Queen of Storms

by C. N. Crawford

  Would your parents proud of what you’ve become? A disgusting headsman? I wanted to ask. But I had a feeling that might result in a shredding situation.

  I crossed to the window. Maybe I could get some sense of location? But it was hard to see much with rain slamming against the tall windows and clouds enveloping us.

  When lighting flashed, I caught a glimpse of something very unexpected. A wooden birdfeeder on the stone ledge, with its own covered awning. A few crows huddled under the little sheltered area, pecking at the seeds. It looked homemade.

  I stared at it. “You made a bird feeder for your window?”

  He took off his sword. “Birds sometimes lose their way and fly into Taru’s storms around the castles. It’s hard to fly in storms. And hard to find food.”

  “Oh. Sweet. The executioner cares about the wellbeing of birds.”

  “Perhaps they’re superior to creatures who speak. There’s value in dumb creatures that keep their mouths shut.” Mockery laced his tone.

  Clearly an insult aimed at me, but I wasn’t going to rise to it.

  He nodded at a pile of clothing on the desk. “Change into those dry clothes.”

  For a moment, I wondered if I was supposed to change here, in front of him.

  As I hesitated, once again, I glimpsed my magic reaching for his, straining for him. My own, traitorous magic, trying to brush against the Nathair’s and feel that electrical warmth. I stepped away from him, disturbed by the sensation.

  He pointed to one of the black doors. “In there. That’s where you’ll be staying for the duration of your trials.”

  Bollocks. Would I have to sneak through his room to get out of here?

  I snatched the clothes off his desk and crossed to the door on the other side of his room. I pulled it open to reveal a room that felt like fresh magic. My skin prickled as I scanned the small room, the charge of magic washing over me. I closed the door behind me.

  A single candle cast warm light over a small, windowless space. Two beds flanked a black door. Good. Maybe I could use that to get out of here.

  Apart from the beds, there was nothing in the room but a tiny dresser pressed against the wall. Cramped and drafty, but clean. In any case, it wasn’t like I’d come here for a vacation.

  Teeth chattering, I peeled off my soaked clothes. In the dark room, I was shivering uncontrollably.

  Fully naked, I summoned a spell for warmth—an ancient desert spell that called on the winds of the Sahara. As I chanted the words, the water droplets lifted off my skin, and my body stopped shivering. Slowly, my muscles began to relax. I would have used the spell earlier, but something had stopped me from revealing my true powers unless it was absolutely necessary.

  Warm now, I dressed myself in the plain black clothes. Still no bra, and I wasn’t about to ask the Nathair for one.

  Just as I was sliding into my T-shirt, the second door creaked open. Ree stood in the doorway, drenched in storm water, also carrying a pile of clothes in her hands. Quietly, she shut the door behind her.

  “Are we sharing a room?” I asked.

  “Seems that way.” She yanked one of the rough blankets off the bed, then started drying herself off.

  I nodded at her door. “Where are you coming from? What’s on the other side of that door?”

  “My mentor’s room.”

  Shit. So, no way out without going through a knight’s room.

  Ree glanced around at the room. “Do you think Letha’s in a little cubicle like this? I don’t imagine she is.” For the first time since I’d met her, Ree smiled—a dazzling grin that lit up the room. “She’s probably lounging in a throne, eating a gold-leaf cake off a servant’s back right now. She’s probably quaffing champagne and having horses quarter peasants for mispronouncing her name.”

  I arched an eyebrow, smiling. “I mean, what’s the point of living if you can’t slaughter the poor for inconveniencing you?”

  “Exactly.”

  But my mind was still fixated on the door situation. “What’s your mentor like?”

  “Helgar, from House Dorcha. Some kind of ocean Lord from a palace made of coral, deeply socially awkward. More than me, even. His heart was broken two hundred years ago, and he hasn’t been the same since. Still good at killing, though, or they wouldn’t keep him here.”

  Ree seemed to have an amazing ability to learn things about people. He seemed a safer bet than sneaking past the Nathair, anyway.

  “Earlier, you said you learned things from spirits. How do you do that, exactly?”

  She plopped down on her bed. “I’m a spirit-witch. I hear whispers from the dead. They’re all over this place, and they see and hear everything. Mostly, they want someone to talk to. Happy to give them my ears. I like to hear stories, and sometimes they’re actually useful.”

  I hugged my knees to my chest. “What else do they tell you about this place? The Institute?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “The Reaper is hidden somewhere within this fortress’s depths, waiting to pull souls from people’s bodies, but you’ll never know where he is. Magic is all around us. This entire place was built with magic…. It changes as it needs to. This room, for example—it wasn’t here an hour ago. Our knights weren’t neighbors until an hour ago, either.”

  Oh … bloody hells. So that’s why the room felt strange when I’d first stepped into it. And that’s why finding Wren would not be easy. If I could get a tracking spell to work, that would be my best bet. But I’d need to be completely alone. I’d go out in the dead of night while the others slept.

  A knock on the door interrupted us, and the door swung open. A violet-haired pixie stood before us, holding a silver platter laden with two plates of food—steaming steaks, fresh vegetables, and potatoes, all covered in hot gravy. My mouth watered at the sight.

  “Eat!” announced the servant. “Then sleep. Tomorrow, the first trial begins.”

  Ree snatched a plate off the tray. “Welcome to the Institute,” she said.

  Chapter 12

  Unfortunately, they locked us in the room at night. There would be no sneaking out. All night, I lay awake, debating blowing a hole through the door with my magic.

  For a few hours, I’d tried to unlock it with a spell, but it was a complex locking system that I couldn’t quite navigate. At least not yet.

  The rest of the night, I listened to the thunder rumbling through the walls. I thought of Wren wheezing in a cell—the hitch in her breath, her ribs protruding as her stomach sucked in sharply. If I did use an explosion to get to her, what were the odds I’d make it all the way to her cell alive? Not good.

  Even without her breathing problems, Wren wasn’t a creature to be kept in a cage. The woman lived life to the fullest, always up for anything I suggested. Want to get drunk on wine coolers and go to a Victorian steam fair in the park? Sure. Want to throw a sea-monster-themed fancy dress party? Indeed. Running into the freezing English Channel in December totally naked? Yes. Want to help me practice a magical spell to make a champagne fountain? OF COURSE.

  She was shit at magic herself. I mean, just dreadful. Wren had a terrible habit of ruining magical spells: wilting the champagne glasses, killing the birds I was trying to heal. She couldn’t even keep a cactus alive. It’s not like she meant to. She was just a tiny bit cursed, and that was why she had no ability to heal her breathlessness on her own. But we all had our curses, didn’t we?

  And she had her own skills. We were a team—my role was magic, and she could properly kick arse if she needed to. With the two of us together, we didn’t have to fear demons, human creeps ... nothing, really.

  Until she’d wandered onto this godforsaken rock and got herself caught. Why? I had no bloody clue. All I knew was I was furious at her for doing it.

  A phantom draft whistled through the crack of the door, a high-pitched sound like Wren’s wheezing. Without a window or a clock, I had no idea what time it was at this point. Had I been awake for days, perhaps?

  Exhaustion wr
acked my body.

  For just a moment, I drifted off, dreaming of the sea. I stood on Gibraltar’s shores, waves crashing over my feet. The skies clouded over, dark as charcoal. Rain soaked my silk dress and stuck the thin fabric to my body. The cold went right through to my bones, and my teeth chattered. I didn’t want to be here.

  Above, dark wings swooped through the heavens, the Nathair circling overhead, ready to kill. Large as an ancient oak and just as beautiful. Taru’s magic tugged at my belly—a white thread, pulling me further into the water. He was coming for me.

  Then, warm magic on my skin, heating me like the summer sun. Threads of silver magic curled around me. I didn’t feel Taru’s pull anymore.

  No … I felt another sort of pull. One that made my body roar with molten heat. I licked the salt off my lips.

  I slid my hands down my body, and powerful magic rippled over my bare skin. I leaned back into a muscled torso, sighing with pleasure. Warmth lit me up from inside. I was his, and his wings enveloped me.

  The scent of musk and ginger curled around me, and I ached for him. With a light touch, he traced slow circles over the hollow of my hip. Our magic intertwined in perfect tendrils.

  I needed him.

  Burning with desire, I turned and looked into the icy cold eyes of the Nathair….

  The door slammed open, and a shock-haired pixie stood in the bright light, carrying another tray of food.

  What in the ever-loving….

  Ripped from my dream, I was breathing heavily, dappled with sweat.

  Ree sat bolt upright and shouted, “Corn chowder!” Then, she rubbed her eyes, waking up.

  Gods below. It was a good thing the pixie had woken me up from my sex dream about the draconic executioner. What the hells was wrong with my head?

  “Training begins soon,” the pixie announced. “Join your mentors within the next ten minutes.”

  “Will the doors be unlocked, then?” I asked, probing, trying to figure their systems out. “They were locked all night.”

  The pixie’s brow furrowed. “And how would you know that the doors were locked? Don’t you dare go wandering around at night. Chances are, the Reaper will catch you and pull your soul right out of your body. Or the dragon-blood will pull your flesh from your bones, make an example of you.”

  “Settle down, pixie. I was just looking for a bathroom.”

  Glaring at me, the pixie slid the tray onto the dresser. Even if we were in a tiny room with no windows, at least the food was reasonable: buttered bread, sausages, eggs, and two cups of hot coffee.

  After a night of worrying, though, I wasn’t particularly hungry. I nibbled on a piece of toast, thinking about the training.

  Ree had said Tarvis was powerful, and I’d felt it, too. He oozed power and confidence. It wasn’t just that he looked physically imposing or that he knew magic, but some kind of keen intelligence sparkled in his eyes. That was possibly more dangerous than the first two combined. At least he was on my team, for now.

  Ree was attacking her food with alarming speed.

  “How’d you sleep?” I asked.

  “Good. Dreamt of food.”

  “Think if we ask nicely enough, they’ll install a clock for us?”

  “I think if we ask them for anything, they’ll start peeling our fingernails off.” Her plate was cleared in about thirty seconds. “First thing I’d ask for would be more food. They’re starving us here.”

  I glanced at my plate—mostly untouched, steam curling off the eggs. “You can have mine.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Yeah?” Her stomach growled loudly. She had a delicate frame, but the girl could put her food away.

  I downed the coffee—strong and black—hoping a jolt of caffeine would keep my senses alert. Then, I crossed to the door. “Good luck at training, Ree. Whatever it entails.”

  “You, too.”

  Buzzing with that weird mix of fatigue and caffeine, I pushed through the door into the Nathair’s room. I found it empty and silent, save for the pattering of rain against the window. I surveyed his room for a second time, hoping to get a better read on him.

  Clearly, he liked to live in luxury, but it wasn’t a showy sort of luxury. His bed looked soft, with a fluffy duvet embroidered with silver silk. His cloak lay on his bed, and I leaned in to inspect it, admiring the intricate needlework. The fabric was black as obsidian on the outside, blood red on the inside. Words were stitched in a language I didn’t know. I ran my fingertips across the silver thread, and the words started to shift, the cloak tingling with a magical charge.

  “Are you fascinated by everyone’s clothes, or just mine?” The Nathair’s icy voice startled me a little, but I didn’t let it show.

  He pulled out a tiny flask and took a long swig of it. It seemed a bit early to drink whiskey, but who was I to judge the habits of a draconic headsman.

  I shrugged. “Just interested in the language you have on your clothes. I don’t recognize it.”

  “It’s the ancient language of the dragon-bloods.”

  I frowned. “You have your own language?”

  He leaned against his desk. “Ah. You’re surprised we’re literate.” Amusement danced in his eyes as he took another swig. “And of course you are, because the dragon-bloods are primitive barbarians, aren’t we?”

  I rolled my eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant. But now that you mention it, let’s talk about the reputation dragon-bloods have. Created by a twisted sorcerer eons ago, a mixture of two species never meant to mate. Now your magic is toxic and corrupted, and violence runs through your blood. Where I come from—”

  I stopped myself there. We were not going to talk about where I really came from. That was dangerous territory indeed.

  “Never mind. The point is, I can’t say if that’s all true, but you’re not exactly making a strong case against it. And you’re awfully tetchy about your barbarian reputation for someone who shreds prisoners into pulp. Maybe take up a new occupation if you want people to think you’re civilized.”

  Already, I could feel his magic, that raw energy pulsing from him. He was looking at me with curiosity again, like he was reading my soul. “Soon, we’re going to have to find out exactly what you can do.”

  No response to what I’d just said. Nothing. Only that curious look. I guessed I should get used to that kind of thing around him.

  He wore expensive, dark clothes and a charcoal waistcoat. When he moved past me to pick up his cloak, goosebumps rose over my skin. The wrongness of his power radiated out of him, making me shiver.

  He picked up the cloak and threw it over his shoulders, and I caught a glimpse of a small silver chain around his neck that disappeared beneath his collar.

  “What are we doing for training today?” I asked. I wasn’t too worried. If it was magic, I had a good chance of beating the others at the trial.

  “Today, I find out just what kind of power you’re hiding.”

  Chapter 13

  The Nathair led me in silence down a series of connected hallways—all windowless and torchlit. No matter where I was in the castle, the sound of distant, rolling thunder was never far from my ears, as if all these shadowy corridors were near the outside. That made it difficult to figure out if I was close to an external wall or deep inside the castle’s underbelly, where the dungeons might be.

  It must be some kind of illusion, giving the impression that the outside was always just on the other side of the nearest wall. This was probably all part of their plan, to disorient people who entered their castle. Just another method of control.

  Still, all I had to do was beat all the other unsworn, and the path to the dungeon would be mine. Wren and I would both break out of this absurd place. Brighton Pier donuts, here we come….

  For a moment, guilt wound through my gut. I really didn’t want anything bad to happen to Ree.

  I shoved the thought deep under the surface. Even as a powerful witch, there was only so much I could control. I had a mission, but I wasn’t h
ere to save the world. If the Storm Fae were sacrificing unsworn, that guilt wasn’t on my shoulders. It couldn’t be.

  At last, we reached a door in the corridor. The Nathair motioned for me to walk in front of him.

  I cocked my head. “Oren said the unsworn are supposed to walk behind the knights.”

  He stared at me like I was an idiot, pale eyes piercing the darkness.

  I sighed, stepping past him into a cramped, dark room. A single, guttering candle on the wall illuminated an empty stone room—not unlike a dungeon cell. I suppressed a shudder. What were we doing in here?

  “Oren said you were powerful.” The Nathair sounded slightly perplexed as his gaze swept up and down my body. Clearly, I didn’t look powerful to him. “You haven’t demonstrated that power, yet. You’re hiding it, aren’t you?”

  “I haven’t needed to use it yet,” I said truthfully.

  “I want to know exactly how powerful.” His soft voice was tinged with curiosity.

  No matter what he wanted, I wasn’t about to show him the full display of my power—not unless I was about to die.

  “We’ll find out in the trials,” I began. “Won’t—?”

  Before I could get another word out, the Nathair flicked his wrist. His dark, shimmering magic shot into my chest, and my muscles seized up. Pain shot through my bones, and I was certain he was ripping my ribs right open, splaying my chest like a pinned butterfly. I felt my broken body lift into the air, helpless.

  I was completely out of control, and I felt pure anger—at him, at Wren for putting me in this bloody situation. At myself for existing.

  That’s when I understood—his corrupted magic made him a sadist. A true monster.

  He was drawing out my magic.

  My storm magic burst from my chest, filling the room with vibrant, silver light. Electricity ignited us, lifting my hair on edge, and the rumble of Taru’s power reverberated off the stone walls. Storm clouds began roiling around us, and rainwater began to fall in torrents, soaking my clothes yet again.