of their small cadre. “I offer this toast, in the name of Moranu, on this, Her most blessed night, to the people I love best in all the world.” His summer-blue eyes lit on each of them in turn. “We’ve grown up together, traveled apart, and come together again.” With his other hand, he turned over his piece of paper and slid it to the center of the table. “This is my hope, my wish, and my promise to all of you: that we shall be friends all our lives. May Moranu make it so.”
They all lifted their glasses, repeating “May Moranu make it so,” though the words threatened to stick in Rhy’s throat. Hopefully far too many people were appealing to Moranu tonight for Her to pick out his insincere voice. Salena’s gaze lingered on him, her thoughts dark behind them, and it occurred to him that she might not feel enthusiastic about Astar’s vow either. At least not where he was concerned.
Well, he’d done his best to set her free before, and after their one dance tonight, he’d do his best to send her on her way again. Tipping his glass at her as he fingered the paper in his pocket, he caught her eye and smiled. Then drank to seal the promise.
~ 6 ~
“Thank Moranu!” Gendra moaned in Lena’s ear as they spilled into the corridor, the two of them arm in arm. “I thought Astar would never let us leave and I’d spend the entire ball in that tiny room.”
Rhyian ambled up on Lena’s other side, leaning around her to grin at Gendra. “So many walls, right? I don’t get how Astar stands it, even being more than half-mossback.”
“Maybe even mostly mossback,” Gendra agreed, “as Stella got the lion’s share of the Tala magic, along with the mark. Astar really only has First Form and that’s it.”
“Really? Just the bear still? Huh.” Rhyian ruminated on that.
“Didn’t he have a cat form when he was little?” Lena asked. “There’s that story about him shredding the curtains at Lianore during that Feast of Moranu.”
“Could be.” Rhyian tipped his head for the vagaries of shapeshifting. “Kids sometimes manifest forms once or twice and never again.”
Gendra nodded. “Getting a form once is no guarantee. Being able to do it consistently is the real accomplishment. It takes assiduous practice.”
“You sound like your mother,” Rhyian growled. “There’s no shame in having only a few forms—or even just First Form.”
“I never said there was,” Gendra returned evenly.
Tired of having them argue across her, Salena snorted at them both, flashing them a disgusted look. “Oh, come on, you two. You know you multiform shapeshifters are totally snobby about those of you who have only one form—and you’re even worse about those of us who can’t shapeshift at all.”
“Not at all,” Rhyian said easily, then leisurely dropped his gaze to her abundantly displayed cleavage. She went hot, as if he’d caressed her there, her nipples tightening, and she could only hope he couldn’t see her response with his sharp eyes. Lifting his gaze to hers, he grinned. “I like your one form very much.”
She set her teeth. “Don’t flirt with me, Rhyian.”
“Why not? I thought we declared a truce for the one night.”
“Is that what we decided?” She gave him a sidelong look, and Gendra squeezed her arm, in warning or comfort, she wasn’t sure. It had been a mistake to agree to give him a chance tonight, to promise him even the one dance. Just by having that initial conversation with him, she’d opened a door she’d fought hard to close and lock forever, and now all the old feelings poured through, drowning her good sense and better judgment.
Rhyian just gave her that wicked smile, the one that had always made her melt, and she firmly changed the subject. “What are we going to do about Zeph?” she said to Gendra.
“What’s up there?” Rhyian asked. “Are they lovers? Nobody told me.”
“No,” Gendra and Lena said in one voice, and Rhyian blinked at them.
“Oh-ho, it’s like that, huh?” He chuckled.
“Like what?” Gendra demanded, leaning around Lena.
Rhyian managed an elaborate shrug, even with his hands in his pockets. He still looked impeccably beautiful, not the least bit rumpled—or rather, he was mussed exactly the way he was after sex. Lena shoved that thought—and painful memory—down deep. That was what she should’ve written down and burned.
“You all right?” Rhyian asked, deep blue eyes full of concern, or the pretense of it. Rhyian was very good at pretending