Shapeshifters (57 page)

It didn't make sense to me.

“Avians and serpiente are so different,” I argued. “They may live together now, but they come from completely different worlds. How could my parents' joining possibly have bred something neither side had in the first place?”

Nicias winced. “Wasn't it the dream of a history where avians and serpiente lived together that led your parents to found Wyvern's Court?”

Only then did it occur to me that Nicias's time on Ahnmik was spent with the only living creatures who could remember the days when the wars between the avians and the serpiente began, who might know
how
they began. “Is it true, then?”

“Not in the way your parents envisioned,” he replied. His words seemed carefully chosen. “But both powers, from Kiesha and Alasdair, originated in the same place, two halves of a whole.”

There was something he wasn't telling me, and I truly wanted to
shake
him and demand that he stop evading it, but I refused to get sidetracked.

“So my child may have magic,” I said, keeping my mind on the future.

“The falcons believe that the power she might have would be dangerous,” Nicias explained. “I don't know whether I believe that, but I know that they do. I know that if you have a child and she shows an ability to wield the serpiente magic that you carry, the falcons intend to kill her.”

Dear gods.
I had ordered him to tell me this, but it made the air seem dense and suffocating. They would kill a child?
My child?

Nicias caught my hand, drawing my attention back to him. “I may be able to bind the child's magic, or at least control it. I have been working with a falcon named Darien, to try to find a way.”

“And when were you planning to tell me all this?” My voice sounded hollow.

“When you chose your mate, so you could discuss it with him. I had hoped that I would be able to give you some assurance of safety by that time.”

I couldn't help shivering. “I assume it's occurred to you that if the falcons are so opposed to my rule, they could easily have orchestrated recent events.”

“That's true; they could have,” he admitted softly. “I can't say that they didn't, even though they assured me they will not interfere yet. On the other hand, if falcons had chosen to
remove you …” He took a deep breath, his disgust obvious. “Urban wouldn't have been the one who was beaten and nearly killed. You would have been, and it would have been fatal. Further, they would not have gone to great lengths to soften the blow by convincing us that you had left willingly; they would have left us with a serpent or an avian with blood on his hands, to drive us into a civil war.”

“You know this of them, and you still trust them?”

“I trust Darien's motivations,” he said. “If I didn't, I wouldn't be working with her.”

“And despite that, you know that she wouldn't help you with my wings?” The horror of being grounded was something I could wrap my mind around, whereas the atrocity Nicias had just described was beyond my comprehension.

“Darien probably would, but the Empress and her heir would never let her. I had to bargain to keep you safe from
them.
They won't help protect you from anyone else. And if Empress Cjarsa forces Darien to stop working with me, it won't matter if your wings are clipped or not. When your first child is born, if the royal house of Ahnmik does not believe that I can make the child safe, they will kill her, and you, and anyone else who stands in their way.”

I tried to calm myself, practicing avian control, wrapping reserve around me like a cold blanket. I couldn't let this information break me.

“We can discuss this in more depth when we need to,” I said. “When I declare my king, I will ask you to explain this magic to me: why I have it, why my ancestors had it and why my child will have it. After … after I have a child,” I said, willing my voice to be level, “we will take precautions, to either control her power or control the falcons if they will hurt her.”

The thought made me shudder. We had just ended one war. I was not enough of a fool to try to preserve a child's potential magic at the cost of a war with the falcons. I said, “We will do what we must to persuade them that she is not a threat. Without bloodshed. And as for my wings …”

What was losing the sky if I could lose Wyvern's Court entirely?

“I will make do. I need to.”

He nodded. “I'm so sorry.”

I shook my head.

“Try to get some sleep,” he suggested. “We will probably be back at Wyvern's Court by tomorrow evening. Someone there might know something about your wings. But, Oliza?”

“Yes?”

He met my gaze with his very blue eyes, and asked not with a guard's examination but with a friend's regard, “If you don't mind my asking, who gave you the
melos
?”

My hand brushed the soft cloth as I remembered dancing for Betia, and I once again hoped that she was okay.

Softly, Nicias asked, “Have you made your decision already, then?”

I shook my head. “Just a friend,” I told him. I was going to have to explain the
melos
to the serpiente when I returned to Wyvern's Court, or risk everyone there jumping to the same conclusion. A female wolf—wouldn't that shock the court?

 

It was no wonder that, when I slept, the old nightmares invaded my mind.

I was back in Wyvern's Court—and I was armed. I was wearing the blade my mother had given to me; the steel
shimmered as if new when I drew it. The instant the blade cleared the sheath, I saw the first wound appear on my own skin. The blade was already bloodied, even though I could find no enemy to slay.

“Oliza, this is madness,” someone said, pleading. “There has to be another way—”

I woke with a gasp, shivering even in the warm air, but before I could sit up, someone was beside me; arms were going around me and guiding me back to sleep. For a moment I thought Betia had returned, but I quickly realized that it was just Nicias lying against my back, protective and friendly—the way we had once slept as children in the nest.

I needed that comfort now.

This time I dreamed of the sky as it could only be experienced in flight, something I longed for. I dreamed of the Obsidian guild, and the
melos
I had danced for Betia. I dreamed of running with a wolf, and then of running
as
a wolf.

I half woke once again, wanting to weep at the dreams lost. What wouldn't I give to have those days back?

I turned in Nicias's arms, tucking my head down against his chest, and closed my eyes one more time. I matched my breathing to his, allowing his peaceful sleep to guide me back into the realm.

My dreams were those of an unborn infant, the sound of a heartbeat, and the gentle rhythm of breath indrawn and exhaled.

We returned to Wyvern's Court at midday. For a moment I paused on the hills, watching my people go about their lives, almost as they had every day before. The scene was marred only by the soldiers I could see patrolling the public areas, serpiente on the ground and avians either perched or circling the skies above. A fierce protectiveness swept over me, as well as anger, and fear. This was my world. These were my people. And someone had threatened them.

What do you want from me, Wyvern's Court?
I demanded silently.
What can I possibly give to you that will let you be free to live, and love, and dance and sing? Anything you want—except to hurt each other. How can I spare you this pain?

I jumped when I heard a wolf's howl; I took a step in its direction before I heard a response from another direction, and then another. Just the Vahamil. They used this music to communicate over great distances.

“Oliza?” Nicias asked. I wondered what he had seen in my face.

“Let's go,” I answered.

With Nicias beside me, I walked hesitantly into the reception hall in the Rookery, where my mother and father were waiting for me. I knew I was about to face an interrogation.

I had one foot in the door when my father dragged me farther in, lifting me in his arms as if he couldn't believe I was real. My mother followed suit, whispering praise for answered prayers.

I learned from their hasty words that when they had discovered “my” note in my room, Urban had told them of the awkward scene between us in the nest.

“You
didn't
run away?” my father asked finally, his hands on my shoulders as he looked at me intently.

“No,” I answered.

“What happened with Urban wasn't—”

“Let's let Oliza talk,” my mother suggested, slipping her arm around my father's waist to pull him back and give me room. “What happened, Oliza?”

The answer to that question was trickier than I had imagined it would be. The four of us sat around a small conference table at the back of the hall, and I described as well as I could the attack and what I remembered of my captors, which wasn't much.

“Is anyone tracking them?” my father asked Nicias.

“I've got three of my people on it,” he replied. “The lions are a practical group; they won't fight when they know they can't win. That they accepted an assignment to abduct Oliza in the first place shocks me. I didn't expect them to tangle with Wyvern's Court.”

Again, Nicias sounded disappointed in himself.

“Continue,” my mother said to me.

I described stumbling through the snow, not knowing what it was, sick from the drugs. I told them about Betia saving my life by bringing me to the Frektane. I explained about the poison and for the moment left them to assume that it was why I still could not shapeshift; I wasn't ready to deal with that loss yet. There were more important things to discuss.

I hesitated when I got to the incident with Velyo. Among both avians and serpiente, what Velyo had tried to do to me was a crime punishable by death. Even if my family and the new head of my guard were willing to ignore it—and even that much I doubted—they would not forgive it. It would fracture our peace with the wolves, and in this time of unrest, we could not afford to alienate our allies.

I tried to gloss over the moment, but my mother noticed. “You were in such a hurry to leave that you brought
no one
? I might not agree with Frektane's arrogance, but at least he would have provided you with an escort.”

I shook my head, forming my words carefully. “A disagreement arose between Velyo—the new alpha, now—and me regarding a matter I was not willing to compromise on. As an outsider far from home, I was not in a position to question their customs, but neither was I willing to accept them. I thought it best to leave.”

My mother sighed, shaking her head. I knew that my explanation sounded like atrocious diplomacy, but I could not defend myself with greater detail.

“Betia walked most of the way with me,” I continued. Just saying her name made me feel a little ache in my chest, so I gave as little detail about her as I did about our trek home. “Whenever we heard the lions, we ran,” I explained. “So I can't tell you anything more about them from my trip home. Eventually
I ran into Kalisa's tribe, and they sent for the Wyverns. That was when Betia stopped traveling with me.”

My story was full of holes. Omitting the Obsidian guild had caused that. I was uncomfortable lying to my parents, so I tried to account for some of the brevity by explaining, “I did receive some other help on my way home, but from a very private group who requested I not discuss them.”

Nicias asked, “Are you certain they were not involved with the abduction?”

“I am.”

My father said, “I won't insist on knowing why you ran from the wolves; the Frektane are willing to overlook the slight, and I have faith in my daughter's judgment. As for your mystery group, we will trust your instincts there, as well.”

“Thank you,” I said, before my father added, “As long as you plan to explain where you received the
melos
you are wearing, that is.”

“The
melos,
” I answered, “was given to me for its earliest traditional reason: as praise for my abilities, and as a request for me to dance. There is no law saying that it must mean more, even though it commonly does. As for the color,” I continued, “the giver was a wolf, who doesn't know all the connotations.” Among the serpiente, gold represented the bond between mates.

My father nodded slowly, acknowledging the facts but hesitating to outright agree. Even though a request of a dance was the true meaning, for centuries the scarves had been given as courting gifts.

I sighed. “Betia became a very dear friend to me during our time together. She saved my life repeatedly and traveled with me for weeks. I would never have survived without her.
She knew how much I resented the pressure I received from serpiente at home, and how much I wanted to perform.”

Both of my parents looked relieved the instant they realized that Betia was a woman, though Nicias was still looking at me with an expression I could not quite place.

What if I
had
fallen in love during my travels? What if I had brought home a white viper from the Obsidian guild? All things considered, bringing that group back into the court would have been an amazing political accomplishment.

Further, what if I had just danced, and some young man I trusted had offered the
melos
with no ulterior motive, as Betia had—simply because he knew what it meant to me? My parents never would have believed me. If they had, they never would have trusted
him.

There was a short period of silence, which Nicias broke for me. “Would you like to see the note?” he offered.

I nodded. “Please.” He handed over the letter, which had been written on the stationery I kept in my room in this very building. “Do we have any idea who wrote it?”

“The best scholars in the Hawk's Keep insist that, as far as they can tell, it
is
your handwriting,” Nicias answered. “I don't know of anyone who openly admits to such skill for forgery. Perhaps one of the mercenaries?”

“I don't know. It would probably be helpful in their line of work, but …” The letter distracted me, and I began to read.

 

To rule is easy. To truly protect my people is harder. I write this with tears in my eyes, hoping that perhaps one day my time will come, but believing that for now we are not ready for a wyvern on the throne. We have struggled for twenty years to make Wyvern's Court one land, but one cannot perform such a marriage while both
parties bleed into the dirt and fight against the Fates. Let us heal; let our children learn peace. And then maybe it will be time.

I leave now of my own free will. This is what I must do. Please do not seek me.

Oliza Shardae Cobriana

“I don't know who wrote it. I don't know who
would
write it.” I shuddered, standing up.

My parents exchanged an intense glance, the silent communication of a long-married pair. My father looked away and sighed.

“What?” I asked.

“This is going to be a very delicate time in Wyvern's Court,” my father said. “Your mother and I have been discussing what could be done to calm our people.”

“We know how reluctant you are,” my mother said, “and hate to press you for a decision, but we believe that it would comfort them if you announced your choice for your mate.” She added quickly, “You don't need to go through the ceremony yet or do anything you aren't ready for. Just let our people know that the decision has been made. People believed too easily that you had abdicated.”

My father winced, but he supported my mother. “I know I was one of those who encouraged you to wait, but perhaps that was wrong. Technically, your mother and I still rule, but Wyvern's Court looks to you for guidance. As long as you are undecided,
it
will be.”

I recoiled, refusing to see the sense in their words. “I have friends and suitors on both sides of the court, but no one I love, no one I could even
imagine
as …”

Protector, companion, friend and lover. An alistair, whom
I could trust with my life and my heart. A mate, whom I could turn to in any moment of joy or grief. A leader, someone to rule beside me. Someone whose
children
I would carry. Someone I would spend my life with, however many more years I had.

“I can't just pick a life partner like plucking a pebble out of a riverbed,” I argued. “I know you two made the agreement without love, politically, and found it later—but you were
lucky,
incredibly lucky, and there was no other choice. I don't know a single avian man who wouldn't be horrified to see me stand on the dais and perform a
harja
during the Namir-da—and I certainly don't know one who would dance with me. And I don't know of a serpiente who—”

My mother sighed. “Oliza, I'm sorry. I don't know the answers this time. I only know that indecision can cripple this entire world. And if we can't make Wyvern's Court survive, what does that say?”

I lowered my head. “I'll consider your words,” I said softly. Even if I could choose, I remembered what had happened to Urban for daring to steal a kiss. How much would I be endangering any man I claimed to love? “But for now, I need some air. Can we continue this later?”

My mother nodded. “Go. Nicias?”

“I'll be with her,” he answered.

“You'll want to speak to your people soon,” my father said gently. “They have heard by now that you're back, but they're going to want assurance from you that the rumors of your abdication are false.”

“I will speak to them,” I promised.
As soon as I know what to say.

As soon as I knew how to tell my people that I was grounded, flightless. As soon as I could figure out what to do.

Nicias followed me out. I knew he had to, but in that moment, I did not want him near me. I wanted to be alone.

“Oliza, I know why you're panicking,” he said, his long legs easily keeping up with mine. “And … I noticed that you didn't tell them.”

“What could I say?”

“You could say what happened,” he replied. “Your mother might know something that would help. More important, she would
want
to know, and you might feel better having told her.”

I spun to face him.
Panic
—that was the word he had used, and maybe it was the right one. “Nicias, they want me to choose a mate. I know why they feel I need to, but for the life of me I cannot figure out who to pick. No, not for my life, but for the life of Wyvern's Court. Especially now, with my wings gone. How could I ask an avian man to be my alistair, knowing that he will always see me as some crippled creature whom he must protect and be polite to because he pities her? I
can't
ask a serpiente, not if I'm never going to take to the skies again; the avians would have objected to a serpent before, but how much more will they object if they know I'm not even one of them anymore?”

How can I lead them if I am not one of them?

I jumped when someone spoke behind me. “I'm glad to know you think so little of those who walk the Earth like mortals.” The dry, emotionless tone made my skin crawl as I turned to face my cousin. “Don't worry, little queen,” she added. “The sky doesn't really matter so much, now, does it?” How many times had Hai been told the same thing since coming to Wyvern's Court with her falcon wings broken and lost? “And at least your serpents can ignore your hawk's blood, if you never show it to them again.”

I had felt pity for her before, but this was too much. Nicias must have recognized how nasty the conversation could get, because he quickly said, “Hai, maybe I should speak to Oliza alone.”