Mad, Bad & Dangerous

“disrespecting your heritage”.

“Quite apart from being necessary to continue your father’s research,” yep, there it was, “the creature also owes you a debt, you know.”

Bael tried to remember who owed him money, or if he’d ever gambled with a shapeshifter.

“I know your father believed otherwise, but I am sure the shapeshifter was instrumental in the death of your mother. It is my belief it killed her to escape your father’s research. Such a creature cannot be allowed to roam free, Bael.”

A shapeshifter? No, a kelf had killed his mother. His father had told him so repeatedly. “Don’t trust kelfs, boy, they’re a lot more treacherous than humans think.”

This stupid damn ritual, the background noise of Bael’s youth. Find the shapeshifter. Do the ritual. Bael didn’t know what it was for, and he didn’t care either. Albhar had been wittering on about the stupid thing for years…

In letters that Bael had barely read. Gods dammit. The old man nagged so much that Bael had stopped listening years ago. As far as he was concerned, if Albhar spent his time obsessing over a shapeshifter, it just made it less likely that he’d spend his time noticing Bael was actually Nasc.

Because if he knew…if anyone knew what he was-

Bael shook himself. He hadn’t been bothered by the Federacion so far. Chances were, they had no idea Nasc Magi even existed. They’d never come after his parents, for one thing. And Albhar…well, Albhar knew a lot about magic, but he had very little innate skill. He was clearly below the interest of the Federacion.

He had some mad idea about a shapeshifter, always muttering on about it. Some ritual Bael’s father had been working on. Something he’d tried to get Bael to help him with, but despite his heritage Bael had never even been able to light a fire without using a match. His parents had been disgusted with him.

But why was Albhar suddenly telling him it was this shapeshifter who’d killed his mother? Was it just some ploy to get him to look for it, or had his father, blinded by hatred of kelfs, lied to him?

The story had always been that it was the kelf who killed his mother, that ungrateful kelf who escaped his parents then came back to get revenge for its servitude. The only kelf ever known to have killed a human.

Bael tried to work up some anger over it, tried to even picture his mother, but his parents had been so distant, always haring off on some trip or another, that he couldn’t really remember what she looked like.

He remembered his father more clearly, especially in that last year after his mother had died. An old man, suddenly older than he should have been, stomping about the place muttering like a lunatic. He’d brought in Albhar then, a human Mage with a minor talent, to assist him, but the guy had nowhere near the power Bael’s mother had.

Bael shook his head. If Albhar thought he could pull some emotional blackmail on him, then he’d gone about it the wrong way. It was hard to get sentimental about parents who barely seemed to know you existed. The only time Bael ever remembered his father showing him any attention was when he’d first realized his son was a Mage too.

But that hadn’t been attention Bael had particularly enjoyed. His father had never said so, but he gave the distinct impression he was trying to work out a way to exploit his son’s talents. A way to increase his own power. Because apart from Albhar, whose talents were negligible, there was no one else around whose power he could steal.

Bael read through the rest of the letter, mostly full of Albhar’s fussing about responsibilities and duties, and scribbled a note on the back to the effect that he was busy and the estates could run themselves. Hell, they always had before. He paid plenty of people plenty of money so he didn’t have to worry about them.

In fact, he paid Albhar plenty of money to worry about them.

“Anything interesting?” asked Verrick, as Bael sent the faery away with the note.

“Nah. Just business stuff. Speaking of-well, not really speaking of, but I can’t think of a segue and I’m nosy-why doesn’t Kett’s dad like you?”

Verrick’s cheeks colored. “You noticed?”

“I’m good at noticing.”

The young garda shrugged. “He doesn’t think Eithne’s old enough to get married.”

“Married? You’re engaged?”

“Well. I asked, and she said yes, but her father won’t give permission so…”

Bael made a face. “Right.” This didn’t bode particularly well for him.

“Oh, you’ll be all right,” said Verrick, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Eithne says he’s always moaning about how Kett ought to find someone.”

“Really? He wants her to settle down?”

“Well, she’s-” Verrick blushed again. “She’s not getting any younger.”

“Apart from men of legend, none of us are,” Bael agreed gravely.

“Eithne says it’s not fair, and I think she’s right.”

Well, of course you do, Bael thought, you lovesick dollop, but out loud he said, “What do you mean?”

“Well, it can’t be about age, because Eithne’s older than her mother was when she got married. And she’s much older than her father was when Kett was born.”

“Yeah? He was pretty young?”

“Only a teenager. A misdemeanor when he was in the army,” Verrick confided. “And by all accounts-” He broke off.

“By all accounts what?” Bael asked.

“Well, Kett was a bit of a wild child. I suppose he just doesn’t want Eithne growing up like that.”

In the middle of the busy hospital ward, there was silence.

“Like what?” Bael asked pleasantly.

“Well…well, like, er, well,” Verrick stammered. “Like, um, well, she got attacked by that tiger,” he said. “That was, um, bad. Could have killed her.”

“Sure,” Bael said, “but it was three years ago. Hardly when she was a ‘wild child’. And what does that mean, exactly? She shagged around a bit when she was younger? Who didn’t? Her father’s a damn hypocrite.”

“Yes,” Verrick agreed weakly.

“He’s a jumped-up highwayman,” chipped in Willifus, just begging for another beating.

“Been a while since I turned anyone into a smudge on the floor,” Bael snapped at him, “but if you don’t shut up, I’ll be glad to begin practicing again.”

Willifus turned green.

“Now,” Bael said, fixing his gaze on Verrick. “Tell me everything about Kett.”

***

It was well after midnight when Kett made her way back to her room, tired and aching more than a little. She’d been showing off, pressing into service muscles she hadn’t used since the last time she’d required wings, or legs that could leap five feet into the air.

She had a loose plan in her head. And it was a good plan; it would work. But if her Koskwim training had taught her anything, it was that a plan should never be put into practice until all the kinks had been worked out.

Her right leg in particular was killing her. She draped the slightly grass-stained dress over a chair, hoping guiltily that Nuala wouldn’t be too annoyed by the state it was in, kicked off her boots and rubbed some liniment into her thigh. Then she fell into bed and wondered, as her eyes closed, where the hell Bael was.

Five minutes later her eyes slammed open as she heard the window slide up, and a pair of feet thudded on the floorboards.

Her hand was already a claw as the figure righted itself and came toward the bed, and she tensed to attack. In the dark room she couldn’t see clearly, and any intruder was a threat.

Then she breathed in, and a scent she hadn’t even realized was familiar came to her, reassured her.

“Bael?”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Kett turned her hand back to human again as he shed his clothes. “You could have used the door.”