Chapter Twenty-Two WITCHING MOON

Chapter Twenty-Two

WITCHING MOON

Week Two, Day Ten

Year 3000

By the time word came that the queen's soldiers were on the move, Zanya was almost grateful for an interruption.

Ulric and Elevia had been as ruthless in the training of her newly discovered ability to manifest physically tangible shadows as they had been with her traveling. Over the course of a grueling morning, they had forced Zanya to answer dozens of questions.

Could she lift something heavier than a person? (Yes.) Could she lift inanimate objects? (Heaving boulders indicated yes.) Could she deploy it at long distances? (Flinging those boulders at the distant peaks across from Dragon's Keep seemed promising.) Could she use it as a weapon of blunt destruction? (Easily.) In place of her own hands? (With some concentration.) With delicate precision? (Not without much more training.) Could she form the shadows into a blade? (Yes.) Did it do the same damage as Void-steel?

Zanya had balked at that test, but Ulric had simply held out his arm in implacable demand, and Zanya had given in, scoring him lightly across the forearm. His golden eyes had flared and a hiss of pain had answered the question, but all three of them had watched the blood seep from the thin cut long after it should have healed.

"She needs to train with this," Ulric said finally, wiping away the blood. "Not with the Raven Guard."

Elevia was already there, with one of Inga's special bandages that had been steeped in healing salves. "Only us, and we'll take care. But it has to happen soon."

Her implication hung in the air: they could be called to the heart of the Empire at any moment, and Zanya was still far from ready.

A chill struck her, as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun. But when she looked up, the shadow was cast by Kardox, who'd been manning the walls. "One of your messengers is on the last switchback, Huntress. Riding fast."

Zanya followed the pair as they strode through the gates and across the causeway to meet the messenger. Neither rider nor horse looked particularly calm after taking the switchback up the mountain at speed, but the young woman still dismounted and clasped a hand over her heart.

"Huntress, you were right. With the rivers closed to them, the queen's soldiers tried to cut south around the Burning Hills to march on Vienda's Hollow. Malindra's regiment turned them back, but it's her opinion that the next confrontation could result in significant bloodshed."

Zanya barely heard the words as Elevia questioned the messenger further, getting details on troop sizes and tactics. Sachi had been determined to go to the capital and put a stop to this by confronting Anikke. She would care deeply about the villages and towns currently under threat. She'd even care about the citizens of the Mortal Court. Not the wealthy and powerful ones, but the ones Zanya had known as she moved through the servants' quarters. The ones now at the mercy of regents who wanted to play foolish games with gods.

But Sachi wasn't here ... and she'd asked Zanya to go in her place. In fact, it was the only thing Sachi had ever asked of her—to do this in her stead while she was trapped in the Empire.

The rest of the High Court who were in residence had joined them in a tight cluster on the causeway, everyone discussing in low voices what the best move would be. Zanya stepped forward. "I should go. Now. That's what Sachi wants. I can deal with it."

Inga tilted her head. "What do you consider dealing with it ?"

"Just what Sachi said. We tell the truth. King Dalvish II broke faith with the High Court, nullifying the ancient treaty. One of you can come with me and make it official. Then we find out what's really going on. If Anikke is truly not responsible for what has been done in her name, she can ask for protection." Zanya squared her shoulders. "I won't be able to do this as elegantly as Sachi might, but I still know where most of the bodies are buried. And if all else fails, I'll murder the regents."

"I like the sound of that part," Ulric murmured.

Inga winced. "It's a touch blunt, but they haven't exactly earned our subtlety. If Sachi thinks you can handle it, I see no reason to doubt her."

"Aleksi is supposed to go with me," Zanya added, turning to face the Lover with an apologetic look. "Sorry, but that's what Sachi said. That everyone at the court still reveres you. And it's true."

"The curse of being lovable," Aleksi said with a heavy sigh. "A burden I bear."

"Then you'll come with me?" Zanya asked.

"Yes. But I will need to change into something a little more appropriate." He glanced at her. "In fact, I think we both should. Ash?"

Ash nodded to Zanya. "Tell them what Sachi said."

What Sachi ...? Oh. Turning, she found Inga. "She said it's time."

Inga linked her arm through Zanya's and led her back toward the castle. "Excellent. Come with me."

"What is it time for?"

Inga smiled mysteriously. "Just a little something to help you make an impression. It was Sachi's idea, but we all wanted to help with it. Consider it a reward for how hard you've been working with Elevia and Ulric."

Since there seemed nothing to do but follow them—and trust Sachi—Zanya let them lead her inside the castle.

Then, for the first time in her life, she learned what it must have been like in Sachi's shoes for all those years.

As soon as they stepped into the odd little parlor, a young man appeared wielding a brush and a smile. The seamstress bustled into the room trailing two attendants, and the armorer strode in chivvying four in front of her. Dark fabrics and leather overflowed arms and spilled onto the floor. They spoke over Zanya as if she weren't there, while the man's fingers twisted her hair into intricate braids that drew the locks away from her face and wound around her head before twining together to cascade down her back in one thick tail.

He didn't even blink at the charred ends of her hair, which told Zanya more than she wanted to know about the High Court and the people who lived there.

Someone brought her sturdy black pants constructed of a rare fabric she recognized only from the Raven Guard's battle armor. Somehow tough but flexible, it could deflect a glancing knife blow and yet still moved with her body. The long-sleeved shirt she donned did the same, clinging to her skin without hampering her movement.

The armor was another matter.

"Inga provided most of this to the leatherworkers," Ulric said as he and Elevia helped her into the stiff leather brigandine. It was stained a midnight black with shiny silver buckles, but it was the studding that stole her breath—dozens and dozens of steel rivets that glittered with an impossible darkness she could taste in the air. One brush of her fingers whispered the truth to her.

"Void-steel?"

"Mmm." Ulric tightened a buckle at her side. "Trust Inga to be sitting on a cache of the stuff, even knowing it could kill her."

An impressive cache, apparently. Bracers followed, along with greaves, both studded in the same glimmering darkness. So was the sword belt, which already had a heavy sheath strapped to it. The sword it contained was Void-steel, as well—a curved blade with a single cutting edge and the inky waves that indicated death to the Dreamers, and a humbling level of trust when they placed it in her hands.

Finally, the crowd of helpers dispersed. Only the High Court remained, all of them studying her in silence that dragged on just long enough to make Zanya feel self-conscious. How did she appear to them? Like a child playing dress-up? A little girl with pretensions of godhood?

She stared at her own reflection in the full mirror, trying to see herself through new eyes. Through their eyes. Glorious dark hair braided for battle like the barbarian clans Malindra called home. Proud, bold features. Brown eyes ringed with a hint of shadows. Sleek black leather armor that shimmered like an oil slick in sunlight, an impossible shadow rainbow that danced when she moved. She was tall, well-muscled. She wore her sword and her knives with easy assurance.

It didn't matter what the rest of the High Court thought. She knew she looked powerful.

"She's ready," Elevia murmured.

"Yes," Ulric agreed.

"Ready." Aleksi smiled. "And terrifyingly gorgeous."

"I have the finishing touch," Inga said from behind her, and Zanya turned to face her. The Witch eased the knife from Zanya's belt and tossed it to the table. Then she flipped her wrist, and the Void-knife appeared in her palm. Inga tucked it gently into the sheath and gave it a pat. "It belongs with you."

"Thank you," Zanya whispered.

"Of course." Inga's violet eyes lit with mischief. "Would you like to add a little drama, my love?"

"Drama?"

"Close your eyes."

Zanya obeyed. Inga's thumbs ghosted over her eyelids as she whispered something unintelligible. Then she gripped Zanya's shoulders gently and turned her back to the mirror. "Look."

It was still her face. But a bold black line outlined each eye, sweeping out from the corner toward her brow in a point sharp enough to cut. And dark pigment shimmered on her eyelids, as if the colors of her armor had been crushed to a powder and smoothed across her skin. Over her shoulder, Inga watched her study the makeup, looking almost ... nervous.

Without warning, the world turned on its head. She stared at the gift they'd so painstakingly constructed for her—clothing tailored to her measurements in secret. Armor pulled from ancient caches and resized to fit her, even though the mere presence of it must scrape their collective nerves raw.

Sachi had been right all along. Zanya didn't have to earn her place among them. She was the manifestation of an elemental power they feared and worshipped. They were uncertain about earning acceptance from her .

"Do you like it?" Inga asked. "If you don't—"

Zanya clasped her hand. "I love it," she said firmly. "It's perfect."

"It's her," rumbled Ash's voice. Inga moved aside, letting him step up behind her. His fingers ghosted over her braid, evoking a soft shiver, and he lowered his voice. "Sachi didn't want us to give this to you until you were ready. But she has always seen you so clearly. A protector."

The pain of missing her was cut by the pleasure of feeling her loving touch in every inch of this outfit. Sachi believed in her. That was power enough. "I love it," she said again. "I'm ready."

"You are," he agreed, and now the look he gave her in the mirror was pure Dragon. "It's time for the Mortal Lords to meet their newest god."