Shadow's Curse by Alexa Egan Page A

kept him from falling to the floor in a heap. He closed his eyes, a shudder running through him as he fought the teeth-chattering cold that overcame him all at once. Even breathing was almost too much effort, but he managed to squeeze out, “Kineally’s dead.”
    David heard Mac take a seat at his desk. He could picture the spark of tamped fury in his pale green eyes and the battle tension tightening his shoulders. Mac might have sold his commission, shedding his scarlet tunic and gold braid for more sober attire, but he would always be pure soldier. Never happier than with a weapon in his hand and an enemy in his sights. Always had been. Only now, his was a war of secret meetings and quiet conspiracies. What he needed was a good, solid, face-to-face, till-the-death, fight-to-the-finish brawl.
    “He was a good man,” Mac said quietly. “He’ll be mourned.”
    David snorted his cynicism. “By who? Not his family or his clan. To them, his treason placed him lower than the lowest dung bug.”
    “He chose to join our cause, David. He wasn’t forced. You see now how great the Ossines’ power has grown. They send enforcers into the heart of London to seek us out. They’re no longer merely defenders of the clans. They bring the battle to us.”
    David forced his eyelids open to meet Mac’s sober gaze. “Who says this was initiated by the Ossine without the Gather elders’ approval? Perhaps the Duke ofMorieux has given the enterprise his personal stamp of approval.”
    While each of the five scattered Imnada clans as well as the Ossine shaman had a seat at the Gather council, the Duke, as hereditary ruler, remained the final arbiter of clan law. Gray’s grandfather had always been a thoughtful if somewhat cautious leader. A man who wielded his position lightly, though none had ever been in doubt that he was in charge. That had changed with his son’s untimely death, and after Gray’s disgrace and exile, the old duke had grown increasingly frail, his hold on the Gather progressively more ineffectual.
    Mac gave a sad shake of his head. “The Duke is near death. Few but Sir Dromon Pryor have even seen him recently. The Arch Ossine controls all access to His Grace. He’s the real authority these days.”
    “What of the N’thuil? Pryor may be head of the Ossine but, bound to Jai Idrish, old Tidwell must have some say in clan matters.”
    They called the faceted crystal sphere the Imnada’s heart, but Jai Idrish might be more correctly called the shapechangers’ soul. It had come with Idrin the Traveler when the Imnada first arrived on this world. Some said the sphere had guided them here, laying a path through the Gateway from their old dead world to this new one burgeoning with life and hope. Some said when the time was right, it would show them the way back. David didn’t know if that was true, but the power contained within Jai Idrish was supposed to be as vast as the universe the Imnada once navigated. All of it contained and focused by one person, the N’thuil, the voice and vessel of Jai Idrish.
    It was said that the N’thuil’s body was flesh and bone, but his heart was pure crystal. In Muncy Tidwell’s case, it was more like mountains of blubber surrounding a heart soft as his fat head.
    “Tidwell does as he’s told,” Mac explained. “Besides, Jai Idrish hasn’t made itself felt for centuries. Not even the oldest clan members remember a time when it spoke its will. The position of N’thuil is barely more than one of figurehead these days, and that’s just how Tidwell prefers it.” He made a useless gesture with his hands. “No, David. Pryor’s unchallenged in his bid for control of the clans. And as long as Gray remains in exile, leaving no obvious heir to the Duke, the Arch Ossine’s grip on power will remain unbreakable. Any hope for a reconciliation with the Fey-bloods will be impossible.”
    “You’re awfully conversant with internal Imnada politics these days.”
    “We have to