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  ‘As in Sorrow.’ The woman’s mouth was an inflexible line, and not even the ghost of a smile appeared in her eyes. Elisse wondered whether she and Owen Travers had been separated at birth.

  ‘I’m Elisse,’ she said.

  ‘I know who you are.’ Sorrow crossed the room to scrutinise the kitchen, then went over to open the door to the bedroom, still clutching that strange weapon. Elisse stood and watched her, unsettled, but fascinated as well. It was like the time a feral cat had got in through the farmhouse window and prowled stiff-legged around the furniture, suspicion bristling from every hair and very obviously not domesticated.

  ‘I think I would’ve noticed if there was anyone hiding in here,’ she said finally, when Sorrow showed no sign of letting up. ‘D’ya want a cuppa?’

  Her new bodyguard didn’t reply, but her own question reminded her that Owen Travers had never returned with her groceries. Still, she wasn’t running as low as she would have had him believe; she’d be all right for a few days yet. Or rather, they’d be all right. Sorrow was now going to be living here too. The thought filled Elisse with dread.

  ‘What kinda weapon is that, anyway?’ she asked in a desperate attempt to make some connection with the woman. To her relief, Sorrow stopped pacing and came to stand beside her, holding the black metal object out on the palms of her hands.

  ‘This? It’s a pistol.’

  She wasn’t as tall as she seemed, Elisse realised. Half a head shorter than Elisse herself, in fact, though sturdier and more muscular; it was that aura of coiled aggression that gave her such presence.

  ‘Pistol?’

  ‘The rarest of all weapons.’ Everything Sorrow said was produced in the coldest and most factual of tones, as if she were detached from any kind of human emotion, but there was a hint of satisfaction in her face as she looked down at the pistol. ‘I had it imported from Sol Kardis. Even there they’re scarce.’

  Elisse frowned at it. The thing just looked like an elaborate kind of tube with a handle; she couldn’t see what would make it so prized. ‘What d’ya do with it? Hit people?’

  For the first time, the corners of Sorrow’s mouth turned up in a smile. ‘Allow me to demonstrate.’

  She spun round and pointed the device at a stone vase that stood on top of the spinet. Her thumb moved with a metallic click, and then the world exploded in a flash and a deafening bang. With a yelp of surprise, Elisse stumbled backwards until her legs hit the chaise longue and she sat down hard, arms wrapped around herself for protection. The air in the room was hazy with smoke, making her eyes sting and the back of her throat hurt. It was only when she’d got her breath back that she realised the vase was now a shower of stone fragments across the spinet and the floor. She looked at Sorrow, who was watching her calmly with the smoking pistol still in one hand. Her heart was pounding, and she felt as though she ought to be angry, but for some reason what she wanted most was to laugh.

  ‘I’ve put a dent in your wall,’ Sorrow said. ‘Sorry about that.’

  Elisse shrugged. ‘It’s not my wall. It belongs ta Captain Travers.’

  They stared at each other for a moment. Then the giggle that was dancing in Elisse’s stomach came bubbling up in her throat, and she was no longer able to swallow it back. She laughed until she was almost crying, her sides aching with the force of it. When she’d finished, Sorrow came over and sat beside her. The blonde woman’s face still gave nothing away, but now there was a hint of interest in her hazel eyes as she looked at Elisse.

  ‘You’re not what I expected,’ she said.

  Elisse took in a shaky breath, still fighting the vestiges of laughter. ‘Well, what did ya expect?’

  ‘When Travers hired me, he told me who you are and –’ Sorrow made a vague descriptive gesture – ‘why you’re here. I thought you’d be stupid. Scared. Girly. But maybe you’re not.’

  Elisse grinned. ‘Maybe.’

  There was a silence. Then Sorrow tilted the pistol and said, as though it were an apology, ‘I won’t fire it again unless I have to. It costs me five ranols every time I reload this thing. We don’t have the chemicals or the technology to make explosives in Mirrorvale, and there’s only one man I know in the whole of Arkannen who’s willing to bring Kardise powder into the city.’

  Elisse looked doubtfully at the device. ‘Is it safe? I mean … it won’ blow up or anything?’

  ‘Probably not,’ Sorrow said. ‘But I’d better get on and clean it. In the meantime, I’d drink that tea now if the offer’s still going – unless you’ve got anything stronger?’

  ‘I think there’s some taransey,’ Elisse offered. She’d never fancied it herself, but Florentyn had liked a drink when he came to visit her. He’d told her all about it: how the first ring of Arkannen was the only place in the world where it was made, how the Mirrorvalese refused to export it on the grounds that foreigners didn’t have the constitution for it, how a vintage keg of taransey could sell for the same price as a piece of antique jewellery or a small house. Dances on your tastebuds like the sweetest of nectar and hits you with all the force of a steamhammer, he’d said, but she hadn’t been convinced. Now, though, the look on Sorrow’s face revealed that Florentyn wasn’t the only one with a taste for expensive liquor.

  ‘This might just be the best job ever,’ the blonde woman said. ‘None of my clients have ever offered me taransey before.’

  Elisse shrugged. ‘Ya welcome to it.’

  As she poured the deep amber liquid into Florentyn’s old glass, she watched Sorrow through the open kitchen doorway. The bodyguard was humming to herself as she inserted a long cloth-covered rod into the hollow part of the pistol, a smear of black dirt on her cheek. Elisse had never met any woman who had such short hair, but it looked right on Sorrow. It must be strange, being a female mercenary. Sorrow wasn’t much older than she was, yet Elisse didn’t see how their lives could be more different.

  ‘So is this what ya normally do?’ she asked, carrying the glass through to the living quarters. ‘Guard people?’

  The twist of Sorrow’s mouth suggested a wry smile. ‘Not exactly. This is a change for me. Usually … well, let’s just say that usually I’m on the other side.’

  ‘Ya kill people?’ The words were out before Elisse could stop them, but Sorrow only shrugged.

  ‘Sometimes. If that’s what I’m asked for. Other times, I just threaten.’ Her smile changed into something that made Elisse shiver. ‘I’m very good at threatening people.’

  She took the taransey from Elisse’s hand and swallowed it in one quick gulp. Handing back the empty glass, she added, ‘But don’t worry. I’m being paid good money to protect you. And besides –’ her pale eyebrows twitched, as if it was a surprise even to her – ‘I like you.’

  ‘There’s no need ta sound so horrified by it,’ Elisse said tartly, trying to brush over her previous moment of fear. ‘People like people all the time.’

  Sorrow shook her head. ‘I don’t.’

  She returned to cleaning her pistol, while Elisse retreated to the kitchen. Doesn’ like people, she thought as she washed up. What sort o’ screwed-up girl doesn’ like people?

  Another knock at the door startled her into nearly dropping the glass. Before she could dry her wet hands, Sorrow had extracted a knife from her body-belt and stalked over to open the door. Pushing herself up onto her tiptoes, Elisse peered down the hall and caught the flash of a striped coat over the blonde woman’s shoulder: she was talking to one of the Helm. After a short conversation, Sorrow closed the door again and turned around.

  ‘Word from Darkhaven,’ she said. ‘There’s been another attack. On Captain Travers this time.’

  Elisse had been about to point out that she could open her own door, thank you very much, but the news drove the complaint back into her throat unvoiced.

  ‘Is he dead?’ she whispered, but Sorrow shook her head.

  ‘Only hurt. Apparently it was the same creature that killed the old Changer. It happened just down
the road.’ She shrugged. ‘I wondered why I passed so many Helmsmen on my way here this morning.’

  Just down the road. Elisse pressed the back of one hand to her mouth, suddenly dizzy. It had happened on her doorstep. Travers must have been returning with her groceries when he was attacked. He’d said she was in danger, and he’d been right. What if the creature had been coming for her? What if it – if Ayla – knew where she was?

  ‘Are you all right?’ Sorrow asked. Elisse tried to nod, but the dizziness was increasing, swirling through her head, covering everything in front of her in a haze of sparks. She leant on the edge of the sink, bowing her head, taking in a long, difficult breath. Dimly she was aware of Sorrow crossing the room towards her.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ It was the second time her new bodyguard had apologised to her, but this time it sounded as though she meant it. ‘I should have thought – in your condition – here, come and sit down.’

  Elisse felt Sorrow’s arm encircle her, steering her in the direction of the living room. Once there, Sorrow sat her in the nearest chair and fetched her a cup of water.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked again. Elisse took a sip of the cold liquid, though her trembling hands chinked the porcelain against her teeth.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she managed. ‘It’s jus’ – Florentyn, and now Travers –’ Her vision was clearing now, her chest loosening. She looked up at Sorrow, who was watching her with a slight frown on her face.

  ‘Ya said ya thought I’d be stupid and scared.’ Her voice came out shaky. ‘Well, I dunno abou’ stupid, but I’m scared all right. If the Nightshades find out abou’ me …’

  ‘Travers gave me permission to protect you against anyone who tries to harm you,’ Sorrow said. ‘Anyone, even a member of the royal family. He said I was immune from prosecution by the Helm. I’m not allowed to kill anyone, but like I said – there’s plenty more I can do besides killing.’

  Elisse nodded. ‘I’m glad ya here, Sorrow, really I am.’ And it was true, she realised; somewhere between the firing of the pistol and her dizzy spell, her earlier dread had faded. ‘But … ’scuse me for asking, but wha’ can one person do against a Changer?’

  ‘One person, not a lot.’ That hint of satisfaction back in her face, Sorrow gestured towards the black metal contraption that still lay in pieces on the table. ‘But one person with a pistol … well, I reckon they can do plenty. Even against a Changer.’

  SIXTEEN

  Lamp in hand, Serenna pushed open the door to the library. With their trip into the city cancelled, Myrren was attending to some of the business he had neglected these past few days – the country wouldn’t run itself, even if he was trying to solve a murder at the same time – and so Serenna had decided it might be a good idea if she did some research. Myrren had assured her that the library wouldn’t be in use and that she wouldn’t be disturbed; it had always been Florentyn’s place, and now he was gone there wasn’t a man or woman in Darkhaven who would enter it unless requested.

  Setting her lamp down on the desk at the far end, Serenna studied the room. It was large, dark and imposing, like most of Darkhaven, but the indefinable smell of musty paper and old ink put her instantly at ease. With a professor for a father, she had grown up around books; she often thought that if she hadn’t joined the Altar of Flame she would have followed in her father’s footsteps to become an academic. But her eldest brother had taken that path, and her family couldn’t afford to educate more than one child to university level, so here she was: a priestess made nostalgic by the scent of knowledge. She supposed she ought to be grateful that she and her siblings had all been taught to read and write. Not every child in Arkannen had that luxury, even now.

  She crossed to the window and pulled back the heavy curtains, sneezing at the dust that billowed from their folds. Even with the daylight spilling in, the room remained dim and forbidding. She’d need the lamp, especially since the one carved chair was set with its back to the window and so she’d be casting her own shadow on every document she tried to read. Perhaps Florentyn had been blessed with unusually good eyesight. She knew all Changers in their creature form possessed certain virtues that made them powerful: heightened senses, unnatural strength and speed, an imperviousness to weaponry. It was possible that to a lesser extent, some of those qualities remained even when the Changer returned to human form. Despite the prying questions she had asked Myrren that morning, it was surprising how little she knew about the gifts of the bloodline that ruled over her and every other person in Mirrorvale.

  ‘Well, that’s what I’m here for,’ she said aloud, then winced at the sound of her own voice breaking the silence. Another academic habit, that, talking to oneself.

  Leaving the lamp on the desk, she scanned the shelves. The books were mainly vast tomes with leather bindings, bearing such enticing titles as Upon the Principles and Ordinance of Government and An Assessment of Trade Relationships Between Mirrorvale and its Neighbours. No doubt Myrren and Ayla had been forced to read them, but as an ordinary citizen Serenna had absolutely no need to do so. She skipped over them with relief, moving on to a set of slimmer but equally tall books that looked more promising. The History of the Nightshade Bloodline … Meditations on the Changer Gift … then, as she started to lift the Meditations down from the shelf – it took both hands – her fingertips brushed against another book that had fallen down behind the others. Intrigued, she fished it out: a small handwritten book with browning edges, entitled Changer Myths and Truths. Perfect. Serenna set it on top of the Meditations and carried them both back to the desk.

  After reading a dry introduction with difficulty and concluding that she probably would have been lost in the world of academia, she skipped on to the chapter of the Meditations that talked about Changer forms.

  There are five essential elements from which everything of substance is made: flame, ice, wind, wood and steel. Each of the Changer forms is made purely from one of those elements: Firedrake, Unicorn, Griffin, Phoenix and Hydra respectively.

  Over the centuries, alloys of these five elements have sprung up from time to time. These forms are not pure and so should be bred out of the bloodline wherever possible.

  It seemed the author of the book had thought so little of what he called ‘alloys’ that he didn’t want to say anything more about them; Serenna skimmed the following pages, but couldn’t find anything to indicate what sort of creatures they were or how often they appeared. Giving up, she turned to Changer Myths and Truths, and was relieved to discover that it contained a set of colour illustrations.

  As well as the five singular Changer forms, the cramped handwriting said, there are many other possible hybrid forms. Here I will document all those that have been seen in the Nightshade line since records began. Then, on the opposite page, the author had drawn a detailed picture of a winged horse, underneath which was the caption Alicorn (Unicorn–Phoenix). Serenna looked at the illustration, created with meticulous care in coloured inks that glowed with vibrant life in the dim light of the library, and wondered how anyone could claim a thing of such beauty was impure. Then she remembered with a kind of amazement that this was Ayla’s form. A golden horse, with a spiral horn and wings like flame – that was what Myrren had said, but the description didn’t even begin to express the glory of it.

  ‘We won’t let them lock you up,’ she whispered, reaching out a hand, then snatching it back before her fingers could smudge the ink. ‘I swear it.’

  She turned the page, and her heart gave a heavy thud. There it was, the creature that had hurt her and that Travers had described: a construct of fire and shadow, all wings and scales and claws. This time it wasn’t beauty that awed her, but the sheer sense of power that came crackling from each bold line and dark colour. Underneath it, the author had written Wyvern (Firedrake–Hydra–Griffin).

  Serenna sat back in her chair, releasing a long breath. Now she knew what Ayla’s creature-self was called, and she could give a name to the animal that had killed Flore
ntyn. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see how that would help her to find the missing Changer.

  Abandoning the Meditations entirely, she turned back to the beginning of Changer Myths and Truths and began to read.

  For those who seek to understand the nature of the Changer gift, this book sets out some of the most common fallacies that surround it and aims to uncover the truth that lies at the heart of each one, if any. Yet I counsel you to remember, oh traveller in strange lands, that a Changer is nothing if not dangerous. Over countless generations, we of Mirrorvale have grown used to the idea that our country is ruled by men who have the power to become beasts at will. Perhaps we have grown complacent, thinking ourselves safe. Yet at the heart of every Changer is something fierce and a little cruel. How else, indeed, would they have maintained their ascendancy for so many centuries?

  A tale is told of a long-ago Griffin overlord of Darkhaven who returned from a wide-ranging journey to find his wife cavorting in her chamber with another man. In an instant he Changed. Ignoring his wife’s screams, he seized the other man in his powerful forearms and soared with him high into the sky above Arkannen. When they were far enough above the city that they could see the seven rings laid out beneath them, the Griffin let go of his captive and became human once more. As the two men plummeted towards the earth, the Changer looked across at his rival and said, ‘You sought to take my place, so Change if you can!’ Then he reassumed his Griffin form and swooped to safety, whilst the other man’s body smashed against the roofs of the city. But his wife he locked up in a chamber beneath the tower, saying she must bear his heirs in darkness lest she be tempted again.

  Just a tale, you might think; yet that little incarceration room in the foundations of Darkhaven still exists, and other men have died over the years for far lesser offences than seduction. Like the wild animals they become, our overlords are quick to mete out bloody vengeance to those who oppose them. So, if nothing else, remember my warning: if you have dealings with Changers, you may be many things, but you are certainly not safe.