CHAPTER 20 #3
She chuckled. “I like you. Come back anytime. And, if you bring me more osage, I’ll make us something nice to share.”
“Osage?”
“Those little black berries—you know.”
Ah, so that was their name. “Thanks, Kish.”
She tutted. “No more Kish. You call me Dallah.”
“Dallah.” I nodded.
The following day, a messenger arrived with a letter in Merria’s script.
I set it down and turned to my project for the day.
I wasn’t ready for Merria’s inanities, flippant attitude, or simpering words.
No doubt this letter was filled with nonsense about her betrothal to that horrid duke’s son.
Instead, I flattened out my newly purchased sage green tunic, collected a few shades of green and indigo ink from the lesson room, and got to work in the privacy of my chamber.
There was a beautiful stillness in the repetition of a pattern.
It needed focus and precision, but it was also rhythmic work.
My mind wandered as I created leaves, flowers, and spirals of wind.
The embellishments were concentrated on the cuffs and hem, then wound upward like trailing vines.
They needed to be dried, set, re-dyed, and set again.
It would take me most of the day to complete.
All the while, another scene played in my mind’s eye:
I was standing on the blue-violet grass, my legs planted into the earth.
My tail swayed behind me, and I tucked my wings in tight.
I needed to shift. It was a simple thought.
Simple, but not easy. My shoulders cracked, my wings folded in on themselves, my snout broke, and my teeth retracted.
I pressed in on myself, again and again, until I was small and insignificant.
I reared up on my hind legs as my forelegs reshaped into arms. Last to go were my scales, which flaked off into a pile on the floor. I shook the last few loose.
The nakedness in this form was inconvenient. I stepped into the glow of the red sun, warming my flesh. The grass beneath my feet was buoyant, and the blades tickled as they tucked between my toes with each step.
“Feel the life in each blade,” I said to my Bound One. “Then, dig deeper.”
I knelt and dug my fingertips into the soil. It was soft, black, and wet.
“Feel the pulse. Slow your heart and match it. Ask, don’t take.”
I tugged, just lightly, on that taut string that connected me to all life, and it responded, flooding me with purpose. I was the conduit. The go-between. But I was also the shaper.
I held out my palm and willed that sweet, intoxicating power to gather in my hand.
“Just a thought is all it needs. Be specific. Be precise.”
An image of a vining plant common to these parts came to me first, then the spiny white flowers they created, and finally, the succulent pink fruits that grew from them.
I focused my will. From my hand, vines tumbled stem after stem, stretching down to the ground.
I poured more into them, and flowers sprouted down their length.
Harder and harder I pushed, willing the flowers to blossom and propagate until, finally, bulbous pink fruit swelled, weighing the vines down until they snapped apart.
I shook my hand, and the vines fell away, leaving my skin pink and new.
“It takes intention and listening. Emotion is your conduit, but this is your goal.”
The lesson was learned. It was time to shed my skin and return to my natural form.
I harnessed my magic through a single thought.
My bones cracked and lengthened. My skin tore apart as scales grew through, covering the softness beneath.
Wings sprouted from my back and unfurled in sweeping arcs.
My nails elongated into talons, and my spine stretched long.
When the agony had ended, I felt right and strong and free. With a great leap, I took to the sky.
I returned to myself, gasping at the echoes of a pain that was not mine.
Dark was descending over the keep. I regarded my finished tunic hanging on the line by the fire.
It was dry. Petals littered the floor around my feet.
With care, I swept them up and cast them to the fire as kindling.
Then, I wrapped myself in the tunic and tied it snug.
From my wardrobe, I took the heather green skirt that I had already finished, patterned in a matching forest green overlay.
I beheld my completed work in the mirror.
It was a subtle masterpiece, similar yet contrasting to anything I had seen on anyone in the Riht.
It was as intricate as the finest needlework I’d ever done in Inra, but without all the flaming needles and thread and squinting and headache.
It also lacked the telltale Inraen gold, boasting instead the natural pigments of the Riht.
Like it, I stuck out in either place, matching both and belonging to neither.
I was a woman of both lands and nowhere.
With this in my mind, I marched my way down to the hall for my dinner, trays be damned. Every head that turned along the way was a private victory. At least now, the attention was a choice—my choice.
Entering the Hall doors was nothing dramatic.
I might have been anyone else walking in the room, but as heads glanced up to check the newcomer, the double-takes could have been counted like popcorn kernels.
Wep was among them, and I felt his slack-jawed stare most keenly.
I ignored them all and sat at a table alone.
The server brought me a plate. Eating in the Main Hall was not so different from eating in my room.
The biggest change was that the Hall was filled with noisy chatter, but I was still isolated and silent.
A mug of spiced ale plunked down in front of me. Inside, there was a whole cinnamon stick. I looked up.
“That’s from Cergia,” Callagh said with a wide grin. She nodded toward a corner of the room.
“The spice lady?”
Callagh nodded.
I glanced over and indeed saw the owner of the lovely herb and spice shop raising a mug in my direction.
“She says she picked the right night to join the castle mess.”
I cracked a grin, but it didn’t last. I was not ready to fully let go of my dark mood from the past two days.
Callagh was downright giddy at the heads still turning my way.
She kept up a running commentary with her thoughts on how jealous each person was likely to be, who was looking with lust versus admiration, and who was gawking in contempt for my outlandish break with tradition.
In short, there was no staying mad with Callagh at my side.
“Was it too much?” I whispered, stuffing the last of my roasted potato into my mouth.
She crossed her arms, leaned back in her chair, and looked me up and down. “If this is any indication of how you’ll be as dana, you’re going to shake these people to their cores and look fucking phenomenal doing it.”
“Anything fucking phenomenal is something I need to be a part of.” Lex plopped down next to me and raised his hand at the server. He was in black again, this time just a loose tunic and very tight pants. His hair was braided in a single plait, unlike his usual array of braids, ties, and ornaments.
“Do your balls still work with pants like that?” I asked.
Callagh coughed into her tea.
Lex grinned and gripped himself. “Do you want to test? Ouch!”
Lispen arrived and smacked him across the back of the head.
“Every time,” he grumbled. “How do you do that?”
“I’ve got a bullshit meter that can spot you from a mile away,” she deadpanned, then raised her hand to the server just as Raif sat down at her side with two mugs of ale.
Teke plopped down on my other side and gripped me tight around the shoulders. “Gorgeous. Stunning. Turning heads and breaking hearts. Serae, have I told you that I love you?”
“You sound like Lex,” I admonished, but I grinned just the same.
“I like it better when you’re here. You should join us every evening,” Lex said.
Callagh and I exchanged smiles.
“I just might.”
ELDRETH
Early Autumn, Tuskimon 1036
From the front of the Main Hall, I watched Serae with magnetic efficiency. She was fierce. Poised. Her talent with the dyes in those little jars was staggering. I had seen patterns like that in Inra, but hers were different. They were undeniably and uniquely her. She was a sight to behold.
She walked into the room and commanded the eyes of every Riht in the entire fucking Hall.
The only problem was she didn’t look back at me—not once.
Fuck, did I want her to? I needed to know that she was all right, that we would get past my idiocy.
I knew that I’d pushed things with her. I also knew it would come back to bite me in the ass.
I just didn’t know how hard. And I couldn’t seem to help myself.
With her, I lost all sense of right and wrong.
Dane wanted me close to her. My reálton—wherever the hell he was—wanted me to spend time with her. Everything was pushing me in her direction, except for her. That was the problem. She had pushed me away.
It was testing every last ounce of my resolve to hold back.
Instead, I watched her with her ranng, who had undoubtedly become her friends while I was away. She smiled at them, and I wanted to steal it for myself.
Across the hall, my brother’s eyes lingered on me.
I met his brooding stare. I wasn’t usually a violent man, but lately, I wanted to punch through his fucking face.
Somehow, he had snuck into her inner circle and become her confidant.
I didn’t want to know what else. I prayed to the Great Dragon that there was nothing else between them.
I had never been the jealous type, but when it came to her, my heart didn’t listen to reason.