Monsters.

Isis had seen monsters before. Twisted creatures, with deformed bodies, their faces coming straight from nightmares. They weren't even intended to be in the Mortal Realms. They acted without conscience, without thought. Without reason.

Nobody could change monsters. And so they had to be killed. Because there was nothing else to be done with them. Even if they hadn't attacked anybody yet. Because that was their plan. To attack. They were just waiting, biding their time, waiting to attack. Her mother had told her so and therefore it must be true.

Monsters weren't supposed to be people. They weren't supposed to be capable of logic thought, of acting in a brutal fashion without care or consideration for others. They weren't supposed to kill your mother in front of you.

Monsters weren't supposed to have faces. They weren't supposed to have families. You weren't supposed to know them, to hear their names brought up in casual conversations. You weren't supposed to turn into one.

But she had.

Monsters. People. Somehow the lines between each had become dim.

*

My head snapped up at the entrance of yet more people. Wonderful, nobody visits in weeks, and then everybody comes at once. "Who are you?" I sneered, fighting to regain control of the situation. I was supposed to be in charge, after all. I sat upright in my chair, aiming for an air of royal indifference. I was Princess Kalasin – or, at least, everybody was supposed to think I was – but not even Sir Alanna bothered to give me more than a second glance.

"King Lagne Halai of Galla," was my reply, announced imperiously.

I felt my mouth drop open in shock. After struggling to work out whether I had heard correctly, I succumbed to laughter, holding my sides, which were by now beginning to ache. 'Lagne' shifted uncomfortably, and then glanced at 'Kalasin'.

"Who are you?"

Regaining my composure somewhat, I explained, "That would be Princess Kalasin," although my words were sadly somewhat less than comprehensible, given the occasional irrepressible burst of giggles.

"I'm Princess Kalasin," replied the boy, overlooking, or ignoring, the fact that I had just mentioned this. He tossed me an impatient look as he reached up and slipped a necklace over his head. My vision blurred and then doubled. I blinked rapidly, attempting to clear it, but nothing changed the fact that I was suddenly presented with the girl that I had seen in the mirror.

I shook my head. It wasn't happening. Kalasin was dead. This was a dream. My dream. My imagination. That was all.

I was vaguely aware of the Lioness kneeling, but the blonde girl who claimed to be Lagne remained standing. My attention was drawn to her as I watched her regard the boy-turned-girl with something akin to wonder. Silently, she removed her own necklace.

Suddenly, things didn't seem quite so funny.

*

"Shadows," she whispered confidentially to him, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking back and forth.

Numair watched her carefully, trying to ascertain whether there was a deeper meaning in that single word. If there was, he couldn't find it. He settled for agreeing with her. "Yes, sweet, shadows."

"Shadows everywhere."

The black-robed mage closed his eyes, picturing what he was going to do to Ozorne for this. "Shadows everywhere," he agreed. "Come along, sweet; let's get away from the shadows."

She withdrew from him sharply, backing into the corner. "Shadows. You're made out of them. All the shadows. Shadows. They're choking me."

The Tyran swallowed tightly. "What's choking you, love?"

He expected the answer to be merely "shadows", but in the dim light, he saw her cock her head and consider his question. Hope swelled inside him. "The air," she decided finally. "It's full of shadows."

He edged closer to her tentatively, not wanting to startle her. "Let's get rid of the shadows," he suggested, forming a ball of light in his left hand.

She gasped, in awe – or perhaps shock – then blinked rapidly, screwing up her face and squinting at the light. "Bright," she observed.

"Yes, he croaked, fighting the urge to sweep her up into his arms. His eyes flew over her face, examining it for the slightest change, causing his brows to knit when he found traces of cuts.

She crawled closer, and he had to clench his fist in order to keep him from reaching out and touching her roughly-cut hair. It slipped forward in front of her eyes as she uncertainly placed her hand on his wrist, entranced by the light. "Num-"

He hardly dared to breathe, lest he spoil the moment, convinced she was remembering. In a moment, she'd finish the word, his name, in a moment, it would be back to normal. In a moment.

The moment wasn't yet. She tilted her head on one side, as if she was trying to recall something. Her forehead creased and her eyebrows drew together. He would have to prompt her. "Yes, magelet?"

"Magelet. Mage. Let. Magelet." There was a pause. Then, confidently, "Me."

*

Thayet of Tortall. A legend in her own right.

Thayet the Peerless. No queen could match her, for either brains or beauty.

The perfect mother. The perfect wife. A perfect lady, a perfect leader.

Perfect… yet all too imperfect. All too unable to cope.

Impotent. Weak. Fearful. She had tried to murder the usurper, and her punishment, which she was terrified would happen any day now, was to be to marry him. She had tried to lead her people into a rebellion, and her punishment was to stay alive.

Punished to stay alive, when her children were dead, when her husband was dead, when she had nobody. That was the worst kind of punishment. A diamond cannot sparkle when darkness is wrapped around it.

But the sun was about to rise over her life again.

*

The brunette's breathing was uneven. He was going to hear it. Desperately, she tried to calm it, and stop her heart pounding so loudly.

Thayet trembled in her hiding place. He was going to come. They'd find her, if it wasn't him, it'd be one of his guards. What would they do to her this time? What punishment could they think up, that would be worse than living when all you really wanted was death?

A thought occurred to her as she shifted back against the wall, pressing herself against it and willing herself invisible. Was this how Kally had felt? Was this how her daughter had spent all those years of her life? Dreading him, trying to run, but knowing it was useless. Knowing he'd find her anyway, anywhere, no matter where she went.

She hugged her knees closer, a tear trickling down her cheek. And they had fallen for his plan. They had made it so easy for him. Invited the girl in, let her poison them from the inside. They had been so grateful to have their little girl back that they had been willing to overlook any differences.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. She tensed, knowing this was it, knowing he had her. This was her last taste of freedom.

But the figure passed her. And – She frowned. And it was a boy. And it was an oddly familiar boy. A boy she hadn't thought she was going to see again.

"Liam?"

*

"You," he agreed softly.

She glanced up at him, looking thoughtful. "Yes. Me. You…" She frowned, forehead furrowing in concentration. "You… No. No." She squirmed away from him, uncomfortable. "Bad, no."

"What's bad, Daine?" Numair asked gently.

She rocked back and forth, hiding her head in her knees. "Bad… Leaving," she said finally. "Leaving. Bad."

He closed his eyes. Leaving. He had left. Left her when she needed him most. And that was bad, very bad. "Yes," he agreed, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I left. I won't leave again. Not without you."

He didn't think she'd understand what he meant, but her head slowly came up. "Promise?" she asked.

"Promise," he said, meaning it.

She nodded, confirming something to herself, and then scrambled to her feet. She stood unsteadily, swaying slightly, and held out her hand for support. "Come. Bad snake."

Not entirely understanding, but figuring events would unfold themselves, and relieved that, at last, she appeared to be capable of logical thought, he allowed her to lead him out of the room.

*

"Snake."

"Oh Mithros," growled the girl Numair had come to know as Kalasin, shifting her chair back.  When he considered it, she looked significantly different from the Contés, especially now. Her formerly glossy hair hung limply, and it looked like she hadn't eaten in months. Good. "This is just what this gathering needed. Wonderful."

Daine hissed in reply. Then, she glanced around at the other denizens in the room, and pressed herself against Numair. "Lioness," she whispered to him. He nodded, spying the lady knight and flashing her a smile.

"How nice to finally see you again," Lagne said coolly, addressing the black-robe mage. Numair frowned, wondering what had caused him to take on his own appearance, and then suppressed a smile, noting the young man's darting glances at an unfamiliar girl. "May I enquire as to how long you will be staying this time? Or will you be struck by one of those spur-of-the-moment things again?"

Daine raised her chin, eyeing him suspiciously. "Me. For me," she informed him simply.

His eyes dropped to her – possibly he had mistaken her for a child before; she was dwarfed by Numair's towering height – and he bowed. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Veralidaine Sarrasri, I presume?"

Daine's eyes rounded. At first, Numair thought it was because her full name had jolted her, and she was remembering more. "Snake!" she exclaimed. "Not snake." This appeared to make perfect sense to her. She poked Numair in the side, irritated that he wasn't responding. Her other hand waved at the impostor. "She's the snake."

The snake-girl rolled her eyes. "Wonderful," she repeated dryly. "What does she do for an encore, shout 'zebra'?"

"I would have thought that you would have known that," the other girl in the room replied stiffly, speaking up at last. Belatedly, Numair realised that she must be the real Kalasin. "After all, you were the one who did this to her."