The Windward King, page 4
Sighing, he drew his coat more tightly around him and made his way off the dock and onto the street, paying little attention to where he was going. Apart from the Guide’s church just up the hill, everything looked the same, especially as the bitter wind and looming storm clouds drove the last of the sunlight below the horizon and draped the city in darkness. He would have to find somewhere to stay before the weather turned foul, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of being locked in a room with nothing to do but craft new ways of saying no when shopkeepers offered him work.
“. . . get the banner taken down,” came a voice as he shuffled along. A woman ushered a boy through a door and handed him a long, hooked pole. “Rain’s coming.”
“Nobody else takes theirs down,” grumbled the boy as he prodded at the banner—the same dark fabric and snowy white fox emblem Shara had seen throughout the city.
“Then no one else respects the king.”
The boy waited until his mother disappeared into the house before muttering, “What does he care? He’s dead.”
“His soul isn’t!”
Shara chuckled. Even human mothers had perfect hearing.
He followed the stone-paved road out of the city and south along the rocky shore. Away from Farna, he could smell the storm clearly on the salty air, yet every step led him forward instead of back. He could shift when it was time and fly to the city quickly, or else remain here and find shelter beneath one of the light towers dotting the shoreline.
He left the path and wandered along the water’s edge, shifting his feet for more protection. Scooping up a handful of rocks, he tossed them one after the next into the sea, enjoying the quiet plunk, the growl of the waves, the hiss of the first misty rain. The wind seized his coat and yanked it against his legs, pulling him toward the water until the frigid waves stung his toes.
When the rocks were gone, he stopped walking and drew his hands within the coat’s drape, but it did little good—everything was damp now, from the hair plastered against his neck to the sandy cuffs of his pant legs dragging along the shore.
Not for the first time, his thoughts strayed to his cave-brothers. Soon they’d be bedding down for the night, each in his preferred form. Inori as a fox, Bathar as a wolf . . . A dozen fluffy alvithi all piled together, warm and secure no matter what weather reached the mountains. What would they say about his sleeping alone for the last week, cramped in the little hammock on Thosena’s ship?
Did they miss him? Even care that he was gone?
He raised his eyes to the mountains stretching up from the island across the bay as though he might see all the way back to the clan. Instead he glimpsed motion in the sky—a little white speck wavering violently in the harsh wind while the pilot struggled to maneuver his glider over the water.
Shara’s breath caught. No amount of skill or wind sense could correct that glider’s flight. He spun, peering around the shore though he knew he was alone. No better help would come.
He squeezed his eyes shut, summoning his dragon form, building it around himself with infuriating slowness. If he didn’t reach the pilot in time . . .
His body sizzled, and he sank to all fours and opened his eyes to see the glider lurch sideways, twist midair, and plummet into the churning sea.
Chapter 7
Korith
No!
Bounding forward, Shara threw his wings wide and leapt into the darkness. The angry winds struck him like a massive hand, and he careened off course, wingtip brushing the icy waves. Snarling, he flapped harder, climbed higher, then trained his eyes on the dark water.
The pilot’s white hair and the pale fabric of the ruined glider stood out like soaked stars in the black waves of night. Shara banked sharply, still wobbling in the erratic winds, and maneuvered closer to the flailing figure. Hovering as best he could, he lined up his course, watched the approaching wave . . . The moment it passed, he dove, spread his claws, and grabbed.
The human was heavier than he’d expected, and Shara’s momentum nearly sent them both skipping over the water like rocks. Cold panic shot through his limbs and seized his muscles, and only habit kept his straining, rain-soaked wings beating, beating, until finally he heaved the human from the water with a grunting squawk. The pilot’s flailing ceased, and Shara felt an arm wrap securely around his leg.
At least only one of them was panicking.
The shore seemed impossibly far, but as the first flash of lightning cut through the sky behind him, Shara dropped the human on the rocks at the nearest light tower’s base and tumbled after him in a panting heap. Again his true form surfaced as if of its own will, and he shifted himself human before crawling to where the drenched pilot crouched, coughing and shivering.
“Are you all right?” Shara pulled his coat off and leaned forward, holding it out—it wasn’t much, but it was drier than anything the young man was wearing. “Is anything broken?”
To his shock, the human laughed. “No more than usual.” He didn’t take the coat—one hand supported his other arm, which hung awkwardly at the shoulder. Despite the pained set of his features and the blood dripping from his temple, however, his eyes brightened as he regarded Shara in the dim tower light. “You’re alvithi.”
His voice was rich with awe that Shara didn’t deserve.
“I . . . Well, yes, I suppose.” More or less, anyway.
The pilot’s face spread into a smile. “Th-that was amazing. Rescued by a d-dragon!”
Cheeks burning, Shara withdrew the unclaimed coat and climbed to his feet; his knees ground into the rocks as he moved, the pain driving away his lingering panic. Thunder rumbled overhead, and he held out a hand. “You need to get somewhere warm and dry. And see a doctor.”
“Oh, no need.” And with no other warning, the pilot gripped his dislocated arm just below the shoulder and drew it gently but firmly down, forward, and back up. Even in the storm, the faint pop of the joint resetting was audible.
Shara gaped.
The human chuckled. “I’ve put myself back together plenty of times before. I’m used to it. W-well . . .” Teeth chattering, he let Shara guide him to his feet; the contents of a bag slung over his chest clunked as he swayed. “Not the plummeting to my untimely death part. Speaking of which, I don’t s-suppose you saved my glider, did you?”
Shara stared. The man had just reset a dislocated shoulder as if it were nothing. He could have drowned, he was bleeding, he might still get freezing sickness, and he wanted to know about his glider? “Uh, no. I . . . sorry.”
“Figures. Six months of modifications and now th-this.” Together, he and Shara tied the coat into a sling. “Did I at least look good and dramatic when I crashed?”
Make that injuries plus a jostled brain. “Um, sure. Do you, uh, remember your name?”
Another laugh. “I’m fine, really. And it’s Korith. And you’re . . . Shara?” He nodded at the sleeve they’d tied, where Shara’s name glittered silver.
“Yes.” He nearly shifted to greet Korith properly, but he didn’t need more undeserved admiration.
“Well, thank you, Shara. I owe you.”
Shara squirmed. “It wasn’t really . . . I nearly fell in after you.”
Korith grinned and brushed dripping white hair back from his forehead. “Then I’d’ve been saved by a sea dragon instead. Equally amazing. We’ll do that next time.”
The easy confidence in his words cut sharper and deeper than the weather. Shara’s muscles seized, rooting him to the spot while an animal desire to flee shot through him.
“You all right?” Korith squinted at him.
He drew a shaky breath and swallowed the urge. He couldn’t abandon a drenched, shivering, bleeding human on the shore in the middle of an oncoming storm. And anyway, Korith was delusional, or ignorant, or easily impressed. Possibly all three. He had no way of knowing the truth about his rescuer.
Korith wouldn’t know what proper toresh looked like, either, and with that reassurance in mind, Shara let his eyes unfocus. He pictured a horse, trailing invisible fingers over its mane, along its nose, down its legs.
Korith’s delighted laughter announced that the shift was complete, but when Shara turned to look at him, his expression grew serious. “Are you sure? You don’t mind?”
Shara butted him with his nose and clopped to a large rock, and after a cautious climb, Korith slid onto his back. Not a pleasant sensation, having a human on your back, but Korith sat still and balanced, wobbling only when he shivered. Suppressing a shake of his own, Shara picked his way back to the road and glanced left, then right. He didn’t care where they went so long as it was dry.
After an awkward, rain-soaked pause, Korith said, “Uh, left. Back to the city. Can you understand me?”
Could he—? Shara snorted and gave a gentle buck.
A quivering laugh. “Well, how was I to know? You’re the first alvithi I’ve ever met.”
And the last if Shara didn’t get him somewhere warm. Another peal of thunder rolled across the sky, and he moved off toward Farna as quickly as he dared.
>><<
Korith lived in a garden.
Dried plants hung from ropes strung across the rafters; live ones blossomed in pots of various sizes spread around the front of the room. Here early spring flowers, there a variety of herbs, and in one corner, a small collection of plants that should not have been alive at all this early in the spring. Shara squinted in the dim lantern light, sniffed, and gave up.
“What—”
“Not here,” Korith whispered. “Come on, up the stairs before—”
“Lord Aman!”
Korith cringed. “Before that.” A guilty grin spread over his drawn, rain-streaked face, and he turned to the woman illuminated in the door behind them. “Evening, Na Mithel.”
“What did you—? No, you don’t even have to tell me.” Her gazed flitted over him, from the hair dripping water into his eyes down to the puddle he was leaving on the floor. “Soaked through, bleeding, arm injured again, and no sign of that glider of yours. I told you a storm was coming—”
“But did I listen?”
“—but did you—” Her eyes narrowed, but humor tugged at her lips. “Very well, be difficult. Now hurry upstairs and dry off; I’ll send up tea. Honestly . . .”
She disappeared into the back room, and Korith chuckled and nudged Shara toward the narrow staircase running along the side of the room.
Three steps up, something nearly knocked Shara over the edge. Lord Aman. “So you’re . . . noble?”
Korith laughed. “In name, anyway.”
After a week with Lord Ainsith, Shara swelled with relief at the easy humor in his voice. “And you live above a garden?”
“It’s an herbary. Mostly plants for medicine and cooking. But yes, some flowers, too.”
“Why would you buy flowers?”
Korith frowned over his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t you buy flowers?”
Other than the plethora of plants growing in the hills, free to anyone who bothered to find and admire and pick them? Other than the ability of anyone with a basic knowledge of seeds and soil to grow their own flowers?
Humans were odd.
“And this is your herbary?”
“Yes and no. I own the building. Na Mithel and her family rent the lower floor. They live in the back and sell out the front.”
Korith unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, and Shara nearly fell down the stairs a second time. Dozens of faces stared at him from the opposite wall, people of every age and size and appearance, all of them black and white and grey. Faces sketched in vivid detail and a startling variety of emotions—anger, sorrow, joy, contentment, embarrassment, disgust, confusion, excitement, pride . . . An entire wall of portraits.
“Did you draw all of these?”
“Mm-hmm,” came Korith’s muffled voice from within a large bureau.
“They’re beautiful.” His chest warmed—there was Na Mithel wearing that exasperated smile, like she’d faded into charcoal and stepped onto the page. “You’re incredible.”
“Yes I am. Good on you for noticing.” Korith reemerged wearing a broad grin and passed half the clothing in his arms to Shara. “For you. I’m going to clean this up”—he indicated his red-streaked temple—“and change. Make yourself at home.”
He disappeared into the next room, leaving Shara in the sudden silence of the first human dwelling he’d ever been in.
Though his loose undershirt and trousers were dry thanks to his shift outside, they were hardly clean, and he peeled them off and pulled on the fresh garments. Noble clothing. It was an odd thought, as was the entire concept of nobility. Honoring certain people because of their parentage. At least Shara deserved his distinction, though being teveth was hardly an honor.
Footsteps on the stairs interrupted his thoughts, and a little girl appeared bearing a tray laden with a large pot and three cups, one of which was inexplicably full of piko seeds. Her portrait, too, hung on the wall.
“Momma says to tell Lord Aman to drink all of it,” she said importantly.
Shara gave her his best no-nonsense nod and pretended not to notice when she flinched at a crack of thunder. “I will do that. Thank you.”
He carried the tray to a desk heaped with books and drawing supplies. Behind it, an arched opening in the stone wall housed the remains of a fire. Careful not to dirty his host’s clothing, Shara hefted an armful of logs from a small pile in the corner and set to work.
The fire was blazing when a clean, dry Korith reappeared and caught Shara examining a large black-and-white-striped vase full of fancy sticks.
“Walking canes,” Korith explained. “My shoulders aren’t the only things that don’t stay where they belong.”
“Oh.” Good thing he hadn’t used them for kindling, then.
“Speaking of which, I hung your coat in the bathing room to dry. Thank you for that.” His gaze swept past Shara and landed on the fire, and he beamed and headed toward it. “And for this.”
Two padded chairs sat before the fire, one considerably more worn than the other. Korith moved the tea tray to a small table between them and poured two cups of tea, spooning in generous portions of piko seeds for no reason Shara could imagine. “So,” he began, gesturing for Shara to sit and handing him a cup of seed tea, “what’s an alvithi doing in Farna?”
Shara slumped into his chair. The distraction of Korith’s fall, the weather’s frigid embrace, the heady scents of flowers and fire and Korith and tea—all of it vanished like a blanket pulled from his shoulders. Drawing his legs to his chest, he cupped the hot mug in his hands. Thunder rolled through the sky, and rain rattled against the windows. It would have been cozy if not for his inner chill.
“I . . . I thought I was starting over, but I think I’m just making a mistake. Another mistake.” He gazed into the flames and swallowed thickly. “At least I’m consistent.”
For a few minutes on the ride back to Farna, he’d thought he could fool Korith completely. Leave him at his door, disappear into the night, and in Korith’s mind, Shara would always be the amazing alvithi who’d saved his life. Nothing more—and nothing less.
Claws constricted around his chest. To have even one person think of him that way . . .
“Listen, I—” He set the tea aside and pushed to his feet. Maybe it wasn’t too late, despite his confession. “I should go.”
He made it two steps before his conviction fled and left him with the raindrops skipping over the roof, the entirety of the unfamiliar human city beyond these walls, the ache at the idea of being alone again.
In the end, even being teveth was better than that.
“Unless . . . unless you need help with anything?”
Say yes.
With a single sweep of Korith’s eyes, a single studied look, Shara understood why all the portraits looked so real, all those people so seen. It was enough to make him want to flee all over again, but then Korith’s face spread into a smile.
“Actually, now that you mention it, there are a few things . . .”
Chapter 8
The Captain of the Guard
Two weeks later, Korith still had not run out of things, and at this point, Shara was certain he was inventing them.
Folding his seagull wings, he dove for the familiar alley next to Korith’s favorite eating house, where he alighted on a trash barrel and gave his wings an extra-birdlike ruffle.
But as usual, no one noticed him amid the early-morning bustle. Humans, it turned out, were not solitary and unsociable as he’d grown up believing. The locked windows and closed doors of their homes served more to make them feel safe than to actually divide them, and no matter the hour, the streets and shops of Farna thrummed with activity. Between the continuous chatter and the fact that seagulls were ubiquitous, Shara was invisible.
He hopped to the ground behind the barrel for another slow shift, then slipped out onto the main street. Gliders dotted the clear sky like flower petals on the wind, and the buildings stretched like endless rows of neatly arranged caves, greeting him with their doors thrown open despite the spring chill. No endlessly stretching mountains and mirror-glass lakes, no soothing aromas of pine and earth and warm fur, but when he stood still and let Farna swallow him with all its sounds and scents and movement and people, he almost felt warm inside.
He pushed into the eating house and wove his familiar way to the counter. Korith had openly admitted that he hadn’t the first idea how to use his kitchen or anything in it. Shara knew enough not to poison anyone or burn Korith’s house down, but since Korith had objected, loudly and with much squirming, to Shara bringing dead rabbits into his apartment, Shara fetched breakfast for both of them every morning—and ate rabbits when Korith wasn’t looking.
Scooping up the waiting package of food, he smiled gratefully at the young woman behind the counter and hurried away when she looked like she might speak to him. Another well-established ritual.
Humans preferred hawks for deliveries, and back in the alley, he clasped the package’s ties in raptor talons and shoved into the air. The city shone brighter than usual today, for the mourning banners in honor of King Isith had at last been taken down. In about a month, Prince Regent Iliath would be crowned the new king. Korith had promised—threatened—to take Shara to the coronation.
