putting my back up.

  “If I’d flown, I could have been there already,” I said. “I should have.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Those warrior instincts. He’d zeroed right in on my bleeding wound. Just had to poke at it. Two could play that game. “Because I had to bring you along.”

  “You could have become the pony and let me ride. Much faster.”

  The thought of Marskal riding me blazed through my mind. The strong clasp of his legs, fingers in my mane. Oh no, that would not be a good idea. Though, now that it was in my head, I couldn’t shake it.

  “Are you worried about shifting?” he finally asked, quietly and without censure. Neutral, the way he’d offered me breakfast.

  I couldn’t think of a reply that wouldn’t be giving voice to the terrible truth and didn’t sound tart or downright nasty, so I didn’t say anything.

  “Because you haven’t,” he persisted, “since you shifted back to human form.”

  “You don’t know that. And, besides, it’s hardly been a full day since then.”

  “Three. You were a hummingbird for nearly four, shifted back to human form, then were unconscious another two.”

  The silence stretched out, not comfortable because his expectation of an answer hung in the air. It made my skin itch.

  “I’ve never known you to go longer than a full day and night without shifting, if only for a brief swim or flight,” he finally said. “And that’s when you were pressed. If you have the time, you do it more often.” Not pushing, exactly, but making it clear he wouldn’t let the subject drop. I should turn into a pony. Except even then he likely wouldn’t shut up. He would have to be the exception, treating me as myself no matter what form I wore, and would take the opportunity to lecture me when I couldn’t argue. Unless I bucked him off, which could be entertaining. The thought would’v
e made me smile, if I weren’t so uncomfortable with his prying. How long had the cursed man been observing my habits?

  “It seems to me,” he continued, after another long and pregnant silence—how long did this hike take anyway? It had not seemed so far before—“that if you’re not certain you can shift, then—”

  “I can shift,” I interrupted.

  “Ah.” He didn’t say more.

  I should have enjoyed the peace and quiet, been grateful that he’d quit badgering me. But my lie refused to dissipate, clinging to me. Or, not exactly a lie, as I hadn’t tried again. He didn’t accuse me of the untruth, which only made it worse. My hair hung hot and heavy on my neck and I really wished I’d thought to find another pin to put it up with. No, I really wished I could get my old one back, that I could quickly shift and come back again to the familiar pin in its sleeve.

  Just do it. Prove to both of you that you can.

  But the thought of trying again made me queasy. Sharp memory fragments cut at me of that endless time of trying, the agony ripping me, the shapes just out of reach, losing my self.

  My chest went tight with a kind of grief and dread, sweat popping out on my forehead, weirdly cold in the heat. More sweat ran down my ribs, which felt rigid, making it hard to draw breath. The edges of my vision went black and the honeyed bread rose in my throat, bitter with bile.

  I had to stop, feeling dizzy enough to lean a hand on the smooth, golden bark of a tree. Her limbs draped over the trail, lacy green with lush violet flowers, so pretty and untroubled. Marskal handed me the flask of water and I drank it gratefully. Even more grateful that he said nothing. Gradually the constriction in my chest eased, and I could breathe better.

  Giving the flask back, I made myself meet his quiet gaze. “I tried once, couldn’t, and haven’t tried again,” I admitted.

  He nodded, unsurprised.

  “But I have to talk to Kiraka.” I kept my voice reasonable, the tremble in it barely audible.

  “Do you?” Marskal cocked his head slightly. “We could sail to find out what Jepp and Kral know. Then we can come back to talk to the dragon when you’re stronger. More yourself. We’d have to come back past the archipelago anyway.”

  I was shaking my head. If I delayed, I might never work up the courage again. I made myself stand on my own again. And start walking uphill.

  “There’s tomorrow,” Marskal said, easily pacing me. “We could go back down. Have a nap, some lunch—”

  “You’re obsessed with food.”

  “It’s useful for keeping strong and healthy. We could take a swim, that would be refreshing.”

  It annoyed me that he’d noticed me sweating. “Not if I can’t shift.”

  “People swim, too,” he replied without rancor.

  Neither of us said anything about what I’d just admitted. But it was out there now, and he clearly wouldn’t leave it alone. The doubt rode cold in my chest.

  “What if I can’t shift again?” I asked the question of the overhanging trees, the birds flitting musically among the branches. Of the glimpses of sky between the leaves, fringed palms and deep green head-sized paddles. Of the sea beyond, beautiful and unconcerned with the problems of mortals.

  “Is that something that happens to shapeshifters who are injured?” Marskal asked. I imagined him having this conversation with one of his subordinates who’d sprained an ankle or some such.

  “If it did, they wouldn’t talk about it.” I had to laugh, just imagining.

  Marskal slid me a look. “Is it such a point of pride then?”

  I opened my mouth to scoff, then closed it again. How odd that he wouldn’t see that. No Tala would ask that.

  “Yes,” I said simply.

  He mulled that over.

  “The thing is,” I finally said, then had to take a breath. “The thing is that I don’t know of anyone—any shapeshifter, but I guess that’s obvious—who’s done what I did. I should have died. I did die, and Moranu intervened. I don’t think I would have been able to come back as much as I had without her help.”

  He nodded. We walked on in silence, the trees beginning to thin. Finally we neared the meadow, and now I wished we weren’t so close. We could go back down. Have a nap, some lunch. It sounded so tempting. But I couldn’t. I had to go through with this.

  “Nothing to say to that?” I asked.

  Marskal glanced at me and held out a hand. Surprised, I took it, and he laced his fingers with mine, the contact comforting, bolstering me.

  “I’m glad Moranu intervened,” he said, in that quiet tone. “I’ll have to take up her worship. What is her preferred sacrifice?”

  I laughed. Not at all what I’d expected from him. He smiled at me, a bare twitch of the lips, his eyes warm, but he wasn’t joking. He did believe me. Just like that.

  “It seems to me,” he said, “that you’re like any warrior recovering from injury. Even Ursula, who is easily one of the best fighters I’ve ever had the pleasure to spar with, still isn’t up to her former strength since she nearly died—and she had the benefit of magical healing. I’d think shapeshifting is like any physical skill, like having an excellent sword arm. If you injure that arm, it takes time and gradual practice to get yourself up to your previous skill levels.”

  Such a strange perspective, and yet, it made an odd kind of sense. Still… “Except the wounded warrior doesn’t dread trying to use that arm again and failing.”

  Marskal stopped and turned me to face him, holding my shoulders and staring into my eyes very seriously. “Yes. Yes, they absolutely do.”

  My lips parted, my insides quaking, though I didn’t understand why.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, Zynda,” he continued, holding me steady. “Nothing that countless warriors before you haven’t experienced, man or woman, mossback or Tala.” His lips twitched slightly in amusement before he sobered again. “The fear and the dread is natural. Give yourself a break.”

  “It really hurt,” I whispered, afraid to even say it too loudly. “So much.” Impossible to put words to it.

  He winced, eyes full of sympathy, as if he felt it, too. “I can only imagine. And that’s part of it. Facing the possibility of that kind of pain again is one of the worst parts of recovering.”

  Strangely, that helped. “All right,” I said. And took a deep breath. Let it out. “All right.”

  But he didn’t move. “Zynda.” He squeezed my shoulders a little. “What if the dragon attacks again? If you’re still recovering and can’t shift with your previous power, can you rely on Moranu’s intervention?”

  I appreciated the faith in me implicit in his phrasing, that I would be able to shift again, that my power would build. “It doesn’t matter.”

  His brows drew together. “How can you—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I repeated, putting my hands on his, squeezing them a little before shrugging out of his grip. “I have to do this. If there’s another test and I can’t pass it, then I don’t deserve to continue on this task.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand you.”

  “You could wait here. You don’t have to watch.”

  “Oh no.” He set his jaw in grim determination. “I’m not leaving your side. If you burn, I’m going down with you this time.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense! If I burn, I can maybe recover. You can’t.”

  He slanted me a cocky look, mouth turning up into a one-sided smile. “Consider it blackmail, then. Make sure that thrice-cursed dragon keeps her flame to herself.”

  Kiraka waited in the meadow, as if she’d never moved from the spot. Perhaps she hadn’t. For the first time it occurred to me to wonder at my conviction that she’d be there, without arranging it through Dafne. But there she was, taking up the entire far end, like a mountain of gold, ruby eyes burning into me, and tail flicking idly.

  “I wonder if the tales of dragons hoarding treasure come from the fact that they look like a thriced big pile of it,” Marskal murmu
red to me as we crossed the meadow.

  I laughed at his irreverence, which felt good. Far better than dwelling on whether I might die soon. Again. Or if he would. I took his hand and laced my fingers with his, giving him a smile. He smiled back, his gaze steady.

  “You can do this,” he said. “And I’m right here with you.”

  I didn’t even want to protest that I didn’t need him there. I was just so glad he was.

  We stopped a decorous distance from Kiraka. Not so far that she couldn’t immolate me again, but I suspected she could have done that as soon as we were in sight. Marskal gave my hand a squeeze, then dropped back half a step. Guarding my flank, ready to draw weapons to protect me. Foolish, in the face of this behemoth, but it warmed my heart nonetheless.

  “Lady Dragon,” I said, as Kiraka seemed disinclined to say anything. I bowed to her. “I’ve returned.”

  “So I discern. I’m a dragon, not a witless lump of metal as the mossback implied.” Despite her caustic words, her tone wasn’t unkind.

  “I’ve grown accustomed to the mossback ways of idle greetings,” I explained mentally, as much to see if I could as to spare Marskal’s feelings. But not an apology. Moranu take me if I was going to apologize to this ancient and cantankerous shapeshifter ever again.

  “Allow me then to return an idle observation. You appear to have survived your lesson.”

  The heat of anger helped burn away the frost of fear. “Is that what you call it?”

  “Lesson. Test. Recall that I can and do listen in on your conversations. I know you explained it to your mossback companions as such. Playing games with me makes little sense at this juncture.”

  “You hadn’t said anything.” To me or to Dafne.

  “You, I was waiting to see if you had the spine to approach me again. My Daughter…” The dragon sighed in a mental gust, hot wind over coals. “I suppose, too, that I’m waiting to see if she forgives me.” The plaintive tone took me aback. The loneliness in it. Her immortality came with the steep price of utter aloneness. Dafne had been her sole companion.