not accustomed to hurting women. He was not accustomed to assassination attempts either. “Who are you, really?”
Her eyes darted around as though looking for an escape. Her gaze rested on something beyond her shoulder for a half second before returning to meet his. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I am a servant of the Chieftess. Nothing more.”
With a fluid motion, Joral released her hands. She reacted immediately, rolling and grabbing for the thin cord tangled in the grass a few feet away, but he was quicker.
He jumped to his feet and dangled the necklace—just a lumpy rock on a cord—above his head. She followed him to her feet and jumped for it, but he held it just out of her reach. “What kind of magic does it possess?”
She kicked him in the shin and winced as her bare foot contacted his stiff boots. Illista clawed at his arm, pulling on his shirt. He only lifted it higher. “Enough. If you want this back, you need to talk to me, not fight me.”
With a small sound that reminded him of a housecat’s growl, she pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around her thin shoulders. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Why are you trying to kill me?”
She whirled, her eyes flashing. “Are all of the Southern lords so thick?”
He raised one eyebrow and gave the necklace a small shake so that the stone tic-tocked back and forth. Her eyes followed it with an expression that seemed part longing part loathing.
She growled again in a show of feminine frustration that was almost endearing. “I am NOT trying to kill you, you rock head. If I had wanted you dead I would have left you in that lake to drown.”
He balled the necklace into his fist and lowered his arm, tucking it tight against his chest. “That was you.”
She glared, her jaw clenched tight. “Gods help the Segra people with someone as slow as you in command.”
“Tell me what it is that I'm missing. Someone has tried to kill me twice, and here you stand, a changeling, hiding in the same grass from which I was attacked. Why should I return your magic to you?”
Illista harrumphed and hugged herself tighter. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. Preparing to flee, perhaps. And then she stilled.
Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Are you so certain the assassins were after you? An arrow struck the wagon less than a hands width from my head. The stone in your hand is the only protection I have from Mulavi and Zabewa.”
“And the other Waki. Quarie?”
Illista shot him a guarded look. The dappled sunlight filtering through the tall grasses reflected in her orbs and danced through her dark silvery hair. “My sister wears the same sort of bloodstone. They change our appearance. That is all.”
Something made the hair on the back of Joral's neck prickle and he froze, his senses on full alert. He held up a finger to Illista, urging her to quiet. Her pupils widened with fear as she heard it too.
Voices. Far enough away that he could not make out the words, but the cadence was foreign. Too quick, too rhythmic to be Segra. Mulavi’s men, perhaps. He heard a bark of laughter. They seemed unaware of Joral and Illista. That might be their only salvation.
Without a word, Joral thrust the necklace at Illista. She stared as if surprised to find it in her hands again, but she didn't put it on immediately.
“Quickly,” he hissed.
She shook her head. “I am too slow like that.”
Joral snatched it from her fingers and dropped the cord around her neck. He blinked as the willowy form melted into the familiar Waki. He grabbed her by the arm and steered her towards where he had left his horse.
***
Illista felt irrationally like crying as she padded along after Joral through the grass. Her Waki feet were still blistered, her muscles burning, her chest constricting. It was as though she had not rested at all. Her Waki body had not rested, she supposed.
She stepped on a rough patch of ground and hissed at the pain. Even if they made it to
Her eyes darted around as though looking for an escape. Her gaze rested on something beyond her shoulder for a half second before returning to meet his. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I am a servant of the Chieftess. Nothing more.”
With a fluid motion, Joral released her hands. She reacted immediately, rolling and grabbing for the thin cord tangled in the grass a few feet away, but he was quicker.
He jumped to his feet and dangled the necklace—just a lumpy rock on a cord—above his head. She followed him to her feet and jumped for it, but he held it just out of her reach. “What kind of magic does it possess?”
She kicked him in the shin and winced as her bare foot contacted his stiff boots. Illista clawed at his arm, pulling on his shirt. He only lifted it higher. “Enough. If you want this back, you need to talk to me, not fight me.”
With a small sound that reminded him of a housecat’s growl, she pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around her thin shoulders. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Why are you trying to kill me?”
She whirled, her eyes flashing. “Are all of the Southern lords so thick?”
He raised one eyebrow and gave the necklace a small shake so that the stone tic-tocked back and forth. Her eyes followed it with an expression that seemed part longing part loathing.
She growled again in a show of feminine frustration that was almost endearing. “I am NOT trying to kill you, you rock head. If I had wanted you dead I would have left you in that lake to drown.”
He balled the necklace into his fist and lowered his arm, tucking it tight against his chest. “That was you.”
She glared, her jaw clenched tight. “Gods help the Segra people with someone as slow as you in command.”
“Tell me what it is that I'm missing. Someone has tried to kill me twice, and here you stand, a changeling, hiding in the same grass from which I was attacked. Why should I return your magic to you?”
Illista harrumphed and hugged herself tighter. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. Preparing to flee, perhaps. And then she stilled.
Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Are you so certain the assassins were after you? An arrow struck the wagon less than a hands width from my head. The stone in your hand is the only protection I have from Mulavi and Zabewa.”
“And the other Waki. Quarie?”
Illista shot him a guarded look. The dappled sunlight filtering through the tall grasses reflected in her orbs and danced through her dark silvery hair. “My sister wears the same sort of bloodstone. They change our appearance. That is all.”
Something made the hair on the back of Joral's neck prickle and he froze, his senses on full alert. He held up a finger to Illista, urging her to quiet. Her pupils widened with fear as she heard it too.
Voices. Far enough away that he could not make out the words, but the cadence was foreign. Too quick, too rhythmic to be Segra. Mulavi’s men, perhaps. He heard a bark of laughter. They seemed unaware of Joral and Illista. That might be their only salvation.
Without a word, Joral thrust the necklace at Illista. She stared as if surprised to find it in her hands again, but she didn't put it on immediately.
“Quickly,” he hissed.
She shook her head. “I am too slow like that.”
Joral snatched it from her fingers and dropped the cord around her neck. He blinked as the willowy form melted into the familiar Waki. He grabbed her by the arm and steered her towards where he had left his horse.
***
Illista felt irrationally like crying as she padded along after Joral through the grass. Her Waki feet were still blistered, her muscles burning, her chest constricting. It was as though she had not rested at all. Her Waki body had not rested, she supposed.
She stepped on a rough patch of ground and hissed at the pain. Even if they made it to
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