Shifter Planet (9 page)

She was out in the Green every damned day, learning the forests as well as she could, he supposed, given her obvious limitations. The Guild wouldn’t permit her to travel any farther than a quarter mile into the Green, not until she’d passed at least the initial exams. That didn’t stop her from doing it, of course. It seemed to be in her nature to push boundaries. Shifters were set to watch her and had frequently stopped her from going any farther than she was allowed. On the other hand, he knew for a fact that she evaded her watchers sometimes and went where she pleased. Because he’d watched her more than anyone else, and while she’d given her assigned guards the slip, she’d never managed to evade
him
.

And it wasn’t as if the restrictions only applied to her. Every norm on Harp, and even the teenage shifters applying for Guild membership, were subject to the same limitations. Although he acknowledged that young shifters were given much greater flexibility. As long as there were at least three or four of them in a group, they were permitted, from about thirteen years of age onward, to enjoy almost free run of the trees.

It was different for them. They were a part of the Green, a part of Harp down to their very DNA. More importantly, they’d been listening to the voice of the trees before they’d even left their mothers’ wombs, and were equipped from birth with the fur and claws that made them shifters. Even if Amanda
could
hear the trees, she couldn’t hope to match a shifter’s advantages.

Raised voices drew his attention back to the scene down below. The shifter running the sign-up was arguing with Amanda, and she was arguing right back, quoting paragraph and line of Harp law at him—a law that gave every resident of Harp the right to enter the Guild trials. And she was a resident. She’d seen to that by moving into town. If she’d stayed out in the science compound with the others, an argument could have been made that she wasn’t really a resident, since the compound was fleet territory and not under the sovereignty of the Ardrigh. That was now a moot point since she’d rented those two rooms and moved in.

He took a moment to marvel at the shortsightedness of the founders, that they’d written the law so that anyone could join the Guild, when the Guild had clearly been created to serve shifters alone. Not that he could blame the founders precisely. In all this time no norm had ever applied for the Guild. And why would they? Harpers
knew
this planet, knew how dangerous it was. They sure as hell knew better than to think they could take it on with their fragile bodies and deaf minds. That’s what shifters had been created for.

The shifters around him grew still as Orrin Brady stepped up to the sign-up table. Orrin was one of the Guild’s trial judges. The judges were older Guild members who were past their prime, but still strong and with the experience and respect necessary to resolve disputes among the fractious shifters.

“Interesting, don’t you think, de Mendoza?” Fionn’s voice announced his unwanted presence just over his left shoulder.

“Not really.”

Fionn laughed. “I take it you don’t approve?”

He turned his head and looked directly at Fionn. “It’s not a matter of me approving or not. I worry for her safety. She may make it through the written exam. She probably will, given what I’ve seen of her. But what about the rest? She could die out there.”

“I don’t know,” Fionn commented thoughtfully. “Amanda’s rather extraordinary.”

“You support what she’s doing then?”

“I didn’t say that. Simply that she’s extraordinary. She’ll do better than you think.”

He gritted his teeth at the familiarity in Fionn’s voice when he spoke of Amanda. He wondered if she’d succumbed, along with half the female population of the city, to the prince’s charm; and then reminded himself that he had no say in whether she did or not. He’d made his decision; he had a simple plan. He was going to serve for as long as Cristobal insisted, and then go back to his life in the mountains. Amanda was a complication he didn’t need.

Now if only he could convince his body of that, his life would be much easier.

A loud protest down below alerted him to the fact that Orrin had decided in her favor. She was signing her name to the register, just like the young shifters who jostled in line around her. He frowned as one of them shoved her roughly and then immediately apologized as if it had all been an accident. She simply regarded the boy like a badly behaved kitten, not at all intimidated by his size—which was already far greater than hers—or the number of his fellows crowded behind him. She had balls. He would give her that, too. Balls and determination. He fought a smile at the thought.

Ignoring the young shifters, she turned back to Orrin, said something Rhodry couldn’t hear, then picked up her registration packet and spun away from the table with a triumphant grin. She glanced up as she went, spying him and Fionn standing together on the balcony. Her grin widened, and she winked.

Fionn laughed and clapped his hands together in applause. Rhodry could only try to keep his teeth from grinding together any louder than necessary.

The crowd broke up quickly after that, though there was plenty of muttering going on. He moved away from the railing, intending to go downstairs and out to the Green to get the hunt started, when Fionn put a hand on his shoulder.

“Message from the Ardrigh, de Mendoza,” he said cheerfully. “He wants you at dinner tonight. No excuses.”

“Why tonight?”

Fionn raised his eyebrows speculatively, and Rhodry knew he was debating whether or not to answer the question. After all, if the Ardrigh requested his presence at dinner, he’d be there regardless of the reason. Fionn shrugged negligently.

“Desmond Serna’s in town. He’s a cousin of yours, isn’t he?”

He nodded, barely managing to keep his expression blank. “Distant cousin on my mother’s side,” he confirmed.
And about as trustworthy as a banshee
. He wondered what business Serna could have in the city this time of year.

“He escorted his mother to the palace,” Fionn said, answering the unvoiced question. “I figured you’d be happy to have a fellow clansman around for a bit.”

Not
that
clansman
. “I’ll be there, of course.” He caught sight of his shifter patrol moving out the front door and nodded in their direction. “I’ve got a hunt to lead. I’ll see you later.”

As he loped down the stairs and out to the Green, he couldn’t help but wonder what his cousin Desmond’s true purpose was in coming to the city, and why Cristobal, who’d been so set on sending his cousin Aidan away, had instead invited his staunchest enemy to dinner.

Chapter Eleven

T
he shifters flowed silently through the trees, their long, sleek forms gliding from tree to tree and limb to limb, causing barely a ripple in the canopy of the forest. The red-furred pongo raced ahead of them, its eerie high-pitched squeals echoing back through the forest, both angry and frightened. It was intelligent for an animal, capable of calculation and viciousness in equal measure. Its normal prey were the banshee packs which so tormented the human residents of Harp, but this time the pongo had found the isolated human encampments too easy to resist. One logger was dead, two others injured. One of those injured was a boy who was barely more than a child, out with his father for the first time.

The shifters felt a certain empathy for the pongo, and an admiration for its hunting and tracking skills. But empathy was meaningless in the face of human survival. Shifters had been bred for this purpose, to keep the colonists safe by hunting the most dangerous predators on the planet. And in doing so, they’d become the greatest predators of all.

Rhodry took the lead as always, signaling the others with commands that were no more than snarls, using the song of the trees themselves to communicate. Every animal indigenous to the planet could tap into that song, but only shifters—with their shared human DNA—could use the information as a tactical tool. The pongo was in sight now, powerful arms swinging its massive frame through the trees with an effortless grace. But even as Rhodry caught sight of the animal, it changed its tactics.

Knowing it was trapped, surrounded by shifters, the pongo stopped trying to outrace its tormentors and turned to fight. It charged without warning, racing through the trees with amazing speed, bellowing its challenge and heading straight for Rhodry.

Rhodry bared his teeth in answer, his own razor-edged yowl ripping through the trees and setting the forest to trembling around them. He didn’t wait for the pongo to reach him, but launched himself through the air, landing on the charging primate and digging in with his claws, swinging around to sink his fangs deep into the back of the animal’s neck. Destabilized by the awkward weight, the pongo lost its footing and fell through the branches, Rhodry still clinging to its back. They slammed against branch after branch, blood flowing from a hundred cuts before they finally landed hard on a wide, main tree limb.

Using its arms to push off the thick tree limb, the pongo made a last, desperate leap. Back bowing with a mighty effort that lifted the nearly five hundred pounds of their combined weight into flight, the creature launched them both into the air once more. Pongo and shifter fell heavily through the canopy, forty feet or more, crashing through trees and vines until they hit the forest floor with a thunderous noise, sending ripples of sound and movement through the forest, shaking the surrounding trees and silencing the Green for miles around as every animal in the vicinity froze in terror.

Sound faded and dust settled, leaves drifting slowly down to land on the bloody mass of fur and fang. The pongo breathed its last breath with an agonized groan, collapsing into the pungent loam of the deep forest. Rhodry waited to be certain the pongo was truly dead, but finally relaxed his hold, his jaw aching as he opened it wide enough to free his fangs from the creature’s neck.

Breathing heavily, still in his cat form, he stood on all four legs, every inch of him bloody and aching. He was alive, which made him the victor. But he’d lost nearly as much blood as his prey. No bones were broken, other than a rib or two, but those would heal. Shifters healed far faster than regular humans, a side benefit of the shift itself.

The greater danger for Rhodry was blood loss from the numerous deep wounds inflicted by both the pongo and the tree limbs as they’d crashed in a virtual free fall to the forest floor. It occurred to him that this would be a most opportune moment for his enemies to attack, and he wondered if any of his fellow hunters would stand with him if it came to that.

Even those who distrusted him for being a de Mendoza—those who still seemed to be waiting for the inevitable day when he would step out of line and betray the Ardrigh—even they followed him willingly enough into the hunt. Because he was the best damn hunter in the Guild, and everyone knew it. He granted that one of his own cousins might be able to best him, though it was a near thing. But one thing he knew for certain, and that was that none of those who called the city’s Guild Hall home could hold a candle to him in the Green.

But the hunt was over now, and he was wounded and vulnerable. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, and found himself surrounded by his fellow shifters, some of them bloodied by the chase, all of them exhausted by the long hunt. His mouth opened in a fang-toothed snarl of victory, a reminder to them all who had won this encounter. And they grinned back at him. Rhodry permitted himself to relax, at least a little. They might hate him for who his grandfather was, might very well politick against him behind his back. But they were united in the hunt, and today had been a very good day.

Unfortunately, tonight was going to be a very bad night.

R
hodry concealed a wince as he reached for his water glass. His ribs were still sore from the pongo hunt, and one or two of the deeper wounds had required bandaging. He should have been soaking in one of the natural hot springs that fed into the palace, instead of sitting here having dinner with people he disliked. He could picture it now. Steam billowing around him, the heat soaking into his muscles as Amanda massaged his shoulders. Her blond hair piled on top of her head, tempting tendrils trailing over her breasts.

He blinked in surprise, wondering where that image had come from, and hoping none of his fellow dinner guests had noticed his lapse. He drank deeply, thinking it was far more entertaining to imagine being in a tub with Amanda than to wonder what plot Desmond Serna and his mother, Isabella, were hatching now. It certainly wasn’t chance that had brought the two of them to the Ardrigh’s palace, and it sure as hell wasn’t because either one of them had a burning desire to reunite with
him
.

He had a fairly good idea of what it
was
about, however.

Desmond Serna was a shifter, and the de Mendoza heir if something should happen to Rhodry before he produced a son of his own. There were plenty of clansmen who thought he was already the better clan chief, regardless of Brian de Mendoza’s wishes, and not a few of those would have been willing to hurry Des’s inheritance along by getting rid of Rhodry for him. It was enough to make a shifter aware that he had enemies, including dear cousin Desmond.

And yet here he was, forced to sit and watch with carefully concealed disgust as Des’s mother, Isabella Serna, let loose with a girlish giggle that set his teeth on edge. He saw with relief that the staff had begun clearing away the remnants of dinner, preparatory to the final dessert course. There would be a brief lull while coffee was brewed and the various cognacs were presented on the sideboard, which was Isabella’s opportunity to broach whatever it was that had brought mother and son to the capital.

Cristobal leaned back, as if stretching after dinner. It had the effect of drawing him away from Isabella’s grasping hand, and Rhodry had to admire his tact. The Ardrigh knew as well as anyone that serious matters were about to be discussed, and he was separating himself symbolically from either party.

“So, Isabella,” Cristobal began smoothly. “As delightful as this evening has been, I suspect there are other matters which brought you to the city.”

Next to his mother, Desmond straightened in his seat and shot Rhodry a nervous glance. Isabella had no such qualms. She leaned forward earnestly, and would have placed a hand on the Ardrigh’s arm again had he not casually moved it out of reach.

“My lord,” she began. “You are astute, as always. As much as I value an evening in the company of you and your lovely Kathryn, we are here on a much more serious matter.”

Cristobal nodded briefly for her to continue.

“As you know, my mother was Chief Brian de Mendoza’s sister, his only sibling. There was also a younger brother who died as a child. So many did then,” she added with a sorrowful and well-practiced shake of her head. “In any event, genealogically speaking, that would put my son”—she gestured at Des, as if everyone in the room didn’t already know who the asshole was—“in equal standing with Rhodry in terms of blood link to the de Mendoza line.”

His eyes narrowed to irritated slits. The woman was actually going to ask Cristobal to intervene in clan business. She had to be acting on her own, because all of the clans felt very strongly about outsiders and where they belonged. While there were those who disagreed with his grandfather’s choice of heir, the one thing they
all
agreed upon was keeping the Ardrigh out of clan business.

“I’ll not waste your time with pretty words,” Isabella was continuing. “I’m here to petition for the Ardrigh’s justice on behalf of the de Mendoza clan. We’re asking you to grant Desmond the de Mendoza mantle—temporarily, of course—now that Rhodry is here with you in the city. He can’t possibly see to the clan’s needs from this far away, while Desmond, who surely has an equal claim to the title, sits in the heart of the de Mendoza lands and sees them suffering.”

Cristobal’s eyebrows went up at that. “I wasn’t aware de Mendoza was suffering, Isabella. The latest reports I’ve seen show them to be doing quite well. I wouldn’t have taken Rhodry away otherwise.”

“Of course,” she backpedaled quickly, not wanting to suggest Cristobal had acted against clan interests. “We only wish to ensure that the prosperity continues, my lord, to the benefit of the clans and all of Harp.”

Rhodry sat in stiff disbelief listening to Isabella prattle on, painfully aware of the others at the table listening to every word. Did the woman have no sense of honor? And what about Desmond? Was he such a tool of his mother that he could sit there and listen in silence while she violated the very core of clan sovereignty? He risked a glance down the table and caught Fionn watching him intently. His eyes narrowed in distrust, while Fionn only grinned and gave a little jerk of his head toward Isabella, as if he was highly amused by the whole thing.

Rhodry
wasn’t amused. He was furious.

Aware that Isabella had finally ended her ridiculous bleating, he switched his attention to Cristobal, who was nodding thoughtfully. “A very serious matter, indeed, Isabella, and one that would have far-reaching consequences, I would think.” He looked down the table and asked, “What do you think, de Mendoza?”

He held Cristobal’s gaze, aware of Isabella stiffening slightly at the Ardrigh’s deliberate use of his last name, which in this context was his clan title. As clan leader, he was “the” de Mendoza.

“What I think, my lord, is that this is a matter best left to the Clan Council rather than spread like dirty laundry for all of Harp to see.”

“The Clan Council is overrun with Devlins,” Isabella snapped. “Unable to see past their own interests to the good of the clan.”

“Whereas you,” Fionn murmured, “have only the clan’s interests at heart.”

Rhodry glanced at him, eyebrows raised, not having expected any support from that quarter. He turned back in time to see Cristobal shoot his son a quelling look.

“I’m not certain I understand, Isabella,” Cristobal said. “Why would Rhodry require a surrogate for what is, after all, only a temporary absence? And in the capital city at that.”

“Why, so that he can
remain
here in the city with you, my lord,” Isabella oozed. “What with the Earthers knocking on our very door, you surely want your staunchest allies close at hand.”

He waited. Cristobal was certainly not fooled by this clumsy bid for power. Once Desmond took over as
temporary
clan chief, he’d pack the council with his own cronies and Rhodry would be out permanently. Assuming they let him live that long.

Cristobal had been watching Isabella thoughtfully as she spoke, and he now smiled slightly. “Your argument has merit, Isabella, and I certainly bear no love for Brian or his political ambitions.” The woman beamed in triumph as Cristobal continued, “Still, Brian was the undisputed leader of de Mendoza when he died. His wishes must be considered, as must clan tradition. It was my own grandfather’s insistence on trying to bring the clans under the throne’s power that drove Brian to rebel in the first place. I have no desire to repeat his mistake.”

He smiled and lifted a hand over his shoulder, signaling the staff to begin the dessert course. “I shall consider your request. In the meantime, let us turn to more productive topics, like today’s hunt, which I understand went quite well?”

Rhodry eyed Cristobal for a moment, trying to figure out his angle. He hadn’t granted Isabella’s request, though he hadn’t denied it, either. And now he was bringing up the day’s hunt which had clearly been a triumph for Rhodry.

Cristobal speared him with his turquoise stare and raised an eyebrow, inviting his response.

“It was a successful hunt,” he agreed.

Fionn laughed. “You’re too modest,” he said. “Word around the Guild Hall is that it was the best hunt in years. Rhodi here had shifters flying through the trees.”

The other shifters around the table shared a grin. They knew Fionn was being polite because there were ladies present. The hunt had been wild and bloody, a shifter’s favorite kind. Even Des grinned.

“That’s what I heard,” Cristobal said with a laugh. “In fact, Des, as long as you’re here in the city, you should stay a few months, join some hunts yourself. It will be good to have a few more clansmen at my side.”

A few more clansmen as long as they’re not Devlins,
Rhodry thought sourly. He missed his cousins viciously, felt naked without them at his back. Still, he had to admit it was amusing to see Isabella’s reaction to Cristobal’s invitation, which, of course, Des couldn’t refuse. Though, Isabella was already trying to convince Cristobal that she needed her baby boy to escort her back home.