Mistwood by Leah Cypess Page B

had left with her dagger a few days ago. “That’s why I’m here.”
    “Something must have weakened you.” Ven walked over to his bookcase, opened the glass door, and started rifling through the volumes on the shelves. She wondered if it was an excuse not to look at her. Surely the room was too dark for human eyes to read. “Maybe your failure was so unprecedented that it changed your powers.”
    “Or maybe Albin has been doing something to keep them limited,” Isabel said.
    “I don’t think that’s possible. You’re the Shifter .”
    She wanted to agree with him—the Shifter’s powers should be beyond the reach of human sorcery. But Albin had succeeded before. Isabel let go of the door and stepped farther into the room. “It’s only here that I’m limited,” she said. “I could shift in my woods. I wouldn’t have survived for so long otherwise.”
    “But there you had the power of the Mistwood to draw upon. Maybe that makes a difference.” Ven pulled out one book, then another, and carried them both to the table. “I’ll see if I can find something.”
    In books. But it wouldn’t be in the books, because this had never happened before. Isabel bit her lip, wondering why she had thought Ven would be able to hand her an answer.
    “Don’t be afraid.” He put the books down, opened one, and raised his head. This far from the lamplight, his face was hidden by shadows, but she didn’t shift her sight. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see his expression. “I’ll figure it out.”
    She wished she could believe him. It was such a relief to finally tell someone who would try to help her. Even if she shouldn’t need help. Isabel swallowed hard. “How long will it take?”
    “I don’t know.” Of course he didn’t. He didn’t even know what he was searching for. “I’m supposed to be strengthening the wards around the castle, but I’m sure Rokan will excuse me from all my duties until—”
    “No!” Isabel said more sharply than she had intended. “We don’t tell Rokan.”
    Ven frowned at her, puzzled. “He’s counting on your abilities. You’re putting him in danger. If he knew, he might be more careful—”
    “Rokan doesn’t know how to be careful,” Isabel snapped. Her fingers twisted in her gown; she loosened them with a deliberate effort. “It would make no difference in his behavior.”
    “But why don’t you want him to know?”
    “You really have to ask that?”
    Ven’s hands thudded down on the table. “You can’t mean to say you’re embarrassed!”
    “Why can’t I?” Isabel demanded. “It’s embarrassing, isn’t it?”
    “Embarrassment is a human emotion,” Ven said stiffly.
    She folded her arms. “So are anger, and irritation, and fear. I feel all of those, don’t I? Why is embarrassment any more human than the rest?”
    “Because it serves no purpose,” Ven snapped, slamming the book shut. “Those other emotions are related to your loyalty to the royal family. Your irritation with Clarisse, for example, stems from the fact that you can’t figure out whether or not she’s a threat to Rokan.”
    “The only reason for my irritation with Clarisse is Clarisse !”
    “The Shifter is above—”
    “Stop telling me what the Shifter is! I know what the Shifter is.”
    “Do you?” He stepped around the table, and she saw that he was angry. “Nothing I’ve read gives any indication that the Shifter can lose her powers. They’re still there. If you can’t use them, it’s because some part of you doesn’t want to.”
    Isabel opened her mouth, shut it, and clenched her jaw.
    Ven’s words emerged in short, curt bursts. “You want to be human. That’s why you can’t shift, that’s why you delude yourself into feeling these things, that’s why you care what Rokan will think when he finds out the truth. I don’t know what happened ten years ago, but it changed you. You’re not the Shifter of legend.”
    “Sorry to disappoint you,” Isabel said.
    He