“Change into your fur, Kyra,” said the voice again, more commanding this time. “Then you can rest.”
Kyra obeyed just so that he would leave her alone. The spark of her other form was hard to find by now, and everything around her seemed dim. But finally she grabbed on and coaxed it stronger. Welcome warmth spread through her body. And then it was too much for her, and she slept.
Kyra awoke disoriented. She was in her fur, but not in her cave. There was no strength in her limbs. Pain still radiated from her hip, although it was not nearly as bad as it had been before. Kyra shook the fog out of her mind and climbed slowly to her feet.
She was in the forest, and the angle of the light suggested it was afternoon. Some demon cats lay a stone’s throw away, tended by their kin. A few other Makvani stood nearby in human form. Their voices carried easily over the snow, but Kyra couldn’t understand the words.
It was too painful to put weight on her back leg, so she hobbled awkwardly forward on three. She’d only made it a few paces when someone approached her. It took her a moment to recognize Havel, the leader of the new clan. He greeted her with a friendly tone and held out a tunic. Kyra understood that he wanted her to change into her skin.
She obeyed. Her weight shifted as she changed, and the resulting pressure on her injured leg would have made her lose her balance if Havel hadn’t steadied her shoulder. When Kyra stabilized, he handed her the tunic, and she pulled her arms through, too disoriented to be concerned about modesty.
“How do you feel?” Havel asked.
There was warmth in his voice, and Kyra recognized it as the one who had commanded her to change shape the night before. “Was it you who cared for me last night?”
Havel inclined his head. “I served as a healer for your father long ago. He still asks me for help, in cases that are important to him.” He met Kyra’s eyes as he said the last part, and the meaning was not lost on her. Nor had she forgotten the worry in Leyus’s brow as he’d lifted her off the demon cat last night.
“Is Leyus still here?” asked Kyra.
“No, not at the moment.”
Perhaps that was just as well. She’d wished for some sign that her father cared for her, but the thought of facing him and having this new knowledge shaken was too frightening.
Now that she was in her skin, worries came crowding back. Where was she? What was the outcome of the battle last night? And—a new urgency hit her—who had been hurt?
“Flick and Adele, are they safe?”
“Flick is unharmed,” said Havel. Maybe it was something about Makvani healers, but Kyra felt at ease with Havel. The edge of aggression carried by most of his kin seemed softened in him. “Adele lost a good deal of blood, but she will live. Flick has been either at her side or yours all day.”
Kyra closed her eyes, relieved. “And Pashla? Did she convey Willem to Forge?”
Here, Havel’s countenance darkened. “We have no news of Pashla. Our scouts have been watching the Edlan troops, and they say the Defense Minster Malikel met with the Edlan leader this morning. Edlan troops are packing up their camp, so we can only guess that Pashla succeeded. But we do not know where she is.”
Kyra thought back to the determination in Pashla’s face when she’d changed shape to convey Willem to the city. She would have done her utmost to get him there. A chill went through Kyra, and she looked into the trees, wishing she could somehow see through them to the city.
“How is your leg?” Havel asked.
Kyra realized she’d been silent for a long time. “It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it did last night,” she said. “But I can’t put weight on it.”