Eleven
Zidra
Prayer usually instilled in me a fresh sense of calm and clarity, but not today. The sense that something unidentifiable was wrong had haunted me since I’d awoken that morning. As I rose to my feet, that feeling did not abate. There was something I had forgotten, or was overlooking, or a mistake I had made that was going to cause a problem at any moment, or…I didn’t know what. I just knew that agitation vibrated through every inch of my body.
I reached tentatively for the heartbond, which confirmed that Iskyr had not granted my request to remove it, either. No reassurances about Iskyr having plans above our comprehension could make me feel better about the current situation.
This heartbond was a problem. Kyrundar’s face had haunted my dreams. I couldn’t recall what had happened in those dreams, but he’d been there. When he’d opened the door to his room this morning, a sense of rightness had flowed through me—and then I’d seen his toned chest with its faint scars from past battles. I didn’t know how to describe the heat that had rushed to my cheeks or the flurry of confused feelings the sight had stirred.
Why had his state of undress affected me so? I’d seen him and other men without a shirt before. Such things were unavoidable sometimes when men and women trained together or shared sleeping accommodations at the Havens. I’d always averted my eyes and not paid much heed.
But just thinking about Kyrundar leaning against the doorframe, his muscular form looming over me and his bare torso so close to my face… Heat flamed over my face again.
No. I wasn’t going to fall victim to his seductive ways.
“Rengiri, welcome.” The sudden emergence of the deep voice off to the side, past Kyrundar on my left, made me jolt.
I smothered my surprise and turned to face the approaching priest. “Greetings, Respected Brother,” we said in unison.
The priest smiled. “Greetings, my brother and sister.” His unadorned black robes swished around his sandaled feet as he approached and then stopped in front of us. Candlelight gleamed on the dark skin of his shaved head, marking him as a member of the studious Allantine Order. “It is always an honor to welcome rengiri, but an extra honor to welcome recipients of the Emperor’s Merit. ”
Annoyance and a twinge of shame went through me. What did everyone truly think of me? The second wyveri member in the history of the Order of the Rengir, and I couldn’t earn recognition without the aid of an elf.
“It’s delightful to see the two of you here together, saying your prayers in unison before setting out on a new shared mission. Do you have any intercession requests?”
“We need to find someone,” Kyrundar said. “Urgently. And we have very little information to guide us.”
The priest nodded gravely. “May Iskyr be your guide, then.” He looked to me. “I feel that Iskyr is prompting me to give you a word of advice. Do not lightly shun his good gifts.”
All I could manage in response was a sharp nod.
Kyrundar looked at me out of the corner of his eye, one eyebrow raised, and then he inclined his head to the priest. “Thank you, Respected Brother.”
“Thanks be to Iskyr for his wisdom.”
“Iskyr, we thank you,” Kyrundar and I said by long-practiced habit.
The priest continued on his way.
Kyrundar turned to me, the look on his face somewhere between smug and amused.
I shook my head and started back down the nave. “He could have meant any gift. Including a gift we haven’t received yet.”
“I suppose that could be,” he said, but his tone betrayed his skepticism.
Electing to ignore Kyrundar’s nonsense, I focused on leaving the cathedral. Once we were outside, I reluctantly turned to him. “Where are we going?”
“Ravensburgh. I’ll fly us, so we should get there around…” He frowned at the sky. “Close to dusk.” He smiled apologetically. “I know you would do it faster if you could take us.”
I adjusted my pack on my shoulders. “This works better, anyway. If we went separately, I’d be bored waiting for you; it would be too far to carry you in my claws, and no one rides on my back.”
Kyrundar’s blue eyes twinkled. “I’m going to convince you to change your mind about that someday.”
“It’s a good thing gambling goes against our vows.” I sniffed. “I don’t need to warn you not to stake any money on such a ridiculous claim.”
“I don’t have any money, anyway. Spent it all on Dawning Festival feasting.”
I shook my head. “Of course you did.”
“What?” he asked with exaggerated innocence. “The holy texts mandate holidays with music and dancing and speak of Iskyr hosting feasts for his people. I think he approves of throwing a celebration now and then.”
Since I couldn’t argue with that, I continued down the road. Kyrundar chuckled, as if knowing he had won, and fell into step beside me.
To my relief, he didn’t insist on keeping up a stream of conversation. It was awkward enough having to smile and nod to the people who shouted “Kyrmaris!” at us as we walked to the southern gate .
Crowds of people leaving Laedresh clogged the gate with bodies, carts, wagons, carriages, horses, and pack mules. I slowed as we approached the hubbub. My stomach churned. I hated tight crowds—all of the bumping into me, the conversations on every side pressing in on my hearing, the vast array of scents from every direction mingling together. The overburdening of my senses always left me anxious and exhausted. And that was only half the problem.
I rubbed the insignia pinned to my chest. Even if I stowed it in my hip bag, someone might recognize us. Recognition in a crowd of that size, where we would get trapped in the press of people leaving, would mean questions, scrutiny, unsolicited speculation, and women batting their eyelashes at Kyrundar. Normally I’d fly over the wall to avoid the bottleneck at the gates—one of the special privileges granted to rengiri.
Kyrundar leaned down and murmured, “Not in the mood to be the center of attention while waiting to exit?”
I lifted an eyebrow and peered up at him. “Are you saying you can get us over the wall? It’s taller than the roofs we flew over last night.”
“Of course I can.” He squared his shoulders. “I only went through the gate last night because it’s harder to judge the height in the dark. In fact, I could get over the wall faster than you could shift and get over.” He sighed. “A shame we can’t race.”
“Oh, no, you’re not getting out of that claim so easily.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Next time we’re both in Laedresh, we’ll test who is faster.”
Kyrundar’s smile looked entirely too pleased. “Deal. Now, we don’t have time to waste.” He held out his hands, and glittering snowflakes cascaded from his fingers. Two hovering disks of ice grew before us. I waited for him to step onto his before I stepped up onto mine.
“Look!” someone in the crowd shouted. “It’s Kyrmaris!”
I clenched my jaw.
“Here we go,” Kyrundar warned. The disks rushed forward and up, but not fast enough for my sensitive hearing to evade all the comments.
“Why is Zidra traveling by ice magic and not flying?”
“They’ve been sighted together more often lately. Are they courting yet?”
Heat rushed to my face.
Then we soared over the wall—Kyrundar went far higher than necessary to clear the stone and guards, the show-off—and left the voices behind. He took us past the heavy traffic on the roads near the gate. Once the crowds thinned, he lowered the disks until we flew along only a few feet above the ground.
The wind on my face and in my hair felt good. A touch cold, but decidedly different from flying as a wyvern, where my scales were less affected by the wind. That was a good thing, of course. At wyvern flight speeds, the wind would no longer be pleasant. But this was more enjoyable than I’d ever admit to Kyrundar.
Above the rushing wind in my ears, I detected a strange sound, like a sharp crack distorted by our speed. Was it coming from in front of us or—
Ahead of us, a towering pine swayed and fell toward the road.
“Kyr!”
The ice disks slammed to a stop, and I teetered forward. Kyrundar grabbed my upper arm and steadied me. With a crash, the tree hit the road. Pine needles and dust burst into the air.
Amid the strong smells of pine sap and freshly cut wood, I caught another scent.
I pointed toward the side of the road. “Shifter—”
A snarling wolf as tall as I was and an even larger black panther leaped out of the tree line. Dragon heat stirred in my veins.
Kyrundar’s grip on my arm tightened. “Don’t shift!”
“I know!” I snapped, ignoring that I had almost shifted instinctively. In my wyvern state, I’d be twice the size of the panthera, and I’d have plenty of room to maneuver on this quiet stretch of road. I could subdue both shifters in moments.
Instead, thanks to this infernal ice curse, I would have to face them with nothing but my sword—
The ice disks lurched upward, taking us high above the approaching shifters, who snarled and yowled in response.
“They can’t run as fast as I can fly us out of here,” Kyrundar said, but our magical conveyance continued to hover high above the circling predators.
He was waiting for me to make the call to engage or not. The realization prompted a warm stirring in my chest. I shook my head. “A second assassination attempt? I need to know who they are and why they’re targeting me—or us.” Whichever it was, I needed answers.
“Then let the hunt begin.” He drew his twin swords.
I allowed myself a small grin and removed my pack, then drew my own sword. He navigated our ice disks away from the shifters and then descended. The shifters didn’t wait for us to touch ground to run toward us, so I didn’t, either. I jumped and landed in a crouch with my sword extended point-first in front of me.
The panthera growled and turned aside, avoiding running straight into my blade. A flash of Kyrundar’s glittering magic raced toward the wolvus, so I focused on my own opponent.
I might not have been able to access the full power of my wyveri blood, but my senses and strength were still heightened compared to a human’s or even an elf’s. Every time the panther’s paws hit the ground, they caused a subtle vibration in the packed dirt. My eyes tracked every twitch of powerful muscles beneath its dark rosette-patterned fur and the telltale movement of its golden eyes.
I pivoted to keep facing my opponent. Slowly, I rose to my feet and pulled my sword in close. The panther’s tail twitched. I eased one foot back. Steady…
When the panthera leaped, I ran a step to the side and slid forward, parallel to the great cat. I slashed my sword down the panther’s side. My boots cast up a cloud of dust, and my back hit the ground hard.
The panther yowled, but I didn’t have time to assess my strike. I rolled away and jumped to my feet, already swinging again. My blade clipped the panther’s upper leg as it tried to swipe huge claws at me. It limped back a step and growled.
I held my ground, waiting.
With another ear-splitting yowl, the panther pounced. This time, I took a risk and lowered my sword, instead rushing forward between the grasping paws to tackle my opponent. The force of our collision nearly knocked the breath out of me, but I threw all my strength forward. My blood heated, and I willed my shifter magic to settle.
I crashed to the ground on top of the panther. It whimpered beneath me. Before it had a chance to recover, I brought up my sword and laid the edge against its throat.
“Maki’elle!” I shouted in Vethalric, the native tongue of the shifter clans. Reveal your true self.
The panthera bared its teeth in a snarl.
I frowned. Conversing in our non-animal forms was a sign of mutual respect, as it put all shifters, regardless of clan, size, and strength, on relatively equal footing. It was also considered respectful to fight another shifter only in baik’eth, “same form”—both animals, or both humans—and the honorable thing was to start any fight in di’ora.
“I cannot shift,” I said. The panther squirmed, and with its greater strength and flexibility, it could easily throw me off. I pressed my blade harder against its throat.
“Our archon thought that might be the case.” In his animal form, the panthera had a raspy, indistinct voice.
My lips parted. “And you still chose to attack in di’yar? ”
“Rengiri do not deserve the respect of di’ora.”
Outrage sparked in my veins, and I took a deep breath to cool my dragon fire. “Why are you targeting me? Who is your archon? Which order are you part of?”
“Not any order that answers to your pathetic god.” The panther swiped with all four paws and twisted beneath me, trying to throw me aside. Long claws scraped against my armor. I drew back my sword, but too late.
The panther’s thrashing had caused its throat to shove against my blade.
Its claws retracted, and then its oversized paws fell heavily. I stumbled to my feet. Blood dripped from my weapon. The panthera twitched. As it choked out a last breath and its magic died along with it, its form morphed and shrank until I stood over a man with dark-brown skin and curly hair. Blood from his neck stained the edge of his chainmail.
My shoulders slumped. I turned to see how Kyrundar fared and found him standing beside a kneeling, pale young woman with brown hair. Her orange eyes flashed over a gag of ice, and ice bound her arms to her sides. I could deal with the wolvus in a moment.
Turning back to the dead panthera, I adjusted my sword so I held it in my right fist with the point down, then held my fist in front of my heart. I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and said, “Iskyr have mercy upon this man’s soul, and upon me for having brought death to one of your people.” In Vethalric, I added, “May the honor with which you lived your life be the honor with which you are welcomed into the next, brother.”
Sorrow pressed upon me. If our brief interaction was any indication, this distant shifter cousin had not lived a life of honor. But even the outcast wyveri would follow thousands of years of shifter tradition that called for honor and respect among tribes, including in battle and victory. It would be to my shame to return his dishonor with equal dishonor.
I used a cloth from my hip bag to clean my blade and then marched over to Kyrundar and the wolvus woman. Before I said a word, the ice gag dissipated.
She snarled, her canines flashing in the bright morning sun. “You pretend to have honor, rengir, but we know the truth—how you oppress us, keeping secret knowledge and power for yourselves!”
I blinked and looked to Kyrundar. He shrugged, his wide eyes reflecting equal bewilderment.
“Who is ‘we’?”
The wolvus tilted up her chin. “No torture can make me tell you anything. And I have failed to complete my mission and kill you. You might as well kill me.”
“Why are you trying to kill me?”
“And is Zidra your target and I’m collateral damage?” Kyrundar asked. By his tone, I wasn’t sure if he was offended or curious.
A novel idea occurred to me, and I willingly sought the heartbond. An impression of anger snapped across the bond—but it didn’t seem to be wounded pride. He was furious that…someone would try to harm me? I slammed the door on the bond .
“Eilmaris was our target, but now that Kyrmaris is working together on this, you’re both on the league’s list.”
My ears perked up. “League? What league? Working together on…Magistrate Nevros’s death? This league killed him?”
The wolvus’s eyes glowed golden, and she strained against the magical ice binding her, then threw herself to the side. The ice cracked but did not break.
Kyrundar rolled his eyes and added more ice. “You already tried to shift, lady. You aren’t winning this one.”
She growled in response. This was getting us nowhere. We didn’t have time to wait for her to decide to talk, and rengiri did not stoop to torture.
“Can you bring her with us to Ravensburgh?” I asked. “We can turn her over to the local authorities to interrogate and punish her.”
“I won’t tell your corrupted officials anything, either!” The wolvus growled. Gray fur spread over her face, neck, and hands. The ice groaned and cracked.
“Certainly.” Kyrundar’s face pinched. A sheen of sweat showed on his forehead, and glittering ice crystals fell from his fingertips. “Although we’ll need to knock her unconscious first.”
I sighed and drew my sword, holding the pommel down. Somehow, the woman rolled aside, snarling. Some instinct raised the hair on my arms. I ducked and turned my face away. “Kyr, watch out!”
Before I finished speaking, echoing pops and cracks of breaking ice sounded, and then ice chunks pelted my back. I waited only a moment before spinning around, sword at the ready.
Back in her di’yar, she lunged for me, her attention focused on my throat. I stumbled back and swung. Just as my sword sliced into the gigantic wolf’s chest, an ice spear pierced her side.
The wolvus collapsed and shrank back to her true form. By the time I crouched at her side, the life had left her. Wearily, I stood and, once again, said the rengir and shifter blessings. This time, Kyrundar joined me in asking Iskyr for mercy for the wolvus and his own soul.
After I wiped and sheathed my sword, I turned to Kyrundar. “Maybe—you’re bleeding!” I strode over to him and turned his chin to get a closer look at the blood drying on the side of his neck, just above the edge of his leather breastplate and pauldron.
“It’s not bad—”
“Why didn’t I feel it?” I frowned as I gently rubbed away flakes of dried blood with my thumb. Kyrundar stiffened, so I stopped. “Sorry. I didn’t feel that, either.”
“That didn’t hurt.” He cleared his throat and took a step back. “Why would you feel it?”
I worked my jaw, not wanting to speak of it. “The…you know. You felt my pain at the infirmary.”
“Oh.” Kyrundar grinned weakly. “I don’t think feeling each other’s pain is a normal part of a heartbond. That would be incredibly distracting in battle, and I know of a few married rengiri with heartbonds. Maybe it was because it was new and so strong? Just like how we were sharing emotions without meaning to, but then that went away. Or maybe it was just because my magic tangling with the curse isn’t…pleasant.”
“Oh. Good.” I brushed some dirt off my gauntlet. “Still, a scratch from a claw—”
He waved his hand with an amused smile. “It really is just a scratch. I’ll clean it, though, so you can stop looking so anxious.”
“I’m not anxious,” I muttered, then crouched beside the corpse. “Anyway, I’m going to search their clothing. Maybe there’s something on one of them that can give us more information.”
After he washed his injury—which, with the blood gone, I could see really was minor—he assisted me in searching the corpses. The assassins were no fools, though. They carried no letters or documents, and their clothing bore no symbols or crests.
“I suppose you’re going to insist we bury them,” Kyrundar said.
“It is the rengir way.” I turned around, searching for my pack. We both carried small shovels with folding handles—all rengiri did. Usually we used them for things like building fire pits or makeshift shelters as, thanks be to Iskyr, we seldom had to take a person’s life. I spotted my discarded pack and shuffled over to it.
Kyrundar kicked a pebble. “They fought without honor. I heard that panthera say they knew you might not be able to shift. And this was not a battle, but an assassination attempt! That woman slandered the character of all rengiri. They deserve no honor.”
I opened my mouth, but he held up his hand.
“I know. ‘None deserve honor, except that Iskyr has granted us honor as his people. Therefore treat one another with integrity.’” His mouth pulled to the side. “But…this ‘league’ might collect the bodies themselves. They took the other ones.”
I paused in rummaging through my sack. “We don’t know how long that might take. We can’t leave the bodies until then.”
“Then can we dig shallow graves?”
“All right.” I didn’t mention that I agreed so readily because I was more tired than I should have been after such a short fight. Nor did I mention the slight chill and low-level pain in my arm.
I wasn’t about to let Kyrundar fuss over me on the side of the road. I’d probably recover by the time we reached Ravensburgh, anyway.