face, waking her. Innis pulled the blanket over her head and went back to sleep.
It was still raining at dawn. She woke, blinking, and stared up at the gray sky. Who am I? She groped at her throat and found the Grooten amulet, gripped it tightly. She was Justen.
Innis pushed aside the wet blanket and stood. Across the muddy clearing, Cora crouched at the dead fire, her plait hanging down her back. She snapped her fingers. The branches began to burn.
No one did the morning exercises. They ate quickly, huddled around the fire, then loaded the packhorses. A russet-brown owl glided down, landing beside Dareus. It shook its feathers and changed into Ebril.
“Pursuit?” Dareus asked.
Ebril wiped rain from his face. “They’re a good half day behind.”
“And ahead of us?”
“Forest’s full of them to the south. Keep going northeast and we should be fine.” Ebril looked at the dying fire, at the loaded packhorses. “Is there any food left? Ah, bless you, Cora.” He took the bowl of gruel Cora held out to him and ate quickly, hunched in a wet blanket, while the horses were saddled.
“Mount,” Dareus said.
Innis swung up into the saddle and adjusted the weight of Justen’s sword more comfortably at her hip. She watched as Ebril changed into a hawk and spread his wings. Water trickled down the back of her neck. I wish I had feathers instead of soggy clothes and boots that squelch.
She tipped her head back, watching the hawk climb into the sky, and then glanced at the prince. His face was averted, tight-lipped.
They mate with animals, he’d said last night. Their women give birth to kittens.
Innis grimaced. How could he believe that?
AS THE DAY progressed the rain became heavier, drumming down. Her world narrowed to the water streaming from her hood, to the horse in front of her, to the drenched form of Prince Harkeld, wrapped in Ebril’s spare cloak.
Finally they halted for the night beneath the outspread branches of a massive oak. Petrus glided down to land while they unsaddled the horses. His feathers were dark with water, bedraggled.
Innis hefted her sodden saddle on one arm and walked towards the fire. Petrus intercepted her, wrapped in a blanket. His face was weary, his pale hair plastered to his skull. “Change into yourself,” he said. “I’ll be Justen for a couple of hours.”
“But you’ve been a hawk all day—”
“And I’ll be myself all night. You won’t be.”
It was the rain that made her hesitate, the wetness of everything. The thought of stripping out of wet clothes, of having to dress in them again later... Innis shook her head. “I’ll be fine, Petrus. It’s not a difficult form to maintain.”
“Innis, change.”
It was a nuisance peeling out of the trews, dragging off the clinging shirt, but once she’d shifted, she knew Petrus had been right. It felt odd to be herself. Her own body felt too small, too short, too...wrong.
Petrus handed her the blanket. “Anything I should know? Anything he’s said?”
She shook her head.
“Go.” He reached for one wet boot, grimacing as he forced his foot into it.
Innis walked back to the oak tree, hugging the blanket tightly around herself. She paused and looked at the horses, the smoldering fire, the prince.
She’d felt naked wrapped in just the blanket last night. Not because of the other mages; because of the prince.
“Thirsty?” Cora asked, glancing up from the pot she was stirring. “Like some cider?”
“Give me a minute.”
Innis dressed in her own clothes, pulling them on over damp skin. The shirt and trews made her feel less exposed. They mate with animals, the prince had said, and last night she’d felt as if he was waiting for her to throw the blanket aside and run naked into the woods, to rut with the nearest beast she could find.
“Cider,” Cora said, holding out a mug when she returned to the fire. “But no tents. I know which I’d prefer to have.”
Innis sipped the cider. She watched as Petrus stepped into the firelight. Stubble was dark on his cheeks and throat. She touched her face with a fingertip. The skin felt too smooth.
This is me, Innis told herself, stroking her cheek. This is who I am. A woman, not a man. Yet her skin felt soft and hairless and wrong.
They ate a stew of dried meat, huddling with the horses beneath the shelter of the oak. Water dripped steadily from its boughs and fell with sharp hisses into the flames. Even with Cora’s magic, the wood burned sluggishly.
Innis