"Isn't it a bit early for..." She sniffed the flask. "Sumbac?"
"Never," replied Riggs with another grin and a wink. "Paired with biscuits, it makes a perfect breakfast." He dug into his satchel and offered dry, crumbly biscuits. Ember, mouth watering, reached to accept.
Kitt's hand closed around her wrist, stopping her. "Hunting will be easier if you're hungry." His fingers were warm and firm, insistent but not demanding.
She nodded, and he released her. Her wrist felt bare suddenly, and to distract herself, she took a pull from the flask. Orange liquor streamed molten down her throat, summoning memories of the great hall, the murals, the sumbac she drank with that man who wanted her. The dancing, twirling, and Gregory. Gregory's reflection in the window panes. Gregory and that woman, the straw in her golden hair, he at her neck.
She had failed to win Gregory, and she had failed to save the bear. Was the bear still alive?
Silence brought her back to the hovel, and she restrained a flinch when she met Kitt's narrowed gaze.
Skeptical, again. "Is something the matter?"
"You've had sumbac before."
Too late, she remembered sumbac was a luxury of the rich. A favorite liquor in Ekesia, but difficult to find in Lach unless one lived near the border or knew a traveling trader. The cost of a small bottle would be a fortune to the lowly woman she claimed to be.
"I worked for a rich family back in Lach," she said, quickly forming a scenario in her mind. "They bred horses for a lord of the Council. I mostly washed linens," she said, remembering what she had told Seabird upon their first meeting. "But I sometimes worked as a scullion in the kitchens." She thanked Etty for that last lie, and shoved the cork back into the flask, closing the door to her real memories. "We were allowed a sip during the Festival of Yathe." She offered it back to Riggs, willing her arm not to tremble.
Riggs accepted, took a swig for himself and tried, but failed, to repress a grimace as he swallowed the stuff down. He shook himself and grinned. "Lethal."
Ember smiled, ignoring the feel of Kitt's eyes on her. She hated lying, hated that the lies came so easily to her, with hardly a thought. She was tired of pretending to be someone else. But the illusion was a little thing compared to what Kitt might do if he found out who she really was. What any of the shifters might do.
"How did you get it?" Ember asked Riggs.
"A dead wizard," Kitt replied, his voice quick and flat.
Guilt? Frustration?
Ember shifted as the liquor curled into her stomach. The coldness from earlier touched her again, and she was unable to keep the chill from her voice. "Did you kill him?"
The fire crackled. Kitt made no move to respond. He stared into the flames, as still and quiet as if he had been carved from stone.
Riggs became intent on adding more wood to the fire. "Can you help me with this wood, Ember? If you aren't too affected by the sumbac, that is," he said with forced cheerfulness.
Kitt didn't move.
Should she take his silence as guilty affirmation, or a stubborn withholding of a different truth? She supposed she might have an answer had she not been so direct. But she was used to eavesdropping, not interrogating, and she hadn't had much practice with being tactful, beyond what Salena had taught her was proper—and even that she hadn't bothered practicing much.
Repressing her impatience, she stood to help Riggs stack the extra wood, placing each piece with exaggerated care to form a neat, square pile.
"Looks like we got ourselves an expert wood-stacker," Riggs pronounced loudly when she was finished.
"Is that to be my new job, then?" Ember asked, amused. Seeing that Kitt still hadn't moved, she wandered to the door of the hovel to check on the storm. The rain fell softly as a mist now, obscuring the forest in a gauzy veil that glinted as though jeweled by the morning sun. The sight did a little to warm the cold numbness from before.
"Something odd happened in the kitchen today," she said, lowering the door back down. Perhaps she could ease Kitt out of his silence. "A pot of honey, a block of cheese, and cream were left on the table."
Neither of them replied, and she spun around to catch Riggs giving Kitt a questioning look before flashing a smile at Ember.
"Food in a kitchen?" he said in mock confusion. "I've never heard of anything so odd as that."
"It wasn't there the night before," Ember insisted. "Which means someone from the camp either traded for it or stole it."
Kitt broke out of his silence, and anger edged his tone. "We aren't thieves.”
"We? So you are part of the group, too?" Ember asked, almost to herself. Is that where the sumbac had come from?
Silence, again.
"What's the purpose of hiding it?" she persisted. "Surely others know. Seabird certainly does."
Kitt flinched. "He's more honest with you, then."
The bitterness in his tone surprised her. "Perhaps because I do not hate him," she suggested. Although in truth, Seabird’s honesty probably had more to do with the fact that she had already witnessed the wolves leaving camp. "But isn't it you who is keeping a secret from him?" When Kitt held his stubborn silence, she tried again. "Riggs. Did you know about the group?"
Riggs jerked his head up, cheeks flushed. "I—"
"Of course he does," Kitt snapped. "He's the healer. He knows how weak the children get, especially during the winter months. Two we've lost to fever, one to an infected wound."
A chill shivered up Ember's spine. "Then why would Seabird disagree with the trading?"
"Because it's dangerous." Kitt stirred the fire with a stick. "He doesn't believe we should risk the entire camp for the sake of a few children. He spouts about only wanting us to live, but more of us die every year."
Seabird only wanted the shifters to live, which meant he wasn't planning another rebellion. That was good, but surely his protection wouldn't last forever.
"Then what do you want?"
Kitt stood, tossing the stick into the hungry flames. "I want what other shifters want. To go back to Lach, and to take what's ours by right."
Another rebellion? Ember gaped at him.
"The storm is gone," he stated. "Let's go."
"You can't be serious," said Ember, refusing to move from the foot of the steps. "You'd risk everyone's lives for—"
"A place back in society. Land. Homes. Food and medicine. Work," Kitt snapped them off one by one, his arms tense at his sides. "We're tired of sitting here, hiding in the woods, waiting for Seabird to do something. He hasn't done anything since the attack. What we're doing isn't living. It's barely surviving."
Ember couldn't help but remember Lexy, thin and pregnant, ready to kill her child in order to escape danger. She swallowed, unsure of what to say.
Kitt brushed past her and up the stairs. Ember threw an apologetic glance at Riggs, who watched them with hunched shoulders and a pained expression, then followed Kitt out of the hovel.
Kitt stalked ahead of her into the sodden, sun-soaked forest, intent on getting to wherever they were going.
Why was he so angry? For the first time, Ember found herself wondering who Kitt was before he came to Orion. Had he lived in a village in Lach? What kind of life had he had before coming here to live in isolation from society? Perhaps the loss of his past life explained his heedless anger.
"Did Seabird decide whether we're moving camp?" Ember asked, half-running to keep up with his long strides.
"Seabird doesn't decide for the camp. Most of us must agree on it."
"And you didn't agree to move?"
"We haven't decided yet." His voice was short and clipped.
She wished she could slow him down, convince him that it would be okay. She wished, more than ever, that he didn't hate wizards so passionately. So blindly.
"Kitt." She grabbed his wrist and held on, to be yanked a few steps before he jerked to a stop and turned, scowling at her hand. She didn't miss the surprise that flashed through his anger. "Please."
She released his wrist
as he folded his arms over his chest, his jaw setting in forced patience.
"What the shifters do, trading for food, is a good idea. Not just for the children." She chose her words carefully. "In Lach, there are rumors about shifter factions who help the commoners. Shifters who bring them food and find lost children."
His expression froze, and it seemed to her that he had stopped breathing.
"If your group is one of them, you're giving the commoners hope. You're letting the people see who shifters really are." Beyond the differences, she heard Seabird say. "If the commoners learn to accept shifters, perhaps others will, too." She didn't mention the Council's growing fear, nor that the Council-members had called the commoners mad.
The tension in Kitt's face loosened. "You think the Council would allow us back?"
As long as Arundel is part of the Council... Not only did he long to kill shifters, but he excelled at convincing other Council-members to support his passionate hatred, though they didn't see it that way. They were too easily convinced that shifters were a threat, to their own families and to Lach as a whole.
Ember straightened her shoulders, which had begun to droop far too much. "I think that given enough time—"
"We're running out of it, Ember."
"If you stay patient—"
"We've no patience left," he said, echoing Etty's own words. "How many years has it been since the rebellion began?"
"Twenty-two." But it's people like my father—no, Arundel—who believe the rebellion still exists. He would never cease his tirade against the shifters.
"Aren't you tired of hiding?"
The question made her heart kick.
"I've been hiding for as long as I can remember," she stated, as though it was a sufficient answer. "It's the only thing that has kept me alive."
"Are you alive?"
Of course I'm alive, she wanted to say, but the challenge in Kitt's eyes planted a sudden heaviness in her stomach.
"I'm hungry," she said instead.
The challenge traveled to his lips and transformed them into a smile. "Then let us hunt."
His face blurred and in the beat of a moment he lifted his arms, feathers sprouting from skin and bone that whirled into inhuman motion. His arms came down as wings, and his hide skirt fell away from his red-tailed hawk form as he lifted to a branch above. He glared down at her for a moment before turning away to preen ruffled feathers into submission.
Ember couldn't repress a grin. His change of pace was dizzying.
Skin tingling, she let herself melt into spinning queasiness before lifting her arms as Kitt had done. She could do it, too. She just had to wait for...
There. Bone solidified beneath her skin. She pulled her arms down, now wings, and reveled in the resistance of the wind against her feathers, rising, rising—
Her talon snagged a corner of her dress. Flapping madly in the air, she struggled to open her talon as wide as it would go, but the dress won. Dropping to the ground, she dislodged the fabric from a sharp claw using her beak.
Kitt keened softly behind her. Was he laughing?
Ignoring him, Ember gathered her strength and lifted into the air, struggling to rise high to minimize her chance of impact with a tree limb. As she emerged over the forest canopy, she caught sight of Kitt, already far ahead of her and flying northwest, deeper into the mountains.
Being the larger hawk, she caught up with him and stayed close. They rounded a mountain peak and rose with the updraft to gain altitude. Kitt adjusted to the change, grabbing the wind with ease and agility, no longer flapping but soaring faster the higher he went.
Ember struggled to keep up with him. A sudden gust lifted her wings, and the abrupt change made her waver in the air. A mere twitch of her wings would send her spiraling. She pushed the distracting thought aside and realized Kitt had disappeared.
She called out in a shrill scream and searched the horizon, the clouds above, the elms in the distance, and the forest that moved like water beneath her.
She found him as she passed another mountain peak, lazily tracing a circle above the northern slope as he rode a thermal draft. She joined him, shrieking her annoyance as they soared higher.
He veered north, out of the warm air and over the silver streak of river that delved between the toes of the mountains.
Kitt lowered himself so that he glided above the river, and his shadow swam on the surface like a fish. He gave a sharp keen and dropped down to a dead chestnut tree, turning his wings outward and thrusting his talons forward at the last minute to grab a bare limb.
Ember landed next to him with less finesse, feathers fluttering and pieces of bark tumbling below as she grappled with the branch. Finally, she gained balance and composure.
Kitt perched like a stone beside her. His hungry eyes were on the riverbank below, watching for movement.
Reluctantly, Ember followed his gaze. For a moment she saw only leafy shadows dancing along the rocks, except for one shadow that seemed longer than the others, slithering like a—
Kitt dropped from the branch and aimed for the snake with deadly accuracy. The snake seemed to sense him and dove into a crevice as quick as a mouse. Defeated, Kitt landed on the rocky bank and peered at the hole. Ember shook the tension from her feathers, her human side relieved that the snake had escaped, and tried to ignore her own hawk's frustration.
And hunger.
Kitt flew back up to the branch, seeming not in the least discouraged as he steadied himself once more to watch.
They waited as the sun grew big and heavy in the sky, until the snake sidled out of the crevice and into a pool of light to bask. With her hawk-eyes, Ember could see every detail of the snake. The dusky, checkered back, the wide black eyes, the gleaming scales along its spine, and the thick flesh that squeezed into a spiral. Her hawk side yearned to strike.
She looked to Kitt, who glared at her with his own hawk-eyes, waiting.
Damn.
Heart racing, she bunched her wings and clung to the last of her control as if it were the only thing she had left.
She leapt from the branch to where the snake waited. Her hawk-mind pressed her to lean slightly to the left, and she did, and to open her talons, to lean back with the tail spread full—
Just as she whipped her talons out, the snake reared up and snapped at her.
Ember flapped her wings in a panic. Her hawk-mind, sensing the snake's musk, screamed at her to grab it, but she ignored the urge and lifted away. She landed on an oak branch and didn't bother looking back. Trembling, she opened her beak to gasp air, unable to stop her human fear from clashing with her hawk's excitement. She was unsure of what terrified her more: getting bitten by the snake or having to kill it. Neither of the scenes ended well in her human mind.
A rustle of feathers and a gust of air as Kitt landed beside her. She preened herself to hide her shivering feathers and savored the warmth of his presence. Gradually, the trembling subsided. Ember closed her eyes.
A slight touch from Kitt's wing.
He hunched, on the verge of dropping. Ember's hawk senses sharpened on the ground. Soft movement, half-hidden beneath a berry bramble, the dusky gray that could only be a rabbit. Her hawk mind pushed her, clawing at the wall her human mind had created.
Kitt launched, ducking around branches and flying toward the rabbit's backside. Somehow, it sensed his approach and began running, scurrying for the thickest brush. Without hesitation, Kitt plummeted down, racing to where the rabbit would be in just a few heartbeats. He grabbed the rabbit with precision, landing on its back and reaching at the same moment for its neck.
A quick twist with his beak, and the kicking rabbit died.
The familiar sensation of hunger and disgust rolled in Ember's stomach.
Kitt secured the rabbit in his talons and flew up out of the canopy, heading back toward camp. Ember followed, relieved that they were finished for the day. Would Kitt chastise her for not catching anything?
She followed him to the s
pot where they had shifted earlier, just outside of camp. They glided down to their respective clothes. Ember swirled back to her human form, tugged on her dress, and waited, re-orienting herself to her human senses and breathing in the warmth of the sun on her shoulders until Kitt finished dressing.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
She wasn't ready, not at all, but she turned and made herself walk up to the rabbit lying in front of Kitt. Ribbons of blood curled around the rabbit’s neck, and one glassy black eye stared up at her in terror.
"A healthy rabbit, considering this past winter," Kitt remarked. "Normally they are scrawny this time of year. We can give the fur to Lexy. She might make a good pair of shoes for one of the children."
He ran a hand over the rabbit's side, smoothing the fur where it had tangled during the hunt.
Ember knelt and touched the rabbit's shoulder. Still warm. Not wanting to, but driven by curiosity, she stole a glance at Kitt.
Ruddiness tinged his cheeks and his eyes shone the color of rain-washed moss. Rather than the pleasure she expected, his unsmiling expression looked focused.
"Have you skinned an animal before?" he asked.
Ember nearly shook her head until she remembered who she was supposed to be. Ember with no name, a former scullion. She couldn't recall whether she'd ever seen a scullion clean an animal, so she went with a safe answer. "I've seen others do it before."
Kitt didn't seem to care about her answer as he furrowed his brows and concentrated on the rabbit between them. "Rabbits are easy. If you have a good knife, it makes the job quick." He pulled out a knife from the leather sheath tied to his skirt. "First we skin it to save the fur. Notch the hide here," he explained, cutting the hide and slipping his fingers inside. The skin pulled off easily, rolling inside-out to expose the pink flesh underneath. He set the skin to the side. "Then remove the tail, cut the feet, and sever the head." He moved as he spoke, handling the rabbit with careful efficiency. Ember tried to ignore the sound of splintering bone and focused on the steadiness of Kitt's hands. "Now we gut it." He slid the knife just under the skin of the belly, cutting a slit all the way to the end. "Be careful not to cut the organs. They'll spoil the meat if you do. Move them out of the way so you can break through the bone, and then we can take everything out."
Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel Page 17