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.
Chapter Four
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.