AFTER THAT, AND all the next day, Ozias and I work on my shifts. I get close, then feel like I don’t have enough to force it, and it fades. Sometimes I will it, hard and fast, and I’ll shift for a few moments only to snap back into my human form, nauseating me. I shift once more, the feel of transition closer to pulling teeth. After, my limbs are sluggish, my mind hazy.
“Let’s pause here for now,” Ozias says. “I’m going to check on the borders to see if we can determine new openings for a supply run. Stay here to rest. Meditate if you can’t sleep.”
“Is everything all right?”
“You know how it went the other night,” he murmurs before making his leave.
A shiver rushes down my spine. Thenight Ozias and I used my energy to cause a distraction, and the attack that ensued, meant that those who were out to procure food didn’t have as much time as they needed for a completely successful run. We didn’t account for Dyeus launching a full-on attack because of my burst of energy. Despite where our conversation about seduction ended yesterday, I haven’t even dared bringing up to Ozias the prospect of finishing what he started that night for fear of what might happen as a result.
My mind whirls with worry, wondering what I can do to help the supply runs, knowing I’m just another mouth to feed that they didn’t account for. I need to control my energy output, keep it smooth and even to create a true diversion for Ozias’s efforts elsewhere along the wall. All the while learn to shift at will, explore my possible elahi, and figure out how to seduce Zhoric, especially since he still hasn’t shown his face to me in all these nights since the attack.
I try meditating again. I sit inside my mind with my dragon while she slumbers. Quietly, I attempt to shift, but nothing happens. When I try harder and still nothing happens, I grunt my frustration away as I sit up. I should probably be resting anyway.
I move inside Ozias’s suites but stop short by the large table, scattered with parchments. Over and over, the same words are written on different parchments, the same scrawl penning the words:
You are woman and you are power.
You have many gifts.
But something has been stolen from you.
Something you will reclaim.
It will shock you.
It may frighten you.
But you are stronger than you know.
You have more in you than you have ever been allowed to understand.
When the time comes, be ready.
You contain multitudes —
It’s time for you to live with them all.
I recall the smudge of black on the side of Ozias’s hand I saw yesterday. He must have spent hours writing all these.
His words don’t place blame on Dyeus or try to pit the Nevobans against them. I scowl a little. With how fiercely Dyeus attacked the Realm days ago, I fear the Nevobans who would take up arms with them instead of with us. Ozias and Atlanta haven’t hidden the fact that there will be some fallout after I take down the Sar Dyeus and it’s not an if, but an inevitability. They want to keep their power and we want to strip them of it. I wonder if Ozias should try to entreat the Nevobans to our side. Instead, all he does with this missive is tell them of their worth and their right to it. Then again, I know as well as anyone that ill words against the kingdom would ring deaf on the ears of people like my mother, proud of their carremai title and their own self-importance. This missive would pique even my mother’s interest. My face softens as I realize what he’s doing. He’s taking the risk of them siding with Dyeus in favor of ensuring their transition is smooth and welcome. He’s not calling them to arms. He’s offering them freedom.
My fingers brush against my faded mark, hoping my people are ready for what’s to come. I hope this will be enough.
“Any luck?” Atlanta’s voice jars me from my thoughts. I turn to find her standing in the doorway. For a moment, I wonder if she means with Zhoric—that Ozias told her after all. “With shifting,” she clarifies at seeing my blank expression.
I huff, shaking my head as I turn away from the papers and lean back against the table. “No. I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Atlanta soothes as she comes in to stand by my side and scans the parchments on the table. “Most of us not born inside the Realm who can shift during the day have spent years to get to this point. The fact that you have at all is an immense accomplishment you should be proud of.”
I slide my hands over my face. Impressive as it might be, it’s still not enough. “How are things progressing withgetting notice to Nevoba?”
Her mouth twists as she takes one of the parchments in her hands and rolls it into a thin tube. “The farmhands are on edge. Word is, Dyeus is keeping a stricter eye on their movements.”
“Is that unusual?”
Atlanta shrugs, plucking a bit of twine from a pile and wrapping it around the parchment several times before tying it off. “They go through phases. Usually when there’s some shift in power among the elites.”
I watch her do another and by the third time watching, I select a parchment and roll one up. She holds out a hand and when I give it to her, she wraps and ties it off.
