"There are multiple possibilities for what happened," Tish said. "One: the shapeshifter copied Mirek, uniform included, before killing him. That's why the copy was perfect."
"But we found Mirek's body in the forest," Nayan said. "It couldn't have killed him back in the city and dragged him all the way here just to confuse us."
Tish and Nayan stared at each other for several seconds, both quiet.
And then Tish spoke. "And we aren't even sure these things can copy clothes." Nayan looked down at the dead body. Even her tanned skin looked like ash under the dim light of the morgue. "They weren't able to, at least not the ones I encountered." She paused, then added, "But these things evolve fast. Even Saroth didn't know the full extent of their capacity, or exactly how far they've evolved."
"And they are chasing Rudra," Tish said slowly. "Because he killed their King?"
Nayan nodded. "Suba asked Rudra to side with him so they could wipe out the human race."
"Why?"
"They just don't like humans," Nayan said quietly. "They think we're inefficient. That's all there is." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Sometimes things don't need reasons to be evil. They just are."
"So why didn't Rudra take his offer?" Tish asked abruptly.
Nayan looked at her. Blinked.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he didn't side with those creatures, but he's a dragon," Tish said with a shrug. "He calls humans ants. He doesn't give a damn about humanity in general. So why?"
It wasn't that Tish was curious, or suspicious. She just wanted to understand this man who spat venom at her every time he opened his mouth but refused to leave her side.
Nayan stared. Tish could have sworn the Parthan General's eyes looked softer. "I wasn't there when it happened," she said quietly. "But I've heard what happened from someone else." A pause. "And that is a story that isn't mine to tell."
Tish's heart fluttered and ached. Of course the General wouldn't tell her anything if it was... personal.
Nayan took a deep breath. "Look, all that matters is that Rudra is on the side of humans."
Tish really doubted that.
She didn't know what her face showed, but it made Nayan Dev clear her throat loudly. "And whatever the shapeshifter did to Mirek's body and clothes, one thing is certain. It was there to observe Rudra."
She was right. Tish looked at the corpse, at the wound at the base of Mirek's throat. It had been ripped open, but not in a frenzy. The edges were torn apart in long, even strips, almost patiently, as though whatever did it had been in no hurry and had taken something like care. That was what made her stomach twist with nausea, even though she had worked with corpses and wounds before. A wound like that said the killer had enjoyed it.
"Because it thought," she said, "that whatever attacked Rudra would defeat him, or at least weaken him, and..."
"...and it would get to eat his flesh and turn into a dragon," Nayan finished, voicing the horrifying truth. "Because when you can't defeat a dragon, you shapeshift into one."
"But they can't," Tish said. "I mean, we saw—!" She stopped. She could still see the thing's body bloating, the veins lighting up like cracks in a furnace, the wet dark smear left on the grass.
"But these creatures evolve fast," Nayan cut in. "They get better at everything."
Tish swallowed. She had no answer to that.
"What about His Majesty Ravaan?" Tish whispered. "He should know. This isn't a small matter!"
Nayan straightened up. "He should know. But he won't help." She shook her head. "He won't even save Rudra, let alone mankind."
"But this is serious!"
"You don't understand—"
Suddenly they heard footsteps. Both women stopped talking and looked up. A small group of four blocked the door: two men with faces covered in thick beards and moustaches, and a woman who looked no more than thirty. She held a little boy close, one who couldn't have been ten.
They wore the same fur and pristine white clothes Tish had noticed on all the Kroskoslavs. One of the men looked at the corpse and burst out laughing. Immediately he cupped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.
"It's alright, there's no need to hold back. It isn't mockery, it's a condition." Tish hadn't meant to sound so... clinical. She stepped forward to hide the corpse from the four visitors, one of them a young child who should not be near a morgue of all places.
"We... apologise," the woman gargled, bowing, or trying to. She could only tip her head slightly before her neck and shoulders began shaking so hard she had to straighten up to keep from falling over.
Tish took a few more steps toward them. "There's no need for formalities. May I ask your name?"
"Mal'... en." The woman struggled to say her own name. Malen? Tish wondered, then caught it. Maren. The Kroskoslavs couldn't manage their r's. The woman pushed the boy forward. "This is my... son. Da... vin." Davin.
Unintentionally, Tish began cataloguing their symptoms. The tremors. The laughter. The hazy stare. All of them were suffering from the same condition.
Even the little boy.
Tish looked down at him. She noticed the iron rings around his calves, knees and ankles, fitted to help him stand straight.
One of the men kept laughing.
"How may I..." Tish began, though she already knew why they had come. "How may I help you?"
The woman dropped to her knees abruptly. "Save him!" She burst into tears and shoved the boy forward roughly. "Heal him...!"
Tish sprang forward lest the boy stumble and fall, and caught him. "I understand!" Her voice rose, and she struggled to keep it steady. "I promised I would heal everyone!"
The boy in her arms burst into laughter. It made Tish's heart twist again.
"Very well. I'll do it now," she decided. She could hear Nayan's footsteps closing in. "Are you sure, Saintess?"
Tish looked back at Nayan Dev, frowning. "What kind of question is that?" She turned away, unable to look at the General's face any longer.
How could someone watch a child suffer and tell her to be careful?
Are all Parthans really this heartless?
She looked down at the small pale face, at the grey eyes, wide and fixed on her. A little bit too still. She placed a hand on the boy's forehead. "Let me see," she said softly.
Her palm began to glow. The boy lifted his trembling hands to clutch her wrist.
Tish let him hold on. "Don't be afraid," she assured him as he kept staring, his mouth parting. "This won't hurt at all."
And then the boy's grip tightened. He dragged Tish's palm down from his forehead to his mouth.
And he bit down on Tish's finger.