But there were scentless poisons, and tasteless poisons, too.
She dipped a finger in and brought it to her lips. Her finger shook once as the honey touched her tongue, and a moment later the honey delved down her throat, as smooth as the cream that followed it.
She put the lids back on and kneeled, closing her eyes and thinking of the orphan children, Vinn, Loria, and pregnant Lexy.
"Let's go," said Jinni. "We'll make better time flying."
Ember opened her eyes as the burst of seven pairs of wings buffeted her face. Beige and buff feathers lifted around her, some grasping pots and a canister, another clutching the sack of eggs. The small flock of owls rose into the night sky, and their wings beat without a whisper of sound.
Ember looked back toward the village, but sensed neither spells nor boy within the murky dark.
chapter thirty
The scent of lilies did not belong on winter's freezing, biting breath. But it was there now, and she didn't need to be a mouse or a dog to sense it reaching over the frozen lake and up to the walking bridge where she now stood.
She peered over the iron balustrade to the snow-covered lake below. Little wooden shanties dotted the white, and splitting down the middle was her father's snow-sled. She recognized him at once. Tall where he sat at the front, with a dark hat and boots, and next to him that pale man who smelled of lilies.
Six of father's dogs raced before the snow-sled, and behind the sled lay a track of pink.
Mama? she said, squinting through the shroud of mist from her own breath. She spotted a dark form in the back of the sled, a second form next to it.
Her mother didn't respond, but stood quiet beside her.
Father must have seen them from below. He lifted a hand in greeting, just like he always did when returning from a hunting trip, and Ember longed to wave back. But her mittens seemed stuck to the iron balustrade and her cold fingers wouldn't move. A moment later the sled flew beneath them in a flurry of blood-tinted snow.
She looked up at her mother, whose face seemed pale. That was a man in the back, Ember stated, heart pattering because she knew her father hurt certain people called shifters, and that man might be a shifter.
Like her.
Her mother turned sharp blue eyes on her. You mustn't—
Ember ran, already knowing what her mother would say. She mustn't appear interested. Mustn't give any hint of what she was. Father wouldn't love her anymore. Mother would get hurt. She must keep it secret.
The bridge was slippery under her boots, and the tower steps going down to the gardens were slick with ice. She ran past the kitchen and through the gardens, down the torch-lined path to the lake until she reached the rounded steps where her father stood with the man who smelled of lilies. A few of the Escorts stood with them, dark-cloaked and strong as they lifted the great boar out of the sled.
Take it to the kitchens, her father ordered. He stood so dark against the snow, like a great shadow, and his throwing ax and long knife shone silver where they were bound to his belt.
Ember almost forgot he was her father, until he saw her and grinned. He bent to one knee and held out his hands.
My little flame, come give me a kiss, he said.
She ran to him and planted one on his cold, bearded cheek. She was too old to sit on his knee now, so she leaned against it and held one of his hands, wishing she could tell him how she spent her day as a squirrel, and then as a fox, playing in the snow with the puppies from the kennels. But she couldn't forget her mother's warnings.
Causing any trouble today? he asked.
She shook her head and gave a small smile.
Do you know what I've brought home for us?
She nodded. A boar, she said. She studied the red that lined her father's nails. To eat, she added tentatively.
That's exactly right. Do you know how I killed him?
Four of the Escorts carried the boar to the kitchen. Thick red matted the boar's chest.
Ember shook her head, not wanting to look more.
A spear to the heart. One thrust. He had an odd look on his face as he watched the Escort carry the boar away. He looked happy and angry at once, with a strange light in his eyes that she had seen before.
My lord, the man who smelled like lilies said as he gave a half-bow at them.
Her father nodded. Bring him.
The lily man bowed again, looking pleased.
Two more Escorts lifted the second form out of the sled—a man—and her father stood, grabbing a spear. Take him down below, Fletch, for questioning, he commanded.
The man's front was bloodied, and he appeared to be sleeping.
Cold shivered through her. Is he dead, Papa?
Her father turned to her, startled, as though he had forgotten she was there. The strange light in his eyes had brightened.
He's alive, her father said. He's a beast, Ember. A shifter. He takes the form of any animal, and he's dangerous. I'm going to lock him up so he can't hurt anyone else.
Did he hurt you, Papa?
Her father stared at the unconscious man, his lip curling and his brows drawing together. He did. And others of his kind. You watch out for them, Ember. When you're older I'll teach you—
Mother's voice cracked the frozen air. What is the meaning of this? Who is this man?
Her father winced, but then his face smoothed and warmed into a smile. He walked toward Ember's mother, who had come up just behind Ember. Salena—
Ember, come with me, her mother said, gripping her arm. This is nothing a child should be seeing.
Her father halted. She's my child, Salena. I will decide what she can see. She needs to learn what's out there. What can harm her.
She's barely ten. Her mother's voice sounded strained, as though she was on the verge of crying. What are you doing with that man, Arundel? Did you hurt him?
Her father jerked a hand for the Escort to carry the sleeping man away. The man who smelled of lilies followed them, winking at Ember and giving a nod to her mother as he walked by.
Her mother's hand tightened around her arm. Ember swallowed a gasp of pain. The look her mother gave the lily man was the same look she had given Ember's nursemaid once. Strange, that her nursemaid had left suddenly, without a farewell.
I found him hunting in my woods, her father said, coming near. His distant, angry look was pinched. Why did he always look at Mother that way?
And you tried to kill him for it?
I'm only trying to protect you. You know what they did to my family—
I've heard enough. Her mother tugged Ember away.
Her father lunged forward, grabbing her mother by the arms. Salena!
Ember was sure he would strike her, or shake her, but he only held her, and Salena stood like a stone in his grasp, her face hard as iron.
Let me go, she commanded.
Father's face seemed to move like a river, until it settled on stern sadness lit by a heat that made Ember feel invisible. He released her, and Salena grabbed Ember's hand, dragging her down the torch-lit path to the great hall.
You're hurting me, Ember said to her mother once they were inside.
Her mother bent down and kissed both her cheeks. I'm sorry sweetie. I'm sorry you had to see that. You're father isn't...isn't feeling well.
He's sick?
Yes, sweetie. Come on, let's get you a nice warm bath. Would you like that?
chapter thirty-one
"She hasn't woken yet?"
Kitt's voice, watery and translucent, shimmered on the edge of Ember's dreams. Or was he in her dream?
"No." Riggs. "She's like a hibernating bear. I haven't seen her move in hours."
"Have you checked to see if she's still alive?"
Riggs guffawed, sweeping Ember's dreams aside as though they were nothing more than feathers.
Delicious, soft feathers like the ones in her bed back home. She sorely missed those. Her body felt immobile, each limb too heavy to lift. She had come back very late l
ast night only to find Riggs up tending to a feverish Loria. The poor girl had been white as a dead fish and shivering under her sweat, only able to sleep restfully with Riggs' tincture and a cool wet cloth against her face.
"I don't need to," Riggs was saying. "I can hear her heavy breathing from here."
"Perhaps it's your own loud breath you hear, Pitkin."
Riggs grunted. "Is she the only reason why you came here?"
"Mostly. I'm not sure she'll come with me, though."
A slight pause. "You told her about the attack?"
"I did."
Coals hissed as someone shoved a stick into the fire.
"You think she'll forgive you?"
"I have no hope of that. I can't expect others to be honest with me if I'm not honest with them. I've a feeling she'd have found out eventually on her own, anyways."
Riggs hmphed. "Most likely. She seems a better spy than even you. Personally, I like to keep my secrets to myself. Everyone is better off that way."
Kitt snorted. "You didn't seem to have issue with revealing your patch of hair to the girl."
"Who? Ember? She's a woman, not a girl,” Riggs corrected. “And I don't believe my inability to shift is a secret to anyone in this camp."
"No, but perhaps it should be, Pitkin," Kitt teased. "I would think your patchy hair would be an embarrassment to you—"
"As a young woman," Ember broke in, her voice husky with sleep as she rose on one elbow and looked at the two men across the glowing fire, "I find that I'm rather fond of patchy fur in a man."
She meant it as a joke, but they stared at her, one in shock and the other turning red. Her lips tugged into a smile, and Riggs wilted in relief, only to break into raucous laughter when he noticed Kitt's look.
"She's joking, Kitt," Riggs choked. "It's just a joke."
"Was it?" Kitt murmured.
Why did he look at her as though seeing her for the first time? Suddenly self-conscious, Ember adjusted her crooked dress and sat up, brushing her bangs out of her eyes and smoothing her hair. The warmth of the fire curled through her. "You've never heard a woman joke before?"
Kitt flashed a grin with white, pointed teeth. "Of course. Mostly the lewd ones from Jinni. But I'm glad you weren't serious about Pitkin. Women aren't his type."
"All for the better, then," Ember said easily. "I'm growing rather fond of shifters. They display their love so...publicly."
Riggs chuckled and tossed a stick into the fire. "Too publicly, you mean?"
Too publicly for a wizard's society, Ember might have said, but she didn't wish to spoil the mood.
Kitt's grin widened. "I think what the lady means is that it's easier to choose a shifter if you can see how they love."
A giggle bubbled up her throat, so childish that she wanted to force it back down but it emerged and transformed into a laugh that bent her toward the fire. The others laughed, too, and her face burned but laughing felt so good, like a cool drink on a hot summer day, or like standing beneath her favorite waterfall, or like the thought of touching Kitt.
The last took her by surprise, and the laughter quieted to a warm hush that spread from cheeks to neck.
"Will you be teaching the orphans today?" she asked Kitt.
"No," Kitt replied, leaning back. "The weather is too nice for it. I'm letting them free. But it is good weather for flying...if you're up to it."
Did he mean flying or hunting? "Me? You're the one with the leg injury."
Everyone eyed his muscled leg, propped casually away from him so that it could lay flat on the ground. The wound healed quickly with Riggs' ointment, and the scar tissue now gathered and hardened where once there had been raw flesh.
"It's well enough to fly," Kitt said.
"I'll be the judge of that." Riggs sidled over to his leg and inspected it. "Your wound is still delicate, Kitt. You'll have to be careful not to strain yourself. None of your self-competition today," Riggs ordered, winking at Ember.
"I don't know what you mean, Pitkin," Kitt said with false naivety as he stood.
Ember stood, too, and stretched.
"She'll see for herself, most likely," Riggs said. "Ember, you watch out for him. You'll think he's racing with you but in reality he's racing with himself. Let his ego win," he suggested.
"How can one race with himself?" Ember inquired.
"Exactly," said Kitt before Riggs could answer. "And anyways, Pitkin has never raced me so I'm not sure he knows what he speaks of."
Riggs eyed him in amusement. "Shifters talk, Shearwater. And about more than just the size of your ego."
Ember repressed a short laugh. Kitt gave a shake of his head and hopped up the steps, throwing open the hovel door with a bang before leaping out.
Ember, more awake now, noticed the empty cot. "Is Loria feeling better?"
"Well enough to eat five biscuits for breakfast and play in the river." Riggs adjusted the cleaned blanket that draped over the cot to dry.
Ember recalled when Loria got upset with Kitt during their lesson. She hadn't seen any of that anger last night. "Do you think she's happy?"
Riggs looked up, surprised. "Happy? Perhaps she is today. But...Loria, like others, has a lot of hatred for wizards. She wants to learn to fight, but Kitt thinks she is too young."
"Yes, it would be better for them to hide," Ember agreed. Wizards had too many traps and spells, not to mention the cunning of an adult.
"And that's usually what Kitt teaches them to do." Riggs sat down with his healer's box and started unpacking it. "Either hide or flee. But Loria is different. During the attack, her elder sister hid and made Loria do the same. Her sister didn't make it."
"I'm sorry to hear that—"
"Are you coming?" Kitt called from outside.
"Go," Riggs said with a wave, "before he comes after you as an angry boar."
Ember ducked out of the hovel and into the brilliant rays of the midday sun.
"I didn't realize I'd slept so long," Ember commented as she lengthened her strides to catch up with Kitt.
Kitt slowed. "Rest is to be expected after a night of activity."
Ember peered at him, wondering what he knew. "Did Jinni tell you?"
Kitt frowned as sunlight streamed over his face, and a light breeze flipped his hair as he walked. "She told me about the hunt. That you helped bring down a doe."
Ember supposed Jinni had told him out of annoyance. Either that or sneering surprise. "There was a fawn, too," she said, not caring whether he already knew. A part of her longed to force the memory away, to erase it from her mind and never speak of it again. "He hid in the brambles, waiting for her return, but I found him out. I—"
"You did what you had to do," Kitt said. "You gave him a better death than the one he might have had. You took responsibility for his mother's death. It was the right thing to do."
"It doesn't feel right."
He gave her a sidelong look. "Killing never feels right. Not completely."
Ember trudged through the short sedges, her stomach in a queasy knot. "Then why do we do it?"
Kitt sighed. "We do it to survive. We do it because we need to do it. Food. Clothing. Riggs' father, Neal, taught me that hunting is a way to honor life. The fight to death challenges us and the prey to prove who we are. It is a chance for the prey to show their agility and speed, to use those abilities to their fullest potential. We all carry these strengths, and we all die if those strengths fail us."
"It seems cruel."
Kitt nodded. "But each fight we win, we grow stronger. Each fight we lose, if we don't die, we grow wiser. Sometimes pain and cruelty teach us the hardest lessons."
"Did Neal tell you that, too?"
"No," Kitt replied, examining the trees ahead. "Not in the way you think."
A raindrop smacked against Ember's face. Startled, she checked the clear skies. Not a cloud in sight.
"It's rain—"
As she spoke, Kitt whirled out of his skirt and into the form of a red-tailed
hawk. Without waiting for her, he rose up into the air.
Ember did the same, more careful of her dress this time, and followed him up above camp and to the north. Going deeper into the mountains was safer than heading south toward Lach, but still Ember checked the forest below.
No smoke, no sign of human movement. And no spells that she could sense.
Kitt zoomed ahead of her, riding an updraft along the slope of a mountain. His shadow swam over the trees and rocks below, a smudge of black against the green and beige.
The air warmed the undersides of her wings as she found the updraft. Rain fell from an empty sky, shimmering like dust in the midday sun and misting her face.
Kitt found a thermal current and swooped around toward her, floating over her as she, too, emerged into the current.
Ember gave in to trusting the air. Her feathers were like fingers, feeling the breeze for the opportune moment, for the perfect shift that would lift her just so. The stream of warmth pulled her around and around until she felt as safe as a cradled babe.
Movement flashed overhead. She looked up in time to see Kitt careening toward her, talons flashing, ready to strike—
Her hawk’s intuition kicked in, and Ember rolled at the last minute, exposing her own talons. He grabbed them without hesitation and folded his wings, locking her into a fall.
Her human side barely had time to panic. The hawk seemed to know this, that it wasn't death or even a fight, but the air raced over her wildly as they plummeted down. One second, two seconds. The forest rushed toward them and her heart hammered as Kitt gripped her. This wasn't a fight, and she wouldn't die, and it was really—
He released her, and in the same moment they fanned their wings out, arching away from each other like two leaves breaking off the same twig.
Exhilarating. That was the word.
Unable to stop her hawk-side, she called out, and her heart warmed when he called back. They continued north, weaving between mountains and dipping down into the canopy. Ember shifted between hawk and falcon and vulture, or whatever bird most suited her. The falcon could fly the fastest, the vulture could glide the steadiest, and a small hawk could navigate the woods just as easily as a finch.
Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel Page 19