Shadow Heir

That was a disheartening answer, its severity driven home by his sober look. “What’s the other reason we haven’t seen them yet?”

“We were living in a state of war before this disaster struck. Our armies were built up, our lands regularly patrolled. Much of that has stayed in place, even though our forces have taken heavy hits from the blight. But other kingdoms? Like the Palm Land? They were living an idyllic, peaceful existence. Their armies were minimal, so they had less to work with when the blight fell—and next to nothing now that the monsters are coming out of hiding.”

“Will ours be enough?” I asked. “Will our forces be able to protect our people?”

He studied me for a few moments, and I got the impression he was debating whether to answer with truth or comfort. He opted for the former. “I don’t know. We’re in better shape than most, and it’s a rule of nature that predators prefer easy prey. I don’t wish harm on any of these lands, but they’re probably more appealing to snow monsters than lands that fight back.”

His point was proved by the fact that many of the creatures we encountered tried to back off once they discovered the kind of fight we could put up. The smart thing on our part would have been to let them run ... but we, foolish or not, often pursued and took them out. It was hard not to when we kept passing more devastated villages. Leaving those people unguarded would have been cruel. It didn’t matter if they were our kingdoms or not. We were all victims of Varia.

The occasional fight also broke the monotony of travel. Volusian and our own intelligence assured us we were on the right path, but our days were long and dreary. We weren’t entirely sure how much farther we had to travel, and our rations were running low. I’d overheard Rurik and the soldiers debating whether or not they should impose new food restrictions to ensure our supplies would last. They’d decided against it at the time—we were already weak from hunger—but I’d gotten the impression that things might change very soon. I didn’t like that, but I disliked the thought of running out of food altogether even more.

Kiyo continued to be a constant stress to me. Whenever he had me alone, he’d attempt his absurd “reasonable” arguments about why Isaac was such a threat. Fortunately, Kiyo rarely got me alone, since almost everyone else went out of their way to interrupt his attempts. When Dorian did it, he would always act as though he had something really important to ask me, which almost always turned out to be ridiculous—like whether the purple in his cloak clashed with his tan horse. Others, like Rurik, made no such pretenses. He would simply force himself into the conversation and glare until Kiyo backed off.

Despite his nagging, Kiyo otherwise seemed to go to great pains to act like we were all civilized and friendly. I supposed this was better than him being aggressive or homicidal, but it seemed ridiculous after what he’d done to me. I couldn’t really believe he expected me to forgive and forget.

He scouted throughout most of the daylight hours, giving me some peace. One afternoon, he came tearing back toward us in fox form, with a sense of urgency that was obvious even as an animal. Immediately, we stopped and drew weapons, ready for an army of abominable snowmen around the bend. Kiyo reached us and turned human.

“What’s going on?” I demanded. I was tired and sporting a headache (probably from lack of food) but was ready to fight if need be.

Kiyo was panting, meaning he’d run back to us at a pretty serious pace. His fox form was normally pretty hardy. “You ... you have to see this. You won’t believe it.” Recovering himself, he glanced around and seemed to notice our tension. “And you don’t need your weapons.”

“What is it then?” asked Rurik, who showed no signs of putting his sword away.

“You just have to see it,” said Kiyo wonderingly. “It’s amazing.” He shape-shifted back to a fox and began trotting away. He paused after a few steps and glanced back to ascertain we were following. We set out at a cautious pace, none of us disarming.

“The kitsune’s gone insane,” said Dorian with mock sadness. “I knew it would happen sooner or later. If cold or starvation didn’t do it, I figured his own nature would bring it about. You can see these things coming, you know. I spotted it long ago, not that anyone bothered listening to me.”

I smiled in spite of my apprehension. “Right. You’re a regular—”

I gasped. The land had shifted around us, as it did a few times each day. Only this time ... we weren’t in a blighted kingdom.