“Oh,” Bael said. “That army.”
The five of them stood on a small hill overlooking a valley. It was filled with tents, cooking fires and people sharpening swords.
“I made some calls,” Kett said. “Could have gotten more if we’d had more notice, but…well, really they’re just for backup.”
“But that’s a whole army,” Bael said. “Who do you know with a whole army?”
“Well, her step-uncle, for one,” said Lya. “Technically, he’s head of the whole Peneggan army.”
“But we’re not in Peneggan,” Bael said. They’d crossed the Wall late last night-him, Kett, Striker, Dark and Lya the kelf-and endured a hair-raising journey on the back of a terrifying and completely untamed Xinjiangese dragon. “I thought the Peneggan army had pulled out of Pradesh years ago. Handed control back to the locals.”
“The colony was handed back,” Kett said. “But a battalion or two stayed behind with the handover. It’s not a whole army,” she mimicked Bael’s tone, “but it’s probably enough to attack the Maharaja’s palace.”
“Which is probably why he keeps such a big army of his own,” Lya murmured.
“Checks and balances,” Kett said. “Come on. I know the colonel.”
They walked down into the camp, Striker striding on ahead, Kett discussing strategy with Dark, leaving Bael to walk with Lya. Her bare, three-toed feet pattered silently on the ground. The air was full of sound, but all Bael could hear was the kelf’s silence.
“Look,” he said eventually. “I’m sorry about- I was really rude to you. That day in the café.”
“I’ve had worse,” she said. “It’s all right.” She paused. Dust rose around them. “A kelf didn’t kill your mother, you know.”
“Neither did a shapeshifter,” Bael said.
“No. It was her own ritual. Her own hunger for power. She got the details wrong, and it killed her.” Lya’s huge purple eyes looked up at him. “You know that, don’t you?”
Bael took in a breath and blew it out. “My father knew that,” he said.
“My guess is he thought you’d prefer to be told it was someone you already hated,” Lya said.
“Or he didn’t want to admit the truth.”
“Perhaps. He was a very proud man.” She hesitated. “But not a bad one, in the scheme of things.”
“Yes, well, the ‘scheme of things’ includes Striker, doesn’t it?”
Lya gave him a pointy-toothed grin, and they followed Kett and Dark into the army camp.
The colonel was not, as Bael had assumed, an army buddy of Kett’s, but a fellow Knight from this mysterious Order she’d told him about. He’d been amazed to learn that not only were Kett, Striker, Chance and Jarven all fully qualified Knights, but so were a good deal of Nuala and Tyrnan’s friends.
“Tane’s going to be so pissed off,” Kett commented as they entered the camp and she saluted the guards. “He’s due to join the army next year. Officer training. He’d love to come down here and fight.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Politics. Can’t get the king’s nephew involved. If he were to be killed by Pradeshi troops, it could turn into an international incident. We’d probably go to war.”
“But it’s okay for a battalion of the Peneggan army to fight?” Bael asked.
Kett made a wavering gesture with her hands. “They’re not technically part of the Peneggan army,” she said. “It’s some bureaucratic bollocks. Don’t ask me the details.”
“Is that why you didn’t let your dad come?” Bael asked.
Kett snorted. “My dad is an international incident. And he’s far too old for all this.”
“Technically, he’s younger than me,” said Striker.
“Technically, you’re a psychotic freak,” Kett responded, lightning fast, “so it doesn’t matter.”
Bael tried not to laugh too hard.
The colonel, an intelligent and hardy man by the name of Darson, gave them food and drink and a tent in which to rest. Striker lay down on one of the bunks, closed his eyes and immediately appeared to be asleep. The other four exchanged glances. None of them were fooled.
“So,” Dark said. “Is there a plan?”
“Second time in a bleeding month I’ve been in a dress,” Kett said in disgust, looking at herself in the smallish, wobbly mirror Darson had provided.
“You look charming,” Lya said, trying to keep a straight face. Kelfs were usually good at this, but apparently not when something was as hilarious as Kett in sequins. “Very…pretty.”
“I look like a Pradeshi whore,” Kett said, and Lya giggled. Kett had never heard Lya giggle before. It wasn’t encouraging.
“You’re supposed to look like one,” Lya said. “That’s your cover story, remember?”
“Yeah.” She sighed gloomily and tweaked at the very low, very short, beaded bodice Chance had given her. Her own charms didn’t quite fill it, but one of the advantages of being a shapeshifter was that you could alter yourself to fit clothes, instead of the other way around.
She’d erased all signs of scars on her body, not that there were many left after Bael had spent the previous night licking her all over and making her scream. Her nipples puckered at the memory and she tried to banish it.
The tiny bodice was matched by a full skirt, also embellished with enough beads and mirrors to dazzle an army. Her feet were bare but for a couple of decorative rings and anklets. Bangles clanked on her arm. Necklaces, earrings and a sort of jeweled headpiece completed the look.
Kett felt like a Yule tree.
She’d altered her appearance to that of a young Pradeshi woman, kohled her eyes and made an effort with her hair. With a lot of concentration, she could make the curls straighten themselves out.
“Ready?” Bael asked, pushing back the tent flap.
“No.” Kett plucked at her clothing in disgust.
He stared. “Is that really you, Kett?”
“I wish it bloody wasn’t. How do people walk with these skirts? They get tangled up. And the whole thing weighs a ton. I’ve worn armor more comfortable. It-”
Bael had her in his arms, kissing her hard, his hands roaming over her bare waist. His body pressed against hers, and even through the heavy skirts she could feel the hardness of his arousal.
“But then again…” Kett swallowed when he let her go. Behind him, the tent flap was closing. Lya had vanished.
“I’d never have recognized you,” Bael said, nuzzling her neck, “until you opened your mouth.”
“I could be another tavern whore.”
He stiffened for a moment then said, “And if you were, I’d know you weren’t, because if you were then how would you know that I wouldn’t know?”
“Um,” said Kett.
He grinned. “Can I see your face?”
She let the shape slip away and the look that came over Bael’s face was her reward. His eyes softened, his lips curved in a smile. He looked like a man in love.
“I prefer you this way.”
“You don’t think they’d recognize me?”
“Mmm.” He nuzzled her neck again. “No. I think they’ll be distracted,” his hand slipped to her breast, “and unable to even look at your face.”
She let him feel her breasts before telling him, “You know those aren’t real, right?”
“They’re real enough. Their reaction certainly is.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Her nipples were hard, her breath was coming faster, and her breasts were rising and falling in a way that seemed to absolutely fascinate Bael.
“Hey,” he said breathlessly, “are you wearing anything under that skirt?”
“I-” Kett began, but his fingers brushed her stomach, making her shiver. She found herself whispering, “Why don’t you find out?”
He looked up, grinning, and started gathering folds of embellished fabric.
“Just don’t tear anything,” Kett said. “I need this costume.”
“I won’t even take it off,” Bael promised, and disappointment swept through Kett.
Disappointment that fled when he dropped to his knees, stuck his head under her skirt and licked up the inside of her thigh, past the leather straps holding a knife to her thigh.
“No underwear,” he said, his breath hot against her pussy lips.
“I hadn’t gotten around to it,” Kett breathed, trying to keep steady on her feet.
She needn’t have bothered. Bael wrapped his arms around her legs, holding her steady, and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue burrowed between her folds, seeking out all the places she was most sensitive and licking them relentlessly until she came with a gasp, shuddering and nearly falling.
It was all over in a few minutes, Bael’s tongue so expert that she didn’t need any more. He rose to his feet, leaned her back against the heavy pole supporting the tent and kissed her.
He still had her skirts bunched up around her thighs. His hand slipped between and caressed her wet folds.
“Yes,” Kett murmured, her eyes closed, floating on a sea of bliss, and she heard a rustle of clothing before Bael’s thick cock was pressing at her entrance. “Yes,” she said again, opening her eyes, and he pushed inside.
“I love you,” he told her as he began to thrust. “I love fucking you. I love you.”
When they went outside, Lya and Dark kept their eyes averted, both of them hiding smiles.
Striker leered. “Made the tent shake,” he said.
“I know,” Kett replied smugly. She slipped her arm around Bael’s neck, kissed him softly and sighed. “Time to get to work.”
The Maharaja’s palace looked like a child’s drawing of a castle onto which someone had dumped a lot of cake decorations. Every wall, turret and curved roof glistened with colored tiles, jewels and gaudy adornments. In the shimmering heat and ever-present clouds of dust and sand, it looked like a mirage. Or perhaps a hallucination caused by eating moldy dodo meat.
“Tasteful,” Kett murmured, shielding her eyes against the gaudiness.
“Even Nuala’s not that bad,” Lya agreed.
Bael snorted. He was in Var’s body, a magnificent black stallion, his muscles bunching between Kett’s thighs as she rode him. Beside her sat Lya on a borrowed munta and Dark on Colonel Darson’s mount. Striker was nowhere to be seen-which in no way meant he wasn’t around.
Dark’s regal bearing, his kelfish slave and youthful courtesan were enough to convince the guards of the Maharaja’s palace that they should be admitted.
Inside, Var was taken to the stables, making Kett’s stomach constrict even though she knew he’d be fine, and the rest of the party was led through a series of small courtyards and piazzas, green with plants and trees, but never quite escaping the ever-present sand blowing on the breeze. Fountains tinkled. Somewhere, someone played music.
Eventually they were taken to a grand, high-ceilinged room where kelfs operated ceiling fans and a man lounged on a throne, watching a girl play the sitar terribly badly. He was the Maharaja, and she his beloved only daughter.
Kett winced. She didn’t want to kill the daughter. Hell, she didn’t really want to kill the Maharaja, but justice was justice, and he’d broken the terms of their friendship by betraying her to a man who wanted to kill her.
“Your Serene Highness, may I present the High Lord Talvéan,” Lya said, her eyes cast deferentially low.
“Hukm, Maharaja,” Dark said in perfect Pradeshi, with a regal nod. “It’s good of you to receive me.”
They exchanged pleasantries while Kett took note of as many details about the room as she could. The dozen or so kelfs. The tall doors, guarded not by kelfs but by men with curved swords. The high windows, letting in shafts of light in which dust motes danced. The handmaidens swarming around the princess.
She couldn’t see Albhar anywhere.
“And who is this charming young woman?” asked the Maharaja.
Kett kept her eyes averted as Dark drew her forward. In truth she wanted to laugh, because here was an immensely powerful, sexual, magnetic man with his arm around her bare waist, and his touch felt about as enjoyable as a pelvic exam.
“She is,” Dark paused for exactly the right length of time, “a very dear friend of mine.”
The Maharaja’s smile widened. “I see,” he said. “Well, you must be in need of rest and refreshment after your journey. Please, follow the kelfs to the guest quarters.”
Every inch of the palace interior was as embellished as the outside. By the time they shut the door on the giant guest suite, Kett was starting to feel dizzy from the mad, bright patterns. The suite was just as heavily decorated, with large open windows and a monkey on a perch. It screeched when it saw them, and Kett frowned at it.
“That went well,” Lya said, giving Kett a look. “‘Very dear friend’.”
“Shut up. How the hell did Chance wear this stuff all the time when she was a courtesan?” Kett asked, hitching up the low bodice of her outfit.
“She didn’t wear it for long,” Dark said, in a tone that didn’t invite discussion. “Do you think you can track this Albhar?”
“Dunno, but I can,” said Bael, materializing behind them. The monkey scampered onto his shoulder and Kett realized it was Var. “He has plenty of pet monkeys. I can find Albhar, change into something bigger and fly him out.”
“No,” Kett said. “If it was that simple, we’d have flown in and wouldn’t have had to piss about with costumes.”
“I like your costume,” he said, with a look that reminded her how much he’d liked it earlier.
Kett felt her cheeks burn but went on, “He has guards on the roof. That’s why Lya is going with you-and taking this.” She pointed down.
They all looked at the carpet.
“To roll him up in and carry him out,” Kett explained. “Can Var be a donkey?”
“I’ve repeatedly been told so,” Bael said, straight-faced.
“Funny. We’ll meet you back at the-”
The doors to the suite suddenly flew open, and all four of them whirled around.
“My dear boy!” Albhar cried. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
His eyes said otherwise. As did the contingent of armed men behind him.
“Albhar,” Bael said, smiling just as easily as his former mentor. “Good to see you. That dragon dragged me away when it took the shapeshifter.”
“Did it?” Albhar asked, without quite enough sympathy on his face. “And where is the shapeshifter now?”
Kett realized she was still wearing her disguise. “A shapeshifter!” she squeaked. “How exciting!”
Albhar cast her an irritated look. “It’s very dangerous,” he said. “It killed-”
“No one,” Bael said softly, and Albhar’s attention whipped back to him.
“Ah. I know you don’t believe me, but-”
“That’s because it’s not true,” Bael said.
“Your father believed a kelf-”
“Didn’t kill her. She died in her own stupid ritual. The same stupid ritual you’ve been researching for so many years.”
There was a dreadful silence.
“First rule of lying, Albhar. You get your story straight.”
“Bael-” Albhar began, but then stopped.
“No, please.” Bael glanced at Kett before turning back to the old man. “Explain.”
Albhar looked at him, and then at Kett. He raised his hands and let them drop in a gesture of failure.
“What can I say?” he asked. “I wanted the power.”
“You knew it would kill me.”
“You stupid boy,” Albhar sneered. “Did you ever believe I cared for you?”
Var suddenly leapt from Bael’s shoulder, changing fluidly in mid-flight to a tiger, heavy and lethal. His weight shoved Albhar to the ground, snarling and clawing, his huge jaws ripping at the old man’s throat.
The half-dozen armed men with Albhar all turned to shoot at Var.
Lya threw herself on the tiger’s back.
Kett ripped her skirts open and snatched her knife from its sheath, wishing to hell she’d been able to carry a bigger weapon. With her other hand she grabbed her scryer from its hiding place under the skirt’s embellished layers, and while she lunged forward to stab one of the men who was even at that moment loosing an arrow at Var, she tried to focus her mind on calling Darson.
Bael let out a bellow and turned on the soldiers with a sword that had come out of nowhere. Kett slashed at the arm of the man nearest to her, making him falter in his aim. Another cut to the wrist made him drop his bow, and then she stabbed under his ribs, pushing the knife in as far as it would go.
Lya’s body covered as much of Var as it could, and her kelfish skin was impervious to the arrows raining on her from such a short distance. But she couldn’t cover all of the tiger and the soldiers were beginning to discard their bows for short swords, slashing and stabbing at Var through his thick fur.
“Kett?” shouted a voice from the scryer in her hand. She’d gotten through.
“Now,” Kett said. “Send them now!”
She yanked her knife back, shoving at the dying man with her foot and thrusting her scryer into her bodice so her hand was free to grab his sword as he fell. Whirling on the next man, she cut him across the chest. None of the men were properly armored, and the sword cut through his clothing enough to leave a line of blood. The man turned on her, but she used the momentum of her swing to whirl and slam the sword into his head.
But not before he’d yelled, “Guards! We’re under attack! Gua-”
His head split open, spraying blood, and Kett twirled to the next man.
But there were no more. The other four men lay on the floor in various states of dismemberment, Bael and Dark standing over them, breathing hard. Bael stepped forward in the sudden silence and picked up Lya, whose eyes were closed tight.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and she opened her eyes, nodding. They both looked down at Var, whose striped fur was dark with blood. Lya’s body had shielded him from a lot of blows, but not all of them.
“Is he?” asked Kett.
“He’s okay. Nothing serious.” Bael set Lya on her feet and knelt by his twin, placing his hand on the tiger’s back. “Tigers have incredibly thick fur, helps repel blades.”
“I know,” she said, and he smiled at her. She smiled back, tremendously relieved he was all right. The fight had only lasted a minute or two. How could she possibly have been worried enough to call for backup?
Var got to his feet, leaving behind the bloody, mauled mess that had once been Albhar. The tiger’s legs, belly and face were smeared with the old man’s blood, and Bael regarded it with his jaw tight.
There was silence for a long moment.
“We should go,” Dark said, and they all nodded, moving toward the huge windows and the little courtyard beyond. Kett was already working out the best escape routes in her head. Take to the skies? She and Bael could each carry a passenger, but she was fairly sure the Maharaja had snipers on his rooftop, alive to the possibility of an aerial invasion.
Maybe if she and Bael disguised themselves again, they could just walk out. No; someone would check their quarters long before they got to the outside wall. And they were all sprayed with blood.
Maybe-
“My gods!” cried someone from outside the guest quarters, and without even sharing a glance, the four of them, plus Var, broke into a run, through the windows and toward the archway at one side of the courtyard. “After them!”
“Thought that went too easy,” Bael said, his hand brushing her arm as they ran. “Are you okay?”
“Five by five.” She grinned. “Nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping.”
“Just as long as it only pumps inside you,” he said, and they shared a smile.
They’d left the little courtyard attached to the guest quarters by the time the guards found the bodies. They ran through another little piazza, then another, each one hung with vines and trellises, the sound of heavy boots on stone echoing behind them.
“It all looks the same,” Lya cursed. “How do we get out?”
“I follow my nose,” Bael said, flashing her a grin. “This way!”
But “this way” led them into a bigger courtyard, one with many exits. Soldiers entered through three of them.
“Nice one,” Lya snapped. She ran with a sword in one three-fingered hand and a crossbow in the other, both apparently stolen from Albhar’s guards. She raised the bow as she ran and felled one soldier, but a hail of arrows were returned.
They ducked behind a fountain. “There are four of us,” Kett said.
“Five.” Bael pointed to Var, still tiger-shaped.
“Six.” With a shimmer, Dark separated into two forms. Véan, a lion eight feet from nose to tail, tossed his long, dark mane and pawed the ground, leaving behind long gouges. An undulating growl rose in his throat.
“Still. There are hundreds of them. Within a minute or two there could be thousands. And they’re good. Have any of you ever faced troops in battle?”
“Yes,” said Dark, his face grim.
“Yes,” said Lya.
“No,” sighed Bael, “but I’ve been in a hell of a lot of bar fights.”
Kett passed her hands over her face in despair. Six against even one hundred was terrible odds. Six against several hundred, maybe even a thousand, was such terrible odds she couldn’t believe any of them were contemplating it.
“Where the fuck is Striker?” she asked, looking around as if he might reveal himself, a shape silhouetted in the ever-present dust clouds.
“Not here,” Bael said. “Not since we entered the palace.”
“Great,” Kett said, and hauled out her scryer. But Striker didn’t answer.
“He’s probably busy roasting babies or something,” Lya said.
The sun beat down on them. Sand drummed up by the marching soldiers filling the courtyard clogged the air.
Kett started looking around for cover. “Okay, we need to hide. Barricade ourselves somewhere until the battalion shows up.”
“Will they?” Lya asked. “Show up?”
“They’d bloody better,” Kett growled, pointing toward the nearest part of the building. “In there. Get as deep into the palace as we can. Find somewhere defensible. Everyone ready?”
“No,” said Bael. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, hard. “Now I am.”
“You’re a lunatic,” she told him.
“So are you.”
He grinned, and then so did she, and they both took off running.
By chance they ended up in the throne room, its high doors slammed shut and barricaded with furniture. It had been empty but for the Maharaja and one pretty concubine, who both fell silent when Var and Véan bounded into the room.
“Are there any other entrances?” Kett demanded, and the terrified, gibbering man pointed to a small door no doubt used by the servants. She smashed a table with the hilt of her sword and used one of the legs to barricade the door.
Outside, someone yelled a command, and a hail of arrows came in through the high windows. Annoyed, Kett manifested a pair of wings, grabbed the Maharaja and flew up there.
The big courtyard was full of soldiers. Rank upon rank of them filled the space, crammed into every corner, jammed up against the walls. Weaponry glinted in the sunlight.
The silence was intense.
Kett held the Maharaja in front of her, leaning away from his wriggling body and kicking legs. “Shoot again and you might hit him,” she shouted.
“Kill them!” he squealed to his soldiers. “Kill them all!”
“If we die, you die,” she told him, and dropped him the ten or so feet to the tiled floor of the throne room. He landed with a crack and howl, at which the concubine let out a cry.
Kett landed by the fallen ruler and aimed her stolen sword at him.
She let her disguise slide away.
“You were the one who handed me over to Albhar, weren’t you?” she asked. “You told him where I lived.”
“I’m sorry!” he cried, sobbing like a child.
“Yeah, me too. I should do to you what Var did to him.”
The Maharaja looked up, fear and tears staining his face. Kett gestured to Var, who padded over and rested one bloody paw on the Maharaja’s chest.
The Maharaja fainted. The concubine whimpered.
“I’m not going to kill him,” Kett said in disgust.
“You’re not?” asked Bael, looking disappointed.
“No. I just want to do this.” She kicked the man over onto his stomach and slashed the back of his thigh, hamstringing him.
“Poetic,” said Bael.
“I thought so.”
Something heavy hit the main doors, its thud reverberating throughout the throne room. Dust shimmered from the rafters.
“How long, do you think?” Dark asked.
The ram hit again. Thud.
“Long enough for the army to get here?” Bael ventured.
Thud. The furniture piled up in front of the doors started to wobble.
“Better be,” Kett said. She picked up the fallen ruler and placed him on the floor by his own throne, where the concubine cowered. “Make yourself useful.”
Thud.
“Are we going to die?” the girl whimpered.
“Yes,” Kett said, and the girl burst into tears.
“I didn’t say today,” Kett sighed. “Stop his bleeding, will you? Use that sari, girl, there’re acres of it. Stop being so stupid.”
“But-”
Thud.
“I don’t want him to die,” Kett said. She looked at the face of the man who’d once been so kind to her. “He saved my leg but tried to sacrifice my life. Well, I’m sparing his life but sacrificing his leg. I think you’ll find that’s a better deal.”
Five minutes passed with little sound except the steady thud of the battering ram. The concubine, sobbing uselessly, tried ineffectually to bandage the Maharaja’s leg. Kett, irritated beyond belief, shoved her aside and did it herself, trying not to think about the irony.
Ten minutes went by and the door remained unbreached. The ram continued to batter it.
Fifteen minutes. The door began to splinter. A footstool, then a small chest, then a table toppled from the barricade. Bael readied his sword and with his free hand reached for Kett, twining his fingers wordlessly with hers.
They faced the doors in silence.
A shout came from outside, then another, and then the noise swelled to a deafening pitch. Men yelled orders to fire. To advance. To defend.
“They’re here,” Lya said.
The door burst open.