A rustling sound dragged Asra from her sleep. She peeled her eyes open to a forest cast in the blues and lavenders of twilight. She didn’t move to get up, but tested the air with her nose. It was filled with the scents of charcoal and smoke, sizzling steaks and frying potatoes from taverns and inns surrounding the park. Her stomach grumbled.
Her front leg and shoulder throbbed. She lifted her head to check the damage. The bullet wounds had nearly closed, but the muscles were still swollen and bruised. It needed another hour or so to heal fully before she could change back into her skin.
The wound in her shoulder only barely missed bone. If the guard had aimed even a millimeter to the left, the bullet likely would have gone straight through her heart. The thought raised her hackles.
Thankfully her leather duster and hat laid on the grass nearby, and her packsack was still firmly strapped to her back. The enchanted straps always stayed snug against her body, regardless of what shape her body took, a common item for her people. Her father told her it was invented in a time when humans and shapechangers of all kinds worked together and shared knowledge freely. Asra couldn’t imagine such a time ever existing.
Notably missing was her silver bracelet. She grumbled. Blending into human society without it would be significantly more complicated.
She heard rustling again, and her ears pivoted forward and back, trying to pinpoint its exact location. It was too large to be a squirrel or pigeon.
Asra’s heart leaped into her throat as she pictured one of the royal guard dogs sent to track her down, but quickly settled when she remembered there were no royal guard dogs left. Prince Ciaran’s constant companion was the only one still around after a kennel fire several years back, and that dog never left his side. She growled as she acknowledged this was yet another dead giveaway that the monarchs on the parade float were imposters.
There was another rustle, followed by an odd croak. Asra glanced up and locked eyes with a wolfbird perched on a tree branch above her. Its glossy black feathers shone in the evening light, and it clacked its large black beak at her.
Asra reflexively bared her teeth. Her people were generally opposed to superstitions, but wolfbirds were an exception. They had been considered a bad omen since the days when the wolf shapechangers had waged war against the others. Their beloved scouting birds were a clear sign of wolf presence, and likely an imminent attack.
She leapt up, snarling and barking at the bird. It took to the air with a flurry of feathers and an angry caw, then vanished into the evening sky.
Asra shook herself off and allowed the fur along her spine to settle. She couldn’t stay out here in the open, but the city gates would all be too heavily guarded for her to escape tonight. She needed somewhere to lie low for the next few days, and that meant she’d spend the next few days toiling in a hot kitchen.
At least there would be friendly faces there.
----------------------------------------
Asra wiped the sweat off her forehead as she took a half-full food tray from the volunteer to her right. Her head itched from the knit hat she wore to cover her missing ear, and her glasses slid down her nose for what must have been the hundredth time. She wished she could rip them off, but she needed the disguise. She wasn’t sure who here would be willing to rat her out to the guards for whatever bounty was on her head. Attention from the guards was the last thing this place needed.
At least her wounds had healed fully, though the scars would likely remain for quite a while.
A familiar old man hovered at the end of the line, and Asra did her best to ignore him. It became more and more difficult as the line dwindled and the building emptied. She spooned some mashed potatoes into the last open slot on the food tray in her hand, then passed it to the tired woman standing on the other side of the food line. She smiled graciously and shuffled off to find an open spot at a table.
Asra made the mistake of glancing to the side to see if the old man was still standing there, and their eyes met. His face lit up with his nearly-toothless smile.
“Lewis,” Asra said with an annoyed tilt of her head, “I already told you you’re not getting any seconds until everyone else has their first plate.” She was already bending the rules for him. The food kitchen technically only gave one meal per person per night, but she had a bit of a soft spot for Lewis.
“I ain’t asking you to break the rules for me, Sara,” he said sweetly.
Eighteen-year-old Asra had thought using an anagram of her own name as an alias was clever. Twenty-eight-year-old Asra disagreed.
Lewis leaned in closer and half-whispered, “I was hoping you brought some goodies for me.”
“Not tonight,” Asra said. “I haven’t had time to go hunting in a while.”
Disappointment replaced Lewis’s grin with an exaggerated pout. His skin was tanned and leathery from a lifetime of working under the sun. Perhaps that was part of her sympathy towards him. It wasn’t fair how much of his life he’d worked himself to the bone while the nobles lounged in their magic-cooled estate houses. Her own people never would have allowed such a thing.
Asra sighed and said, “Hang on.” She rifled through her bag on the floor behind her and pulled out a small leather pouch of deer jerky she’d dehydrated herself. It was the last one, which meant she’d have nothing to send back home if Jasper came by this week. She frowned. He would get over it.
“Oh, you’re a peach,” Lewis said, his face lighting up again as he took the bag of jerky from her.
“You harassing my volunteers again, Lewis?”
Asra turned to see a plump old woman standing at the door to the kitchen, hands on her hips. Her wrinkled skin was nearly as white as the fluffy cloud of hair on top of her head. Her name was Laverne, but she insisted everyone call her Lala, since, as she put it, “It’s what my grandbabies call me.”
“Not at all,” Lewis said, saluting to the two women with the bag of jerky. “I was just heading back to my seat.”
Asra shook her head and reached for the tray that the volunteer to her right passed to her, but felt Lala’s firm hand on her shoulder. She looked down at the considerably shorter woman.
“Why don’t you take a break?” she said. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”
Asra wanted to protest, but every muscle in her body ached, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. She nodded as she fought back a yawn.
“Meet me in the office,” Lala said. “I’ll bring you some food.”
Asra grabbed her bag, duster, and hat off the floor and shuffled through the kitchen to the tiny office in the back of the building. She pushed the worn door open much more forcefully than she intended, forgetting that she still didn’t have her silver bracelet to curb her strength.
The room was cramped, filled almost entirely by two mismatched wooden chairs and a small desk that held a lost-and-found box. The walls were cluttered with licenses, certificates, volunteer schedules, and photographs. Asra sank into a chair, which whined its protest, and studied the photographs to keep her drooping eyes open.
Most of them were of Lala or volunteers working in the kitchens or on the food line. There were a few of Lala’s family, and several of wealthy benefactors posed with the ostentatiously large stacks of paper money they donated to the food kitchen’s funds.
Most of these were from Vincent Baudelaire, a highly successful businessman popular amongst both the nobles and the commoners. He’d made his fortune developing magic-powered technology, then gained his popularity—and notoriety—as the prince’s on-again, off-again lover.
As far as nobles went, Asra thought he was one of the better ones. She didn’t trust anyone as obsessed with money and status as he was, but he did at least donate to charity on a regular basis and seemed to genuinely want to improve the world. At any rate, he obviously knew how to piss off the prince, and Asra had to respect that.
She nodded off for just a moment, and the sensation of her glasses falling from her face snapped her back to consciousness. The instant the metal frames left her skin, the sigils on her arms returned. She grabbed the glasses out of the air. The marble-sized lodestone that powered the disguising spell swung from the fine chain that attached it to the glasses. Asra pushed the glasses back onto her face, and the sigils on her skin vanished once more.
As irritating as Jasper could be, Asra made a mental note to thank him for the glasses next time she saw him. They made blending in with the humans much less of a headache.
The door creaked open, and Lala pushed her way through, a food tray in each of her hands. She passed one to Asra as she closed the door with her hip, then slid into the other chair. It screamed as loudly as Asra’s had.
“Sorry it’s not as much as normal,” Lala said as she dug into her food. “Funds are a little tight this month, and I want to make sure everyone gets food tonight.”
Asra shoved a heap of mashed potatoes into her mouth. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she took her first bite. She’d been too anxious to eat yesterday and this morning.
She swallowed, then said, “Are you paying a lot in taxes this month?”
“Taxes?” The word was muffled by the food in her mouth, but the bewildered look on her face was clear. “This is a charity, Sara. I don’t pay any taxes.”
Asra’s brows drew together as she chewed her chopped steak. Money had been difficult enough of a concept for her to understand when she first came to the human city. It had taken her forever to grasp the value of a single paper royal, and she was horrified when she found out that value fluctuated over time. Taxes were even more complicated than that, and were apparently beyond her ken.
“I guess it’s indirectly because of taxes. Everyone’s broke. Donations keep going down every month.”
“Is that because of the war?” Asra asked.
“The war? The war is the only thing keeping this economy above water. No, the taxes are to fund all the fool’s errands the king keeps insisting on. They just had another bridge over Bellefail River destroyed. You’d think they’d learn not to mess with river horse territory.”
Asra thought of the book about river horses she’d read as a child as she bit into her crumbly cookie. Magical freshwater fish with an upper half that had an uncanny resemblance to a horse. Their raptorial arms were capable of delivering a punch that could kill a human in a single blow, and they had incredibly powerful water magic. Asra had nightmares for weeks after reading it.
This wasn’t the first bridge they’d destroyed.
“The king’s wasting everyone’s money on nonsense like that. Still under the delusion he can conquer the badlands like he can states. Hellhounds take him, the fucking idiot.”
“Watch yourself,” Asra said sharply.
“I don’t need you in here defending the king.”
“I’m not defending the king.” The hair on Asra’s arms stood up at the thought. “I just don’t want to see you hanging from his gallows. People here need you.”
“You sound just like your daddy,” Lala said with a chuckle.
Asra’s chest squeezed. Her father had been the whole reason she’d come here the first time, nearly ten years ago. She had just left her home for the last time, and aimlessly wandered the city. She’d caught her father’s scent and it led her here, to an old hat that he’d left behind. Lala said she didn’t want to throw it out, in case he came back. Asra had to be the one to tell her he wasn’t coming back.
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Asra set her fork down on her tray, her appetite vanished. Lala’s face sobered immediately.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I know you don’t like talking about Taj. I just miss him sometimes. And sometimes having you around makes it feel like he’s still around.”
Asra smiled weakly, trying to accept the compliment for what it was.
Lala sighed. “Anyway, would have been nice if that werewolf had just eaten the king at the parade today. We would have been stuck with his brother, but at least then we’d have different problems.”
Asra raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging one side of her mouth. This wasn’t the first time Asra suspected that Lala knew what she really was. It wasn’t uncommon for the older woman to say things that felt an awful lot like fishing for a confession or slip-up. Asra often wondered if her father had ever told Lala what he was.
When Asra didn’t take the bait, Lala said, “What do you think they want?”
Asra shrugged. She would have to tread lightly during this conversation. She hated having to pretend to be human.
“You think they’re here to help us?” Lala said. “You think those tales about them being messengers of the gods are true?”
Asra was familiar with the tale—that shapechangers hid amongst the humans in their skin, spying on them, then returned to the gods in their fur to relay their findings.
“I would think they would have better things to do with their lives,” Asra said with a scoff.
Lala laughed. “I reckon you’re right.” She grunted thoughtfully. “Why do you think she ran off?”
Asra opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a buzz of magic emanating from her bag. She jumped and scrambled to pull the culprit out—a small lodestone, cut in half, responding to the magic of its other half somewhere far away.
To Lala, the sound was likely just a dim hum. But the high-pitched squeal that Asra’s more sensitive ears could detect set them ringing even more than usual.
“I don’t know how your daddy managed to afford a pair of speaking mirrors, but it’s lucky for you that he did.” Lala smiled. “Guess I don’t need to ask who’s on the other side. You’re not still leading that poor girl on, are you?”
“I’m not leading anyone on,” Asra said, stuffing the irritating stone into a silver-lined bag. It fell silent. “I told you Sophie doesn’t like me like that.”
“Uh-huh,” Lala said. She set her empty tray down on the table so that she could lean back in her chair, arms folded. “You know, you could just admit you’re afraid to tell her your feelings.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
Lala cocked an eyebrow.
Asra sighed and leaned her head back. “I did something … really stupid today. She just wants to yell at me.”
Asra cautiously opened the bag, and the stone resumed its squealing. Sophie hadn’t tried to use the stone for several hours, and Asra had hoped that meant she could push off that conversation for another day or two. Lala scooped up the two empty trays, chuckling, and pushed herself up with a grunt.
“Sounds like you’ve got some business to take care of,” she said, patting Asra’s shoulder as she walked past her and out of the office.
The stone buzzed again. Asra groaned and snatched up her belongings as she followed Lala out of the cramped room.
She donned her duster and stepped out into the back alley. The late night sky was pitch black, starless as usual thanks to the bright lights of the city. Asra missed the stars.
Her hands shook as she pulled a leather case from her bag, then slipped a hand mirror out from inside it. Her reflection on the surface looked every bit as nauseated as she felt.
Asra slipped the half-lodestone into a slot in the intricate filigree frame. She braced herself as her face disappeared from the mirror and was replaced with a different image.
“Hey, Soph–”
The scream that roared through the mirror made Asra jump. She clutched it to her chest, hoping no one nearby heard it, then shuffled deeper into the shadows of the alley before holding the mirror up again.
“—is wrong with you? You send this vague and cryptic ‘goodbye’ and then neither of us can get ahold of you! We spent all day waiting for a courier to bring news—”
“Hello, Sophie. Hello, Liam,” Asra said dryly.
Sophie did not cease her tirade. Her normally straight blonde hair was frizzy and disheveled, and her pale cheeks were flushed as pink as the dress she wore. When she realized Asra wasn’t listening, she rounded on the man sitting next to her.
“Liam, say something to her! She’ll listen to you.”
Liam snorted, the tight curls of his hair swaying as he shook his head. He absentmindedly traced the outlines of the blue sigils that coiled on his dark brown skin. His hair was black, streaked with silver and brown, the natural color of his shaggy wolfhound coat.
“Are you joking?” he said. “When has Asra ever listened to me?”
Asra focused on the large window behind them. She didn’t recognize it from either of their houses, though it seemed familiar.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“We’re at the quarantine cabin!” Sophie snapped.
Asra’s brow furrowed as she said, “You ran all the way out there today?”
“What else were we supposed to do?” Sophie’s voice was shrill. “You wouldn’t respond to the mirror, and—” Her voice hitched, and Liam put a hand on her shoulder.
“We figured you went after the king today,” he said, concern wrinkling his brow. “We thought if you made it out, you might be at the cabin.”
“And then we got here, and you weren’t here,” Sophie choked through a sob. Tears shimmered in her bright yellow eyes. It shattered Asra’s heart to see her so distressed, so she looked away.
“I did go after him,” Asra said. “But they used some kind of body double. I got shot, so I had to stay in the city until—”
“You got what?” Sophie shrieked.
“I’m fine, Sophie. Relax.” Asra couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice.
“Asra, really, this is ridiculous! You’re making attacks in broad daylight now on a street full of people. You need to come home before you get yourself killed.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
Sophie’s mouth was set in a hard line. Pale lavender sigils swirled around her doe eyes, which were framed by impossibly long lashes. Even when Sophie was being stubborn, Asra couldn’t help but be caught off guard by her beauty. She took the opportunity to change the subject.
“I can probably sneak out sometime tomorrow,” Asra said. “If you’re both at the cabin, I could meet you there. It’s almost migration season for the bison, right? We could—”
“The bison already came through!” Sophie said.
“What?” Asra said.
“They came through early this year,” Liam said. “There were a ton of them. And they were huge. You really missed out.”
“Oh.” Asra couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“We had enough leather to redo all the seats in the theater,” Sophie said, obviously latching onto this new tactic to make Asra homesick. “You would have loved it.”
“Don’t feel too disappointed, though,” Liam said. He was always the mediator. “At least you didn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of me kicking your ass in another hunting contest.”
“Excuse me?” Asra said with a snicker. “When has your clumsy ass ever beaten me in a hunting contest?”
“Oh, you’re just jealous you’re so much shorter than me.”
“Why would I be jealous of that? Hey, Soph, you remember that time—”
“Here we go,” Liam sighed, leaning his head onto the back of the couch.
“—Liam and Jasper got into it in Stella’s storehouse, and he changed into his fur, and his head went straight through the ceiling?”
Sophie giggled, and the sound made Asra feel lighter than she had in months.
“I remember Stella making him patch it up, too,” Sophie said.
“Of course she remembers,” Liam said as the two women burst into laughter. “You’ll never let either of us forget it. I’ll have you know Stella’s long since forgiven me. Says I make the best cocktails she’s ever had. You would know that if you came home every once in a while.”
Liam had clearly intended it to be a friendly jab, but the laughter died off into an uncomfortable silence. Asra felt Sophie’s protest before she said it, but wasn’t fast enough to cut her off.
“Asra, come home. You belong here.”
“I can’t. Not until I’m done here.”
“This is so silly,” Sophie said. “This isn’t your responsibility. No one blames you for what happened.”
Asra scoffed.
“No one who matters blames you for what happened,” Liam said firmly.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Asra said. “Guess Sylvia doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not fair,” Sophie said, a stubborn look wrinkling her brow. “Your mom is having a hard time with all of this, too. Especially with you not being home.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she’s real upset about me not being home. We talk about it all the time.”
“Asra—” Liam began.
“Hey, I really gotta get back to work,” Asra said. “I’ll talk to you two later, okay?”
She pulled the lodestone from the mirror’s frame, silencing whatever protests they were preparing. She leaned back against the brick wall, pushing her glasses on top of her head. Asra pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes so hard that she saw bursts of color behind her eyelids, as if she could push the tears back into their ducts if she applied enough force.
She shouldn’t have cut them off like that. None of this was their fault, and they didn’t deserve her anger. They should have given up on her long ago, and she could never figure out why they refused to do so.
Asra growled and kicked the metal trash can next to her, sending it flying across the alley. It landed with a loud clang, and its contents spilled over the ground.
“Hey! Who’s down here?”
Asra snapped to full alertness as two guards rounded the corner at the end of the alley. She pulled her glasses back over her eyes just before she was caught in the beam of a flashlight.
“What are you doing out here past curfew?” one of the guards asked.
Asra wet her lips. She could handle two guards, but the commotion would attract more attention from more guards. Perhaps she could talk her way out of an altercation.
“Do you work at this food kitchen?” the other guard asked.
“No,” Asra said. She didn’t want to give them any reason to cause trouble for Lala.
“Then why are you skulking around back here?” the one holding the flashlight said.
Asra’s eyes flicked to the other guard. He had his hand on his pistol, ready to draw it in an instant. Asra’s chances of bluffing her way out did not look great.
“You got worker’s documents on you?” the flashlight guard asked.
“No,” Asra said. Then, hoping to reduce suspicion, she added, “I left them at home.”
The guards stepped closer. Maybe she could change into her fur and run. She looked over her shoulder and swore to herself. She didn’t have enough of a running start to scale the walls surrounding her.
“Get your hands up,” the flashlight guard said.
Asra considered the possibility of leaping over the guards, but a giant dog running through city roads would be very easy to track down.
“Get your hands up, now.”
Maybe she could just snap their heads off quickly enough that they wouldn’t have time to react. But how would Lala deal with a crime scene behind her kitchen? Asra couldn’t do that to her.
“I’m not going to tell you again. Get your hands up!”
Asra readied herself. She would have to let them make the first move. The guard without the flashlight unholstered his gun and aimed it at her. She tensed, ready to respond. And then:
“Jess! There you are.”
It was a new voice, one she didn’t recognize but somehow felt familiar. The guards turned to address the intruder, and immediately bent themselves into a bow.
She saw the silhouette of a man over the guards’ backs, a powerful dog at his side. The man’s features were difficult to make out in the flickering light of the street lamps, but she wouldn’t trust her eyes anyway. She sniffed the late night air and caught his scent.
She would recognize that scent anywhere. It was the scent of the young boy, seated across from her at a dinner table in the palace, moments before her life changed forever.
It was Prince Ciaran.