Changeling Illusion (Thirteen Realms Book 3) Page 10

  “Now for the hard part,” I said.

  She shook her head reprovingly at me. “You mean, ‘now comes the part that is just as easy as the first part’. You’re making this into a much bigger thing than it needs to be. Close your eyes again, if you find that helps, then simply become yourself.”

  If only it were that easy. I closed my eyes, sighing. Maybe she was right, and I was making too big a deal of the whole thing. Just because I’d gotten stuck once before didn’t mean it always had to turn out that way. I breathed out slowly, trying to calm my racing heart. I could do this.

  I pictured my own face as I saw it every morning in the mirror—short blonde hair, blue eyes, a mouth that maybe didn’t smile as much as it ought to. Pale skin, with a sprinkling of freckles across the nose.

  I opened my eyes and raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Well?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t try so hard. Just become. Turning back into yourself should be like slipping on your most comfortable pair of pyjamas. Like getting home at the end of a long day. Try again.”

  Pyjamas. Okaaay. I was more a sleep-in-the-nude kind of girl, but whatever. I clasped my hands in my lap, admiring Lirra’s long, shapely fingers there. I would not clench my fists. I would not fight this. I drew a deep breath and tried to find my own, comfortable skin.

  “Again.”

  Dammit. Now I couldn’t help clenching my fists. “I told you this was a bad idea. Morwenna is going to give me that glare again if I have to come begging for help.”

  Instantly, Tirgen’s face was replaced with his wife’s. “Morwenna is going to glare at you until you manage to do it on your own.”

  And she did, ferociously. Great. As if that was going to help.

  Fists still clenched, I tried to find the warmth of that magic that Lirra said she could feel and blasted it with my frustration and anger.

  “Whoa! I felt that.” Glancing down at herself, now back in her own lithe form, Lirra let out a low whistle. “That was powerful. And you forced me back into my own form, too.”

  I looked down and found I was my own self again. Well, it had taken a few tries, but at least I had gotten there in the end, and without having to resort to running to Morwenna for help. I wasn’t sure my pride could have taken a beating like that this morning.

  Lirra was still staring at me in astonishment.

  “What? You look surprised. Didn’t you think I could do it?”

  “It’s not that. Mama is the only person I’ve ever known who can force someone else into their true form. Your magic is far stronger than anyone realises.” Her eyes shone with hero worship, and I shifted uncomfortably on the log.

  “Probably just beginner’s luck.”

  “Not luck but blood. You truly are the Lady of Illusion.”

  11

  Dusk was falling as I headed back to the castle from Morwenna’s house. Squeak was not yet awake, and she said it might still be an hour or two, judging by the depth of his slumber, so I decided to grab some food before the big moment.

  She had been frostily polite to me every time I had run into her during the course of the day, and had even offered to let me join her family for their meal, but there was no warmth in the offer and I had no trouble declining it. She only did it because she thought she must, because I was to be her new Lady, however much that rankled her, and I had no desire to spend any more time with her than I absolutely had to.

  As it turned out, there was a bonus to eating at the castle—when I found my friends gathered in the large hall of the castle, Kyrrim was with them.

  He smiled as I came in. “I was just about to come look for you.”

  I threw my arms around his neck. “I didn’t expect you back so soon. I thought the king was keeping you busy.”

  “I’m here on the king’s business,” he said, which took some of the shine off seeing him. It didn’t matter how many times I reminded myself that this was his job, I still couldn’t help resenting it ever so slightly every time he put his job before me. “I came to bring Rowan the letter that he needs to take to Eldric.”

  I glanced across at Rowan, who was looking a little nervous now that the moment was here. “Have you eaten yet?” I asked him.

  “No,” he said, “we were waiting for you.”

  “Excellent. I was hoping you’d say that. I could smell something delicious the minute I walked in the door.”

  “That’s our dinner,” Sage said with satisfaction. “I had a chat to the cook earlier and explained to him that we’re not nocturnal. He said he’d throw a little something together for us.”

  That was another reason I hadn’t accepted Morwenna’s ungracious offer to eat at her house. They’d been eating porridge, when my stomach was craving dinner. They didn’t eat their main meal until the wee, small hours of the morning. Being in a band meant the four of us kept some pretty late hours by human standards, but we were still mainly adapted to a diurnal rhythm. We liked to have our main meal somewhat earlier than four o’clock in the morning.

  “I’ll go and let you enjoy your meal,” Kyrrim said.

  “Can’t you stay? Just for a little while?”

  “You know I’d love to, but I need to visit Yriell tonight and bring her up to speed with events.”

  “Well, if you wait a little while, I can come with you.”

  He shook his head decisively. “It’s safer if you stay here. And anyway, isn’t Squeak waking up soon?”

  That was true. Regretfully, I watched him stride from the great hall, then followed my friends to the dining room.

  There, it became evident that the cook had put in rather more work than his words had suggested. This was not some small thing he’d whipped up at a moment’s notice. Obviously, great care had gone into the preparation of this meal. There was a whole roasted duck in the centre of the table, covered in a rich orange glaze. An array of salads sat around it, as well as platters of sliced beef. There was also a tray of individual cakes—so many that we couldn’t have eaten them all even if we’d ignored all the rest of the food on the table.

  I felt a twinge of guilt. The kitchen staff must have spent hours on this—and soon they would start work again, presumably, feeding Raven and whomever else turned up for the fae main meal. We’d just created a lot of extra work for them. When were they supposed to sleep?

  Sage whistled as she surveyed the groaning table. “Are we expecting another hundred people that no one’s told me about? That is one hell of a lot of food.”

  When dinner was over, Rowan left, escorted by Raven, who was taking him down to Night so he could begin the long trek through the Wilds to Autumn. He looked nervous, but I had little thought to spare for his nerves since my own were consuming me.

  Sage and Willow flanked me as we made our way down through the town to Morwenna’s house. Several of the townspeople were out and about, and we received many curious looks.

  “Do you reckon they’re staring because we’re so goddamned beautiful?” Sage asked after the third man had stopped what he was doing to watch us walk down the street.

  “Obviously,” Willow said, tossing her red-gold mane of curls. “Or, at least, because I am so goddamned beautiful. They’ll probably spend the rest of the evening composing sonnets in my honour.”

  “It’s a little unnerving, though,” Sage said. “I feel like a monkey at the zoo. Can’t you tell them to tone it down a bit?”

  Willow glanced sidelong at me. “Allowances must be made for my adoring public. They can’t help being entranced by my beauty.” We all knew perfectly well they were staring at me, had been staring at me ever since my first visit to this place. They’d all known who I was before I had. But it obviously amused my friends to pretend otherwise.

  They kept up this kind of stupid banter all the way to Morwenna’s house. At least it took my mind off Squeak.

  Tirgen opened the door at my knock and gestured for us to follow him through to the room out the back, where Morwenna already waited. Candles lined the windowsil
ls and the long work bench, filling the room with the smell of coconut and lime and something else I couldn’t quite identify. She nodded as we came in, but didn’t speak.

  I went straight to the bed and sat down next to Squeak. His front feet were twitching as if he were in the middle of a dream. Morwenna had removed the bandages from his left wing but she still had it strapped to his body in three places so that he couldn’t move it. There were several ragged holes in the membrane, one nearly the size of my clenched fist. The edges of the hole were darkened with scar tissue, lumpy and malformed. The contrast with the smooth and healthy skin surrounding it was horrifying.

  I looked at Morwenna, appalled. “Is he in pain?”

  “Shouldn’t be,” she said. “I still have him pumped full of painkillers. That’s why I have the wing immobilised. If he doesn’t have the pain warning him off, he might try to use it, and that would be disastrous.” Her voice was brisk and businesslike, and I wondered what it would be like to be under her care. Her bedside manner definitely needed work.

  Still, she had done a wonderful job on the rest of him. I could hardly believe this was the same drake I’d left in her care three nights before. The holes in his wing were the only sign of damage left. His breast shimmered green, his jewelled hide glinting in the soft candlelight as beautifully as it had ever done—except for those three dreadful holes.

  He made a muffled chirping noise in his sleep and shifted restlessly.

  “Any minute now,” Morwenna said, coming to my side and watching him carefully. “See the way his eyelids are twitching?”

  I rested my hand gently on his emerald side. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Reach out to him down your bond. He’ll probably be scared and a little disoriented when he wakes. Reassure him that he’s safe. It will help him to know that you’re here.”

  Obediently, I reached out but there was still nothing at the other end of our bond. Nevertheless, I projected waves of love and reassurance as hard as I could, desperate to help the poor little guy. It was my fault he’d gotten into this mess.

  “Will these holes close up any further?” I was very afraid I already knew the answer to that question, but I had to ask.

  Morwenna’s answer was short and sharp. “No.”

  I looked despairingly at the gaping holes in the gleaming perfection of Squeak’s wing. “But fae healing …”

  “Can’t work miracles,” she snapped. “Our magic heals our own bodies, but we can’t transfer that to anyone else’s. For that, we are left with regular healing.”

  “But his burns,” I protested. “There’s not a trace of them now. In the human world that would have taken months, and he probably still would have ended up with scars.”

  “Oh, we can use our magic to speed up the natural processes. But we can’t force a body to do things it was never capable of in the first place. That tissue was gone. We can’t conjure more out of thin air.”

  Squeak shifted again and then stretched from nose to tail, his four legs sticking out as straight as posts. His eyes blinked, once, twice, then opened fully, gazing at nothing in a bleary way. All of a sudden, I felt him at the end of our bond—mainly confusion, with a little bit of hunger thrown in. My own stomach, even though it had been recently filled, rumbled in sympathy.

  “Hey, little buddy,” I said, sending waves of love and calm down our bond. “You’re awake. Welcome back.”

  He sat up, rather awkwardly since one wing was bound against his body, and instinctively tried to spread his wings. When the left one didn’t move, I felt his confusion. It took him a moment to figure out what was going on. He sniffed doubtfully at the leather straps that held his wing still, then looked up at me and crooned softly.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. We don’t want you hurting yourself. No, leave it alone.”

  He had started to peck at the nearest strap with his sharp beak. The leather was thick, but he left indents in it. Clearly, given enough time, he could work his way through it.

  “Stop him,” Morwenna said. “Here, give him this.” She set a bucket of water down on the floor next to me. Inside, several small fish floated, belly up.

  I grabbed one and dangled it in front of the little drake. “Hey, look what I’ve got for you. Aren’t you hungry?”

  He snatched it from my hand and tore into the fish, holding it firmly between his two front feet. The fish was gone in seconds, and he looked up eagerly for more. I fed him another, happy for the diversion. Still, I sent waves of love and reassurance through our bond, hoping to keep him calm.

  “How long will he have to have his wing strapped?” I muttered to Morwenna as I watched him feed.

  “As long as he still has the painkillers in his system. Perhaps another couple of days. They make his behaviour unpredictable, like a drunk. He might think he can fly when he can’t and get himself hurt.”

  “Isn’t there some way we can patch those holes?” I asked, feeding the little drake another fish. My mind had turned to hot air balloons. Surely they patched those when they developed a hole? I wasn’t sure what they were made of. Silk, perhaps? It must be something really strong.

  She gave me a hard look. “Do you think I wouldn’t have tried it already if there was? Nobody wants to see a drake who can’t fly. He’ll be totally dependent on you for food, protection, everything—assuming he lives and doesn’t just give up.” She shook her head. “It might have been kinder to let him die.”

  “Don’t say that!” I bet she’d be singing another tune if it was her Immi who’d been hurt. Surely there must be a way to get him back into the air.

  “I knew a drake once that lost half his wing in an accident,” Tirgen said. “You remember, Wenna? Beden’s bondmate? He never did fly again, but he took to the water like a hatchling instead. Loved to swim.”

  Morwenna gave him a reproving look. “That was one drake. And how many others have we seen go into a decline when they couldn’t fly anymore? Don’t give her false hope.”

  I’d take any kind of hope. I flashed Tirgen a grateful smile, then turned my attention back to Squeak. He finished the last fish and sat up straight again, extending his right wing. His little belly was distended from all the fish he’d eaten.

  “What are you doing, buddy?”

  He made a little whimpering sound and ducked his head to the leather straps again.

  “No, leave those alone.” I put my hand over the strap where he’d been picking at it.

  He rubbed his head briefly against the back of my hand and then tried to nudge it out of the way.

  “No.”

  He flapped his right wing, and I could feel the shoulder muscles of the left one straining underneath my hand as he tried to spread that one, too. He gave a clumsy hop, and would have buried his face in the mattress if my hand hadn’t already been there to steady him.

  “Whoa, what are you doing?”

  He whined piteously and tried to leap again. This time, he put more force into it, his free wing helping him to gain lift. He launched himself awkwardly from the bed, but of course he couldn’t get airborne. Fortunately, I was close enough to catch him, though it was a rather rough landing. He shrieked in pain as his injured wing slammed into my hands.

  “Careful,” Morwenna snapped.

  “I’m trying,” I snapped back. Did she think I wanted to hurt him? I tried to put him back on the bed, but he cried piteously, so I kept him in my arms.

  He squirmed and shifted, opening and closing his free wing in panic. His feelings were in turmoil, despite my attempts to soothe him. Fear and confusion roiled inside him.

  “Hush, little one. Hush.” I held him close, rocking him gently as if he were a baby. I could feel his little heart racing, and his body trembled as he pressed against me. “You’re fine. It’ll all be fine. Just relax.”

  It would be fine. He would fly again. Somehow, I’d find a way.

  12

  An hour later, we were back at the castle, though there had been no light-hearted
banter on our walk this time. We had stayed at Morwenna’s until Squeak had fallen asleep again, the amount of food in his belly making it impossible for him to stay awake any longer. Morwenna said he would probably sleep the rest of the night, so we left, in a rather sombre mood.

  We hadn’t been back at the castle long when Kyrrim walked in again.

  Sage looked up in surprise from the game of chess she was playing with Willow. “Back again so soon? When is Yriell coming?”

  Kyrrim stalked over to the fireplace and glowered into the orange depths of the fire. “She’s not. She threw me out without even letting me tell her why I was there.”

  I gazed at him in astonishment. “Why?” Why would Yriell throw Kyrrim out? She had quite a soft spot for him, particularly as he had been instrumental in saving her brother.

  “Has something gone wrong?” Willow asked.

  Kyrrim still had his back to us. “I knocked, but she wouldn’t even let me in. Just yelled at me to go away.”

  “And you did?” Willow raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

  “Not right away. I told her I was there because the king needed her. She said the king could kiss her arse.”

  Sage grinned. “She always did have a way with words.”

  “But didn’t you tell her it was important?” Willow asked.

  Kyrrim rounded on her, his eyes glittering dangerously. “Do you think I’m stupid? Of course I did. Or I tried to, anyway. I generally prefer not to hold important conversations at the top of my voice through three inches of solid wood. But she yelled at me to go away and said that if I didn’t leave of my own accord, she would make me.”

  Oh, dear. That didn’t sound good. “So you left?” I asked. He was still in one piece, so I assumed he must have.

  “She made me. The veranda tipped me off and then the earth caught me like a wave and rolled me back down the path.”

  Willow blinked. “The veranda tipped you off?”

  “You don’t know what she’s capable of,” I said. “You weren’t there the night we saved the king.”