Rugar.
He should have known better than to send his only Shape-shifter into the city to see if anything were different. But he had faith in Solanda; he knew she would survive. Hadn't she always in the past?
And just like before, she couldn't say no to him.
She had never been able to say no to him.
That was why she was on the Isle in the first place. Rugar, the handsome young Visionary who had saved her life when she was eighteen, and who asked for no repayment. Until he wanted to conquer an island all by himself.
She was following the river, snacking on fish, and drinking water from puddles. She could no longer rely on the Islanders to feed her when she was in cat form, and when she was in Fey form she was afraid they would attack her with poison. That threat kept her in Shadowlands more than she would have liked. Burden had asked her to become part of the Settlement in Jahn, but fear had kept her away. She had had too many nasty encounters with Islanders to live among them. She wasn't sure how Jewel managed.
Her whiskers smelled of fish. She found a dry spot beside the river to stop and clean them off. At dawn, she had stolen two fresh trout from a fisherman's boat and had hidden with them under the dock before he could see her. Fishermen had started carrying poison with them. The poison had no affect on real cats, but it would melt her. She had seen a number of her cousins, rail-thin, starving, pitiful, thanks to the Islander King's five-year-old decree. Too many times she found dead cats beside the road, their fur in clumps, their ribs poking through their skin.
Perhaps when she was free of Rugar's control, she would ask Jewel to change the decree. Jewel might actually be ruler of the Isle by fall. But Jewel might be able to make the change now. The bad King was dead, and, knowing Rugar, young Nicholas would soon follow him. Then, if Jewel wasn't able to control the Islanders, Rugar would bring out his prize: Jewel's real son, Gift.
Gift. Solanda paused in her washing to contemplate him. Magic crackled from him. When the Wisps had brought him to Shadowlands, she had half expected him to Shape-shift before them all. But he was of the Black King's line, which meant he had Vision. When that Vision came, it would be powerful. She could feel it already.
Tiny pieces of fish had stuck to her whiskers and she got a second meal by cleaning them off. The sun had risen midway through the sky, but carried no real heat. A breeze blew off the river, adding a chill to the air. The river smelled of mud, fish, and its own particular combination of fetid growths. Much as she disliked getting wet, she loved the river, for it had provided many a meal for her since the decree.
Except for a mangy cat foraging through old bones near one of the warehouses, she was alone on this stretch of bank. She had already had her encounter with the mangy one. He was more concerned with his stomach than with her presence on his territory. She had left part of the second fish for him, and he had eaten it so fast that he had vomited it back up again.
The dead King had been particularly harsh in his decree. He could have limited it to orange cats, but he made it for all cats. He had had no idea the kind of suffering he had caused.
She resumed her bath, using the side of her right paw to clean her eyes and smooth the fur over her face. City cats often followed her, wondering where she got the meals that kept her coat shiny and her body sleek. Sometimes she had had to Shift to her Fey form just to scare them off.
She hated being in Jahn more than she hated the Shadowlands. And so far, she had seen nothing of interest to Rugar.
He had come back to Shadowlands filthy, his eyes glinting like a wild man's. He had found her late that afternoon, cat-napping beside a fire in the Domicile, and demanded she Shift to Fey form before he talk to her. She had and he hadn't even noted her nakedness — something that always fascinated him before.
I'm sending you to Jahn, Solanda. I want their reaction. I want to know the mood of the city.
She had told him she wouldn't go, that the city was dangerous for her, and he hadn't even listened. He had told her to protect herself and to return as quickly as she could. Then he had sent her out without even telling her what the Islanders should have been reacting too.
It wasn't until she got to the center of Jahn when she heard the young boy give his formal speech about the King's death that she knew.
Rugar had murdered the King of the Islanders, and he wanted to know how the city was reacting.
He probably wanted to know how Jewel was reacting. But Solanda knew better than to approach the palace in either form. The last time she had gone to the kitchen door — her haven during and after the Battles for Jahn — and had barely escaped the poison with her life. She had only gone once in her Fey form, and she had never been subject to such insults in her life.
Fey were supposed to be stronger than threats. Fey were supposed to crush the peoples who dared taunt them.
For the first time in her life, Solanda understood how a mouse felt when it spent its afternoon in a cat's care. She kept waiting for the teeth in her neck, the sudden sharp shake that would end her life forever.
She hated the feeling. More than that, she hated subjecting herself to it. By asking her to come to Jahn, Rugar was placing her in the enemy's territory. The fact that she had not been spotted had more to do with luck than anything else. And someday her luck would end.
The river water lapped gently against the bank, slowly eroding her dry spot. Another cat was sauntering toward the mangy cat. Soon she would either get another following or find herself challenged to a fight. With a sigh, she got up and, using small shrubs as cover, ran for the road above the bank.
The other cats didn't follow her.
The city spread out before her, dingier than it had been before the First Battle for Jahn. The houses were no longer freshly painted, and some of the wooden ones had lost a board or two. The stone buildings looked the same, except that their front walks were no longer swept. Many of the stores and warehouses along the riverbank had closed.
Blue Isle no longer traded with countries on Galinas or Leut. Ships no longer came into the port. One of the busiest ports in the world now only catered to river boats and small fishing vessels. The Isle wasn't poor, but it no longer had the gleam of the very wealthy.
And Islanders didn't talk any more. She stood at the edge of the road, waiting to see if anyone would approach. In the past, she could find a friendly house, sleep by the fire for a few days, and listen to all the gossip. Now she had to keep to the shadows and hope that she would overhear words on the street.
Two small boys played outside a gray house near one of the abandoned warehouses. A woman hung wash on a line behind one of the stone homes. A man sat on a chair outside a nearby store, waiting, it seemed, for customers, any customer, to enter.
The news of the King's death had been greeted with silence. Solanda wondered what Rugar had expected. Wails of grief? Cheers of happiness? If so, he would be greatly disappointed. If anything happened at all it was that nothing had changed.
No one seemed to care.
Even she, one of the more cynical Fey, could not have predicted that.
"Look, Mommy!" one of the little boys called in Islander. "A kitty!"
The mother gripped a shirt to her chest as she turned. Her face was filled with fright. She scanned the area until her gaze fell on Solanda. "Stay away from it!" the mother called. She dropped the shirt and headed for the house.
For the poison.
The little boy was walking toward Solanda, his small companion reminding him that Mother had said to stay away. But Solanda had seen that look before on childish faces. The fascination, the lack of fear.
The determination to catch her tail and pull it.
She bounded off the road and headed back through the shrubs. The other cat, a scrawny black Tom, leapt through an opening as she passed, hissing, spitting, and hitting. She hurried past him, hoping he heard the child behind them, and knew enough to get out of the way.
When she reached the river bank, she glanced over her shoul
der. The little boy was bracing himself on the mud, using one hand as balance as he scrambled down the small decline. His mother had emerged from the house, a vial of the Islanders' holy poison in her left hand.
"By the Powers!" Solanda snapped, not caring if anyone heard her speak Fey.
The Tom who was chasing her stopped in puzzlement, having never heard a cat make such a noise before. She ran along the bank, careful to stay on the driest ground so that she would not leave tracks. She ran as fast as she could, knowing there was nothing faster than she was when she moved like this. Her sleek body was built for hunting and stealth, and she used it. The only problem was that she would not be able to keep this speed for very long.
Then a wall loomed in front of her. It was new, but poorly built, the supports toppling sideways, the wooden boards mismatched, leaving gaps in the sides. She had been here only once before, and then the wall had been partially finished.
The Settlement. They couldn't chase her in here.
She ran on a pile of stones that led out of the muck, glancing behind her once, and cursing when she noticed tiny wet cat prints on the surface. Nothing she could do right now. Nothing at all.
The Tom appeared over the rise, the small boy behind him, and the woman yelling as she followed them both. Solanda chirruped at the Tom, hoping he would understand and get out of the way, then she dove through the small hole in the wall.
She landed on a pile of slippery, rotted boards. Her paws skidded along the surface and she had to jump sideways. The boards toppled after her, landing on the wet ground with a large thump. Behind her, she could hear the woman yelling. The Tom shoved his face in the hole, huffed at her as if disgusted by her choice, then pulled his head out. She wished him luck.
Three Fey were looking at her. She recognized two men as young Domestics. The other was Burden, a tool in his left hand, a board in his right. All three were thinner than Fey should be, their bones appearing prominently through their skin. The buildings were poorly constructed and water-damaged. The great hope of the Fey, Jewel's Vision of peace and harmony among the warring factions, reduced to this.
Solanda was glad for the first time to have Shadowlands.
The woman's voice echoed outside the wall. She was yelling at her child to stay away, then she said something about doing away with threats once and for all.
Solanda sighed, and Shifted.
Her body stretched, losing its comfortable feline form. The pull was almost erotic, the change subtle and great at the same time. Her front paws stretched into hands, her back into feet. Her back and legs lengthened, her ears moved, and her nose shrunk. Her whiskers disappeared, and for a moment — the crucial frightening moment of each Shift — she felt blind. Then her senses Shifted as well, and she found herself positioned awkwardly in the mud — hands and feet on the ground, backside in the air, head facing downward.
She immediately stood, wiped her hands on her bare legs, and faced her male colleagues. The Domestics had seen Shifts before, and sometimes helped the Shaman with the birth of Shape-shifters, but Burden's magic was marginal. He had probably never seen this before.
His mouth was open, his eyes wide. He brought his chin up as if her change had not disturbed him, and that very movement told her that it had.
Solanda had to suppress a laugh. She knew the effect she made. She was so used to appearing naked in front of others that she was never uncomfortable. Instead, she preferred to see whom it affected, if it affected anyone at all. And young Burden was having trouble. Shifters were the most perfect Fey, physically and magically, and the physical was getting quite a reaction from him.
She tossed her tawny hair over her shoulder, and stood up straighter so that her breasts were prominent. Then she grinned. "Does anyone have a towel?"
One of the Domestics nodded and disappeared into the nearest building. The other grinned with her. But Burden was still staring, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.
"Or do you think clothing would be more appropriate?" Solanda asked, unwilling to let this easy victim go. "That woman did sound as if she were going to charge the gate."
"You were running from an Islander?" Burden finally understood that Solanda was baiting him. His response had a bit of condescension in it, something Rugar had always hated about him.
"It is a prudent response when they are carrying the Holy Poison." The mud had caked on her hands and legs. The human body had its disadvantages. She would love to crouch on a dry patch of ground and clean herself. But she had to wait for towels and water. She was still enough cat to shudder at the thought of a human bath.
That feeling would pass, of course, but not soon enough. That woman was going to come into the Settlement, and how to explain a naked Fey? Islanders probably never went naked, probably never even saw their mates unclothed.
She would have to ask Jewel the next time she saw her. Odd choices. Solanda had never, not in all her years of warfare, all of her traveling, ever considered mating with an enemy.
Although there had always been embarrassing moments when their Toms had looked appealing.
It was a rule among Shifters to avoid change during estrus. Because of her involvement in Rugar's petty wars, she had sometimes been unable to follow that rule.
Burden was still staring at her. Time to take the offensive. "What is the matter, Burden?" she asked. "Never seen a naked woman before?"
"Not covered with mud," he said. His voice was calm, but he glanced away.
"Then you've missed one of the more delightful experiences in life," she said. The other Domestic came out of the building carrying two towels and a robe. She found herself suddenly grateful. The chill in the air had penetrated her unprotected skin. She never could understand why humans did not have fur.
The Domestic handed her the towels and Solanda wiped mud on them. She almost wiped off her feet, then realized that was a cat trap — she had often stood on three paws in mud, cleaning one paw, and then putting it back into the mud. Another embarrassing feline habit she would rather not think about.
She traded the dirty towels for the robe, and sighed as its warmth enveloped her. Burden watched her, and she thought she caught envy in his expression. She couldn't imagine being marginally magical — to have the height and appearance of a proper Fey but to have talents so minor as to be unnoticeable. He was one step away from being a Red Cap — the small, squat caretakers of the dead who barely earned the name Fey by their Fey-like facial features. They had no magic, no beauty, and no grace. At least Burden had beauty and grace.
"I'd go to the gate," she said. "That woman will probably want in."
"We usually don't allow Islanders here."
Solanda snorted. So much for the great experiment. "Frightened of them, Burden?" she asked.
"I'm not the one who came flying through a hole in the wall a moment ago."
Solanda resisted the urge to examine her right hand. The cleaning instincts were not yet gone. Instead, she shrugged one shoulder. "One does what one can to survive."
"So you are frightened of them."
The boy really didn't know when to quit. "No," she said. "It is just that royal edict says cats must be slaughtered on sight. Last I heard, Fey could roam the city with impunity."
"Burden!" someone called. "We have company."
Solanda raised her eyebrows. "You really should listen to your elders."
"You're not that much older than me," Burden said.
"Child, I remember when your father was born." She pulled the robe tighter and walked toward the gate herself. If he wasn't going to deal with this pesky Islander woman, she would.
The path was covered with mud, and she was relieved she hadn't spent the time to clean off her feet. The mud was cool but soothing. Her feet often ached after she made the Shift, partly because they weren't used to carrying all of her weight.
The other buildings that she passed were no better than the first ones. Some actually had holes in the walls stuffed with cloth. Burden may have had
an idea, but an idea did not make him a Visionary.
Near the gate, the woman stood, surrounded by three Fey. Solanda knew them as Infantry, had often run between their feet on the way to a battle.
The woman was shorter than Solanda, but she had a solidness that Solanda had come to associate with Islander mothers. Childbirth took any slimness they may have had and replaced it with a stoutness that Islanders seemed to find comforting.
"Are you carrying the Holy Poison?" Solanda asked in Islander.
The woman whirled her head in Solanda's direction. She had not seen Solanda approach. The woman's eyes were the blue of the sky on a sunny day, her nose small and pert, her hair almost yellow. "It's holy water," she said.
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