Disoriented and dizzy, my head spun and my stomach revolted, my intense relief warring with a paralyzing fear of what was to come. I panted, pulling my cloak around me, wincing as the wounds on my back made themselves known. I struggled to rise and swayed against the wall of the cave, clinging to the rocks as I waited for the world to settle.
The beast watched my attempts to calm and comfort myself with strange fascination, his dragon head tipped at an angle, waiting for me to demand answers. It was dark in the cave, the full moon beyond the wide opening insufficient to light the deep corners. I crept along the wall, not foolish enough to think he would let me flee, but hopeful I could get closer to the entrance, closer to the light.
I didn’t want to die in the dark.
He stalked me, allowing the few steps it took to bathe us both in moonlight, and then he spoke.
Do you know who I am, little queen? The words came from his mind, not his mouth. I shivered, hating the way they felt inside my head, intrusive and heavy, leaving no space for my own thoughts. It was the way I communicated, and I suddenly understood why Kjell resented it.
No. I made my voice a spear and flung it outward. He hissed, and steam curled from his narrow snout. He loomed over me, herding me to the cliff’s edge.
I turned away from him, averting my face so he wouldn’t see my fear. He crept closer, so close that my toes kissed the edge and his presence warmed my back.
“But I know who you are,” he whispered, using his voice to show he could. His forked tongue darted between his teeth, and his scalding hot breath tickled the exposed skin below my ear, searing my flesh. I clenched my jaw, refusing to cry out, even with my thoughts, and I considered falling.
“You are Meshara’s daughter.”
I stiffened, hating the way he crooned my mother’s name like a man savoring his wine. He touched the blistering skin on my neck with a scaled knuckle, and I felt a wet pop and a flash of pain.
“I’ve burned you. Forgive me. I forget how fragile a woman’s skin can be. You are quite beautiful, really. Deceptively so. Like moonlight. Pale. Slender. One almost looks right through you before he catches his breath and looks back.”
Tiras had said the same thing.
The beast stepped back, as if truly apologetic that he had blistered my flesh, and I eased away from the ledge, my eyes still glued to the cavernous darkness below.
“You are Meshara’s daughter, Queen of Jeru, Lark of Corvyn.”
My breath stalled, and I found his eyes in the wan light, waiting.
“My son made you queen. How clever of him.”
My throat throbbed and my ears burned, and I touched tentative fingers to one lobe, uncertain I’d heard him clearly.
Your son?
“The king. Tiras,” he whispered, and the S hissed between us. “I am Liege. But I am also . . . Zoltev. Do you remember me, Lark of Corvyn?”
I shook my head, adamant, resistant. Terrified. You are Volgar.
“No. They are animals. I am a man. With wings. And claws.” I heard his smile, though I didn’t see it.
Zoltev was a . . . man, and you are a beast.
“But if I want to be a man, I am a man.”
I watched, unable to help myself, and true to his words, with an undulating twist, he stood before me, devoid of wings and claws, feathers and scales.
He looked like Tiras.
The arrogant set of his chin and his unapologetic stance made my heart shudder with recognition. His hair had greyed, his body had aged, and the eyes that looked out at me were Kjell’s. But I knew him.
He laughed when my legs gave way beneath me. I teetered, catching myself at the last moment and slicing my hand on a sharp edge. Blood welled, crimson and warm, and dripped against the rocks beneath my fingers. My mother’s blood had spilled over stones. It had pooled beneath our bodies and congealed in my hair.
The beast king crouched over me, dipping his finger into the blood on my palm.
“But why would I want to be a man when I can be Liege?” he said simply, drawing his finger into his mouth, tasting me.
He contorted and shook, and his lower body was once again clothed in feathers, his legs and feet resembling those of a bird. He rose, throwing back his head, and his wings tumbled down his back like a flag unfurled.
“I prefer to be something in between.” He remained a man from the waist up, but talons shot out from his hands, neatly breaking through the skin on the tips of his fingers like a cat flexing his claws.
“I can be anything I want to be. I’m a Changer and a Spinner.”
Not a Healer?
“It is the one gift I have no need of. There’s no one in all of Jeru I want to heal.”
Of course not. Healing required love.
“I’ve spun vultures into warriors, into an entire army. I started with a few and bade them attack. We left bodies to rot in the sun, and more vultures came. I spun them into Volgar, and one by one, I built an army. I tell them what to do. They are easy to control . . . aren’t they? You destroyed so many of my creations, little queen. I should destroy you.”
I struggled to stand, not wanting to cower at his feet, and he watched me rise, as if I amused him.
“I should destroy you, but you might be of use to me.”
I flinched, and his black-winged eyebrows rose. “The beasts obey me because I am their creator. But I am not a Teller. I can’t compel them with mere words. But you can.”
I could feel them even now, the words that animated their huge, avian bodies and their simple minds. I could hear their hunger and their bloodlust, and I repelled them, flinging spells to keep them away. I couldn’t see them, but they were near.