Walking with all this silk billowing around her was kind of annoying. But at the same time, it did feel nice against her skin. Kett made a face as she stomped down the corridor. Any minute now she was going to start wearing things with bows.
One of the elegant dogs that usually followed her sisters around trotted toward her and she halted it, checking the tag on its collar.
“Kett II,” she read. They’d started calling their pets Kett years ago, after Kett had changed her shape to match that of Eithne’s pony in an ill-conceived attempt to impress her infant siblings. Since then, there’d always been at least one pet named after her. “You poor sod,” she told the dog, who gave her the sort of big-eyed, mournful look only dogs can and slunk away.
There was music coming from the ballroom at the rear of the house and people spilling out into the lobby. Last night the servants had put up huge wreaths of yew and vitalweed, and the semi-sentient flowers swayed gently to the music. Huge candles and gas lamps were everywhere, making the lobby and everyone within it glow beautifully with a sort of kaleidoscope of color-
Kett peered closer. Bobbing around the living flower arrangements were an assortment of faeries, their bright auras glowing, making little rainbows as they danced. It figured that her stepmother had actually invited the little buggers. She probably had faery-sized food and drink laid out for them.
She recognized a few faces, tried to avoid them as she descended the stairs in a flurry of silk. But she couldn’t avoid Beyla, who rushed over to her at the foot of the steps, exclaiming, “Kett, you look beautiful!”
People turned to look. Kett winced.
“Cheers,” she said. Beyla was wearing something satiny in dark green, surprisingly sophisticated, reminding Kett again that her half-sisters were not little girls anymore.
“Kett, I wanted to catch you before you went in. Eithne’s invited Verrick-her boyfriend,” she clarified, when Kett gave her a blank look. “And you know Papa has some ridiculous problem with him.”
“And yet he likes Bael,” Kett said. “The mind boggles.”
“Bael is lovely,” Beyla said, and Kett started to wonder if insanity was hereditary. “And Papa seems to think we’re both little girls who can’t take care of ourselves.” For a moment, her pretty face clouded with the sort of scowl her father had perfected. Then it cleared as she spotted someone over Kett’s shoulder. “Oh, doesn’t Lucidia look lovely? She so suits being a blonde. But listen, Kett, if you see Eithne and Verrick together, try to keep Papa away from them.”
“I don’t even know what this Verrick looks like,” Kett said, but her sister was already moving away to greet the lovely Lucidia and her newly blonde hair.
“Whatever,” Kett said, and started toward the crowded ballroom. It was thick with people and scents, candles and perfume and flowers, and for a moment she reeled, because she hadn’t been in such a crowd for a long time.
Then she squared her shoulders. Don’t be pathetic, Kett. You’ve faced less pleasant things than this.
Not many, though.
“Lady Kett Almet-Cooper of Nirya,” announced the hired emcee, to whom Kett delivered a look that made him shrink about four inches. Lady was bad enough, but Cooper?
“I divorced that twat years ago,” she muttered, and stalked onward.
The noise was overwhelming, a babble of voices and music and people laughing, and everywhere she looked there were unfamiliar faces topping ridiculous confections of silk and velvet. There appeared to be, in some corners of society, a fashion for powdered wigs, feathers and beads in the hair. The people wearing them looked ridiculous, but it was Kett’s opinion that most people following fashion did.
She scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Beyla was still in the lobby, being a hostess. Eithne was doing the same with a group of bewigged women who looked like they had cobwebs on their heads.
She spotted Tane, being a terrible host but a great flirt, talking to a very pretty girl over by the windows. No help there.
There was Nuala’s brother, the king, looking very regal, but what the hell did she have to say to him? A few feet away stood his daughter and heir, Jalen, looking as bored as Kett was and as beautiful as she wasn’t. If all else failed, she could always go over and ask Jalen what sharp pointy things she’d been given for Yule.
Besides, she had a bottle of wine in one hand.
But before she got there, Jalen’s miscreant boyfriend slunk up to her and kissed the back of her neck, making the princess jump and spill her wine. Kett backed away, having absolutely no desire to get in the middle of a domestic.
The noise, the heat, the clashing perfumes and all the deeply unpleasant people were giving her a hell of a headache. This is why I never come, she reminded herself, pushing through the crowds, more irritated with each step.
As she passed the small door leading to the minstrel’s gallery, it opened and a dozen men and women in clothes much too expensive for them trooped out. Nuala strikes again, Kett thought. She probably saw their regular performance outfits and cried. How her stepmother had any money left was beyond Kett.
Oh yes. Her brother was the king. And it wouldn’t really surprise Kett if her father was doing a little light highwaymanning on the side for fun.
Making a quick decision, she ducked through the little door and up the stairs to the rather spacious balcony, now filled with cellos and drums and other things she didn’t really understand.
Up here it was cooler, which made no sense until she saw the open window high in the corner. It was also quieter and, praise gods, significantly emptier. Kett leaned against the wall, far back in the alcove, and massaged her temples.
How did I do this? she wondered. How did I deal with the crowds, the people, the noise? Time was, she’d spent every night in taverns far busier and smellier than this ballroom, and she’d loved it.
Hadn’t she?
I need a smoke, she thought, depressed, and wondered if Nuala would have her shot for lighting up in the ballroom. Then she remembered her cigars were in her room, and scowled.
Moving forward, she leaned over the balustrade to survey the room below. If she didn’t see someone she knew and liked in the next five minutes, she was returning to her room. Since she only knew about a dozen people likely to be invited, and liked less than half of them, Kett didn’t figure she was going to have to stay long.
Then footsteps sounded behind her and she turned, expecting to see the musicians but finding Bael instead, wearing something dark and tailored that made him look far more civilized than she knew he was.
“That,” he said, staring at her, “is a great dress.”
Kett looked down at it doubtfully. “It’s not really…” She waved her hand. “Me.”
“No, it isn’t.” Bael stepped toward her, and he smelled fantastic. “It doesn’t do you justice.”
Kett opened her mouth to tell him he was talking bullshit, but he ran his finger along her exposed collarbone and she lost her breath.
“Lady Kett Almet-Cooper of Nirya?” he asked, and she scowled. “That’s a lot of names.”
Actually, the emcee had-mercifully-missed a couple. “Kett Almet does me fine,” she said.
“Does me fine too,” Bael said, stroking the pulse in her neck.
“Funny,” she tried to snap, but it came out as a squeak.
“You look incredible,” he said, his eyes dark on hers.
“I thought I looked very credible,” she breathed.
“Nope. I’m finding you hard to believe,” Bael said, skimming his hand down her arm, over her bare back and pulling her closer to him. “I think I need to check that you’re real.”
“Okay, that’s a terrible line,” Kett said, and he grinned.
“Did it work?”
“No.” Yes.
His lips brushed hers. “Liar.”
The soft, silky fabric of his suit whispered against her skin, and Kett found herself winding her arms around his neck just to feel more of it. What have I been missing? she wondered, as Bael leaned in and licked her collarbone. All this silk, it’s amazing. I’ve never been turned on by fabric before.
But then, she’d never necked with someone while wearing a ball gown before, either.
He backed her against the balustrade and kissed her, running his hands over her bare back, and Kett experienced for the first time the whisper of silk over hardened nipples. She thrust out her breasts, trying to get more of that lovely soft slide of fabric, pushing herself against Bael and loving the pressure of his hard chest through the delicate silk.
“I could fuck you right here,” Bael said against her mouth, and Kett was hit with a rush of lust so strong she had to hold on to him to keep from toppling backward over the balustrade.
“I could let you,” she whispered back, and he pulled back half an inch and looked at her, his eyes really dark.
“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he said, his hand covering her breast, and the heat of it felt so good Kett closed her eyes.
“I mean it,” she said, and Bael groaned and turned her around in his arms, pressed her against the balustrade and leaned into her from behind. The rail was waist-high, standing on struts so thickly woven with ivy and ribbons and moving flowers that from the ballroom floor, no one could see through it.
So no one could see as Bael slid his hand under the silk at her side and caressed her stomach, dipping lower with each stroke but not quite touching the curls Kett knew were already wet. His lips were hot on her neck, his free hand brushing aside tendrils of hair as he found the spot below her jaw that made her gasp and arch her back. And as she did, she felt his erection pressing against her, thick and hard between her buttocks.
Her breath came faster. “Bael,” she gasped, and tried to move his hand lower, where she needed it.
But he pushed her fingers back to the balustrade, murmuring in her ear, “Hold on, sweetheart. If anyone looks up they’ll just see us enjoying the view.”
All those people down there. For some reason that made Kett even hotter, and she sucked in a breath, her hands clutching the marble of the balcony. When Bael’s fingers finally slipped between her legs, she bit her lip to stifle a cry.
“If anyone looks up,” she panted, “they’re going to see me really enjoying the view.”
Bael’s chuckle vibrated through her, and her head rolled back to give him better access to her neck. His clever fingers slid between her slippery folds, stroking and rubbing, just the right kind of pressure to make her gasp and push her hips back against him. His other hand rested on hers, fingers entwined as she gripped the cool marble and writhed, eyes half-closed. His fingers circled her clit, stroked gently on either side then pressed down on it, and Kett whimpered.
“That’s it,” Bael whispered. “Come for me, Kett.”
Her fingers curled into her palm, nails digging in. Stars danced before her eyes and her breath caught in her throat as the pressure built higher and higher…
“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” Bael said, and she broke, convulsing in his arms, letting out a cry he stifled with his own mouth. His fingers kept on caressing her, his free arm wrapping around her waist to hold her steady as she fell apart, and Kett abandoned the balustrade to cling to him, his body rock-solid against her back.
When she finally came back down to earth, she felt him moving behind her, lifting her skirt, freeing himself, and she braced her hands on the balcony again, waiting for him to fill her up, wanting to be taken hard and fast up here, in public, where anyone could see-
Someone screamed outside, the sound coming in through the high window, and Kett’s head snapped in that direction.
“Your parents keep peacocks?” Bael asked, his voice tense.
“No,” Kett said, and she glanced back at him. He was staring at the window too. Not for the first time since she’d woken up in that cave, Kett wished she could tune into the supersonic hearing or night vision her various shapes allowed her.
“It’ll just be-” Bael began, and then the scream came again, a woman crying “No!”, and Kett wanted to kill someone.
The ballroom below was so thick with noise, no one else would have heard the scream.
“Hell,” Kett said, and twisted away from Bael, yanking down her skirt and turning to the stairs. But the minstrels, gods damn them, chose that minute to come back up, all of them, choking the staircase. “Damn and bloody fuck,” Kett snapped, as a rather cruel male laugh sounded from outside.
“What are you-” Bael began, as Kett grabbed the railing, fighting off the moving vitalweed, and judged the distance to the ground. “There are plenty of people here who could help.”
“Yeah? Then why aren’t they?”
With that, she leapt over the balustrade, swung out into the air and grabbed the tottering decorations as they started to fall. With a tear, the entwined boughs and ribbons gave way, and Kett jumped the last few feet to the floor, her boots thudding on the polished wood, faeries scattering around her in a blinding arc of color.
People stared, and Kett remembered belatedly that she was naked under her dress. And also that ancient leather work boots didn’t exactly go with ball gowns.
The hell with it. “Get out of my way!” she snarled, and people moved, because people generally tended to move when Kett was in a bad mood.
Wrenching open one of the tall doors to the terrace, she strode out and saw nothing. But then that taunting snigger came again from the lawn below the terrace, and she took a running leap over the low wall onto the grass, freefalling a dozen feet as the ground dropped away. She ducked into a shoulder roll as she hit the ground, coming up facing the three youths who had one pretty girl cornered in the darkness.
“What the fuck?” one of them cursed, staring at her. The girl, tears glistening in the moonlight, gave Kett a pleading look, and she realized it was the girl Tane had been chatting up earlier.
“I don’t think she wants to play,” Kett said, cursing her lack of weaponry.
“Oh, I think she does,” said the tallest of the boys, grabbing the girl’s breast. Her dress was torn and, as Kett’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw scratches on her flesh, and then the glint of metal as a second boy drew his sword.
“And you’re gonna play too,” he said.
Right then, Kett would have given anything to turn herself into a big cat and play with them, but she contented herself with a snarl instead.
“Run,” said the girl, her voice shaky with tears. “Don’t let them-”
The tall boy slapped her and Kett saw red. Grabbing his upraised arm, she twisted hard and it snapped. The kid let out a scream, his friends froze and Kett felt her lips curl in a smile.
She’d heard those taunts and sniggers before. Maybe not from these boys, but she’d heard them.
It hadn’t ended well then either.
“You will shut up,” she said, “and you will listen to me. What’s your name?”
“I don’t have to-” Kett twisted his arm and his face went white. “Willifus-the Honorable Willifus Flherik Lochmarne-Lochmarne-d’Athinisha.”
“What a fucking stupid name,” Kett said, trying not to snort at “honorable”.
“You broke my arm!”
“Yep, and I’ll break a lot more if you don’t do what I say.”
“My father will hear of this!”
“I bloody hope so.”
The boy with the sword rounded on her, and she tensed to ward him off-this was going to hurt-when he suddenly stopped dead, sword in the air.
And Kett became aware of a low growl.
“Nice doggy,” said the third boy, who was holding the girl’s hands behind her back. Using her as a shield, Kett realized, the bloody coward. She turned to snap at Kett II to get the hell out of there when she realized it wasn’t her sisters’ dog, but a rather large wolf. Growling.
Her mind raced. It couldn’t be Bael. He just wasn’t wolf material. Were there any other shifters at the party? Another Nasc? She knew the Empress of Zemlya turned into a wolf when it got dark, but she didn’t think any of the Zemlyan contingent were present-
“You can’t keep a dog like that untethered,” said Willifus, who clearly had the brains of a dead flower. “My father-”
“Look, kid, your father named you Willifus, clearly he hates you,” Kett said. “And that ain’t a dog.”
The wolf bared its teeth. It looked like it was grinning.
“What the hell?” Kett said to it, and the kid with the sword chose that moment to become a hero, launching himself at the wolf. But the wolf, moving with such easy grace he looked as if he wasn’t really bothered, rolled to one side, swiped at the boy’s leg and brought him down. Pinning him with his front paws, he took the whimpering boy’s sword arm in his teeth and shook it.
The boy screamed and dropped the sword. Kett kicked smartly at the hilt, making the blade jump into the air and spin over. She caught it by the hilt, pleased she could still pull off that maneuver.
In the sudden silence, the third boy stared at Kett and the wolf.
“Please give me a reason,” she said, aching to cause him pain.
“Don’t hurt me,” he whispered.
“Why not? You hurt her.”
“I didn’t! That was Will!”
Kett shook her head. “And now you’re ratting out your friends. Seriously, kid, you’re a waste of space.” A movement to her left caught her attention, and the gleam of amber eyes flashed in the darkness. A lion, nearly five feet tall at the withers. Dark’s Nasc twin.
Kett smiled. “Relax, kid. I ain’t gonna hurt you,” she said.
The kid relaxed.
“But he might,” Kett added, and Dark stepped into vision.
Willifus peed his pants.
“Excellent,” Kett said. “Let her go.”
The kid did as he was told, and the girl ran to hide behind Kett as Dark swatted the boy with one huge paw, knocking him to the ground and holding him there as footsteps sounded on the terrace.
“Kett, Kett, Kett,” Bael said, surveying the scene as he sauntered down the nearest set of steps toward her. “You really know how to make a party go off.”
“Yes, and thanks for your backup,” she snapped, as guests crowded onto the terrace, all of them looking down at her and whispering.
“What do you call that?” Bael gestured to the wolf, who was sprawled across the apparently unconscious body of the swordsman. He gave her a doggy grin.
“That’s you?”
“That’s Var. My twin. You didn’t think I was going to rush off for help and leave you without backup, did you?”
Baelvar. Man and wolf. Somehow, that didn’t seem quite right.
On the terrace stood Kett’s father, shaking his head at her, and then Tane was pushing his way through. When he caught sight of the shivering girl trying to hold her dress together, he cried, “Giselle!” and leapt to the grass.
Of course she has a name like Giselle, Kett thought sourly as the girl moved out from behind her, into Tane’s arms. Beautiful, lissome girls like her were never called Agnes or Doris.
She even cried prettily, clinging to Tane as he draped his jacket around her and stroked her glossy hair.
“Are you all right?” he asked tenderly, looking down at her, and she nodded tearfully. Kett bit her lip, because her brother had clearly seen the scratches on Giselle’s exposed breast and now appeared to be trying to work out whether mentioning it would be helpful, or if he was going to get a slap for noticing her bare breast in the first place.
“Go and take her to Nuala,” Kett said, because her unflappable stepmother was, in addition to being a princess, a qualified doctor, and Tane nodded and steered the fragile Giselle away.
“Thank you,” he called back to Kett, who nodded, surprised to be on the receiving end of anyone’s gratitude, and Giselle stopped, ran back to Kett and threw her arms around her.
“Thank you,” she sobbed. “You saved my life.”
Kett, who still had hold of the whimpering Willifus, looked down at the girl with slight distaste, which made Bael and her father laugh.
“Yeah, well, get Tane to teach you some self-defense, yeah?”
Giselle nodded and went back to Tane, who received her as if she was something precious, and Kett felt a pang because no one had ever looked at her like that, and nor were they likely to if she was the one standing there holding a youth who’d just pissed himself.
“Ain’t ever dull with you around,” Tyrnan called down, and she scowled at him as Willifus looked up and recognized his host.
“Sir!” he cried, and Kett rolled her eyes. Was it inbreeding, she wondered, or was the kid just destined to be thick? “My lord, this…harpy assaulted me!”
“No she didn’t,” Bael said. “She kicked your ass.”
“And that harpy,” Tyrnan said, hands in his pockets, “happens to be my daughter.”
This time Kett swore the wolf laughed.
“Where the hell is Tanner?” Tyrnan said, looking around. “I swear to gods, why the hell do I bother to invite the captain of the guard?”
“He got called back to the ngardaí,” said a young man with a garda badge, muscling his way through the crowd. Kett figured he was Eithne’s boyfriend Verrick. “I’ll take them.”
Tyrnan wavered. On the one hand, he didn’t approve of Eithne having a boyfriend, even if he was a garda. On the other, he clearly didn’t approve of Willifus being present at his party.
He pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket and handed them to the young garda, who took them wordlessly and leapt down to cuff Willifus’ wrists, ignoring his protests that it was inhumane to cuff an injured man.
“Should have thought about that before you ripped her dress,” Kett said. “Your mate with the sword, he got a permit for it?”
“He doesn’t need one,” Willifus said. “His father is Lord-”
“Don’t give a fuck who his father is,” Kett said. “He still needs a permit.”
“I’m going to need a coach or a cart, and some rope, unless anyone has any more handcuffs on them,” said Verrick.
“Sure,” Bael said, taking a set out of his pocket, and Kett tried not to stare. “I guess we’ll have to improvise later, sweetheart.”
Kett was glad it was dark, because she didn’t think she’d ever live it down if she blushed.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, her headache back again, and thought wistfully about the screaming hot sex she should have been having. Catching Bael’s eye, she wished, just for a split second, that she could fold herself into his arms and be held, like Tane had held Giselle, but that was stupid because no one had ever held Kett like that in her life. And anyway, it was pathetic, needing to be rescued like that. She could take care of herself.
And besides. She didn’t want Bael to hold her. She was supposed to be distancing herself from him.
“Oh now, this just isn’t fair,” came Chance’s voice from the terrace. She appeared with the light behind her, lending her lovely features an angelic glow, and withdrew from her bag a set of handcuffs. “Nobody told me the real party was out here.”
Kett caught the handcuffs and stared at them. “Am I the only person here who doesn’t carry these around with me?”
Wisely, no one responded. Kett cuffed the last of the boys and handed him into the carriage that had been brought ’round as Verrick climbed up into the driver’s seat.
Chance, her pretty nose wrinkling as she regarded the boys who’d attacked Giselle, glided to Kett’s side and murmured, “Can I have a word, darling? In the house. Private business.”
Kett nodded wearily and started toward the house, then stopped, swore and turned back to Bael. “Private business” was probably going to involve talking about Koskwim, and she couldn’t let him in on that. There were heads of state who didn’t know about the Order-she couldn’t tell one feckless Nasc about it.
“Bael,” she said, and he turned to her, handsome in the darkness. “Will you go with Verrick to the Free Hospital and keep an eye on these three until he gets someone else in to chaperone them?”
Bael narrowed his eyes and she was sure he was going to protest, but then he surprised her by nodding easily. “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll see you later. Are you okay?”
“Five by five,” she said automatically.
He kissed her cheek, which stunned her into silence, and hopped up onto the seat beside Verrick. Var leapt into the coach, Bael reached back and shut the door, and a whimper came from inside.
“Don’t, you know, kill anyone,” Kett said, and he just laughed.
Feeling suddenly very tired, Kett trekked back up to the terrace, cutting ’round past the ballroom and entering one of the salons flanking it. Chance caught up to her, Dark padding along beside her with his tail swishing.
“Tane’s girlfriend’s very pretty,” she said, and Kett tried to remind herself that this was no reason to hate the girl. “Pity she doesn’t seem to have a clue about defending herself. Perhaps you and I can give her a few lessons?”
Kett shrugged and led them into what Nuala was probably calling the Slightly Purple Drawing Room. As she was closing the door behind herself, it swung open again and she spun to see Striker, striding into the room and sneering at everyone.
“Oh good,” she said flatly. Nothing like a psychopath to make a party go with a swing.
“Kett!” Chalia cried, wandering into the room. “Look at you!”
“Yes, I’m wearing a dress, I have breasts, get over it,” Kett said, slamming the door and debating whether to lock it. Her parents and siblings knew about Koskwim, and several of the guests were members of the Order, but she couldn’t risk an innocent member of Elvyrn society wandering in.
Assuming there was such a thing as an innocent member of society.
“What?” asked Chalia. “No, not the dress. You got laid.”
“Recently,” Striker said, looking her over.
“In the minstrel’s gallery,” Chance added, and when Kett stared, she clarified. “I swear to gods, I just happened to glance up.”
“Great,” Kett said. “Now that we’ve discussed my sex life-”
“Sweetheart, I’m just glad you’ve finally got a sex life,” Chalia said.
“You wanted to talk about-”
“I know, three years,” Chance said, appalled. “Which reminds me.” She turned her beautiful eyes on Striker.
“No,” he said warily.
“I haven’t even asked you yet!”
“Still no.”
“Striker,” Chance said, pleadingly. “Dad, please.”
Kett and Chalia gaped at her. Even Dark, still in his lion form, looked stunned.
“You never call me that,” Striker said, staring at his daughter.
“It’s true,” Chalia said, seating herself prettily on a chaise. “Since she was a baby, she called him Striker.” She grinned. “Except she couldn’t pronounce her T’s or R’s very well, so it sounded more like psycho.”
“Always said she was smart,” Kett muttered.
“Striker,” Chance said, scowling beautifully and burying her fingers in Dark’s long mane. “Have you seen the enchantment on Kett?”
All eyes turned toward Kett, who squared her shoulders and glared back at them all. Striker sauntered over, ran his fingers half an inch above her skin and frowned.
“Like a net,” he said. “Dense. Tough. Interesting.”
Kett waited for someone to say that sounded just like her, but no one did.
“It’s been on her since Nihon,” Chance said.
“What’s it do?”
“You can’t tell?” Kett asked, surprised as much as anything.
Striker gave her a narrow-eyed look and closed the distance between his hand and her shoulder.
Then he jerked it away as if he’d been burned and stared at her.
“What?” Kett asked.
“That-” He touched her again, shook his head. “Bad mojo, pet. And you’ve had it on you before.”
“No I haven’t,” said Kett, pretty sure she’d remember.
“Yes, you have. For eight years.”
His pale eyes were steady on hers as she tried to figure out what the hell he meant. Eight years of being unable to change her shape? Ever since she could remember, she’d been able to-
Ever since she could remember.
Memories that only started when she was eight years old.