Shadowspire (Wytch Kings, Book 3)
Page 20
“No,” Vayne said. “Ambris very generously used some of the power stored in his jewel to replenish us both. And I learned much from working on Kian. I believe I’ve discovered a much easier way to work patterns into mythe-shadows. Not nearly so painful for the recipient, or so exhausting for me. I think I should work on Tristin at once. I believe I can do it quickly. Perhaps Ambris should take you two out to practice, and Tristin and I will join you when I’ve finished with him.” He glanced around the room. “There’s room here to accommodate at least one dragon. Who wants to try it first?”
Kian grinned. “Jaire? I know this has always been your dream. Why don’t you go first?”
“The pattern should be in your mind already, as soon as you focus on your center,” Vayne told him. “I didn’t just give you the ability — I gave you the instincts I have gained from my own experience. Once you’ve shifted, you should be as skilled as I am at maneuvering. Flight should be almost instinctive. Just don’t try to think too hard about it until you’re used to it.”
Jaire nodded and moved to the center of the room while Kian and Ambris pushed the table out of the way.
“To be perfectly boring and practical,” Ambris said, “you might wish to remove your clothing first. It will not shift with you.”
Jaire stripped quickly, far too excited to feel shy about exposing himself.
“You, too, Kian,” Ambris said.
Kian shot him a wicked grin. “You just want to watch me strip.”
“Well, yes, I must admit, even after five years of having you all to myself, I’ve yet to tire of looking upon you.” Ambris waggled his eyebrows and leered. “I wonder if your dragon form will be as well-endowed as your human form is.”
“If it is, you may find yourself in trouble, husband.” Kian stripped quickly and tossed his clothing at Ambris, then turned to watch Jaire.
“Whenever you’re ready, Jaire,” Vayne said quietly. “Take your time.”
Jaire closed his eyes and focused on the glowing core of power at his center. The pattern rose in his mind and before he knew it, instinct took over and his body was changing. There was no pain, no blood, none of the horror that had accompanied Garrik’s first shift. This was a smooth, easy glide from one form to another.
His new form didn’t feel at all odd; it was simply another way of being. He looked down at himself to see pale, opalescent scales shading from white to deep violet, and claws so dark they were almost black.
At the sound of indrawn breath, he turned to see Kian, Ambris, and Vayne staring at him.
“I said you would be beautiful,” Vayne murmured, eyes tracing the lines of Jaire’s dragon body from his fangs to the tip of his tail. “Now shift back. You know the pattern, so you’ve only to imagine yourself back in human form.”
Jaire thought about his human body, and shifted back effortlessly, grinning widely. “I did it! I’m a dragon!”
“Yes, you are, and a lovely one, at that,” Vayne told him. “You’ll be gorgeous in the sunlight. Kian, why don’t you try it?”
Kian and Jaire exchanged places, and Ambris settled a blanket over Jaire’s shoulders. As Jaire watched, Kian’s gaze turned inward, and a moment later, he shifted. The shift was as smooth as silk, like watching Garrik or Ilya do it, and Jaire wondered if he had looked like that, as well. It had certainly felt easy enough.
The dragon that stood before them was the darkest black Jaire had ever seen. Blacker than the deepest shadows. Its claws and horns were crystal clear, with little flecks of silver swirling through them, and its eyes were brilliant violet. It was big, too. Bigger, even, than Garrik.
Jaire stared at it in wonder. “Kian, you… you’re magnificent.”
“Ai, he is,” Ambris said, eyes shining as he studied his husband’s dragon form. “I cannot wait to see you take to the air, Kian.”
Kian dipped his head in acknowledgment and moved toward the window, which was, alas, much too small to admit his bulky dragon body. The air around him shimmered briefly as he shifted smoothly back into human form.
“I hope you’ve a brilliant plan for getting us out that window, Your Highness,” he said to Vayne. “Because I’m not going to fit through as a dragon.”
“The brilliant plan is to launch yourself out the window and complete the shift before you hit the ground,” Vayne said mischievously. “We’re high enough up that it should be quite safe, but I will be outside waiting to help you if you should fail. I think you’ll manage, though. I made certain to include that particular maneuver in the patterns I gave you, so as soon as you launch yourself out, instinct should take over. Shall we try?”
“Ai,” Kian said, glancing out the window. “And quickly, before I lose my nerve.”
Vayne shucked out of his clothing, climbed up onto the window sill, and launched himself out. He shifted in midair and circled back to the window, where he hovered.
Kian climbed up onto the window sill. He gave Ambris one worried look, then took a deep breath and threw himself out into the open air. His sharp cry of fear changed abruptly into a draconic scream of triumph, and Jaire ran to the window in time to see the majestic black dragon soaring through the air after Vayne.
“He’s lovely,” Ambris said softly.
“He is,” Jaire agreed. “And big. He could carry both Garrik and me on his back, if he wanted.”
“Which would have thrilled you only days ago, but now you can fly for yourself,” Ambris said. “Are you ready to try?”
Jaire’s heart was pounding, but he nodded and climbed up onto the window sill.
“Just let yourself go,” Ambris said. “Trust in your dragon. It knows what to do.”
Jaire dared not look down, not even a glance. It was a long way to fall, and he didn’t need to remind himself how long. Vayne hovered not far away, his emerald wings glinting in the late afternoon sunlight, and a bit farther out, Kian circled, gliding on powerful wings of darkest shadow.
Fear rippled through him, but he quickly pushed it aside. Jaire had wanted this all his life, and he wasn’t about to allow anything to deny him his dream. With a wordless cry, he flung himself out into the empty air.
The world stopped.
For one horrifying moment, he hung in the air beside the tower. Then he shifted, and gleaming opalescent wings caught the air currents beneath him, buoying him up. He blinked hard and his vision shifted, the air filling with rainbow-hued air currents. Instinct told him the warm colors would take him up, and the cooler shades would carry him down.
With a cry of triumph, he rode a warm, orange-gold updraft high above the tower and looked out over the mountain peaks. Flight was even more glorious than he’d imagined, and Jaire let the dragon inside him take over, soaring through the air for the sheer joy of it.
The mountains were beautiful from this high up, and they went on and on, as far as he could see in all directions. Sobered by the thought that he’d never have made it out of these mountains on foot, Jaire wheeled around, seeking Vayne and Kian.
The voice was Vayne’s, but in his head. A moment later, Vayne drew up beside him.
Vayne could talk to him in his head?
Vayne’s laughter bubbled through his mind.
Nearly bursting with excitement, Jaire thought,
Kian’s voice was as deep and rich in his head as it was when he spoke as a human. A few moments later, Kian drew up on his other side, and the three dragons circled the tower together.
Vayne said.
Jaire watched as Vayne swooped down to pick up a large stone. Moments later, he was back in the air, flying up to the window on the level below where Jaire and Kian had been imprisoned.
* * *
The last thing Vayne wanted to do was frighten Tristin, so instead of breaking into the main room of Tristin’s prison, he chose to break into one of the bedrooms. With a large stone clutched in one claw and a saddlebag containing a pair of breeches and his inks clutched in the other, Vayne hovered at the window, checking to make sure the room was empty. When he was certain Tristin was occupied elsewhere, he dashed the stone against the glass and did his best to brush the shards away with his claws. Next, he pulled the bars free, hoping that Tristin would be too doped with Mordax’s drug to investigate the noises coming from his bedroom.
Once the window was clear of obstruction, Vayne circled around to gain some speed, then headed straight for the opening, doing the same dive-and-shift maneuver he’d used to enter Jaire and Kian’s prison.
He tumbled across the floor, bare backside dragging painfully over the rough-woven rug. Once he’d slipped into his breeches, he eased open the door and peered into the next room. The bastard prince sat at the table staring at his dinner, his back to Vayne.
Tristin’s shoulders suddenly slumped, and he reached a trembling hand out toward the cup sitting in the center of the table. Vayne was across the room in a flash, knocking it away before Tristin’s fingers could close around it. The cup rolled across the table, spilling its contents in a dark puddle before clattering to the floor.
Tristin blinked, then turned to peer at Vayne. Shaggy, black hair covered his eyes, and he pushed it aside with an irritated swipe of his hand. “Well, this is new. My hallucinations aren’t normally quite so… active.”
“I’m Prince Vayne of Irilan,” Vayne said. “I am not a hallucination.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” Tristin said firmly. “You cannot be anything but. Gorgeous, half-naked men do not generally parade about in my royal apartment. Not that I’ve noticed, anyway. And believe me, I take notice of such things.” His eyes narrowed. “If, by some chance, you are real, how ever did you get in? There are guards. And a mythe-gate. And we’re in the middle of the Iceshards… it’s not as if you could just stroll in down the fairy garden path.”
“I came in through your bedroom window. I didn’t want to frighten you.”
“My bedroom window… how very romantic of you.” A slow grin widened Tristin’s mouth and he batted his eyes coquettishly. “Have you come to rescue me, then? As if I were a helpless princess in one of those silly tales?” His voice rose in pitch in a rather good imitation of a beleaguered princess. “Please, good sir, do save me from my evil uncle Altivair. I’ve waited so very long to be rescued by a handsome prince.”
Vayne rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to rescue you. I was going to give you the means to rescue yourself, if you would just—”
“Oh? And how do you plan to do that? Have you brought a long ladder, perhaps? Or a substantial length of rope?” Tristin held up a shaking hand. “Either would require steadier hands than I can manage, I’m sure. A magical flying carpet would be much safer. I don’t suppose you can manage one of those?”
“I was going to turn you into a dragon,” Vayne muttered.
“A dragon? How… original.” He peered at Vayne again, frowning. “Have you haunted my visions before? You look very familiar, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“I was here a few days ago, although I would have looked a lot more… insubstantial. I was…” Vayne hesitated, uncertain how much Tristin would even understand. “You thought I was a hallucination. I… I wasn’t. I mean, I’m not.”
Tristin reached out a hesitant finger and poked Vayne’s belly. “Ah. Well. My hallucinations aren’t usually quite so… solid. Or so intriguingly undressed.” His eyes roamed over Vayne’s bare chest. “Oh, but how rude of me. You’re here to rescue me, after all… However shall I repay you? I don’t suppose you’d accept my everlasting gratitude, would you? That’s about all I have to offer, and that’s hardly going to put coin in your pocket or bread in your belly… and a rather handsome belly it is, I must say. Flat and trim and—”
“Tristin, I don’t think—”
“My undying gratitude isn’t enough for you? How very mercenary the dashing princes of the world have become since I’ve been shut away. I don’t suppose there are any other princes waiting outside my window for a chance to rescue me?” Tristin peered hopefully at the window.
“Actually…” Vayne started, then thought the better of it. “Look, Tristin, I need you to listen to me. I’ve come to get you out of here, but I’m going to need your cooperation.”
Tristin stared at him for a long moment, and his smile slowly faded. He reached out to touch Vayne’s chest again, this time with the flat of his hand, pushing hard enough that Vayne found himself taking a step back.
“You can’t be a hallucination,” Tristin whispered. “The medicine’s all in a puddle on the table.” His eyes narrowed. “Is it… are you real?”
“Last I checked, yes, I’m real,” Vayne said. “And I’m here to help you escape. If… if you want my help.” It occurred to him then that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Tristin might not want to be rescued. Perhaps he was quite happy with only drug-laced dreams to keep him company.
“I… you… you’re going to help me?” The pain and hope in the man’s voice brought a lump to Vayne’s throat.
“Yes,” Vayne said. “I’ll help you. But I need to explain to you what I intend to do. And then you have to think about it and decide if it’s what you really want. What I’m about to suggest will change you forever, and once done, it cannot be undone.”
Tristin nodded, his black eyes suddenly clear and alert, all the veils and shadows swept aside. “Tell me,” he whispered. “If there’s even the smallest chance of escaping this place, I will take it.”
Vayne sat down at the other side of the table and told him.
Tristin listened attentively, and when Vayne had finished, he was nodding slowly, no trace of confusion on his face. “And you can truly give me the ability to shift? Into a dragon, no less?”
“Let me show you.” Vayne rose and slipped off his breeches. He took a few steps back, glanced about to make sure there was room, then shifted.
“Oh…” Tristin’s eyes grew wide with wonder, and went even wider when Vayne shifted back and bent to pick up his breeches.
“I’ve been observing your mythe-shadow as we’ve spoken,” Vayne said. “Bastard or not, you carry the blood of the Wytch Kings of Altan, and the patterns I would impose upon you already exist, for the most part. Like your cousin, Prince Jaire, you were almost a dragon shifter. With a few minor adjustments to your mythe-shadow, I can awaken the power slumbering within you.”
“You must do it,” Tristin said. “I fear if I do not leave this place soon, I shall disappear into the drug fog, never to return.” He stared bitterly at the dark puddle on the table. “Mordax’s brew is the only thing that makes it bearable here, but there are moments — in the evenings and then again, just after I wake — golden moments when my mind is clear and the pain of not having the drug is but a promise lurking in the shadows.” He shook his
head then, and ran a finger through the puddle. “If I do not lap up every drop of this stuff that I can, by morning I shall be wishing I were dead.”
“If you let me do this now, we can be in Altan by morning,” Vayne told him. “I will do what I can to help you during the flight. I am a healer, and I may be able to ease your discomfort.”
Tristin’s dark eyes blazed with hope. “What must I do?”
Vayne took Tristin’s hand, drawing him to his feet. “Come. The things I need are in the bedroom. You have only to lie down and close your eyes. When you wake, it will all be over, and you will be able to fly away from this place and leave it behind forever.”
“Fly away,” Tristin echoed, a smile lighting his thin face. “Then let us begin.”
* * *
While Vayne worked his transformation on Tristin, Jaire and Kian practiced taking off and landing under Ambris’s watchful eye. The maneuvers felt so comfortable and normal, Jaire forgot to be afraid. His dragon body already knew exactly what to do, as if he’d been born to fly.
It wasn’t long before Ambris was satisfied with their performance and told them to go and practice flying at full speed, so they’d be ready for the journey. Jaire and Kian raced one another through the air, showing off with various aerobatic stunts they’d watched Garrik and Ilya perform over the skies of Altan.
They’d just finished a race to the top of a mountain peak when Vayne’s voice whispered in Jaire’s mind: