Araceli held the baby as gently as porcelain, looking sadly into its frightened eyes. “I will return her to the avian throne when the time comes,” she assured Nicias. “Be grateful … my grandson … that I do not have the heart to slay my own blood.” She dropped her gaze to Keyi, who had begun to hum a little song. “Care for that one, if you wish. I will leave to you the decision of when she must be given back to Brysh.”
“No,” he pleaded.
Araceli turned with Aleya in her arms, and again Nicias shrieked, tearing into the guards holding him physically and magically. They knocked him to his knees as black-red slices of power rent his skin, leaving him shuddering on the ground. He could only watch as the falcons carried the little child away.
All of Nicias’s monarchs were gone. Aleya and Zenle, taken. Oliza, Salem, Sive, Zane, Danica, Irene … The faces of the dead marched through his pained memory.
Keyi still laughed, though her hands—those tiny pink hands—were stained with the blood of thousands. She giggled, reaching for things only she could see: birds and butterflies, faeries and nymphs, raindrops, snowflakes, anything but the steel-hard sky, bleached as white as bone.
I dragged myself from the vision, choking on screams as I struggled back to shore.
Don’t cry, my love; you do all you can. I wept as I lay on the beach, too exhausted to move. I’ll do what I can, for you.
Someone nudged my shoulder, roughly checking for life, and my body shuddered and began coughing up water, seeking air instead of raw power to sustain us.
Velyo Frektane looked at me with distaste. One of the two competing alpha wolves in the area, Velyo despised weakness. Nearly drowning in still water probably did not strike him as strong.
“I’ve heard that falcons can do that—just stop moving, eating, drinking,” he remarked. “But I didn’t know they could stop breathing.”
“Breath belongs to Mehay,” I replied, drawing in the air nonetheless. I could sustain myself for years on nothing but Ahnmik’s power, as I had in the Halls of shm’Ecl before Nicias had taken me from there, but if I wanted to escape from that last vision, I needed to ground myself back to the world. “Ecl has no use for it.”
The wolf let out a disdainful snort. “Well, sorry to interrupt your melodramatic expiration, but I thought Wyvern’s Court might object to a dead cobra in our woods.”
I would be shocked if they noticed.
But I accepted the wolf’s help as I stood. When I touched his hand, I tried to ignore the images that it conjured. Oliza and her mate had each crossed paths with Velyo in the past.
“Do you need assistance back to Wyvern’s Court?”
“I can make it.”
He watched me skeptically as I wrung water from my hair; surely I looked less than capable to him, with my hair and clothes still dripping and my hands and arms streaked with dirt from my lying on the ground.
I was content not to earn the high regard of Velyo Frektane. He was a man who was used to power and getting his way even if it meant abusing those beneath him. I was too much a falcon to tolerate intimidation by or force from a wolf and—though I cringed to think it—too much a serpent to forgive the crimes he had committed in his past. After I’d chosen to ignore Araceli’s hinted requests that I begin a war in Wyvern’s Court shortly after I first woke here, it would have been a pity to start one accidentally by killing a wolf king.
So I walked away, not upset to hear the wolf scoff as I made a halfhearted attempt to brush mud from my skin and clothes.
Wondering if I would have to walk back to Wyvern’s Court, I called silently for Najat and was pleased to find that the horse was not too far away in the woods. She came to me, and I climbed into the saddle and closed my eyes to rest as we returned slowly to Wyvern’s Court. Najat knew the way home, far better than I.
The ride to Wyvern’s Court seemed unnaturally long as I fought fatigue. I intended to tell Nicias that I had seen Oliza, and then I hoped to curl up somewhere to sleep.
I jumped as the peregrine dove through the treetops and returned to human form barely a breath from Najat’s side. I expected Nicias to inquire immediately about Oliza, but his first words were “Are you all right?”
I nodded, pleasantly surprised by the query. “I spoke to Oliza. She and Betia are safe with friends who would never let welcome guests be hurt on their land. Oliza asked me to thank you for your concern and assure you that she would be fine.”
Nicias reached out as I spoke, and brushed a streak of dirt from my cheek. The brief touch made my skin tingle.
“Thank you for going; it’s good to know she is well. Are you sure you’re all right?” I must have looked puzzled, because he added, “I don’t know exactly what happened to you earlier, but I felt enough to worry.”
“I didn’t mean to trouble you. I know you have more to worry about than me,” I said.
He winced. “I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t a criticism.”
“I know you didn’t mean it to be, but I do feel responsible for you, and I feel like I’ve neglected—”
I held up a hand to stop him, before he could go further. “Nicias, I am an adult woman. Not a child. You pulled me from Ecl, and I—at least sometimes—thank you for that, but have you forgotten that I came back to save your life? You aren’t my caretaker. And I don’t want to be your ward.”
I took a step back, horrified by what I had just said. Every heated word was true; of all the things I wished I could be to the peregrine, child was not one of them.
But to speak that way to Nicias …
When I forced myself to look up at him again, he was regarding me in a way I couldn’t quite interpret. “You’re right,” he said after a few moments. “You’re a long way from being helpless. I know that. But I can still care about you, even if you don’t need me to.”
“I …” I didn’t know how to respond to that. I tried, haltingly, to explain. “The visions have been more difficult to control of late. There is too much going on. People are making decisions, major decisions, and every time they do …” I shuddered. “It’s hard.”
“Because of Oliza’s abdication.”
I nodded.
“What have you seen?” Nicias asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing specific enough that you could guard against it; I shouldn’t even have mentioned it without knowing more.”
Nicias looked at me as if he was trying to read my mind. If he did try, he might succeed, but the peregrine was a gentleman, and his own morals kept his magic from violating the privacy of my thoughts.
I reached forward and touched his arm.
“You should rest,” I said, feeling the exhaustion in his limbs and realizing that he had been awake not just one night but many. “Your body hasn’t learned yet how to go so long without sleep.”
Nicias nodded, and I felt him sway slightly as if accepting for the first time how tired he was.
You can invite me to join you, I called mentally. I wouldn’t say no. I would carry you to sweet sleep … and perhaps I could find the same in your arms, unhaunted by Ecl.
Nicias pulled away as he nodded again.
“You’re right. I’m no good to anyone in this shape, least of all my … king.”
I knew he had wanted to say my queen.
“Sweet dreams,” I bid. Silently, I added, Sweet dreams, my light, my heart.
Once he had left, I did not know where to go. One of my father’s traits had bred true; like a serpent, I did not do well with silent solitude. If I closed my eyes now, I knew I would see Keyi again. The child frightened me more than anything else in this world could.
I chose the candle shop on the northern hills.
Opal greeted me in the back room with a scowl, but the falcon didn’t ask questions as I approached him; he never did. We didn’t speak as he wrapped his arms around my waist, savoring the flavor of my magic and the scent of my skin.
It was a false comfort, an illusion, like so much of Ahnmik’s domain,
but for now, being in someone’s arms as I closed my eyes was enough. For a handful of hours, I slept deeply.
But then, again …
Salem Cobriana, Diente, lay in my arms, dying. His body was cold; his red eyes had turned a tawny brown; his heartbeat raced, pushing the poison faster, deeper, while his lungs fought paralysis. I could barely feel him, his life, anymore. Slipping away.
I knew I could save him; I had that power, always had. I could use my magic to heal the tissues, destroy the poison … but terror gripped me. I could ask the magic for that much, and she would grant the favor, but she would ask even more in return. I could swim her dark, still waters, but I would drown. I shrieked for help, but none came.
None ever had; none ever would.
I covered Salem with my body, wishing I could give him my warmth, but did not reach out to him with the greedy magic that could save his life. I couldn’t. Please …
Too late, Nicias reached his fallen monarch’s side. He did what I would not, reaching out with his magic, but the attempt was clumsy. He had never had this type of training … and it was too late, anyway.
I felt Salem die, felt the last spark go out as Brysh claimed her own.
I woke alone, despite having drifted into sleep in Opal’s arms. He had not left long before—the bed was still warm where his body had lain—but it was long enough for that grisly vision of Salem to seep back into my mind.
It had changed. The cobra died of poison now, instead of at the hands of an angry mob.
The end result remained the same.
It was possible that Salem’s death called to me so strongly simply because he was a cobra, as my father had been, but I feared there was more to it. To have such a vivid vision twice implied that it was more than a vague, far-off possibility. Fate, or more likely a conspirator, was actively working toward this future.
Fighting Fate was a pursuit for far stronger souls than mine.
The candle shop was quiet as I stepped into the front room. Opal, his hair still tousled from bed, glanced at me but did not even bother to say good morning. Gren and Spark were absent, probably tending their booth in the market, but Maya was there, keeping the fire hot and the tallow soft as she worked.
“I suppose you know that Salem Cobriana takes the throne tonight,” Maya said, making it clear that she had not forgotten our argument.
Neither had I. “Gods and Fate willing, he will.”
Maya scoffed. “Hai, you—”
“I could never become Diente with Salem Cobriana alive,” I said bluntly. If Fate had destined that Salem Cobriana die, there was nothing I could do, but I would not let Wyvern’s Court—Nicias’s home, my home now—fall because this traitor had delusions of a bright new world. “If he falls and I suspect that you had a hand in it, my first order as queen will be to execute the four of you for treason.”
In the frozen silence that followed my words, I picked up a small knife that Maya had been using to trim the wicks for her next batch of candles. As she watched with wide eyes, I drew the blade across the back of my hand, not wincing as I cut Ahnmik’s symbol into my skin.
“This I swear by blood and blade and flame,” I whispered. “To the god Ahnmik who holds all vows true. If Salem Cobriana falls, those responsible will know my wrath.”
With a flick of my wrist, I let the droplets of blood that had gathered on my skin splash into the fire. Maya and Opal both recoiled as the flames turned indigo for an instant before collapsing again. As Maya had said, they were both kajaes; they had no power.
I was not as harmless.
“Do you hear me, Maya?”
She nodded mutely, her gaze locked on the wound on my hand, and the drops of blood there.
“And you will make my will clear to the others?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
I wiped the knife on my arm, leaving a streak of blood there as I cleaned the blade. I had done what I could. Without another word, I stepped out of the house, with no plans ever to return.
I watched from the hillside as the people of Wyvern’s Court prepared for Salem’s coronation. From dawn to dusk, the air reeked of tension, fear, hope and despair, and the sweat of desperate excitement. I knew that the people felt abandoned by Oliza, and though they loved the cobra prince, they had been hurt badly enough that there was an edge of wariness in their jubilation as they gathered in the market square to witness the young dancer’s rise to king.
By evening, all the members of both royal families were in attendance, with the exception of Oliza, and Salem’s still missing mother. Danica Shardae and Zane Cobriana were standing just in front of the dais; Oliza’s mother would still be queen of the avians after this night, but her father would have to relinquish his title. Nacola, once queen, and Sive Shardae, future heir to the avian throne, stood beside them. There was no need for the avian royal house to witness the serpiente succession, but their presence clearly showed Shardae support for the Cobriana and hope for the continued alliance of Wyvern’s Court.
I made my way down to the market square but refrained from approaching the royal family. They made no effort to seek me out. When Sive noticed me in the crowd, she smiled politely but edged closer to her alistair.
“Milady,” Arqueete called out just then. The serpiente normally sold pastries in the early morning, but she was doing a brisk business in the ever growing crowd. “You haven’t eaten today, have you?” she asked, looking me over.
When had I last eaten?
“It has been a while,” I admitted.
“You need to take better care of yourself,” she said. “I set aside some of those honey cakes I know you fancy, in case you came by. The dancer’s nest is giving Salem and his mate an ornate formal ceremony, and it won’t start until full dark. You have a few minutes yet to fortify yourself.”
“The wolves are here,” I observed, trying to distract the well-meaning but aggressive merchant. My appetite would return eventually, when the magic had calmed. Until then, trying to force food down my gullet would only bring it back up again.
“I know Kalisa Vahamil, but not the other one,” Arqueete replied. “Are they mates?”
“Frektane and Vahamil are enemies,” I said, already turning my attention to the white-haired man at the very edge of the market. The Obsidian guild had sent representatives here, too. Though they refused to be ruled by the Cobriana, the guild had not survived for as long as they had by being disinterested. They would know about everything that occurred that night.
As true dusk fell, dancers clad in elaborate silver and black melos, the traditional colors of the Cobriana royal house, went about lighting torches, until the market was as bright as at noontime. When finally the prince emerged with his queen-to-be, Rosalind, the image took my breath away. The next Diente and Naga made a beautiful pair. A ripple of appreciation ran through the crowd.
Then the peaceful moment was broken. Rosalind began to weep. And Salem—
No. That wasn’t now. Salem was fine. Would be fine.
Had to be fine.
I was less interested in the elaborate ceremony than I was in the reactions of those watching it. Most serpents were enraptured by the royal pair, but more than a few exchanged concerned or outright skeptical glances. Were some of them beyond worried? Which ones might have treason on their minds?
Despite my cynical thoughts and the anxiety in the audience, when Salem kissed his mate, a tender sigh passed through the crowd. Couples among the serpiente moved closer together. Zane and Danica leaned against each other. I even saw Sive tentatively reach a hand toward her reserved alistair, though when her fingers brushed Prentice’s, he looked startled and uncomfortable. She blushed and withdrew the attempted contact.
My eyes sought Nicias. He had positioned himself higher on the hills so he could see everything going on, and I was startled to find him looking toward me. He offered a tired half smile, and then his gaze moved on, scanning the crowd the same way mine had been.
I turned, and—
<
br /> The door opened and Nicias entered, his face nearly gray with exhaustion.
“Oh, fates … what has happened?” Oliza gasped, pulling away from Betia as she saw the pained expression of her former guard and always friend.
I shuddered, pulling back from the vision at first—and then intentionally trying to move toward it. I needed to see what caused this future.
Oliza stumbled back, caught by her mate. “No,” she whispered.
“Sive and Danica are working to keep …” Nicias looked away. “Oliza … they need you.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears as she realized the consequences of this horror. “I … I will speak to …” She turned to kiss Betia goodbye, her voice choked up as she whispered, “My love.”
And then there was only fire.
I was startled back from the vision when someone in the real world came to my side.
“It seems like you would have learned by now to be careful,” I said as Vere Obsidian touched my arm. He was dressed as the dancers were, also wearing a black cloak embroidered with silver, which hid his white-viper features from the casual eye.
“I am always careful,” he replied, “but being careful sometimes involves taking risks. I can see in your eyes when you start to drift away, and I can feel your magic waver when you are upset. What horrors do you see when you look at the new king?”
“Is Salem king already?”
The white viper nodded. “You must have lost quite a bit of time there. What was it you were seeing instead?”
“Why does it matter to you?”
He seemed to consider my words carefully. “Throughout history, the Cobriana have alternated between offering my people an olive branch and offering them a noose. I don’t know this cobra. It worries me that when you look at him I can almost smell the blood.”
“It isn’t yours,” I said.
“You’ve seen his reign?”
I shook my head. I had seen Oliza’s reign, even though it had always ended in ice or fire. I had seen Sive’s reign. The cobra had just been crowned king, and still, I could not see him rule.
The Shapeshifters: The Kiesha'ra of the Den of Shadows Page 65