Evana strode forward from the back of the group. Knights parted to make way for her. She wrenched Mara out of the lesser knight’s grip and, without even the slightest pause, shoved her into the fire.

Aven’s heart leapt into his throat, and he lunged forward without thinking, breaking free of the knights that held him and landing on his hands and knees before the fire. Evana stopped him with a boot to the shoulder that sent him reeling to the side as he looked up at her in horror.

Mara screamed. Her body writhed against the flames, rolling to the right. Evana forgot him and lunged for Mara’s boots, grabbing them. It took him a moment to realize her goal: to keep her from rolling or crawling her way out of the fire. Mara twisted and kicked, fighting to get free of both Evana’s grasp and the heat. He could see her body itself morphing, twisting, animal forms mutating from one to the next—but what could possibly help her?

Aven lunged shoulder-first at Evana, knocking her to the side. But to his surprise, the boots came with them. He hauled himself off of her and scrambled toward where Mara had rolled out of the fire.

The charred, strange form—part woman, part animal—had no feet and large portions of black, lizard-like, scaly skin. He hoped to the gods that she had transformed herself that way, that the fire couldn’t work that quickly.

He knelt over her, trying to shield her with his body, as he felt the knights rush toward them.

“Mara,” he whispered desperately, “can you transform me?”

He had no weapons, no way to fight for her. At least not against so many. But he would have to try. He hauled himself to his feet and turned to face them, ready to fight. If she could transform him into something, anything more powerful than a human, maybe they had a chance? But with the resistance stones and her injuries…

The knights came at him, but haphazardly. Some hesitated. They did not really want to fight one on one. Most were clearly not warriors, unsure of how to begin in spite of their knightly titles. Pathetic. The first one reached him. Aven managed a solid blow across his jaw, sending him spinning.

His chest felt cold. A now familiar nausea twisted in his gut. He glanced down and saw the grass beneath his feet had gone straw-like and dry. She was doing it!

He tried not to think about what was happening or what he was becoming. It was too sickening, too much to process. He simply closed his eyes and opened them to furred paws the size of his head, with long, black claws at the ready.

A bear.

He batted at one, then another, knocking them flying, claws piercing and slicing along the way.

The others stopped. Hesitated. Now this, they really didn’t want to risk. The scene stilled long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the flap of Evana’s tent closing behind her. It was not like her to flee—what was she up to?

Aven turned to check on Mara. She was nowhere to be found.

He turned back to the crowd just in time to see Evana knocking an arrow to her bow, pointing squarely at him.

He dropped to all fours, turned, and ran. Indeed, Mara was no longer behind him. He didn’t know where she was. He plunged into the forest, running at a diagonal.

A whistle, then a thud into a tree to his left. Moments later, another whistle-thud landed in a tree to his right. He was getting the hang of running as a bear, and he changed from a zig to a zag. Running at diagonals threw off archers. He picked up speed.

He felt the twist of transformation again but focused on running. His paws shrank smaller and smaller as he ran, but he tried to keep going anyway. Soon, the bear was gone, and in its place scurried some kind of rodent.

He wasn’t sure how long he ran or how far. After a while, he realized there had been no noise nearby for quite some time. He stopped.

Where was Mara? Was she nearby? Was she injured? Had she… survived?

He gathered himself into a ball, but he was too cold. Too cold. He looked up at the treetops—yes, yes, he could see the stars. Not Casel, but he could spot Anefin. He took a deep breath and reached for the whispery energy of the light from the star. It warmed him slowly. The forest around him was quiet. He basked in the starlight and listened for any sign of pursuit.

Minutes passed. Perhaps longer. Then he heard one crunch, another. He uncurled himself, trying to figure out if he needed to run.

It’s me.

He sighed with relief, feeling her voice in his mind. She did not sound well but not terribly weak either. And she was alive.

Are you okay?

Yes. Not fully recovered—but better. In the morning, I should be able to heal the rest of the way. The form of a small chipmunk neared him, approaching slowly and steadily. It had to be her. Chipmunks never moved that slowly.

How did you get away?

As you got bigger, I got smaller. You were a good distraction.

He laughed—or made some strange animal noise that he hoped she would take as one.

There’s a log over here. Think you can tolerate a few hours as a chipmunk? she asked him. It’s dangerous to remain out of our own forms for too long, but it will be the best way to hide.

I’ll manage. She led him a short way toward a hollowed-out log. The darkness of the forest floor was dense and amazingly uneven. Things he would have normally not even noticed as he stepped over them became huge obstacles he now needed to circle around once they were discovered. Moss carpeted their tiny haven, and he crawled inside behind her.

She settled herself on the soft moss. He curled in beside her. His stomach gurgled, and he was hiding inside a hollow log as owl-bait.

But he was alive. So was Mara. They’d escaped Evana, at least for now. And for once, he’d had something to do with the situation. Things could be worse.

9

Healing

When Miara woke up the next morning, it took more than a few moments for her groggy mind to process the strange bedding, her strange fur, and her adorable bedfellow. Right. Chipmunks. There was one nearby—right. Hell.

She had planned to wake up in a few hours and change them back, but apparently they’d both been exhausted. Hopefully it hadn’t been too long for Aven.

Her mouth was parched, and her head spun with hunger. But there were no noises of men nearby, so perhaps—just perhaps—they had gotten away from that she-devil and her bastards.

She rolled onto her paws and crawled out of the log. Aven shifted but didn’t wake. As cautiously as she could, she let the transformation unravel back into her current self. Or an injured version of it.