Mistwood (4 page)

Nothing.

After some time—she couldn’t have said how long—she stood back from the window, feeling as if someone had dropped iron bars over it. She stepped sideways and stood before the mirror. Her hair had reverted to a slightly frizzy reddish brown, as it did whenever she wasn’t paying attention. Maybe the Shifter’s instincts were telling her to be inconspicuous. But it was too late—the Lady Isabel had gleaming blond tresses. She raised her hands and brushed them over her head. When they dropped back to her sides, her hair was golden again.

She couldn’t have said how she did it. She just did. She leaned closer to the mirror and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were emerald green, so bright it was clearly not natural. Isabel frowned, and the color softened.

Then she touched her chin and tried to make it more rounded.

Nothing. After a full minute of intense concentration, her face was still the same, sharp-jawed and thin. Isabel swore.

Changing colors was minor, a magic most sorcerers could manage. She had to be capable of more than that. She was called
Shifter
.

She closed her eyes and tried again. Maybe a bird was beyond her powers—but then why did she remember flying? She thought of a wolf, a cat, a deer, and tried and tried and tried. When she finally threw herself onto her bed in exhaustion, her body was drenched with sweat.

She fell asleep instantly and dreamed of soaring above the treetops, of racing through the snow with the scent of blood in her nostrils, of sliding her long, cold body around a rock. She woke up with her blankets thrown off her bed, her hands throttling her pillow.

When was the last time she had shifted? The prince had found her in human form, but she hadn’t known he was coming. Why had she been human? For how long had she been human?

The body she wore seemed to wrap around her, stifling her, trapping her into the limited movements of which it was capable. She wanted to fly. She wanted to run for days without tiring, to have muscles that could wrestle prey to the ground.

What was wrong with her?

She thought she knew who could answer that question. Rokan had known where to find her, what to say to her, had known to clasp the Shifter’s bracelet around her wrist. She had determined not to trust him, not to let him see any weakness, but now she needed answers too badly to care. Her loyalty was to him, anyhow. If she could not protect him as well as he expected her to, he had a right to know.

Her room was lit faintly with rosy light, and the air blowing in through the still-open window was cold. It wasn’t much past dawn, but she couldn’t wait. Rokan would be in the king’s bedchamber, and without even having to think about it, she knew exactly where that was.

When the door to his room creaked, Rokan sat up instantly in bed, his skin tingling. He had stayed up late last night, waiting for that very creak, and had finally gone to sleep miserable with disappointment. The invitation he had given Daria had been clear enough, though couched in courtly hints, and the look in her eyes had made him hope she would take him up on it. He had even left his bed curtains undrawn and given his guards orders to let a woman through. But she hadn’t come.

It was early morning now, but they wouldn’t be disturbed; the chamber between his room and the hall was empty but for two guards. His father had gotten rid of all the people who attended the king in the morning, announcing to the startled courtiers that he was partial to pissing and dressing all by himself. That was one decree Rokan had no intention of rethinking. So maybe…

Rokan’s heartbeat quickened when he saw a slim figure slip through the door and turn to close it. But even before she turned to face him, he knew who she was. She moved with smooth, powerful grace, without a single wasted motion.

He arranged his features into what he hoped was a friendly expression. “Hello, Isabel. What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.” She walked over to his bed and pulled herself up onto the foot of it, apparently seeing no impropriety in the act. The light filtering in through the window let him see the outlines of her face, and he spent a moment eyeing the strange, dangerous creature he had resurrected. In a yellow gown, with her golden hair spilling down her back, she could have been an ordinary noblewoman…almost. Something in the way she held her head, the way her eyes darted around the room, made him wonder how it was the entire court didn’t know that a wild creature walked among them.

“I’m sorry,” the Shifter said. “You were expecting somebody else.”

How had she—of course. The guards. Rokan cursed his fair skin as he blushed. “Not anymore I wasn’t,” he lied.

The Shifter tilted her head, and her eyes caught the moonlight. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Rokan’s face was on fire. He reminded himself that she wasn’t a person, and wouldn’t care. “All right. I was still waiting for her. But she’s not coming.”

“That’s all quite obvious,” Isabel said, amused.

“Oh, good. Because I was getting bored of having a sense of self-respect.” Rokan pulled himself straight and rested his shoulders against the polished wooden head-board. It was obviously too late to act regal, but he did his best. “I was not expecting you, either.”

Those green eyes were wide now, but no less feral; the neat line of lashes framing them looked out of place. Too human. “I want some answers.”

Rokan’s heart thudded almost painfully, but he merely inclined his head. He had been expecting this. He still hadn’t decided how much to tell her. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why you brought me here.”

The way she said it, it sounded like a challenge. Rokan forced his face, his voice, to stay calm. He wished Clarisse was there. “Why is the Shifter ever here? I need your protection.”

“You don’t seem to be in danger, Your High—Your Majesty.”

“I can’t be called ‘Majesty’ yet,” Rokan said. “Not until my coronation, in another sixty days.” Her lips tightened impatiently, and he stopped stalling. “But yes, in truth I was king the moment the Challenge Days ended. And I am in danger.”

“If you are,” Isabel said, leaning forward, “then no one at court is aware of it.”

He resisted the urge to lean away from her. Instead he held himself carefully upright, letting his shoulders slouch so he wouldn’t seem tense. “It is possible to keep things from the court.”

“Not for long.”

“No,” Rokan admitted, “not for long.” He hesitated, biting his lip. “Besides, the court may know. It keeps secrets better now than the last time you were here. My—my father was a harsh king. People learned to be wary.”

She nodded. Rokan spent a moment trying to decipher her expression, then gave up and continued. “Some of the legends say that the Shifter’s memory fades every time she retreats to her woods, so she returns with few specific memories of the last king she served. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Isabel said.

He pursed his lips so he couldn’t smile. “So you don’t know the circumstances under which you left last time?”

“No.” Her fingers dug into the bedspread, but aside from that slight movement, her body was as still as a hunting cat’s. “Do you?”

“Not really.” Suddenly there was no reason to be afraid of her—for the moment, anyhow. Rokan felt almost giddy. “I was only seven years old at the time. There was some sort of attempt on the king’s life, and you disappeared right afterward. Some said you fled from shame. I don’t know of what.”

“Neither do I.” Isabel’s voice was intense, but not threatening. She believed him.

Recklessly, Rokan elaborated. “Some say you swore never to return. I was warned against trying to find you. But I need you. My enemies haven’t actually made an assassination attempt yet, but they will. And I don’t know where it will come from. I don’t know who they are or what they want.”

“Then how do you know they exist?” Isabel asked.

Rokan met her eyes. This next part was inspired. “The high sorcerer told me.”

“The high sorcerer,” she repeated slowly.

“He was here when…when you were. He’s very old, nobody knows how old, but he’s been at court for at least a century. He cast an oracle, and it told him there was someone who would try to have me dead before my first year as king was out.”

She stiffened. Watching her, the way her muscles tensed and her whole face went focused, Rokan was once again certain he had done the right thing in riding to the Mistwood. His guards and advisers were useless, but she would keep him safe. She was smart and strong and fierce, and she would stop at nothing.

The hidden, gut-tightening fear he had been living with for days eased slightly. He was able to keep his voice expressionless. “I thought you might be able to protect me.”

“Of course I’ll be able to protect you,” Isabel said almost absently. “Excuse me.”

She turned and left, pausing in the doorway to glance back at him. She looked like a deer poised for flight, her slim body taut in the incongruous gown, her face sharp and still. Then she turned and was gone, and Rokan dropped back onto his pillows, limp with relief. She was going to do it. She was going to watch over him. Best of all, his biggest worry had just ceased to exist. She didn’t remember what had happened last time, the real reason she had fled to her woods.

Of course I’ll be able to protect you.

She never would have said that if she remembered.

I
should have told him.
The two guards in the outer chamber watched her go, probably curious but too well-trained to show it, and Isabel forced her face to reveal nothing. She could still feel, like a fist around her heart, the fear in her prince’s voice. Still see the hope in his eyes as they rested on her face. He thought he had ridden into the Mistwood and brought back a magical beast, a shape-shifter who could take his fear away. Her presence made him less afraid. She didn’t want to take that away from him.

Even so. I should have told him.

The castle was dimly lit this early in the morning, making it difficult to see where she was going in the windowless passageway. Isabel had not noticed that on the way to Rokan’s room. She wondered how she had missed it when suddenly, for no apparent reason, it was no longer difficult.

She stopped, peering ahead down the corridor and then back over her shoulder. There was no light. The corridor was as dark as it had been a moment ago. But she could see it clearly.

She lifted her fingers, touched her lower lashes briefly, and blinked. Again, it was dark. She shifted her eyes back, and—like a cat—she could see.

Interesting.

Without any real hope, she tried shifting her entire body into a cat, Clarisse’s taunt humming in her ears:
It’s said the Shifter preferred the shape of a cat.
She gave up after a few seconds, not wanting to ruin the sudden euphoria that had sprung up in her. She wondered if her eyes were elongated and slitted, but there was no mirror in which she could check.

Did this mean she was regaining her powers? Or had she been able to do this all along, and hadn’t noticed?

Either way, it would make protecting Rokan easier. Maybe in a few days she would be able to shift. Maybe it was normal for the Shifter to return with faded memories and faded powers, and regain them slowly as she served her king.

A sudden memory shot through her like pain. Running through the snow. Blood falling. And all around her, through her,
in
her, the bitter knowledge of failure.

The euphoria vanished, and Isabel bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Failure
. For a moment she knew where she had been running and why, and she knew the reason for the failure. Then the knowledge was gone.

There were circumstances
, Rokan had said.

It shouldn’t matter. She should focus on her goal. Locate the threat to Rokan, and get rid of it.

Even if he was still lying to her about the source of the threat.

The high sorcerer told me
, Rokan had said, looking her straight in the eye.
He cast an oracle.

But that was a little too convenient. Rokan must know how the high sorcerer felt about her; must know that Albin would never help her in any way. And maybe that was
why
he was claiming the mysterious warning had come from Albin; because he didn’t want her to know where it had truly come from.

He came to me for help, with his delusion that a bracelet might protect him
, Albin had said. Obviously, Albin would never have lifted a finger to bring the Shifter back. But Rokan had ridden to the Mistwood anyhow, carrying the Shifter’s Seal. He must have received assistance from someone else.

Isabel considered for a moment, then turned around and went back the way she had come.

A few twists and turns brought her to one of the spiral staircases that wound its way through the castle. The high sorcerer’s workroom was at the top of the staircase, and the scent of potions leaking down from it was so strong that, even at this distance, Isabel had to fight an urge to flee.

She forced herself forward—not up the stairs, but onto the landing that branched away from them. The heavy wooden door at its end gave way easily to lock-picking skills she hadn’t realized she possessed. She was rather pleased with herself as she pushed the door open.

The sorcerer’s apprentice was waiting for her, which dimmed her pleasure somewhat. She had thought she was being soundless and had expected the advantage of surprise. But the dark-haired young man was standing with his back against a large wooden table, watching her without a hint of fear.

No fear…but no antagonism, either, that Isabel could detect. She shifted her face expressionless and gave herself a moment to adjust to the feel of magic and to survey the room for possible dangers. It was sparsely furnished: a bed crammed into one corner, a wooden table covered with a jumble of copper candlesticks, inkwells, and quills, and a glass-covered bookcase stuffed with leather-bound volumes. The arched white ceiling was blackened, and the rush matting near the table had been burned through to reveal the oak boards beneath.

Isabel had until now seen the apprentice, a young man named Ven, only from a distance. Up close, he had a dark, broad-cheeked face and blue eyes that contrasted sharply with thick black eyebrows. Isabel tried to imagine how a normal human girl would react upon encountering such a face, and settled on a stunned expression. That should cover most eventualities.

“I’m sorry,” she said, testing his reaction. “I didn’t know…that is, I seem to be lost.”

Without moving, he said, “I know who you are.”

Isabel went still. Even though she had expected him to know—and hoped he knew far more than that—her body reacted to his words as if to a threat. Just in case, she said, “You do? Are you acquainted with my parents?”

His lips twitched upward. “Your parents are the wind and the fog, according to several songs. I don’t think they meant it literally, though.”

For a moment they stood and stared at each other, while Isabel considered her options. She finally chose a tone threatening enough to warn him, but not enough to frighten him off. “So you know.”

Suddenly his face was no longer opaque; his expression was all eagerness, like a child’s. “I’m not the only one who knows. The whole court is wondering. But they didn’t think the Shifter would come to Rokan.”

Why not? Isabel thought, but she didn’t say it. She relaxed slightly. His eyes gave him away—they were still fiercely intent on her, but not in the wary, aggressive way Albin watched her. They were filled with incredulous wonder. She stepped into the room.

“You’re the high sorcerer’s apprentice,” she said in a flat tone that he could interpret however he liked.

“I know he hates you,” Ven said. “I don’t share his views. He doesn’t understand anything about you. I’ve studied you for years. I know much more about you than he does.”

Or than I do, Isabel thought. This was better than she had expected. “Why didn’t the court think the Shifter would come? Doesn’t she…don’t I always come?”

Ven shrugged. “You used to. At least, that’s what they say. But it’s been so long since you used your powers in public that already some people are saying you never existed. Others don’t deny that there was someone called the Shifter—a bodyguard, assassin, completely loyal—who guarded the king. But they say you were simply a well-trained sorceress. They say the legend was built around you deliberately.”

“Interesting,” Isabel said, leaning back against the door frame.

He swallowed a grin. “I never believed it, of course. And there
are
a few people who remember seeing you shift. The royal cook told me you used to come to him in the shape of a cat to eat scraps of meat. Is that true?”

It seemed unlikely. “Yes,” Isabel said with a grave nod. “That’s always been a habit of mine.”

Ven rose up slightly on the balls of his feet. Isabel got the distinct impression that if he hadn’t been trying to act dignified, he would have jumped up and down. “I knew it! When you’re a cat, you have a cat’s instincts as well as its form. I never met a cat who could resist handouts.”

Did she have a cat’s instincts? Isabel held herself still, but if she had been as uncontrolled as Ven was, she would have jumped up and down, too. He would spill information like a sieve if she handled him right. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been collecting the pieces of your legend for years. I came to apprentice in Samorna because here is where you’ve lived and fought and protected for all these hundreds of years. They have all these books about you…and now I’m actually talking to you. It’s almost unbelievable.”

It was almost embarrassing, was what it was. Isabel said nothing, and Ven rose up slightly again. “You will talk to me, won’t you? I want to study you.” He stopped, apparently realizing how tactlessly that had been put, then forged ahead. “You retain the habits of your past guardianships? So you’re really one person, not a succession of different ones? Not person, I mean—of course you’re not human—but I’m babbling.” He flushed and flashed a hopeful grin. “You’ll let me study you, won’t you? Please?”

Isabel’s instinct was to say no. She bit that back and let a long moment pass before answering. “Maybe. If you can offer me something in return.”

Ven settled back to the ground and chewed the side of his lip. “What do you want?”

“Tell me why Rokan came to get me. What danger does he want my protection from?”

He put his hands down on the table behind him, and his eyes skittered away from hers. Isabel advanced into the room, sliding one foot in front of the other with a stealthy predator’s grace. She watched with satisfaction when he leaned away from her, wishing he could flee. She gave him a moment to realize he couldn’t.

“I know he came to you for help first,” she said when she was only a few yards away from him.

Ven’s knuckles were white against the scratched wood of the table. “He—he did come to me. But he never told me the specific reason he was seeking you out.”

“Didn’t he?” She let her eyes change color, from green to black, while he was looking at them.

Ven drew in his breath sharply. With an obvious effort, he let go of the table and stepped toward her. “He didn’t. But I can guess. I know why he might be in danger, and why you weren’t already here to protect him from it. Not just why you’re here, but why you
left
.”

Isabel’s muscles suddenly felt too tight. “What makes you think I don’t already know?”

“I know Rokan was hoping you wouldn’t remember. He asked Albin for assistance before he decided to go find you, but Albin refused. So Rokan came to me, and he told me what happened last time.”

She closed the distance between them and grabbed his wrist, squeezing hard enough to cause pain. “
Tell me
. Why did I leave?”

“It might be treason,” he blurted. He didn’t even try to pull away from her, though she could feel the strength in his arm. The legend was serving her well.

“It might,” she agreed, and waited.

Ven closed his eyes briefly, like a man preparing to jump off a cliff. “You left after you tried to kill Rokan’s father.”