Kirastasia was only half-aware of the other vargs scattered around the river. Somewhere, on the opposite bank, a male writhed in the tortuous grip of magic’s wrath; his strained screams shattered the early morning air, tearing through the current’s crystalline music, rupturing an otherwise gorgeous dawn with pained violence. She heard him . . . ragged vibrations on her eardrums . . . and yet her perception had divorced itself from her conscious awareness—encasing her in clear glass, from which Kira could look out but nothing could directly touch her. Poor man. Sounds as if he’s suffering. How had it been when SHE first encountered Blossom’s mystical secret? It had been nearly a year ago, right? In the forest? Those memories eluded her, more slippery than the gleaming golden fish of Glaesfaet. At some point, before she’d been given her scales, Kirastasia had fainted. Purest wild energy surged through her body, and it had overwhelmed her so completely that her mind simply shut off. But not this time. Now she blinked, ears flickering vaguely toward the noises of the poor aching brute twisting himself to knots in the grass, and though her nerves still tingled with the remnants of vibrant pain, she felt . . . nothing. Stunned numbness. Tears quivering at the corners of her eyes. My face . . . what happened to my face?

Yes—that’s right. Kira had wandered too close to the banks, and part of the river had sloshed from its confines to soak her visage. It burned, but only for a few terrifying seconds. A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled up from the snowbird’s throat and popped like a bright champagne bubble. Maybe she’d been horrifically mutilated. Wouldn’t that just be a tragedy? HER beautiful face, ruined beyond repair by a treacherously beautiful magic phenomenon?

From the corner of one maple eye, Kirastasia noted a pallid female slinking her way back toward the tree line—caped in plumes of blue. The vipera woman wagged her tail (wow, how pretty, what a lucky girl) and then took tiny ballerina steps back toward the bank. As she drew near, that entrancing golden light faded into nothingness . . . allowing the river’s smooth blackness to take over. And from that obsidian mirror, flowing and winding down its gentle path, Kira finally beheld herself.

“Ooh . . .”

The magic had not disfigured her, though its scorching touch certainly felt like a force of damage. Instead, painted under each eye, Kirastasia had gained a network of lovely stripes. They were tabby-esque in design, delicately traced upon her cheekbones and down toward her jaw—dark chocolate filigree that swirled and dripped, entwined with itself, lovely. The markings reminded her of the pinstriped fishnets she’d lost when her snake-scales budded over her limbs.

Kira released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d captured, lifting one paw to blot gently at one side of her mask. When those elegant designs stuck, her heart fairly jumped for joy. A dazzling diamond smile curved her lips. What would her mate Drizzt think of this new development? What would Kahlan think? Would the bitter ex-healer finally turn her empty yellow eyes back on the tundra princess, unable to pull her stare away from such exotic beauty? Kirastasia continued to turn her head this way and that, studying the angles of her angelic façade from multiple directions, winking at her reflection, flirting with herself, because damn—she was gorgeous. Only when the pitiful shouts from yonder turned into savage snarls did her attention falter, swerving back toward the hessian who’d collapsed in ferocious anguish not minutes before.

What met her questioning attention forced another jingle of laughter from her chest. The silly man had grown—and quickly dropped—a pair of small antlers, which now jutted up stiffly from the earth where they’d fallen. Abject horror radiated from the male’s earthy coat. He hates them. How funny! If magic disgusted the dragon so much, why allow himself to be captured by the devious siren’s pull? Was he new to Blossom Forest? Is that why he faced his own transformation with such hatred, such brutal rejection? Her laughter peeled louder, higher the moment the knight tossed his discarded spears into the river with a hollow plunk. He stood for a moment. Consternation etched so deeply into his features that Kira could read each wrinkle and line like words on a page. She smirked, endlessly entertained by his hilariously obvious dread. And then at last the man ROARED, a full-on head tossed back, jaws wide, lungs bellowing ROAR. Engulfed by madness and ire. The scream of someone possessed, of someone desperate to tear themselves from a trap at the cost of their own hides.

“Really darling—that bad?”

The words shimmered from her grinning lips as a half-sneer, half-croon, merciless mischief glittering in those luminous honey pools. From her safety on the other side of the water, Kira tilted her head, tail beating joyously against the ground. One paw idly scratched at the scales falling from the opposite limb, grey-and-rainbow sections flaking off like sequins. “You’ve been Blessed, sweetheart. No use crying over it now.”