Shadowspire (Wytch Kings, Book 3)

by Jaye McKenna

  Jaire’s transformation would be relatively easy, and he breathed a sigh of relief at that. Kian was a different story. In fact, if he’d been doing this for his father, he’d have rejected Kian as a candidate immediately. There was nothing within Kian’s mythe-shadow to build upon, which meant Vayne would be creating the patterns from scratch. It would be a long, arduous process, exhausting for him, and painful for Kian.

  When he came back to the surface, Ambris was clearing the table and packing the remaining food away for later. Kian and Jaire were both watching him, but while Kian’s expression was expectant, Jaire looked more concerned than excited.

  “What’s wrong, Vayne?” Jaire asked.

  He should have known he wouldn’t be able to hide his anxiety over Kian’s transformation from an empath as sensitive as Jaire. “I’ll work on you first, Jaire. You may not have inherited the ability to shift, but it is there in latent form. Your mythe-shadow already contains traces of the patterns I will need to set. Kian, however, will be more difficult, as I will need to burn almost all of the patterns into his mythe-shadow. It will take longer and be far more dangerous.”

  Ambris placed a hand on Kian’s shoulder. “Perhaps Kian should wait. We can send Garrik back for him.”

  “No,” Kian said flatly. “Garrik is needed in Altan, and I will not be left behind.”

  Ambris studied his husband’s face for a long time before saying, “Very well. But I reserve the right to stop the procedure if I feel your life is in danger.”

  “As you wish,” Kian said with a sharp nod.

  “Come, then, Jaire,” Vayne said, picking up the saddlebag full of supplies. “The sooner we start, the sooner we can be on our way back to Altan.”

  In Jaire’s bedroom, Vayne unpacked the inks he and Ilya had prepared.

  “What kind of dragon will I be?” Jaire asked, plopping down on the edge of the bed.

  “I’m not sure,” Vayne said. “Since the patterns already exist within your own mythe-shadow, I will only be bringing out whatever latent ability is already there. We will not know until you shift for the first time.”

  “A surprise, then,” Jaire said with a nervous smile. “I like that. What about Kian?”

  “Kian will be green, like me,” Vayne said, “and he will breathe fire. That is the pattern I am most familiar with, and if Kian’s mythe-shadow is going to prove difficult to work on, I would rather not have to struggle with constructing an unfamiliar pattern.”

  “That makes sense,” Jaire said. “How long do you think it will take? As long as a normal tattoo? Those can take ages.”

  “No, it won’t take nearly as long as that. Much of the work — including the distribution of the inks — is done by manipulating the mythe. It is… much more like a mythe-weaving than a tattooing, though the end result appears identical to the untrained eye. I will be imposing the patterns, and Ambris will be using his healing skills to keep you as comfortable as possible. Mythe-shock is the biggest risk, but with Ambris working with me, I think we can avoid that.” He didn’t add that sometimes, despite all the precautions, the tattoos simply didn’t take. With Ambris assisting him and supplying extra energy, the chances of a bad reaction were much reduced, and after examining Jaire’s mythe-shadow, Vayne was confident that Jaire, at least, would come through the procedure well.

  He wasn’t so sure about Kian.

  “What do you need me to do?” Jaire asked.

  “Take off your shirt and lie down on your front. And try to relax.”

  Jaire pulled off his shirt, but before he lay down, he said in a very small voice, “Will it hurt?”

  Vayne hesitated. He’d asked Larana the same question. She’d told him it wouldn’t, but once she’d started, she’d needed three of his father’s guardsmen to hold him down so she could finish the job. “It will,” he said finally. “Maybe a lot. But Ambris will do what he can to minimize the pain.”

  “All right.” Jaire’s voice only trembled a little as he lay down, clutching the pillow beneath his chest. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

  Vayne placed a hand in the middle of Jaire’s pale, unmarred back and brushed aside the long, white-blond braid he wore. “Your skin is so beautiful, it’s a shame to mark it.”

  “You must be joking.” Jaire twisted around to look at him. “I’ve always wanted to be able to fly. Having a tattoo like yours on my back is no price at all. Even if it does hurt.”

  “Lie still, then. Ambris, it might be best if you sit on the bed next to Jaire.” Vayne took up the pot of mythe-worked ink he and Ilya had made, and began smearing the stuff over Jaire’s back.

  “No needles?” Jaire asked.

  “No. It might look like a tattoo when I’ve finished, but the process is completely different. I put the ink over the area I wish to mark, and then I visualize the design and use the mythe to work the patterns we need into your flesh.”

  “So that’s the part that hurts?”

  “No. I’m enough of a healer that I can prevent that from hurting you. The pain will come when I burn the patterns into your mythe-shadow,” Vayne said flatly. “Now, be quiet, and let me work.”

  Jaire put his head down on his folded arms, and thanks to Ambris, promptly fell asleep.

  “Can you keep him asleep through the whole procedure?” Vayne asked doubtfully.

  “It depends on how much your manipulations interfere with my healing,” Ambris said. “But if I can, I shall. No reason for either of them to suffer, if I can prevent it.”

  Vayne nodded, relieved Jaire might be spared the agony he’d experienced, and set to work.

  * * *

  When Jaire opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Vayne’s face. The dragon-prince was smiling, and Jaire couldn’t help but smile back.

  He was lying on his side on the bed, with Vayne sitting beside him. Nothing hurt, not even his back. Had something gone wrong? Maybe Vayne hadn’t started yet.

  “Is it done?” he asked, reaching around awkwardly to touch his back.

  “It is,” Vayne said. “Ambris did an excellent job, keeping you just on the other side of sleep while I worked.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Like a dragon,” Vayne said drily. “As I was allowing the patterns in your mythe-shadow to dictate the form, I did not try to influence it or change it. I cannot wait to see what you look like once you’re shifted.”

  “Neither can I,” Jaire said, sitting up on the bed. “How long did it take?”

  “Not long at all,” said Ambris. “It isn’t even midday yet.”

  “Shall I go and get Kian?” Jaire asked.

  Vayne’s smile disappeared, and Jaire sensed the anxiety and fear coming from both him and Ambris.

  “Perhaps Jaire or Tristin will turn out to be strong enough to carry Kian,” Ambris suggested hopefully. “You said yourself you have no idea what sort of dragon Jaire will be. If necessary, a harness of some sort could surely be fashioned from the bags we brought.”

  “Yes, of course,” Vayne said with a faint smile. “Even if Kian’s transformation proves too difficult, there are other means. We could find a cave and send for Garrik. Or—”

  “Just try, Vayne.” Ambris put a hand on Vayne’s shoulder. “That is all we can ask of you. If it turns out that it cannot be done, then we will turn our minds to other possibilities. Kian will come to no harm, for I will let you know the moment I believe his life is in danger.”

  “Very well,” Vayne said. “Go and fetch him, Jaire. I am as ready as I can be, and I would prefer to begin before I think too hard on what I am about to attempt. Do not try to shift by yourself. While I don’t anticipate any problems, I would rather be with you, all the same.”

  “I won’t,” Jaire said, sliding off the bed and twisting around to catch a glimpse of his dragon tattoo. Of course, he couldn’t see a thing.

  “It’s lovely,” Ambris told him. “If it’s any indication of what you’ll look like in shifted form, you’re going to be
the most beautiful dragon of all of us.”

  “I don’t want to be beautiful,” Jaire said. “I want to be fierce and dangerous.”

  “You will be both,” Vayne said solemnly. “Some of the most beautiful creatures of this world are also the most deadly. The Dragon Mother possesses a keen sense of irony.”

  Jaire flashed him a small smile as he slipped out the door. Kian was pacing. He looked up with alarm when the door opened, but relaxed the moment he saw it was Jaire.

  “It was so quiet in there, I was worried,” he said. “Have they finished with you already?”

  Jaire turned around to show him.

  Kian let out a low whistle. “That’s lovely.” He moved forward and traced the pattern with his finger. “Vayne is quite the artist. Your mythe-shadow is different, too. It looks more like Ambris’s now.”

  “Does it?” Any excitement Jaire might have felt about his own transformation was overshadowed by his concern for Kian. “They’re ready for you.”

  “Are they.” Kian looked grim, and fear flickered through his mythe-shadow.

  Jaire caught hold of his hand and squeezed it. “It’ll be all right, Kian. Ambris was able to hold me just on the edge of sleep the entire time. I didn’t feel a thing.”

  “I’m glad he was able to help you, although that does not set my mind at ease. I understand enough of what Vayne intends to do that I am well aware of all the ways it could go wrong.”

  “Ambris is helping,” Jaire told him. “He won’t let you come to any harm. He told Vayne so.” On impulse, he gave Kian a quick, hard hug. Kian squeezed him back, then disappeared into the bedroom before Jaire could say another word.

  Jaire sank down at the table, eyes fixed on the bedroom door, wishing there were something he could do to help. Unfortunately, this time, the best thing he could do was stay out of the way.

  Which wasn’t difficult until the first of Kian’s screams came from the bedroom. Jaire leapt to his feet and started for the door, then stopped. He wasn’t a healer, and would only be in the way.

  He adjusted his shielding pattern just enough to sense the men in the other room. A hot wave of agony engulfed him, and Jaire went to his knees, retching. Shaking, he set the pattern to block out everything and remained there on his knees, panting, with tears streaming from his eyes.

  At Kian’s next scream, Jaire squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms about himself. Please, Aio, take care of Kian… maybe it’s presumptuous of us to try to force your gift upon him, but there’s no other way out. Please help him.

  * * *

  Time ceased to have any meaning for Vayne. He immersed himself deep within Kian’s mythe-shadow and began the difficult work of burning in a pattern that was neither wanted nor accepted.

  Jaire’s transformation had been the easiest Vayne had ever attempted. Prince Jaire had almost been born a dragon shifter like his brother. The patterns had already been there in his mythe-shadow, and all Vayne had to do was reinforce them.

  Kian was a different story entirely.

  Healing used some of the same patterns as shifting, and as a healer, Kian already possessed a few of the basic pattern-shapes, but even those needed major adjustments, and the rest… Vayne was starting from scratch with those.

  And he was working on exactly the same parts of Kian’s mythe-shadow that Ambris would need to manipulate in order to put him to sleep. Perhaps, in time, he and Ambris might learn to work in harmony on the same level, but for now, it was too dangerous. They could too easily interfere with one another.

  Vayne knew, in a detached kind of way, that he was hurting Kian as badly as Larana had hurt him, but it was this or leave Kian behind, and Vayne was not willing to do that. Faah would take him to Askarra to face the Wytch Council, which would very likely execute him for his part in the death of Council Speaker Taretha. Vayne couldn’t bear the thought of leaving anyone to that fate, let alone someone Jaire cared so deeply for.

  So Vayne fought on, pattern by pattern, burning the ability to shift into Kian’s mythe-shadow and trying not to hear his screams.

  When the colors surrounding Kian flickered and darkened, Vayne knew he was in trouble. This was how they all started to go bad. He stopped working and examined Kian as a healer might. Despite Ambris’s support, Kian was beginning to slip into mythe-shock, and there was nothing Vayne could do to stop it. It wouldn’t be long before Ambris noticed and told him to stop.

  He was about to give up and divert the rest of his energy to healing the damage he’d done when he sensed a presence there in the mythe with him.

  “Let me help you, Human Child,” said a deep, resonant voice.

  Vayne looked up to see Ashna’s glittering coils shimmer and coalesce, changing from one shape to another as the dragon took his human form. He stood across the bed from Vayne, brilliant violet eyes studying Kian’s mythe-shadow with interest. Ambris was deep in the mythe, supporting both Kian and Vayne, and did not appear to have noticed the dragon’s appearance.

  Ashna laid a hand upon Kian’s head, and Kian’s body relaxed into sleep. Then the dragon moved behind Vayne, leaning against his back and placing his own hands over Vayne’s.

  “Like this,” the dragon whispered, and the sound of his voice was like a balm, easing Vayne’s tension and filling him with confidence. Ashna guided Vayne’s hands, showed him minute adjustments to the patterns that made their placement easier. Instead of having to be burned into Kian’s mythe-shadow, the new patterns simply melted in, as if they had always belonged there.

  “Remember these shapes, these lines, these patterns,” Ashna said. “They will be better accepted and better integrated than the ones you were using. Less pain, and far less danger for the recipient.”

  When he was finished, Ashna withdrew his hands, and Vayne turned to face him.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I did not think to see you again, once I had escaped my prison.”

  “You would not have, for I am limited in what I may do to influence the human world. Sometimes, however, when an unforeseen turn of events puts the balance in danger, then I may be allowed to help in small ways. Getting you out of your current predicament is forbidden, but I can, perhaps, help you to help yourselves.”

  “I… thank you.” Vayne bowed his head in respect. Ashna lifted his chin so he stared into the dragon’s brilliant eyes.

  “You have the power to do much good in this troubled world, Human Child, or much evil. Choose your path with care.”

  And with that, the dragon was gone, vanishing in a shimmering haze of glittering scales, crystalline claws, and coils as clear as glass.

  Vayne withdrew from the mythe to find Kian still sleeping peacefully. Ambris was holding his hand, a stunned expression on his face.

  “What did you do?” Ambris murmured. “His mythe-shadow was beginning to go dark, the threads thinning. I nearly told you to stop, but then everything brightened and he drifted off to sleep.”

  “What did you see?” Vayne asked.

  “You appeared to be struggling to decide whether you should continue or not, and then you suddenly relaxed, as if you’d seen the answer to a troubling problem. Kian drifted off, and you went back to work with a great deal more confidence.”

  So Ambris hadn’t seen the dragon. Interesting. Vayne decided perhaps it would be best not to mention the part his mentor had played. “I… I saw a better way to work the patterns,” he said slowly, staring at the tattoo. It was different from any he’d done before. The dragon was black, the details so intricate they could never have been inked into flesh the traditional way. It was the most lifelike tattoo Vayne had ever seen on one of his shifters.

  “It’s beautiful,” Ambris said, running a hand over Kian’s back. “You’re very talented.”

  Vayne bowed his head in acknowledgment. He wasn’t sure Ambris would believe him if he said he’d had nothing to do with it. He wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

  Chapter Nine

  Jaire huddled on the floor near t
he table where he’d fallen to his knees. His hands were pressed over his ears, and tears streamed down his cheeks. He might be able to stop himself from sharing Kian’s pain through the mythe, but the desperate cries coming from the bedroom cut him like knives. Kian had always been so strong and capable, and in his own way, he’d been just as much of a protector to Jaire as Garrik had been. Knowing Kian was in so much pain was almost more than Jaire could bear, and knowing there was nothing he could do to help only made it worse.

  When the screaming stopped abruptly, Jaire feared the worst. He dared not venture into the bedroom to see, and dared not lower his defenses to sense what the others were feeling. If Kian hadn’t survived the transformation, Ambris would be devastated, and Vayne…

  He felt guiltily relieved that Ilya had taught him how to weave a shield that shut almost everything out.

  Jaire remained hunched over on his knees until he heard the bedroom door open. Steps came toward him, and a hand squeezed his shoulder. He looked up to see Kian staring down at him.

  Relief turned his muscles to liquid, and Kian had to help him stand.

  “Are you all right, Jaire?”

  Jaire wiped a hand across his face to dash away the tears, then hugged Kian hard, reassured by his solid, warm presence and the strong arms that drew him close. “I’m fine,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “But what of you? Are you all right? It didn’t sound like it was going well.” He pulled away and stepped back to take a good look at Kian.

  “It was much more difficult than I anticipated,” Vayne said as he left the bedroom, Ambris right behind him. “I nearly stopped for fear I might kill him.”

  “You warned me it would be painful, Vayne,” Kian said. “It was my own choice to go through with it anyway.”

  “What happens next?” Jaire asked. “Do you and Ambris need to sleep?”