Like fire we burn

Chapter twenty four

Murmurs of surprise bubbled through the crowds, and even though Shadow knew they weren't looking at her, she still tucked her wings into her body. The Blood Moon was a festival for monsters, not revelry. Crimson was nothing to take pride in.

Livia's wings stayed a shimmering green in the lantern light, unmarred but for a feather on the tips of each wing. Tyrin's friends had small clusters of colour in the under feathers, she noticed with a sinking heart. Was she the only one? The only one with not a hint of black or gold left. She shifted so her wings were towards the forest, tongue between her teeth.

She should have refused Livia and stayed locked in her cabin. There she could mourn in private and no one would know better. These Wind Walkers were not like her; they had never seen a battlefield, or flown the path she had. Rumours of her bloodletting were well spread throughout the Realms, but being here, letting them see... It made it real.

And she wasn't sure how it would play out. The earlier doubts rose like a tidal wave. She had wanted them to see, to know the Shadow of the East walked amongst them. But faced with the fleeting looks she could feel being shot her way, her resolve almost crumbled. In Aste'ra, she would have spent the night in her room, or drinking herself into oblivion at a shady bar.

Shadow swallowed, eyes searching – picking apart crimson from colour and –

Tyrin's were as red as dawn, not a hint of blue-jay-blue visible. A breath of air tickled as she blew out a relieved sigh. She was not alone.

His eyes opened and held hers, his head tilting to the side. Despite the fight they'd had earlier, she found a kind of comfort in their depths that drew her closer. He didn't say a word, and she almost missed the slight shift of his feet, the twitch of his fingers. I am here. I understand.

Her throat loosened its grip on her breath. She drew herself up, forcing the tension from her shoulders. The world needed to know that she was there, that she was willing to fight. She angled her wings into the light and the Elites' gazes snapped to her.

"Who are you?" Valentina demanded.

"This, Valentina," Tyrin said, inclining his head towards Shadow, "is my... charge. The Shadow of the East."  

Cato's eyes lit up with something wicked. "The Shadow of the East," He mused, lips curling. "That would explain the wings. I expected you to be taller, older. The walking heir to Alaric Pryd's network of spies, and not a single century to your name. Imagine what you could accomplish given the time – you've already secured Pryd's throne."
Shadow bowed her head in greeting.

"You must be barely over sixteen," Valentina marvelled, circling Shadow warily. She fought the urge to turn, her back tingling with vulnerability.

"Twenty this dawn," Shadow growled. Did it matter?

"Your last day as a mortal," Valentina said nonchalantly as the air was ripped from her lungs. So soon? She wasn't ready – it couldn't be. Cold dread crawled up her spine. "Ironic that it should fall on your birthday. What a gift immortality is. Parties fit for kings are thrown on such occasions."

Valentina must have been able to scent the change in her, the settling of her magic. She distantly wondered how many others knew. She'd felt the weight of power in her collar bone grow heavier, the sapped energy to prepare for the change, but didn't expect it to be so soon. Tonight was her last night.