“Your not knowing what the weather will be tomorrow does not change it.”
“Presumably my knowing what I’m about to do would affect that.”
Why was I arguing about this? I didn’t believe in prophecy, and even if I had, I wasn’t certain I would have trusted a prophecy told to me by my crazy cousin.
“Of course. This is why I came to speak to you.” She waved a hand dismissively. “The mind barely comprehends its own yesterday, but sakkri force on it other times, other places, other people, visions it tries to shake away because to hold them all would only court madness. A single soul is not meant to know every is and was and may be and could have been. What I see is never as clear as why and when and where and how. Just pieces of a memory that aren’t meant to be mine. All I know is that within the next few minutes, what you do—what you did, or will do, in the future I saw …” She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I do not know.”
Regardless of whether I believed her, I thought I understood the warning: consider carefully before acting. I needed to calm down so that I could think rationally.
“Thank you for trying,” I said. “I will be careful.”
She shook her head. “I hope so.”
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, meditating the way dancers did before a performance. Those mental exercises included envisioning the steps the body would soon take; now I forced myself to think of a plan for Wyvern’s Court.
Urban was right that we could not put the dancers off for long, but it would be equally dangerous to speak to them without some kind of reassurance. Damn Kalisa for calling my parents away. How would I deal on my own with the only suspects we had so far?
Speaking to Marus would be hard enough. After all, he was a longtime friend. Worse, though, would be confronting Prentice. I doubted he would react well to the accusation. Avians considered themselves above the vulgar passions that led to violence; they would not want to believe that an alistair to the royal house could be responsible for such a vicious attack. If Prentice wasn’t found guilty but word got to the serpiente that he had been questioned, they might jump to the conclusion that he had been protected because of his position.
There was no good way for this to end.
“Vemka!” I snarled a curse I had learned in the nest. Calm down, Oliza. Calm down, and think of a plan.
I opened my eyes. Hai was still there, watching me with an utterly inscrutable expression.
“Hai, thank you for your concern, but would you please leave and let me think?”
“If I thought you were capable of such, I would,” she said, “but I live in this place, too, and I would rather it still be here tomorrow.”
I needed something to calm my rioting, exhausting thoughts. Prompted by Hai’s warning, I chose the sakkri’a’she. You’re thinking too much about what you are doing, my teachers always told me. You aren’t comfortable with it yet. Right then, I needed something that would take all my concentration, something that would force my fears from my mind long enough for me to relax and step back.
I took another deep breath, calling to mind what the music would sound like, hearing the rhythm in my head before I began to focus all my attention on the subtle, tricky ripples of the dance. I was vaguely aware of Hai nearby; she sighed, and I remembered that she had once been a dancer herself. She took a step toward me.
If I had Hai’s power, could I use this dance as my ancestors had, to beg the spirits of the future for guidance?
I felt at peace, as if all the world was held at bay for a moment.
But then it was as if I had been struck by lightning, and I found myself with my palms pressed against the ground, tears in my eyes, my whole body shaking, unsure of exactly where or when or who I was.
Hai recoiled from me. “Whatever you have just done, I’ll thank you not to do it again,” she choked out before stumbling from the room.
Whatever I had done … Thoughts lingered in my mind like a dream. I needed to—
This is madness—
I woke in the Rookery courtyard, to the sound of Nicias calling my name. An instant later he was beside me, whispering something in the old language that had to be a prayer.
“Where am I?”
“Are you hurt?”
“I—no. How long have I been—”
“Oliza!”
“I—what?” Gretchen was with us now, and Nicias sounded slightly frantic. He had put a hand on my shoulder, and I pushed it away. “I’m fine,” I said. “I think.”
My head was spinning. How had I gotten there? I remembered talking to Hai, and then … a vague sense of knowing I had to do something, go somewhere …
“You’re pale,” Nicias said. “Does anything hurt?”
I shook my head and pushed myself up—
I was standing; we were at the stairs to the Rookery. I was holding Nicias’s arm for support.
“Oliza?” Gretchen asked when we paused abruptly.
I felt as if I had been dreaming and was waking up in stages. At least I remembered now when it had begun. “Remind me never to let Hai ‘help’ me again.”
“What about Hai?” Nicias asked.
What about Hai? She had come to the library. “Sakkri’a’she,” I said. “She was talking about something I was going to do. She wasn’t making any sense.”
“Sakkri’a’she are rarely worked even on Ahnmik,” Nicias explained. “Of all the versions of sakkri, the a’she is among the most difficult. It allows the user to see possible futures, ranging from those that are likely to occur, to those that could occur only if a very unlikely series of events took place. Falcons have been known to go mad struggling to fight Fate to bring about events that they would never have known could occur if they hadn’t seen them. And Hai …” He sighed. “She has no way to control it. She has told me that she gets lost in time constantly. The past and the present and the future overlap in her mind, so sometimes she sees the consequences of her actions before she has even decided what to do, and sometimes she sees her own ‘free will’ as nothing more than a result of the choices of those who came before. You didn’t try to perform one in her presence, did you?”
The concept made me shudder. I recalled thinking how valuable it would be to know what the future held, but I would never want to pay that price.
The deeper explanation of Hai’s madness, though chilling, did not explain the loss of time I had experienced, and my lingering disorientation. As I recalled the strange, painful incident, Nicias went a shade paler.
“The magic that still lingers in the Cobriana line disturbs falcon magic; it acts like a spark,” Nicias said, sounding shaken. “If Hai were already half-caught in a sakkri’a’she when you began to dance one, your being there might have triggered something. Or her being there might …” He trailed off. “I have to tell you something I’ve put off. It can wait until after we deal with Urban, but tomorrow, I need some time.”
“Yes, of course.”
He shook his head as if to clear it. “Salem, Sive, Prentice and Marus are all here, waiting for us—for you. Do you need to rest, or are you ready to speak to them?”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
I wasn’t losing time anymore, but the night continued to progress in a kind of haze. I felt as if there was something I was missing. My sense of frustrated ignorance was not helped by the meetings that followed.
None of the guards had seen anything. Marus and Prentice, both of whom had been pulled from their beds, seemed legitimately horrified as they swore their innocence. Salem first reacted as I feared all the dancers would—with pure fury, which he immediately directed toward Prentice—but he responded to my appeals that, in this, he needed to be a cobra first and a dancer second. We needed him on our side.
We had no proof of guilt, very few suspects and even fewer leads. The only concrete decision that we were able to make involved Urban and the nest.
“Salem and I will help Urban back to the nest and explain that
we’re doing all we can. We need to make sure that the dancers know we’re on their side so no one will think about taking justice into their own hands. We can’t afford vigilante retaliation. My parents should be here soon. They …” What could they possibly do to make things right?
Nothing can make this right.
Urban, Salem and I were welcomed into Wyvern’s Nest with anxious eyes and horrified questions. Rumors about what had happened had already reached the southern hills, and the only way we could calm people at all was to beg them to be quiet for Urban’s sake, so that he could rest.
Salem helped Urban to a comfortable spot near the central fire as I faced the questions I had anticipated. Who did it? Were they avians? Was it Prentice? Of course it was Prentice; everyone knows he hates dancers. Was it Marus? Everyone saw him hit Urban earlier. Will the attacker be turned over to the serpiente for nest justice? Everyone had a theory and a proposed solution. Urban freed me from the interrogation; Salem took over for me, as if he had not nearly come to blows with Prentice in the Rookery just minutes before.
I joined Urban on the pallet of blankets and cushions that the other dancers had put together in front of the fire. Mindful of his injuries, I nevertheless lay as close to him as I could without pressing against him, knowing that he would want that comfort even more after having been denied it among the avians.
Almost immediately, he shifted to close the distance, my warmth and companionship more important than bruises.
I only meant to lie down for a few minutes, but the night had been too long. I didn’t even realize I had fallen asleep until a wolf’s howl startled me awake.
Urban woke when I stirred, and he asked, “Something wrong?”
“No,” I answered. “Just the wolves. Go back to sleep; you need the rest.”
“I’ve been ‘resting.’” He shifted and winced. “I don’t think that doctor remembered that she was talking to a dancer when she told me to stay off my feet for a week. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin if I don’t move, and it’s only been a few hours.”
Carefully, I put an arm around him. Worse than the doctor’s orders to stay off the injured leg, no doubt, was her warning that it might not heal right if he didn’t.
He sighed and closed his eyes again to sleep. As I did the same, he ran an idle hand through my hair, tickling the feathers at the nape of my neck. It reminded me of when we had been children, curled together in the nest at the end of a day of mischief. He had always been fascinated by my feathers.
“Oliza?”
“Hmm?”
“I … never mind.” He sighed.
I opened my eyes and saw in his gaze something un-childlike.
Abruptly the mood changed. Though I knew that Urban considered himself one of my foremost suitors, I had always seen him as a friend, nestmate, safe companion when the rest of the world was cruel. That safer world fractured into sharp, fragile pieces as he turned my head so that he could steal a very adult kiss.
I pulled away instinctively. “Stop.”
I had no doubt that he would, no fear. He smiled sadly, knowing the answer before he asked, “Don’t suppose you’re just saying that because I’m injured and you’re worried about hurting me?”
I shook my head.
“Can’t blame me for asking.” In the space left between us, the night air suddenly felt colder.
A few minutes crept by in near silence, broken only by the chattering of predawn birds, as we both pretended to return to sleep. I don’t think it surprised him when I stood up, saying, “I’m going to see if my parents are back yet.”
Not far away, Salem was watching us. Rousing Rosalind, who had been curled against his chest, he hurried to meet me before I reached the doorway.
“I need to see if there is any news,” I said. “I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did.”
Salem sighed. “Good luck. Urban’s not just any dancer. He grew up in Wyvern’s Nest; he’s like everyone’s little brother.”
“Which means he’s going to have a lot of big brothers looking for payback,” I said. “I know.”
“Oliza …”
“Yes?”
“He is a good man. Don’t let a bunch of thugs scare you off.”
If only it was that easy. “I have to go. Take care of him.”
“We will.”
As I paused at the doorway to glance back, Salem and Rosalind repositioned themselves so that they bracketed Urban. He wouldn’t be alone.
Once outside the nest, I walked silently toward town. My parents would have come to the nest if they were back, but I could still go to the Rookery to see if anyone had learned anything. Maybe there had been a witness. Maybe … maybe so many things that seemed unlikely.
I had just needed to get out of there.
I touched a hand to my lips.
My parents had married for politics and then fallen in love. If I had to do the same, would I be as lucky as they were? I wondered how many generations of ruler had made the same decision.
As if to match my bleak thoughts, the clouds opened up and the first spatter of rain landed just as I crossed the market center.
I walked quickly across the green marble plaza in which the symbol of Ahnleh was combined with an equally ancient avian sigil, the Seal of Alasdair, and paused before the white marble statue that stood at the center: a true wyvern, slightly taller than I was, its tail curled around the base, its wings spread proudly, and its head raised as it shouted to the sky. It had been built the year that I had been born, when the idea that avians and serpiente could live together was new and so many had been filled with hope.
I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be that proud and sure. Maybe one could manage it only when caught in the coldness of stone. I stared at the wyvern, envying her, as I let my body shift into my half form.
The wings that tumbled down my back were the same color as the feathers at my nape, varying from gold to rusty red to nearly black; the snakeskin that covered my body from my ankles to my neck was black with a red sheen. My eyes shifted to a deep amber, the whites disappearing and the pupils becoming slit; my fangs were filled with a cobra’s poison.
My full wyvern form was similar to the statue, but this was my half form, my monster, a form no one I knew could see without flinching.
I leaned against the cold marble wyvern, putting my arms around her lithe body.
In half form, my senses were almost as keen as those of a pure cobra and those of a hawk combined. That was why I heard the sound of bare feet slipping slightly across the rain-slicked marble plaza floor, and why I felt the body heat of several creatures suddenly surround me. I turned to flee or fight, but I had no chance to even recognize my attackers before their hands slammed me back into the statue. One of my wings smacked into the ridge of its back, and I gasped as I felt bones break, my vision wavering so that the figures around me were nothing but vague outlines in the rainy morning.
Before I could recover, one of my attackers grasped my wrists, and others extended my wings without care for the broken bones. The pain made my stomach roll and I choked back bile.
“I’m sorry,” said a voice that seemed familiar as I felt a blade begin to cut my long flight feathers.
My gasps were halted as someone put a cloth over my mouth and nose, muffling me and cutting off my breathing until I spiraled into unconsciousness.
Time passed in an odd, warped way, so that I could not tell how long I was in my strange, rocking prison, less than half-awake. Sometimes I would open my eyes and there would be light; sometimes it would be dark as pitch. Most of the time, my vision was too blurry to tell any more than that.
The first time I woke with any true awareness, I found myself lying on my stomach in human form, though I did not remember returning to it. I tried to shift, and the combination of pain and dizziness forced me to stop and cry out as I clutched at the wooden planks beneath me.
Sometime later I came to again. My world wasn’t swaying as badly,
but my head was pounding and my mouth felt cottony. People were talking nearby in loud voices, which seemed to warp and waver, swirling in the air. Someone asked, “Can’t we let the princess out now?”
“This whole area is infested with wolves,” someone else responded. The voice … I knew that voice. “No need to let them see her.”
There was a pause; then someone else said, “She’s moving around again.”
“Bring her something to eat and drink.” The speaker was Tavisan, the leader of the lion mercenaries. But why had they done this? Had the wolves hired them? Kalisa wouldn’t have; who were her rivals? I did not know what might benefit them.
The wall of my tiny little room was peeled back, letting in a bit of light from their fire. The lion who blocked the doorway was broad shouldered, and his gaze never left me as he put a canteen of water and a plate of simple food in front of me.
“Wait!” I called after him as he started to move away. My voice cracked; my throat was so dry. He ignored me and carefully fastened the leather wall back into place. “Tavisan!”
I could barely speak above a whisper. I grabbed the canteen of water and chugged half of it before I even noticed the smell of roasted meat. Starving, I shoved food into my mouth. I needed strength to …
Needed to …
The thought drifted away. Woozy, I lay down again, and belatedly the word came to mind: drugged.
When I slept, my dreams were hazy visions not just of home but of whatever fate I was going toward. At one point, I woke, screaming, from a nightmare about butterflies.
“Milady, I cannot possibly—”
“Tavisan, please.”
When I fell asleep again, the image changed to Urban, bleeding—and then it was Marus instead. Sometimes others; sometimes all of Wyvern’s Court. The dancer’s nest was on fire. Sometimes there were falcons, and occasionally lions.
I knew I had to get away. To run. Far away, because someone had me, and they weren’t afraid to use violence—I remembered my wing breaking—or to drug my food. The haziness left from the drugs made it impossible for me to concentrate for very long, and I struggled to keep from drowning in fear.