Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

meaning to call out, but her voice was only a hoarse whisper as she fell to her knees.

    Lying just outside the curtained alcove, Wolf listened to Aralorn’s singing and wished he couldn’t feel the stirring of green magic at her call. He didn’t know what she was doing, but he sent a thread of silence around the curtain, hiding the sound of her music from everyone except him.
    No one needed to know that she called magic, not when so many here disapproved of her. He’d seen the looks that Aralorn had ignored. She chose to believe that they did not hurt her, but he knew better.
    The pads of his feet tingled, and the air thickened with the sharp, clear presence of Aralorn’s magic. He shifted irritably but stilled when the singing stopped. Abruptly, Wolf surged to his feet, trying to put a name to the change he sensed. Then, faintly, he heard her call his name.
    He bolted under the curtain to find Aralorn curled on her side, and the magic in the air so strong it almost choked him—not Aralorn’s magic; hers never stank of evil.
    “Eavakin nua Sovanish ven,” he spat, straddling Aralorn as if his physical presence could ward off the attack of magic. At the end of his speaking, the dark magic reluctantly faded back from Aralorn. He shaped himself into his human form: He could work magic whatever shape he took, but there were some spells that he needed his hands for.
    “Kevribeh von!” he commanded as he gestured. Rage twisted his voice as it could not touch his fire-scored face. “She is mine. You will not have her.”
    As suddenly as it had come, all trace of the magic that had attacked her disappeared. The chamber should have retained a residue of it—he could detect the traces of his own spellwork—but the shadow magic was gone as if it had never been.
    Wolf moved aside as Aralorn began to push herself up.
    “Wolf,” she said urgently, “look at him. Look at my father and tell me what you see.”
    “Are you all right?” he asked, crouching down beside her.
    “Fine,” she said dismissively, though at the moment she seemed to be having trouble sitting up. He helped her. “Please, Wolf. Look at my father.”
    With a curt nod, Wolf turned and approached the bier.

    Aralorn wrapped her arms around herself and waited for his answer. When Wolf stiffened in surprise, she clenched her hands into fists. He set his right hand over the Lyon’s chest as he made a delicate motion with his left.
    Remembering what had happened to her when she had used magic, Aralorn said, “Careful.”
    It was too late. Even without her magic, she saw the unnatural shadow slipping from under the Lyon’s still form to touch Wolf’s hand.
    “Plague it!” Wolf exclaimed, using Aralorn’s favorite oath as he stumbled back from the bier, shaking his hand as if it hurt.
    The shadow vanished from sight as quickly as it had come.
    “Are you all right?” asked Aralorn, staggering to her feet. “What is it?”
    Wolf walked slowly around the stone pedestal, careful not to touch it. He frowned in frustration. “I don’t know. I can see it, though, when it moves. It seems to have a limited range.”
    “Is it a spell of some sort?”
    Almost reluctantly, Wolf shook his head.
    “It’s alive then,” said Aralorn. “I thought it might be.” The hope she’d been clinging to left her. The life that she’d sensed had been the shadow-creature and not her father at all.
    Of course the Lyon was dead. She sucked in a deep breath as if air could assuage the hurt of departing hope.
    The sound brought Wolf’s gaze to her, his amber eyes glittering oddly in the flickering light. “So is your father.”
    “Wolf?” she whispered.
    The rattle of the brass rings that held the heavy curtain over the door gave brief warning before both Correy and Irrenna burst in. Wolf dropped his human form for the wolf more swiftly than thought. If one of the intruders had looked sharp, they would have caught the final touches of his transformation, but their attention was on Aralorn, still sitting on the floor.
    “Are you all right?” asked Irrenna anxiously, surveying the dust on Aralorn’s dress and the dazed expression on her face.
    “Actually, yes,” replied Aralorn, still absorbing the certainty that Wolf had given her. “Much better than I was.” Then she smiled, accepting the improbable. She might have been mistaken, but Wolf would not have been.
    “I apologize then,” said Correy, clearly taken aback at her cheerfulness. “I saw your