Author: Leah Cypess

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.”

Chapter Five

Blood. On her hands, dripping to the floor, soaking the arrow she wrenched out of her side as she ran from the courtyard. She could taste it, choking her….

The memory struck with brutal force, making her gasp. It was gone in a second, leaving only the feeling of pain and guilt and fear. Fear. She had been afraid.

“That’s not possible,” Isabel said, trying to focus on Ven. It was too late to pretend his statement had not come as a shock. “The Shifter—I—can’t allow a member of the royal family to die, let alone kill one.”

He braced himself and said, “Rokan’s father wasn’t the king.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was the captain of the castle guards. He organized a rebellion and killed the old king and his children.”

Isabel let his arm go.

To her surprise, Ven did not step away from her. “The School of Sorcery had secretly been working for decades on a spell that could affect the Shifter. Albin provided it to Rokan’s father. They had been working on the spell for fifty years, and it managed to hold you for about five seconds. Long enough.”

The arrows flying past her had been aimed at her king. Isabel’s chest hurt.

“You tried to kill Rokan’s father, but he told you his soldiers were on their way to execute the king’s children. By the time you managed to reach the children, it was too late—they were too securely trapped, and you couldn’t save them, either. You fled from shame. It was said that if you ever came back, it would be for vengeance.”

“Vengeance,” Isabel repeated numbly. It didn’t strike the slightest chord. None of this did; it might as well have happened to someone else. “Vengeance is a human conceit.”

“I suppose it is,” Ven said. “That’s why we assume you would want it. That’s why no one has guessed who you are. No one can believe Rokan would be foolish enough to go searching for you, no matter how uncertain his reign. Odds were you’d kill him, not protect him. He had no way to know you would accept him as the new king.”

“He had the bracelet,” Isabel said.

After a barely perceptible pause, Ven said, “Yes. He did have that.”

“Didn’t he realize I would find out?” Isabel said.

“During Rokan’s father’s reign, it was a crime punishable by death to speak of the coup. People are still afraid, and they still don’t talk.” Ven finally stepped back, but this time it wasn’t from fear; when he rested against the table again, his arms were loose and relaxed. “Besides, according to legend, the Shifter doesn’t think about things that don’t matter. Once you accepted Rokan as your charge, it wouldn’t matter to you who his father was. Even if you learned the truth, you might just…not acknowledge it.”

Was that true? Isabel wondered. Did she not think about things that didn’t matter? If she was thinking about it, did that mean it did matter? “Sounds a bit like wishful thinking to me,” she observed.

Ven flushed, and Isabel wondered why—Rokan’s wishful thinking was hardly his fault. “Yes, well. They realized it might not work that way. That’s why Rokan had me track down the bracelet. Once you accepted it from him, it would keep you from harming him.”

“Then why didn’t he tell me the truth?”

Ven stretched his legs out in front of him. “Maybe he thought if you spent some time protecting him before you realized the truth, it would have a better chance of working. And you do want to protect him, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“From the start?”

No. Not until after she had scratched his face. Not until he had fastened the bracelet around her wrist. But she had let him fasten it, hadn’t she? And this was something Ven had no way of finding out. “Yes. It was immediate.”

“How odd.” Ven frowned slightly. “And interesting. Maybe with all the members of the last dynasty gone, your loyalty switched instantly to the new one.”

What kind of loyalty was that? But it could be true, if she had been bound to protect the kingdom itself, to maintain a strong monarchy no matter what.