Queen of Storms

by C. N. Crawford

  “Boston. Now, you’re gonna want to get cleaned up. We don’t have long.”

  “Till what?”

  She just stared at me.

  Whatever. Probably best if I just took the bath everyone was so obsessed with. Boston Girl scooted aside, and I pushed through the door into the most dramatic bathroom I’d ever seen in my life. An enormous gold tub was set into the stone, already filled with water. Steam curled from the surface and bubbles frothed. A heavy scent of jasmine hung in the air.

  Rain lashed against the tall windows. I pressed my hand against the pane of glass. Through all the clouds, I just about had a view of the dark rock. For a moment, I thought I saw a ghostly figure—a woman with flowing hair, clad in black. A siren perhaps, wrecking ships in the service of Taru. Sadness, sharp and aching, welled in my chest. Then, the vision disappeared again.

  I’d been here less than a day and I was already losing my bloody mind.

  I turned away from the window, looking at the mirrors and floating crystal lights across from me. Glass vials and potions stood on a marble counter beneath the mirror. Glancing up, I saw that the entire ceiling had been turned into a tapestry of shifting light and color, depicting moving images of a cloudy sky.

  Then, the pale blue eye of Taru emerged in the ceiling’s clouds. He was battling a giant hydra inside a cave; he had gripped one of the monster’s heads, then pushed coruscating lightning through another. Waves frothed and crashed around him.

  I didn’t particularly want to bathe with his image moving around up there, but I’d try to ignore it. He wasn’t just a god to these people; it was like he was a celebrity. I hadn’t gone more than a few minutes since I arrived in this place without some reminder of his divine presence. The Institute of the Storm Fae was starting to feel more like a monastery than a guild of assassins.

  I started stripping down, casting a wary eye up at the god’s image. As I slipped out of my clothes, the cool palace air rushed over my skin, raising goosebumps. I pulled off my shirt, shivering, then slid my knickers off, completely creeped out by the place.

  When I stepped into the bath, the water felt blessedly warm against my skin. I slid in deeper. After only a couple of seconds being submerged, any residual aches I had been feeling had disappeared. I washed my arms, scrubbed between my fingernails to get the dirt out from my fight in the tunnels.

  Shutting my eyes, I dipped my head underwater and ran my fingers through my hair. I grabbed the bar of soap on the edge of the tub, then lathered up my hair. I submerged myself again, rinsing out my hair. When I came up again for air, I froze.

  It seemed I was now surrounded by a room full of people.

  Chapter 8

  Gods almighty, this was the second time today I’d been barged in on in the bath.

  I slowed my breathing before I responded, gaining control. “Do you mind?”

  Lightning flashed outside, shedding light on the crowd gathered around the tub. They were quiet, all of them, and each was dressed in silk. So, these were the noble recruits who ruled fae kingdoms.

  A woman with pale hair tumbling over gold satin cocked her head. “Look, Letha, it can talk.”

  Another female—the one with the red lips and mole—answered. “But it speaks the human tongue. Not Ancient Fae.” Letha’s rose-colored hair was piled elegantly on her head, a beautiful pink that matched her cheeks.

  “We’re speaking the human tongue now,” said one, a man with long green hair. Jewels sparkled on his brow. “Though it is a wonder animals like this can speak at all. She’s more like a pig than anything else, really, isn’t she?”

  Letha laughed behind her hand. “I do know a spell to turn someone into a pig. Should I try it?”

  Another male stepped forward—this one with dark hair and sharp, gleaming eyes. “Letha and I think alike. If we speak about it in Ancient Fae, the animal won’t know how much it disgusts us.”

  “Getting pretty sick of being called it,” I said.

  Laugher erupted around me.

  Letha was hysterical. “I love it when animals speak! It’s like when a cow wears a waistcoat!”

  My jaw clenched tightly as the laughter grew louder. What would happen if I unleashed some of my storm magic on them right now? A temporary thrill, followed by the stark realization that I’d ruined my chance to save Wren. I bit down hard on the impulse to slaughter them all. They reminded me so much of the children who’d surrounded me as a child, the ones who I’d always wanted to impress.

  Little Cora, the bony girl with the stutter. C-C-C-C-Cora! The more I’d tried to impress the other children, the more I’d stammer—red-faced, humiliated, unable to get my words out. Children circling me, chanting the start of my name, sharp and staccato in my ears.

  I gritted my teeth. This is no time to get lost in the past.

  Hugging myself more tightly, I focused on speaking at the top of my breath. “Kindly piss off.”

  Letha was still laughing, a little tinkling giggle. “I have to say, that was very good.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Piss off. Such a human thing to say. You can tell it’s been slumming around with them for years.”

  The dark-haired male licked his lips. “I bet it’s even rutted with them.”

  “Can one of you arseholes hand me a towel?” Smooth as silk. Speaking slowly had two benefits here—I didn’t stutter, and it made it sound like I thought they were incredibly stupid.

  Letha frowned at me. “Tragic, really, that the Institute should resort to bringing wretches like these two into their coveted trials. Surely they could’ve done better than this.”

  C-C-C-C-Cora….

  I was about to curse at them again, when a new voice boomed over the hall. A male, one whose voice was clearly used to commanding a room. “What’s going on in here?”

  You’ve gotta be kidding me.

  The fae gathered around the bathtub turned their attention toward the door. Letha smiled brightly, those painted red lips sparkling like they were covered in glitter. “Look, dear Tarvis, at the thing we found.”

  The man named Tarvis circled around the tub, tousled blond hair falling in his face. He wore a thorny, platinum crown and a velvet suit, and he furrowed his brow, examining me.

  I curled my lip, baring my canines, ready to blow the whole plan to hells and just kill him with lightning. In London, I’d worked in a shop where we sold the hearts of evil males. See, my friend Aenor the Avenger might have assassinated people, but she had a moral code. She didn’t kill supernaturals willy-nilly like the knights. She killed the rapists and sadists, those who’d murdered their wives or beaten their girlfriends half to death. She made the world a better place, and I helped.

  I didn’t do most of the killing or heart-carving—that was Aenor’s job. But I’d helped tidy things up a bit. Could I imagine Tarvis’s bleeding heart on the wall? I’d have to see what kind of fae he really was.

  Where was that goth girl? She could throw me a towel, surely. We were the two losers here.

  Tarvis arched an eyebrow. “Another capture. Not a volunteer, like us. A prisoner, really. Noble fae can do what they like with prisoners.”

  C-C-C-C-Cora! If I could go back in time, I’d have fought back. I would have pushed my little tormentors in the mud, stepped on their bellies.

  Now, I reached for the soap. With perfect aim, I chucked it at his head so fast he wasn’t able to duck. It slammed into his forehead.

  Letha shrieked with amusement. “Look at the nutter! She’s madder than a king of Edinnu!”

  My cheeks went hot at that insult and shame burned into my stomach.

  Tarvis glared at me with pure hatred in his green eyes. “You’ll regret that.”

  “You’re lucky that was just soap,” I said, careful to control my breathing. “You’re lucky I’m not carving out your heart.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You little psychopath. Letha’s right.”

  “You know,” I said, trying to master my fury, “this bathroom would
be lovely if it weren’t for you lot crawling all over it like insects.”

  The other unsworn were all staring at him, waiting for his next utterance. Like he was their leader. He was big, sure, but he didn’t scare me. I could feel from here that his magic wasn’t as powerful as mine—unlike the Nathair.

  “What do they call you?” Tarvis asked.

  “The name’s….” I paused, nearly certain I’d stutter. “Cora.” It came out fine.

  “Cora,” he repeated, drawing the word out on the back of a sigh. It made my skin crawl. “No, that won’t do. From now on, you’ll answer to Putita.”

  I knew just enough Spanish to know this meant something like whore. So that was the second time today. Letha covered her mouth and giggled into the back of her hand like she’d just heard a hilarious joke.

  This was the most annoying thing about traditional fae. The males could bed anyone they wanted to, but women’s bodies were shameful.

  And yet the sad truth was, I did care what they thought. I cared what everyone thought. I always wanted people to like me—even if they were awful. I wanted to be respected.

  Luckily, I was good at masking what I really felt.

  I schooled my features to calm, smiling serenely. I wouldn’t let them know they were getting to me, or that I cared one bit. I wouldn’t be little C-C-C-C-Cora, red-faced and panicking. At least not on the outside.

  So, I simply rose out of the bath, stark naked. Proud as could be. At least on the surface. “Aren’t you all so clever,” I said with a breezy smile. Water dripped down my naked body in rivulets, and I stretched my arms over my head. “I appreciate your fascination with me, but you’ll have plenty of time to learn all about me, I’m sure. Have patience. It’s just day one.”

  Letha paled, white as her friend’s hair. All eyes were on me, and a heavy hush fell over the room. Whatever they’d expected, it wasn’t this.

  I stepped out of the tub and padded across the floor, pushing through the fae gathered around, then picked up a towel. Casually, I started drying myself off, humming a jaunty tune.

  Tarvis’s mouth opened and closed. Then, he turned toward the doorway and stalked out. The other courtiers followed him.

  Letha lingered, throwing daggers at me with her eyes. “I imagine this would be the moment where someone tells you not to worry. This is the moment when you’re reassured that it will all turn out fine. It’s not true. I’m here to let you know this ends with your death, vermin.”

  She reached the door, cocked her head over her shoulder, and grinned a wicked grin. Then she was gone, and I was finally left alone to dress.

  I turned to the sink to rinse off my face. As much as I’d pretended not to care, my legs were shaking. Had I really let them get to me, just like when I was a little girl? I dried off my face, mentally tallying up what Wren owed me now. Bottles of wine, two pizzas, a homemade cake.

  I slipped on the clothes the reverent sister had given me—plain black trousers made of a thin material, a dark shirt and knickers that felt like cheap cotton.

  Wine, pizza, cake, and she had to cover a shift in the shop.

  Then again, I owed Wren plenty. She was the one who’d cleaned the rubbish off me when the other kids had dumped me in a trash heap, back when we’d both lived in Edinnu. As exiles from that insane fae kingdom, we’d kept each other’s secrets. Only Wren knew that I’d fled the religious purges of a fanatical king—a man who believed that girls like Wren and I weren’t sufficiently pious. The king’s spies were everywhere, which meant we couldn’t trust anyone. We only had each other, bound by our old bond.

  And that’s why I had to put up with this bollocks. I knew this rescue mission wasn’t going to be easy, not by a long shot, but I hadn’t prepared myself psychologically to feel like I was five again. Magic, I could deal with. Fights, I could deal with. Being humiliated again and again was something else entirely.

  I’d just have to wear my mask of detachment and remember that I was here for Wren.

  The door opened again. “Oh, for the love of the gods!” I snapped.

  It was the goth girl from Boston, her skin dappled with garnet liquid. She stared at me. “Sorry. I tried to stop them from barging in, but Letha wrapped me up with spider webs and Tarvis drowned me in a vat of wine until I lost consciousness.”

  My jaw dropped. “Oh my gods. Are you okay?”

  “Sure.” My new goth friend added, “Just wanted to let you know it’s almost time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “The real initiation.”

  Chapter 9

  Now fully dressed in my flimsy cotton, I followed other unsworn as we were led through the Institute’s rocky halls. A tiny, cherry-haired pixie at the front was leading us, proudly clutching a silver scepter.

  Candlelight wavered over us, casting dancing shadows over the rock. Up ahead of us, Tarvis’s cloak was the deep green of forest moss, his blond hair gleaming in the candlelight. Letha’s rosy locks now cascaded over the most exquisite cream gossamer gown and a cloak the color of seafoam. She turned to me, flashing a mocking smile.

  There was no mistaking them for fae royalty, and they’d probably been preparing for this initiation since birth.

  My new friend and I had no cloaks. As I walked by her side, I tried making a mental map of our surroundings. I’d need to know exactly where I was going if I was to find Wren or her herbs. Granted, I could use a tracking spell for Wren, but those spells could be unpredictable. Knowing your surroundings was always an asset.

  Initiation. Given what a simple bath looked like here, I didn’t imagine the initiation would be a great time. Maybe some more spider web restraints, bit of drowning in a vat of goat blood….

  In any case, I didn’t have time for this.

  I glanced at Boston Girl. A ring piercing dangled from her septum, and piercings stretching all the way up her ears peeked out from her curls. A little black cat, a skull and crossbones, two shiny studs, and two rings, a short chain hanging between them. Her simple clothing was much more familiar to me than the sheer, shimmering gowns and velvety suits of the others.

  She caught my eye.

  “I’m Cora,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Cerridwen … but my friends call me Ree.” A pause. “Not sure why.”

  “My new friends here tried to give me the nickname Putita.”

  “I’ll just go with Cora. Nicknames can stick in places of magic.”

  I scanned her eyes, then. I’d never heard anyone say that before, but my old C-C-C-C-Cora nickname had certainly stuck for years.

  Walking so close to Ree, I felt some of her magic pulsing off her body, and it started to become clear that this girl was hiding some pretty deep power underneath that weird exterior.

  What else did she know?

  I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’ve heard they have executions in this place. They kill the supernaturals they capture—those who aren’t fae, or who aren’t strong enough to compete in the trials.”

  “Yep. Once we’re done with our trials, they’re going to hold a celebration. A spectacular display of Taru’s power. And the pièce de resistance? Prisoners will be sacrificed at the Nathair’s hands. He shreds them into little tiny pieces of bone and quivering flesh with just a flick of his wrist. And if we don’t win the trials, we’ll be among the victims. Quite a party, right? Can’t wait.”

  “And only one of us can live?” I asked in a harsh whisper.

  “Only one spot available. The aristocrats are sent home to get drunk in palaces, and we die.”

  “You seem strangely resigned to the situation.”

  She fixed me with her gaze. “I don’t plan to lose.”

  Neither did I. I’d either be breaking out of here or becoming a knight.

  “If not for our magic,” added Ree, “We’d be imprisoned in the Rock right now, awaiting our deaths. We’d be the entertainment at a big party for one of these rich bastards.”

  My skin went cold. Then, I leaned
in as close as I could to whisper, “Where do you think they keep the prisoners?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know. Only the knights know. Why are you asking?”

  Okay. I was acting suspicious and needed to tone it down. “I don’t know. Just curious. In case we have to … escape.”

  I slowed my walking pace a bit to give us some space. Ree fell in step, hanging back with me. None of the noble fae ahead were looking at us.

  “What can you tell me about Tarvis?” I whispered.

  Her lip quirked in a little smile, and she seemed happy to have a co-conspirator. “I don’t like to gossip.”

  “Oh, me neither. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, dish the dirt.”

  “Okay, he’s prince of the Ivory Court, one of the wealthiest fae courts. Every year, they light humans on fire to burn as living torches at their Festival of Flames. I heard he used to make out with his first cousin, and he’s constantly sporting a semi because of his silk underwear.” She looked straight ahead, then cleared her throat. “But like I said, I don’t like to gossip.”

  “Same. And his magic?”

  “Strong, but he keeps it hidden most of the time. Unless he wants to show off.”

  “And Letha?”

  “She’s the one who held my head under the vat of wine. Sharp-tongued, princess of the Oak Court. She once had a servant’s entire family impaled on the city gates because the woman had spilled a drop of milk on her precious gown.”

  Gods almighty. “What other not-gossip do you have?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “The Institute recently acquired a monster known as the Reaper. Not exactly sure what it is, only that he’s nearly as bad as the dragon-blood. They’re going to use it for battles or something. Soul reaping.”

  “And they still need us?”

  “Seems that way.”

  “Do you speak Ancient Fae like the others? How do you know all this stuff about them?”

  “Me? No, but the spirits can understand them.”

  “The spirits,” I repeated.