scared the shit out of his enemies, but not necessary.
He brought his fingers together and willed the iron in the chains to stretch. The links melded into each other and thinned at his command, becoming cords instead of thick chains.
At first Crispin grinned, as though readying himself to shift and slip out of his shrinking bonds. Then the grin died, and his expression turned to near panic as the chain thinned to become almost invisible cords that burrowed through his clothes and clung tightly. The cords appeared delicate, but they retained the strength of the chains, holding Crispin fast.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
“One step out of line,” Stuart said. “Like I said, I can squeeze you in half. Understand?”
“Yes,” Crispin said, the word hoarse.
“What do you want me to do?” Peigi had watched the process in fascination, showing no fear. She’d never have anything to fear from Stuart.
“Do you mind going the last part your bear form?” Stuart asked. “Crispin can pretend you’re a new recruit, and I want you able to fight if we have to.”
Peigi nodded, already unlacing her tunic. “And you?”
Stuart grinned. He hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. “I’ll be your prisoner. A pathetic dokk alfar you captured for Crispin’s master.”
Peigi eyed him doubtfully. “Okay, if you think you can pull that off. But I’ll need some rope.”
Wordlessly, Stuart pulled it out of his pack. The smile Peigi flashed him made the entire trek worth it.
Twenty minutes later, Peigi, as her brown bear, followed Crispin, who hid his nervousness surprisingly well. Stuart lay trussed up on her back.
The bonds were loose—Peigi had snarled warnings at Crispin, who’d tied the rope. Stuart had his sword beneath him, out of sight, and Peigi felt it hard against her back. Reassuring, though. If they had to defend themselves, Stuart could easily break free and come out swinging.
A road led up to the keep, not as harrowing and steep as Peigi had feared. Crispin explained it was the route for farmers and suppliers who hauled in necessities. The road crossed a wooden bridge over a chasm—the bridge could be easily dismantled and thrown into the abyss, thus cutting off the castle from attackers.
Peigi peered over the edge of the bridge as she crossed. Mist rose from where the river crashed below, the updraft cold. She shivered and quickly returned her gaze to the solid rock at the end of the bridge.
Crispin had been correct about simply walking into the castle. The guards at the back door recognized him, eyes going wide at Peigi with Stuart on her back. They cringed from them, their trepidation toward Peigi apparent. Hopefully they’d move far enough aside that they wouldn’t sense Crispin’s iron bonds or Stuart’s sword.
They did stare hard at the dokk alfar, seemingly unconscious, on Peigi’s back. One guard growled something and another laughed.
Crispin joined the laughter, gesturing at Peigi. The guards stepped back even more and Crispin walked inside. No respect showed in the guards’ eyes as they let Crispin pass, but at least they didn’t stop him, or Peigi either.
“If I had time, I’d gut them,” Stuart whispered in her ear.
He didn’t enlighten her as to what the guards had joked, by which Peigi concluded it was something extremely derogatory about a female Shifter carrying a dokk alfar.
Crispin had chosen the entrance well. Few were using these passages, though Peigi heard voices and banging in the distance that suggested a kitchen. Pounding down another corridor and a whiff of smoke indicated a smithy. The hoch alfar worked in silver and bronze, and were experts at it, so she’d heard.
She followed Crispin up, and up and up, a narrow staircase, her bear almost too bulky to fit within its tight, curving walls. But she’d learned how to squeeze into small spaces when she’d been confined with Michael, and also days when she’d had to search for tiny Kevin, who’d decided hiding would be the most entertaining thing he could do.
“Why aren’t there more guards?” Stuart whispered to Crispin. “They have to know someone will try to steal it back.”
“Don’t know,” Crispin said. “There were more before I left.”
Worrying. Could be the hoch alfar had already gotten rid of the karmsyern—dropped it in the chasm maybe, or sent it far, far away. If the talisman was as strong as Stuart had told her, it should have made every hoch alfar in this castle sick, but the guards had seemed perfectly healthy.
Something wasn’t right, and her bear knew it.
They’d climbed a