After a moment, he moved and pointedly settled his shoulder back under her fingertips. Staring at his silhouette against the dim glow of the fire, Mirian took a deep breath and readied herself.
If he was to free her, the younger Lord Hagen had to change. In order to change, the silver had to come out. He couldn’t get it out himself, so she had to remove the silver.
It was really just as simple as that.
Pressing the first two fingertips of her right hand against the wound, Mirian closed her eyes. She didn’t need to identify this metal. She knew what it was; it was silver. Given its effect on the Pack, silver was, if not forbidden, a seldom used metal in Aydori. But, given its effect on the Pack, the university made very sure its students could recognize it—from raw ore to polished metal—in order to help protect those who protected them. As silver was expensive and since small amounts did damage disproportionate to size, the shot would most likely be the size of the birdshot her brother-in-law used to hunt partridge and quail.
This silver piece would therefore be tiny, round, but not necessarily perfectly smooth. It would be a soft gray with slivers of shine where friction had burnished it. It would be warm, trapped within the younger Lord Hagen’s body. Poison, but only because of where it was, not intrinsically of itself.
Another deep breath and Mirian suddenly realized the difference between knowing there was a piece of silver in the wound and being aware of the silver in the wound. She felt as though she could reach out and touch it. Hold it. As she could neither touch nor hold it where it was, it would have to come to her.
It seemed logical to Mirian that identifying a metal could only be the first step. Knowing there was metal in the earth—or a shoulder—was pointless if that metal remained in the earth—or a shoulder. High-level metal-craft could bend and twist and refine raw ore to a thing of use or beauty or the incredible tackiness of the iron dryad firescreen in her parents’ bedroom, but first it had to be in hand.
A trickle of heat in her fingertips and she opened her eyes in time to see a glistening silver stream roll over the younger Lord Hagen’s fur like liquid moonlight. When it hit the ground, it solidified again to become nothing more than a tiny dark shadow on the earth.
Tomas Hagen changed to skin crouched on the other side of the tree Chard had tied her to, the damp skin of his shoulder pressed up against her fingertips. Mirian found herself unable to stop staring at the gleaming curve of his buttocks.
Sooner or later every child in Aydori, Pack or otherwise, asked where the tails went. While she’d never been entirely happy with the answer—apparently, they just went—Mirian hadn’t thought about the question in years. Here and now, she couldn’t get it out of her head.
Although in my own defense, I’ve had a tiring day.
The memory of her mother declaring that exhaustion was no excuse for bad manners hit strongly enough that she snapped her gaze up and focused on the triangle of black fur that grew past the bottom of Tomas Hagen’s neck as far as his first vertebrae. She hadn’t seen the back of Jaspyr’s neck, not on two legs anyway, not without a high-standing jacket collar over the area in question, so she had no idea if this was standard among the Pack or if it was unique to the younger Lord Hagen. Did it feel the same, she wondered, as the fur he wore on four legs?
He was just over a year younger than she was. She’d sat through her mother’s list of the unmarried Pack so many times she should be able to recite his entire history, but that was all she could remember.
The knots securing her had clearly been tied so that they’d released easily under the correct pressure. The younger Lord Hagen just as clearly knew the correct pressure.
Free of the bindings, her hands dropped to the ground. Mirian sucked a breath in through her teeth. Her wrists burned as blood rushed back into the deep creases pressed into her skin. Moving slowly and carefully, trying not to cry, she folded her arms close against her body, hands curled against her chest as she worked mobility into her fingers.
Up close, the girl’s scent was nearly overpowering. She was dirty and her hair was weird and her gray eyes had no mage marks in them at all, but she smelled like home and like safety and a little like Danika. He needed to tell Danika what had happened to Ryder! She had to hear it from him. They had to get moving.
Grabbing both the girl’s arms above the elbow, Tomas hauled her to her feet. Although her clothes were damp, her skin was warm where he buried his face against her neck. When he realized what he’d done, he jerked back, face burning.
She wasn’t even looking at him.
She was looking past him at…
“Where’d you come from, kid?”
Tomas spun around to see the Imperial who’d been asleep by the fire standing only a few feet away. He’d been so caught by the girl’s scent he hadn’t realized the man was awake and moving. He was Hunt Pack! Forgetting to keep part of his attention on the sentry was a stupid cub mistake.
“I don’t want to hurt you, kid, so just stay calm.” The Imperial raised his left hand, palm out, musket loose in his right. How did the empire keep winning with idiots like this in the ranks? Had he forgotten he was at war? Who he was at war with?
Wool scratched against his side as the girl lunged past him to touch the Imperial’s forehead with two fingers.
“Sleep.” Her low voice had rough edges. She sounded like she’d been chewing twigs.
The Imperial blinked twice, opened his mouth, then slowly collapsed to the ground. He rolled up against Tomas’ legs, eyes closed, mouth open, chest rising and falling.
Before he could change to rip out the man’s throat, warm fingers wrapped around Tomas’ wrist and held on. Her breath hot against his ear, the girl whispered, “Change. I’ll hold your tail and follow you through the woods!”
“Wha…?” When he turned to face her, there were still no mage marks in her eyes.
“You can see in the dark. In fur.” She jerked her head toward the fire and the other three soldiers. Still asleep, Tomas noted, but that was luck alone. “I can’t.”
When she released him and spread her hands, her gesture said get on with it as clearly as if she’d spoken out loud.
She smelled amazing. But she was bossier than Danika, and his brother’s wife was Alpha.
His brother’s wife was a widow.
He changed and lunged for the throat of the mage-slept Imperial.
Only to come up short as two hands grabbed the scruff of his neck and yanked back. She’d taken him by surprise, or she wouldn’t have been able to stop him. That, and her fingers were dug in by the healing wound in his shoulder and were hurting him! He twisted free and turned to snap at her, catching the edge of her jacket in his teeth, tearing it free.
She stumbled back, arms flailing. When she’d regained her balance, she gave him a look he almost physically felt, turned on her heel, and ran for the woods.
“Armin?”
The captain was awake!
Fine. Not a problem. First, he’d kill the man at his feet and then…
The shot hit the ground by the Imperial’s head, spraying dirt over his face. Tomas could smell the heated silver pellets.
He turned and ran, his nose leading him along the path of the girl’s footsteps. Quickly catching up, he pushed past her, changed, and grabbed her arms to keep her from slamming into him.
“Fine! Hold my tail.” He tightened his grip. “But don’t pull it!”
“You’re hurting me!”