The Shadows of Night by Ellen Fisher Read Free Book Online

skins her people wore in the cold season, or the nudity they preferred in the heat.   She felt far from lovely today.   When she looked in the mirror, she saw a stranger.
    “They need not compete for my attention,” she said.   “Neither will ever win it.”
    The woman lifted her eyebrows.   “You do not find either of my sons attractive?”
    Katara thought of Hart, his long, golden-brown hair falling around a face of rugged masculine beauty, and her cheeks heated.
    “You need not answer,” the woman said.   “Your expression gives you away.   My sons are very handsome, are they not?”
    “I would sooner mate with a creature of the forest as with a member of the Antler Kindred.   You are weak, sniveling, leaf-eating creatures.”
    The doe raised an eyebrow at her haughty tone.   “I see.   I am sorry you feel that way.   I wonder, is there any chance you will ever change your mind?”
    Katara lifted her chin.   “Never.”
    “Perhaps you simply don’t know us well enough to judge us.   Certainly I believe we don’t know you well enough to pass judgment on you.”
    “I know you well enough.   You are keeping me prisoner, even though I have done nothing to harm any of your people.   It is the behavior of cowards.”
    The woman dropped her gaze.   “Indeed,” she said softly.   “I have said as much to my husband, but he will not listen.”
    Katara blinked in surprise.   It appeared she had an ally.   The idea that this Antler might be opposed to her captivity startled her, and she lowered her voice and spoke in a more moderate tone.   “I thank you for your attempt at intercession on my behalf, madam.”
    “Alas, it did little good.   My husband can be very stubborn, and his word is law.   But my son Hart does not believe you should remain here, either.   Perhaps the two of us working together—”
    Booted feet sounded on the spiral staircase, and a man Katara hadn’t seen before stepped quickly into the chamber.   “My lady,” he said, a note of stark urgency in his voice.   “You must hasten downstairs.   The prince has been injured.”
    The royal consort lifted her head in a gesture that reminded Katara of a doe sniffing the breeze.   Her dark eyes went wide.   “Excuse me,” she said to Katara, and lifting her heavy skirts, ran for the staircase. Despite her years, she was fleet and graceful, just as she probably was in her animal form.   The man followed with heavier, more measured steps.   The door started to slide shut behind them.
    Inspired by a sudden thought, Katara bounded toward the bed, grasped a pillow, and flung it toward the door.   It landed on the floor noiselessly, and the door suddenly stopped, leaving a gap of a foot or so, and slid open again.  
    No alarm sounded, and neither the guard nor the monarch’s consort looked back as they hastened down the stairs.
    Katara stood there for a long moment, her heart pounding.   The echo of footsteps faded, then receded into silence.   At last she stalked lightly to the door—since she wore nothing on her feet, not even sandals, her stride was noiseless—and peered cautiously out at the small landing.  
    There was no guard.  
    Doubtless there was a guard at the foot of the staircase, but perhaps he would be distracted by the commotion.   If not, she was confident of her ability to render him unconscious, as long as she sneaked up behind him and struck him before he had a chance to shift form.   It seemed like a good chance for escape—the best she was likely to get.
    The desire for freedom clamored in her brain and body.   And yet she hesitated.   The prince was injured .   But which prince?   And how badly?
    She started down the staircase, her bare feet silent on the rough stone risers.   It was a very long descent.   At the bottom she found, as she had hoped, that the guard had abandoned his post, presumably because of the commotion caused by the prince’s injury.  
    It was a golden