All around him was the scent of the moss and mildew that grew in the shady alleyways the sun never reached, the muddy mush of melting snow, the wet wood of the crates.
The lines of the alleyway were perfectly crisp, but the colors of the world had faded, subdued, as if night were falling—as if he’d run so fast he’d left all the bright shades of Holbard behind. But he was free of the crowd.
Shaking, he looked down, and saw two gray paws stretched out in front of him. He tried to shout, but all that came out was a yelp.
Suddenly seized by panic, he spun in a circle, stretching out his tail to catch his balance, and he—his tail!
Understanding caught up to him in a rush, and he heard himself softly whimper. Rayna was a scorch dragon, and he was an ice wolf.
He forced himself to stay silent, to stop panting, and again tried desperately to collect his thoughts. He had to find her.
He had to explain to somebody that she was no dragon, she wasn’t the enemy—she was his twin, and it was impossible for the same family to transform into both wolf and dragon. The wolves defended Vallen against the dragons. It was forbidden to even befriend one, let alone share a family.
Somehow this had been done to her—he was positive she was his twin, so there must be trickery involved—and he had to make the Wolf Guard understand that she wasn’t on the side of the dragons before they hurt her.
But first, he had to find a way to become human again, so he could speak. Though he was unquestionably still himself inside this new body, the influx of extra information his suddenly sharp senses insisted on providing was tugging his thoughts in a different direction every moment. His nose and ears kept reporting on new sounds and scents, trying to steer his thoughts in new and different directions, to pay attention to everything happening around him.
He closed his eyes and looked inside himself, trying to remember what it felt like to be human, noticing the differences and separating them out.
He pushed his mind deeper into those human feelings and memories, and suddenly he felt the change surging toward him like a sneeze. With a rush, he was human once more.
He could feel the cold cobblestones against the soles of his feet, and the tips of his fingers, and he could—but wait. If his feet were bare, where were his boots?
Forget his boots, where were his clothes?
Anders made a sound very like the whimper he’d made as a wolf, dropping his head. Of course he was naked. Of course he was. The Wolf Guard might have absorbed their uniforms into their fur somehow, but he’d felt his shirt rip. And to think he’d been stupid enough to assume just for one moment that his day couldn’t get any worse.
Clearly he’d been wrong about that.
He heard a roar from the sky overhead, and tipped his head back just in time to see the dragon—Rayna—the dragon that was Rayna—soar past, winging her way toward the farmland outside the city. Suddenly he became aware of the screams out in the streets of Holbard once more.
“Rayna!” he shouted as she vanished. “Rayna, come back, I’m here! You can change back, you can . . .”
But Rayna was gone, and Anders had never been more alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
ANDERS LEANED AGAINST THE STACKED crates, despondent, then stopped leaning against them when he got a splinter in his side. His ribs were already aching where Rayna’s tail had smacked into them. But that wasn’t his biggest problem.
There was nothing here he could use for clothing—and even if he somehow dressed himself, he had no idea how to find Rayna. He could still hear the distant roar of the crowd, though he was several minutes’ run from the port. He didn’t understand any of what had just happened, didn’t know what to do next, had no idea—
But just as he began to spiral into panic, he heard a growl at the mouth of the alleyway, and then a soft whine. His heart picked up speed as he crouched, peeking through a crack between two crates. Perhaps he could hide. Perhaps he could . . . Oh no. There were three wolves at the mouth of the alleyway, noses to the ground. Tracking him.
The largest of the three growled again, and they each blurred, then seemed to stretch, fur fading into gray uniforms as they rose up on their hind legs and suddenly became human once more. And naturally, they were still wearing their clothes. There must be some trick to it he didn’t know.
There were two adults—a man and a woman—each in the neat gray uniform of the Wolf Guard, their heavy cloaks open over their shirts and trousers and neatly polished boots, their hair clipped short. The third was a girl his own age, her gray cloak edged in white, marking her as an Ulfar Academy student. She must have been there to watch the Trial.
“Are you all right?” It was the leader of the trio speaking, a big, broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard and square, black, thick-rimmed glasses. He had been silver-gray as a wolf, but as a human his hair was black, his skin a medium brown.
“Um.” Anders was dying inside, but there was only one answer he could give, because he knew they’d want him to come out from behind the crates next. “I ripped my way out of my clothes. I don’t have . . .”
There was laughter from the other side of the crates, and even though it wasn’t unkind, Anders squeezed his eyes tight shut in embarrassment.
“Hold on,” the man said, and there was a rustling sound. Then footsteps approached, and when Anders forced himself to look, a hand was reaching around the crates, holding an assortment of clothes. The girl’s white-edged cloak was there, along with a far-too-big gray shirt, a pair of someone’s long johns, and a belt. He was in no position to argue, grabbing the clothes and getting to work covering up.
“Did the dragon hurt you?” the woman asked.
“No, I—”
She didn’t let him finish. “It’s all right, she’s gone.”
Anders opened his mouth and then closed it again. He already knew it was all right—Rayna would never hurt him.
Except she very nearly had.
Instead of answering, he cinched the belt tight to keep the long johns up, and pulled on the cloak over the shirt, puzzling for a few moments over how to fasten it. Now the shock was starting to wear off, he was getting properly cold, and he could feel his toes starting to turn numb.
The three wolves were still tense as he walked out from behind the crates, but their concern wasn’t directed at him—the leader was staring up at the sky, while the woman watched the mouth of the alleyway. They were keeping watch for Rayna, or some other new threat, he realized.
Only the girl was looking at him, and she offered him a polite nod, reserved but friendly. She was about Rayna’s height, but as wiry as Anders was. She had short-cropped, curling black hair, a serious expression, and white skin nearly hidden under more freckles than anyone Anders had ever seen. She looked none the colder for having given him her cloak, though she now stood there in her shirtsleeves.
Then the moment was over, as the leader of the group tilted his head to study Anders, a hint of wolf in the gesture. “Congratulations on your transformation,” he said wryly. “The circumstances might be less than ideal, but we welcome every new member of our pack.”
Anders sucked in a quick breath. Wait, what? He didn’t want to join a pack! He wasn’t going to Ulfar, he had to find Rayna.
Behind him, the woman lifted her hand to grasp the amulet at her throat. “And we’ll get you one of these,” she said. “It helps your shirt stay where it belongs when you change. Helps you control when you change at all. At first it’s like sneezing, you can’t help it; it happens about every time you get excited, or scared, or feel anything overwhelming. But if you’re wearing an amulet, it only happens when you want it to.”