The Dragon’s Daughter and the Winter Mage by Jeffe Kennedy
~ 25 ~
Isyn coughed up ice water. Someone thumped his back vigorously—with perhaps more power than necessary—landing a sound blow between his shoulder blades that made him hack up one more wave of it. The folk never had gotten a good grasp of the physiological differences between them. But they had managed to keep him alive. Gasping, he held up a hand. “I’m good. Enough already.”
“What was that?” a man asked from behind him.
“Chittering and squeaking,” a woman replied authoritatively.
“That’s the language of the furry mini-bears,” another man replied. “Isyn used it in the hall to get the vicious creatures to quit attacking us and focus on our common enemy. Finally.”
“They’re called the folk,” another woman replied. Isyn knew that voice: Lena. “Have a modicum of respect, Rhyian.” Lena crouched beside Isyn. “How are you feel—oh, Danu!”
She fell back on her behind, eyes huge in her face, and Rhy moved with lightning speed, putting himself between her and Isyn. No longer in wolf form, he looked like the classic Tala man from the stories, tall and long-limbed, black hair streaming wild away from a face dominated by savage deep-blue eyes. “What did you do?” he barked.
“Nothing,” Lena protested. “I was startled is all.” She aimed a decent knuckle punch at the back of Rhy’s knee, which buckled slightly, though he didn’t lose his stance.
He did soften, however, glancing over his shoulder. “Ow.” He offered her a hand up.
“Save it for Isyn,” she snapped, pushing to her feet on her own.
With a shrug, Rhy swung the hand around to Isyn, who accepted the help cautiously, glad he’d managed to hang onto the Silversteel sword. “Hello, Your Highness. I’m Rhy,” he said, baring his teeth in a decidedly wolfish smile and squeezing Isyn’s hand a little too hard. “We met over a tentacle monster but haven’t been properly introduced.”
Lena was still staring at him, a very odd look on her face.
“Call me Isyn, and thanks for the rescue.”
Rhy snorted disparagingly. “If you can call that disaster by such a grandiose term.”
A tall blond man—bleeding from multiple lacerations, fresh bruises forming, and favoring one side—edged Rhy aside, giving him an exasperated look, holding out his hand to shake Isyn’s. “I’m Astar, and this is Zephyr.” He put his arm around the other woman, letting her support him. Tall like Gendra, she was striking and fierce in the same Tala way as Rhy. The grizzly bear and the gríobhth. Amazing. “And you met Lena already. Nice work with the sword,” Astar added.
Crown Prince Astar, heir to the high throne, Isyn reminded himself, and bowed. “Your Highness, it’s an—wait, where is Gendra?”
They all exchanged looks. “She was a bit… big to fit through the portal,” Zeph replied first, arching her brows significantly.
An image flooded his mind of an enormous ivory dragon gazing down at him. “The … dragon?” he said weakly.
“Yeah, how about that?” Rhy said to the others. “She did it.”
“We always knew she would,” Zeph agreed.
“Jak stayed back with your piece of net to help her shapeshift back,” Astar explained.
“And Stella with him, obviously,” Lena said, looking concerned, “to hold the portal open. They’ve done this before, so you don’t have to worry.”
He was shaking his head, grip so hard on the sword’s hilt that it cut into his palm. “The net won’t work without me. Gendra won’t be able to shift without my magery to fuel the object.”
The look they exchanged this time was more concerned. “I can go back for them,” Zeph said.
“No,” Astar replied in a forbidding tone before she even finished. “No one is going back through. Those three can figure it out without us. We’ll wait.”
Isyn wasn’t waiting. Gendra had risked her life to save him, multiple times, and he’d rather die a slow death in the Winter Isles than condemn her to a lonely existence there. “Begging your pardon, Crown Prince Astar, but I’m going.”
“You two really are made for each other,” Astar said, though without much heat. “Rhy?”
Wiry arms encircled him in an unbreakable grip. “Even Jak can’t escape this hold, and he says you’re weak still,” Rhy taunted. “Though you don’t look old to me.”
“Rhyian!” Lena scolded, clapping a hand to her face. “I said he looked old-er.”
Isyn relaxed, no longer fighting Rhy’s hold. Maybe the Tala prince would drop his guard and Isyn could slip his grip. Preparing to bolt the moment he could, he looked around for the portal, unable to sense it. They stood on a rocky promontory, very like the one they’d left, but delightfully unfrozen. He was soaking wet and not cold at all, which felt like a miracle. Actual green grass cushioned his feet, and moss coated the rocks. Surf roared nearby, invisible behind the thick mist. Birds sang in a verdant forest he could just see in the close distance, and the scent of soil and fresh leaves filled the air. He’d forgotten how rich a living world could be.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“We don’t know,” Astar answered. “But we think it must be our own world since we were all able to shapeshift back on our own. Nilly’s been practicing opening portals of her own—and choosing the destination—so she might know. We’ll ask her.”
“Nilly can’t come too soon,” Zeph said, sliding Astar a concerned look. “You need healing.”
“It’s nothing fatal, just inconvenient,” he assured her with a fond smile. “Our Nilly will be drained.”
“Can’t you heal by shapeshifting?” Isyn asked. So far Rhy’s grip hadn’t softened by even the teensiest amount.
Astar grimaced ruefully. “Not all shapeshifters are able to, just like not all shapeshifters have more than one form. I have my First Form only and—”
“And dragon form,” Zeph reminded him with a proud smile.
“Just the one time, when I needed it most.” He kissed her nose, then looked back to Isyn. “But I can’t heal. Or cache extra outfits like Zephyr and Gen can.” He gestured to his decidedly unprincely outfit of a simple white tunic and blue pants. “Otherwise I’d shift back in something useful like fighting leathers.”
“Let the girls play with changing outfits,” Rhy replied, tightening his grip as if Isyn had made an offensive comment.
“Manly men don’t care about clothes?” Lena inquired silkily.
“Only so far as what it takes to keep the maidens from blushing,” Rhy retorted.
“Good thing there are no maidens in sight.” Her pleased, sly expression confirmed that she’d annoyed Rhy, though Isyn couldn’t see his face. How could they be engaging in banter when three of their group were missing?
“They should have come through by now,” Isyn ground out.
“Give it time,” Astar said, Zeph nodding.
“They can do it,” Rhy and Lena said at the same time.
And Isyn realized they were all worried and distracting themselves. A tightly knit group, Gendra’s friends—and one he wasn’t a part of.
“I really think Rhy can let Isyn go,” Zeph said to Astar after a long, fraught silence. “The portal doesn’t even seem to be open on this side.”
Lena shook her head. “I can’t sense it either.”
Astar sagged, worry creasing his brow, but he nodded at Rhy. “Let him go.”
“Aw, and I was having fun.” Rhy’s death grip relaxed, allowing Isyn to draw a deep breath. Isyn braced, prepared for a shove or some other callous treatment, but Rhy kept stabilizing hands on him, surprisingly gentle given his sharp tongue. “Steady on your feet? Yeah, you got it. We’ll have you back in shape in no time.” He patted Isyn on the back and stepped to the side.
“Is there a plan,” Isyn asked the group, “for what we do if they don’t come through? I feel I should point out that, if this is our world, it’s been a longer time there.”
They all looked at Astar, who grimaced and scrubbed a hand over his face, wincing at the forming bruise there. “I apologize, Prince Isyn, but we are not long on planning. The entire excursion to rescue you was constructed on the fly. I’m afraid we’re playing this by ear.”
“Say that we’re following instinct and intuition,” Zeph said, nudging him. “It sounds better.”
He smiled, wearily. “Look at you, becoming the diplomat.”
She pretended to buff her nails. “I’ve been practicing. But I do have a backup plan—if people don’t like my sweet words, I become the gríobhth and eviscerate them.”
Astar belly laughed, and Zeph beamed, clearly pleased to have relieved his worry at least for a moment. “Ordnung will never be the same,” he told her.
“It could stand to change,” Rhy commented sourly.
There must be other ways to get back to the Winter Isles. Perhaps Isyn could find that rift in the ocean he and Gendra had both come through. Even if the others came through Stella’s portal, Isyn would have to find a way to liberate the folk from their icy prison. Otherwise they’d eventually die out. He owed them too much to let that happen. And then there was Falada, and wherever she’d gone.
Zeph’s head whipped around. “Someone’s coming.” She stepped away from Astar, and the gríobhth stood in her place, defending him and Lena.
Isyn lifted the Silversteel sword, finding himself side by side with Rhy, also brandishing a sword. Rhy slid him a wicked grin. “Sometimes unfriendly beasties come through the rifts,” he explained.
“Believe me,” Isyn replied, gaze focused on the empty air that held Zeph’s keen attention, “I’ve had experience. That’s how I broke the leg—fighting one of those tentacle monsters.”
“And you lived to tell the tale?” Rhy actually sounded impressed. “If we have to be saddled with another mossback, I’m glad it’s someone useful.”
Isyn didn’t have a chance to absorb that statement, which was astonishing on several levels, because Jak, Stella, and Gendra stepped through empty air onto the lush green grass. Gendra had transformed yet again, from dragon back to her vividly lovely human form, once again his Briar Rose, wearing a blue gown under her white fur cloak, the shadow-fox hat he’d given her perched jauntily on the long chestnut curls that spiraled around her in glossy waves.
Her indigo eyes, shifting with shades of violet like a calm sea at twilight, met his—and welled with tears.
