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  The Shift of the Tide

  Uncharted Realms – Book 3

  by

  Jeffe Kennedy

  A QUICKSILVER HEART

  Released from the grip of a tyrant, the Twelve Kingdoms have thrown all that touch them into chaos. As the borders open, new enemies emerge to vie for their hard-won power—and old deceptions crumble under the strain…

  The most talented shapeshifter of her generation, Zynda has one love in her life: freedom. The open air above her, the water before her, the sun on her skin or wings or fur—their sensual glories more than make up for her loneliness. She serves the High Queen’s company well, but she can’t trust her allies with her secrets, or the secrets of her people. Best that she should keep her distance, alone.

  Except wherever she escapes, Marskal, the Queen’s quiet lieutenant, seems to find her. Solid, stubborn, and disciplined, he’s no more fluid than rock. Yet he knows what she likes, what thrills and unnerves her, when she’s hiding something. His lithe warrior’s body promises pleasure she has gone too long without. But no matter how careful, how tender, how incendiary he is, only Zynda can know the sacrifice she must make for her people’s future—and the time is drawing near…

  Dedication

  Some of the themes and images in this story came from Patricia McKillip’s The Forgotten Beasts of Eld, probably in ways that are invisible to anyone else. Still, I owe her a debt for lighting the magical green fire of this story in me.

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you goes out to Evergreen who not only gave me the insider’s tour of Epcot but helped me without knowing it by giving me the idea for dolphins killing the shark.

  Thanks to my long-suffering critique partners and beta readers Marcella Burnard and Carien Ubink. A special thank you to Anne Calhoun, who served as fresh-to-the-series reader and mostly commented “What the hell is going on in this book???”

  Cherished writer friends Kelly Robson and Grace Draven gave support and advice many times as I was writing. Without their sanity checks I’d be lost.

  Peter Senftleben has been the developmental editor for this entire series and I’m grateful he could continue freelance and work on this book, too. You helped me sort out a major mess! Likewise, Rebecca Cremonese extended her production editing skills to this book and made it so much better. The fact that I use “suicide” as a verb is entirely not her fault. She tried to talk me out of it. She really did.

  Thanks to Lynne Facer for suggesting the nicknames for the twins. Love and appreciation, too, to all my readers and especially the crew in Jeffe’s Closet on Facebook, for early feedback and eternal enthusiasm.

  Much appreciation to my Santa Fe critique group for wine and conversation, along with insightful comments. Thanks to Sage Walker for a full read when I needed it most and making me put back what I took out. Also big thanks to Edward Khmara, M.T. Reiten, and Eric Wolf. Extra special gratitude to Jim Sorenson, who cried foul on an anticlimactic battle to the dragon and made it SO much better.

  I’m giving a special shout-out to Ravven for the absolutely incredible cover. I looked at it for inspiration while writing, it’s that good.

  I always thank David last, because he’s the one who’s there day-in and day-out for every phase of writing. This time, though, he went the extra mile—literally. I was finishing the draft of this as we, meaning he, drove through central Wyoming. He made a decision while I was immersed and he was not allowed to talk to me, pulled over at a lake and fished while I wrote the final scenes. It made all the difference and I’ll always associate that peaceful spot with the happy ending of this book. An observant man, as the quiet ones often are.

  Copyright © 2017 by Jennifer M. Kennedy

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or business establishments, organizations or locales is completely coincidental.

  Thank you for reading!

  Credits

  Content Editor: Peter Senftleben

  Line and Copy Editor: Rebecca Cremonese

  Back Cover Copy: Erin Nelsen Parekh

  Cover Design: Ravven

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright Page

  Maps

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About Jeffe Kennedy

  Titles by Jeffe Kennedy

  The Shift of the Tide

  by Jeffe Kennedy

  ~ 1 ~

  Water streamed over my skin in a rush, responsive as it enveloped me, like music following my dance.

  Around me, the shapes of coral resonated with depth, shading moving beyond the visual and into other spectrums. That was one reason I loved this form, where my echolocation gave sound nuance like a rainbow of color. The crystal waters teemed with sea life of all varieties, most of them quite tasty looking, making my stomach tingle with animal anticipation.

  I exercised enough conscious control, however, to refrain from sampling the living buffet. Unless pressed into it in order to survive—which had happened more often since I undertook this quest than ever before in my life—I didn’t eat as an animal. It was one of those rules taught to Tala children early, one of the tricks and habits to forestall the worst disaster imaginable for a shapeshifter: being trapped forever in a non-human form.

  With the great exception of Final Form. I’d accepted taking that as my destiny, as the only way to save my people. I would do it for my sister’s dead babies, and for the ones I would never have. I’d be lonely, perhaps, but my family was dying off one by one regardless. My mother was gone along with all my siblings but two. And if Anya kept trying to have babies, she’d soon go with them. I would live my life alone, either way, and nothing would change that.

  One day, quite soon, I would become a dragon, and stay that way forever.

  Though that day drew ever closer—if I succeeded in getting the invitation I sought—for the moment I savored one of my favorites of my many forms, swimming hard and working out the restlessness that plagued me. If I were given a choice of what form to be stuck in forever, I’d pick the dolphin. Its large, mammalian brain contained plenty of room to retain a good portion of reasoning and higher thought. Fast, agile, being a dolphin was simply fun. I’d learned it early and returned to it often.

  Learning a new form is part instinct, part observation and study, and part gift from beyond. Some say those are the gifts of the three goddesses—knowledge of the heart from the goddess of love, dawn, and twilight, Glorianna; disciplined study
from the warrior goddess of high noon, Danu; and the mysterious arcane touch of Moranu.

  Most Tala look to Moranu first, and that’s largely why, because we are shapeshifters—and each shift is a leap of faith in the goddess of the moon, night and shadows. But I needed more than Moranu’s guidance to take Final Form. I needed a real dragon to teach me.

  Our ancestors had found a way to shift into it, becoming the great, virtually immortal dragons of old. In that form they retained full consciousness—some said greater intelligence than human minds—along with all the magical gifts the shapeshifter had possessed. Most important, being a dragon came with the additional and priceless gift of modulating magic, something we needed desperately if the Tala, the magical and shapeshifting last remnants of the great races were to survive beyond another generation. We’d preserved so much—and yet not enough. So much knowledge the ancients had taken with them, that we failed to understand.

  How it would feel to be the dragon… well, no one had been able to take Final Form in generations. So, no one could tell me if taking that irreversible final step felt like being trapped in an unyielding cage. Even if it would, much as the prospect revolted me, I would do it. And once there, I would be unable to turn back. But the reward would be worth it. I firmly believed that.

  Taking Final Form was both the pinnacle of accomplishment for a shapeshifter and the ultimate sacrifice, but we’d lost the intangible path when the dragons disappeared from the world.

  Now that my friend and scholar Dafne, now Queen Nakoa KauPo of Nahanau, had awakened the dragon Kiraka from hibernation beneath the volcano, I hoped to be the first Tala to take Final Form. But that required an invitation from the great dragon, and so far she’d only spoken to Dafne. I tried to be patient—after all I’d waited my entire life for this moment, and generations of Tala had lived and died without ever reaching it—but the sense of time slipping away rushed around me like the crystal warm waters.

  A pod of actual dolphins sounded in the distance, their convivial feeding luring me to join them, to enjoy for a while longer the joy of freedom from responsibility. I swam in their direction. Paused when the alarm call went up.

  Shark.

  And they had calves in the family group. No question that they should be protected at all costs. Babies are the future. Without them we die the final death.

  I shot past the group encircling the calves, joining those who attacked the shark. Finding my opening, I angled exactly and rammed its gills with my beak, exulting in the crunch of soft cartilage. It should have flinched—from my blow and from the other dolphins, attacking the gills on the other side, and its soft belly—but it swam on. Almost mindlessly.

  I had a bad taste in my mouth, both literally and metaphorically. Like magic gone rotten.

  A limitation of the dolphin form, however, is that I can’t use my magical senses in it. Otherwise I would have probed for the source of the distasteful essence. As it was, the pod easily herded the shark away. It floundered in the water, slowing and sinking. It would be no threat to them or the precious calves.

  The group sang to me, promising fish and fun. Very tempting to join them.

  But I’d made promises, and I intended to keep them.

  With a mental sigh, I headed back to shore. That had been enough of an exercise break to clear my mind and restore my sense of self. Mossbacks didn’t seem to understand how shifting into animal form could be a kind of recentering, as it looked to them like the exact opposite of that—going further away from self, not more firmly into the center—but mutability anchors me in a way I can’t easily explain. Or wouldn’t, even if I found the words. The Tala have a reputation for keeping secrets, and it’s well earned.

  It’s also a dodgy undertaking, full of fine lines and careful obfuscation. Especially as we have no hard and fast rules—the Tala rarely do—beyond making sure no one ever again has the power to destroy what we’ve so carefully preserved.

  Though that too lay in our future. I don’t have strong foresight, but the visions plagued even me. Oily shadows penetrating to soil the white cliffs of my home in Annfwn. Blood in the water. My cousin Ursula, the High Queen of the Thirteen Kingdoms, thought the Temple of Deyrr, with their unholy black magic and corrupt rituals to enslave the living dead was entirely her problem. But that ancient and lethal arrow pointed ultimately at the Heart of Annfwn. The beginning of this conflict, and the prophesied site of the end of it.

  Not for me, however. My task had been set before the priestess of Deyrr showed up at the court of Ordnung, corrupting the former high king. Others would take up that battle. Though I’d helped my companions, doing my best to make sure the powerful jewel, the Star of Annfwn stayed out of the High Priestess of Deyrr’s fetid hands, ultimately protecting the thirteen—and the other realms inside the protective magical barrier—would fall to them. My allegiance belonged to the Tala and my personal mission, first and foremost. It would do us no good to turn back Deyrr, only for the Tala to wither and die.

  As the dragon, at least, I’d be well situated to fight to defend my homeland of Annfwn.

  Had that been the oddly familiar flavor of the shark? It didn’t seem likely. Not here in the waters of Nahanau, a fair distance from the barrier. I’d never encountered Deyrr’s living dead at Ordnung—they’d all been burnt by the time I arrived—but I had tasted the High Priestess’s magic when she attacked Ursula. They could be the same. Though why it would be in a mindless shark, I didn’t know.

  Troubling.

  Once in the shallows, I shifted back to human form, swimming with a relaxed breast stroke until my feet found the bottom. While the Nahanauns had become more accustomed to my presence around the palace, they weren’t accustomed to shapeshifting. After a few early displays to impress them with my abilities—at my companions’ behest, mostly to demonstrate that we weren’t captives to be underestimated—I preferred to shift discreetly. I rarely cared to make a show of it, regardless. It’s a private thing. Intimate.

  Also, swimming the short distance gave me a moment to settle back into my Birth Form. My muscles stretched out anchored to the longer, harder skeleton, articulating at different joints, the water now feeling cooler against my thinner human skin, with less subcutaneous fat insulation beneath. The fine sand sifted pleasantly against the soles of my feet—something a dolphin never experienced. Compared to the dolphin form, being human felt less powerful in the water, but also more sensitive to sensation. My light gown swirled in the water, too, clinging here and trailing there, my usual dress that I manifested with my human form out of long habit. As I waded to the shallows, it clung wetly to my upper body, but the thin silk would dry quickly enough, if stiff with residual salt.

  My friend Jepp, a warrior woman, loved to natter at me about trying to return to human form with different kinds of clothing, and even with an arsenal of weaponry. Trust her agile fighter’s mind to come up with such schemes. That’s how she thought. A very mossback way of seeing the world, too. All focused on things. The Tala didn’t care much for material objects, giving us a tendency to forget about ones the mossbacks regarded as precious—something that distressed them no end.

  Beyond that, though, I didn’t discuss with Jepp how critical habit could be for returning to my Birth Form. You’d think it would be the easiest to attain, as it’s our natural form, the one we have before we consciously understand that we even have bodies, much less that they’re mutable. In fact, we don’t tell children—or adults learning to shapeshift late in life like my cousin the Tala queen Andromeda—how fraught with danger the return to human shape can be. Better to maintain that perfect confidence.

  We find out soon enough on our own how perilous it can be.

  For most of us, having a standard, very simple, garment as part of our return to Birth Form is a key part of that confidence. Some shapeshifters have to return to human form naked, but that can be problematic for many reasons. We drill in having something to wear, just in case. Personally, I’d also fixed a habit o
f including a pin for my hair in a little pocket along one hem. Getting the sometimes wild locks out of my face counted as more than convenience.

  For the moment I left the pin where it was, wringing the water out of my long hair as I waded, shaking it out again to dry, and wiping the dampness from my face—then glimpsed someone standing on the sand.

  Waiting for me?

  I had to reorient my senses to the human focus on vision. No echolocation in this form, and the sudden lack felt as if I’d left a hand behind. One of the many reasons settling into human form again can be fraught. For all that we have opposable thumbs and busy brains, human senses are sadly dull compared to other animals. I’m forever reaching for the more acute senses of my other forms. Recognizing people when I’ve recently shifted back can be a strange experience. I often want to sniff them, which is really not appropriate in most any human culture, but particularly among mossbacks. The man’s face finally hit the correct memory.

  “Lieutenant Marskal,” I said, by way of greeting. The water caressed my ankles as I moved through the last of the shallows, then stepped onto the packed damp sand where the waves gently lapped.

  He dipped his chin in a nod. The Hawks lieutenant was a man of few words, which I appreciated. Most mossbacks seemed inclined to extensive conversation. Not that the Tala weren’t effusive and fond of company, but I think the time we spend in animal forms makes us more comfortable with not speaking every thought in our minds. Or even to not having thoughts in our minds in the first place.

  I raked my wet hair back from my face so the water from it dripped down my back. Marskal gazed, not at me, but just past my face, as if at the sea. With some amusement, I realized he was determinedly averting his gaze, out of politeness or embarrassment.

  I didn’t think he was one of those who found the Tala revolting and thus avoided looking at me for that reason. More likely the wet silk clung to my body enough to leave little to the imagination, something the islander Nahanauns didn’t mind, but the men of the original twelve kingdoms sometimes did. The mischievous Tala trickster in me wanted to see if I could make him look, but I hadn’t come on this journey to cause trouble. Quite the opposite—I’d done my best to preserve my secrets and keep from undue notice.