Kaelyn woke with Wyndham’s arms wrapped around her. Pale morning light streamed through the window and the feel of his body pressed against her drew a tingling heat over her. But the sensation of peace was deceptive. Cat wasn’t a cat, but a spy, just like Aric hadn’t really been a friend and everyone else had been lost in Mythnar. All she had left was Wyndham.
She hugged his arms to her chest. If only she could lie like this forever. In between time and duty. But that wouldn’t make either of them happy. He had a responsibility to his family and kingdom, and she supposed she had a duty to him. She’d been wishing that a lot lately–to be still, frozen in a moment–and it was always followed by a ‘but’. But maybe there was still hope. Maybe they could be more of the everything and less of the nothing he’d said they’d been.
But that could only happen after the situation was resolved. Reynold had to be warned about the guard at Mythnar and he had to be told that the clansmen had nothing to do with the attack–if, in fact, he could be trusted. Which meant she had to confront Cat and find out what he knew.
She slipped from the bed and eased to the door. Wyndham sighed in his sleep but didn’t wake. Nothing and everything didn’t leave her with much.
In the hall, Cat leaned against the frame of her door. He lifted his green-gold gaze and stared at her. “When I saw you weren’t in your room I figured you’d turn to him.”
Heat flooded her face and she was grateful for the dim light. Strange emotions seeped through her and she wasn’t sure which were hers and which were Cat’s.
“How much did you know about Mythnar?”
The emotions billowed, colored with regret and fear.
“Not much.”
“You obviously knew something.”
“I was only told to keep an eye on you.”
Something shimmered in the emotion between them. Relief? Maybe shame? He wasn’t telling her something.
“What else? There’s something else.”
Cat’s gaze dropped to his feet. “When my transformation ended, I was to. . . .” He swallowed hard.
“You were to what?”
“Kill you.”
She ground her teeth. It shouldn’t surprise her. People had been trying to kill her from the moment she’d left Demika, probably since before she’d woken in Norwell. He’d just been so close, so innocent as a cat.
“Please, I didn’t mean. You don’t have to turn to . . . him.” His glanced past her shoulder to the door to Wyndham’s room. A wash of disappointment colored by jealousy surged over her. It grew, consumed by her grief at the loss of her friends and identity.
She grabbed the doorframe to keep standing. She couldn’t understand why was she so sad. When she’d left Wyndham she’d had purpose, clarity. She’d already cried her grief out that night in Wyndham’s arms.
Another streak of jealousy bit through her pain. It wasn’t her emotion. There was nothing for her to be jealous about.
“Please,” said Cat.
The weight of the grief increased.
Her legs trembled. “What are you doing?”
Cat bit his lip and the emotions vanished, shocking her with the depth of her emptiness.
He inched forward, hand outstretched to help her, but she shrank back.
“I’m sorry. Please. They made me do it.”
“Oh, and you had absolutely no choice?” Heat churned in her gut. “We all have options.”
“Did you have an option when you were turned into a proper little girl and sent away to bard school?”
“When I what?”
“You don’t know because you can’t remember.”
“That’s not fair. I never lied to my friends.” At least she hadn’t since she’d woken up in the temple in Norwell. But that wasn’t true either. She’d lied to Jillyn and Gerid and the others, but her true self always came out. A horrible new thought struck her and her rage turned to ice. “Did you know they were going to try to kill Wyndham? Did you know and not do anything?”
He looked away.
“How could you? All those people are dead.”
“And I would have been a cat for the rest of my life.”
“All of Mythnar could have been saved. Mac, Talar, Gerid, Jillyn, Bledig. They wouldn’t be–”
“All I knew was that they were going to do something and you had overheard it. I didn’t know what.”
“But you could have told someone.”
“And who was going to believe a talking Cat?”
The door behind her opened and she stumbled back. Wyndham wrapped his arms around her, holding her up.
Cat stared at him, his strange eyes catching the light.
Wyndham tensed, his muscles quivering around her. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” said Cat.
“Nothing, indeed.” She shoved past Cat and stormed down the hall. She couldn’t stand there any longer. Who would believe a talking cat? She didn’t know, but he hadn’t even tried. People she cared about were dead and he could have done something.
But she hadn’t believed Cat when he’d first talked to her. Why would anyone else believe him?
She slowed her pace, running her hand along the wall, feeling the rhythmic slats of the wood panels. It had been one confusing night. And the more she thought about it, the more Cat seemed as much of a victim as her.
“I thought I told you not to go anywhere but your rooms,” said the old man.
She glanced up. He stood in the doorway at the end of the hall. The room where he’d transformed Cat into a person. “Sorry, memory problems.”
“So I heard. Why did you leave your room in the first place?”
She shrugged. “I lost my cat.”
“I wouldn’t bother looking for him.” He narrowed his eyes. “You should go back.”
“Yes.” But she didn’t want to face Cat again. How odd that she would rather stand in uncomfortable silence with this sorcerer than face her cat.
“Perhaps I should make myself more clear–”
“Why did you turn him back into a man?” The words poured out before she could stop them.
“Because he asked.”
“Restore my memory. Please.” She held her breath. Say yes. Just a little word. Please.
“I’m not a charity.”
“You were for him. And he could have saved lives with what he knew.”
The sorcerer raised a bushy eyebrow. “Are you implying he didn’t deserve the kindness?”
“Yes. No.” Heat flooded her face. “I don’t know.”
The sorcerer snorted. “Perhaps I should restore your memory, so you can remember how you stand on the issue of compassion.”
“It might be helpful.”
He barked a gruff laugh. “Your friends must hate your wit. Come on.” He turned and shuffled into the room.
He settled in the same old, stiff chair where he’d sipped his tea after he’d restored Cat. He picked up his cup, holding it in both hands and stared into it.
“So,” he said, “why do you ask for my help when you pour out perfectly good tea?”
“I–” More heat flooded her face.
“Well?”
“We haven’t had the best of luck recently.”
“That’s not surprising.” A tendril of steam curled up from his cup.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, when really she wanted to know how the contents of his cup had heated up without an infusion of warm water.
“Nothing, really. People often think they’re to have an easy life, but that’s seldom the case.” He took a long slurp and sighed. “I think its particularly true for you and your friends.”
“Did Cat tell you everything then?”
“He does have a name, you know.”
“The last time I asked he didn’t answer.”
“Not surprising.”
She bit her lip. She supposed she deserved that. “The truth is, there are very few things about myself I can trust.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Well, what of me is me? And what of me is what someone else has made me?”
“Ah, a question asked by many people since the beginning of time.”
“They haven’t had a spell put on them, or lost their memory.”
The sorcerer leaned back and drained his cup. “That could be debated. But not here, and certainly not between us. I wish I could help you, I really do. But people’s minds are not what I deal with.”
“What does that mean?”
“Manipulating someone’s mind is. . . distasteful. When I came the point in my studies where I had to specialize I chose metamorphosis instead.”
If he couldn’t help, why invite her into the room? “Of course,” said Kaelyn, not really understanding what he meant, only that he’d said no. She stood. If the northern Goddess and her Oracle hadn’t chosen to help her, what made her think a man, albeit a sorcerer, would be able to?
“Most sorcerers of any talent normally avoid those types of magic–”
The man’s words washed over her. He kept talking–at least his mouth still moved–but she couldn’t think past his refusal.
“–last time I heard, he had a small practice.”
Kaelyn jerked her attention back to the sorcerer. “What? Who?”
“My friend. The one who could most likely help you.”
“Where is he?”
“You stopped listening after ‘no,’ didn’t you?” A smile pulled at the old man’s lips.
“Ah . . . yes.”
He chuckled. “My friend is somewhere in the desert. Every now and then I hear about him doing something or another.”
“In the desert?” Damn. Her throat tightened. “But that’s so far and it is rather large.”
“No one said it would be easy.”
No, no one had. Maybe someday she would travel to the desert. Just as soon as she took care of her other, more pressing matters. Like telling the truth about Mythnar to somebody who could do something about it.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help,” said the sorcerer.
She offered him a weak smile. “A little bit of something is better than a whole lot of nothing.”
His brow furrowed.
“Thank you anyway.” She turned to leave.
“I can help you with one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
He unrolled a map over his cluttered desk. “The Heir Apparent is no longer in Vitreah.”
Kaelyn’s heart skipped a beat. “How did you–?”
The man raised a bushy eyebrow.
“Never mind.” She sighed. “Sorcerer, magic. I get it.”
“See, you do know some things.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped to the desk.
He pointed to an open area on the map. “We’re here. Vitreah here. Prince Reynold and his army are already here.” Directly west of their position instead of south. If they had kept going to Vitreah they would have missed him.
“But how did he know so fast?”
“The House of Vitreah does employ magicians.”
“I’d forgotten that.”
The man chuckled.
She had to admit it was kind of ironic.
“Now, get going.”
“Yes, sir.” She rushed for the door. “Thank you.”
