by Everly Frost
I say, “I know you’re running from a great evil that has taken over your land.”
He doesn’t trust me—even without my weapons. He prowls toward me, circling the clearing, and I let him come.
“How do you know this?” he demands.
“The same way I know that a talon crow’s neck can be snapped by using its tusks against it. The same way I know how to remove a shadow panther’s claw. The same way I know that the threat the gargoyles now face originated from your village.”
He follows my pointed finger to the mark on his hip, inhaling sharply. The fine silvery shape is the size of a small coin. It is the mark of his clan, but he has cut into it many times, as if he has tried to obliterate it. He hates his origins.
He’s close enough to grab me, but I’ve deliberately positioned myself with the only opening at my back. If he wants to pin me, he’ll have to swing me to the side or drive me all the way to the back of the cave past his children. He won’t expose them to violence.
“You are stronger than most elves,” he growls. “But you will meet your maker this night.”
I nod. “If that is meant to be.”
I dodge his next fist and hit back with my full strength, a punch to his stomach that carries what’s left of my heart with it. I need him to survive. He has nested quietly on Rath land, never hurting or threatening any elf, only wishing to protect his children.
My fist connects, energy bursting from me, ribbons of crimson light snapping around my fingers. With a crack, blood-red flames ignite between us.
Shocked by the contact, I jolt backward, the firelight fading as fast as it appeared.
The gargoyle also leaps back, the breath whooshing out of his lungs, his eyes wide. He sucks in a deep breath, rubbing his chest while he regains his balance…
His voice is a startled whisper. “You smell like scorched earth.”
“I am…” I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I have to stop this fight because I’m not sure what will happen next. The energy I just felt was dangerous, lethal. I can’t let it out again. My voice rises to a near command. “I am Baelen of the House of Rath. This is my land. I give you permission to nest on it.”
My declaration falls into a shocked silence.
He’s stunned. “You give me… I have your permission to…” He shakes himself. “But I am a gargoyle!”
“Why does that make a difference?”
He blinks at me. He doesn’t believe me. How can I make him see that I am not his enemy?
Golden light glints at the edge of my vision. I crouch slowly, arms held wide, and scoop the yellow object from the ground, holding it up to him. “Do you know what this is?”
He shakes his head.
“It’s a Shimmer Beetle husk. The hardest substance in Erawind. Each year, these beetles shed their husks. They cast off the old and embrace the new. I believe that elves and gargoyles can do that too. Cast off the past and start fresh. One husk at a time.”
He begins to pace side to side, the frown across his forehead growing deep. “If you aren’t here to kill me, then why are you here?”
“A battalion of elven soldiers was sent here against their will to harm you. I turned them away, but more will come unless you accept my help.”
“They will not kill me.”
“Maybe so, but can you say the same for your children?” I exhale slowly, not daring to look at the babies snuggled in the nest behind and to my right. Any hint of threat to them will ignite the gargoyle’s protective instincts and the conversation will be over. “I know a better place to hide. One where you won’t be found.”
It’s a hiding spot that I had planned to use as a backup plan if I needed to disappear, but that seems pointless now.
“I’m asking you to trust me,” I say.
“You are the second elf to surprise me,” the gargoyle growls. “I will trust you for now, but only because that elf there had several chances to shoot me and didn’t.”
He points to where Macsen hovers in the dark.
Macsen promptly steps into the clearing, lowering his nocked bow and removing the arrow. He leans against the side of the opening with a grin aimed at me. “Mark the gargoyle’s words, Baelen. This truce is because of me.”
I relax, most of the tension leaving my body as I turn back to the gargoyle. “Please pack your things as quickly as you can. We’ll carry whatever you need. We have a long trek ahead of us tonight. I promise by tomorrow, you will be safe.”
As I relocate myself to the other side of the clearing, away from his children, I cast my eyes upward to the patch of sky visible between the overhang and the rock face.
The battalion was only the first wave. I’m prepared for what the Elven Command will try next. No matter what it is, it will be easier than facing Marbella in the arena.
34. Grayson Glory
I pace my room like the caged animal that I am.
Elwyn Elder plants his feet next to the ornate desk that sits alongside the plush couches that line my room, his obstinate form framed by the golden wallpaper that covers the walls. The room is suffocating in its opulence, a typical space for one of the favored in the House of Glory, except that in my case, the silken curtains that fall straight and closed, giving the illusion of windows where there are none.
I don’t belong here. Never have.
He snaps, “Don’t forget where your allegiances lie, boy. The battalion has failed. Baelen Rath turned the soldiers back despite the threat to his land. You will go. Now. You will finish that gargoyle once and for all—”
“I will not.”
His puffy cheeks grow red with rage, but he reins it in, taking deep breaths. “Remember what the gargoyles did to your mother. You have a chance for revenge. Go, Grayson, fight the gargoyle. Do it for her!”
Anger has always been my friend, but right now it’s my enemy. I’m in danger of killing this old male if he mentions my mother one more time. “No!”
I storm toward him and he backpedals as fast as his legs can carry him, hitting the wall behind him. “Why not, Grayson?” he spits. “Surely, you don’t pity the gargoyles?”
I fist my hands, closing the gap between us. “You forget what I am.”
I’m seconds away from hurting him when Gideon bursts into the room. “Grayson! Step back!”
He hurries toward me, palms out, the only Glory elf who isn’t afraid to stand near me. His expression is full of concern. “What’s wrong, son?”
I step away from Elwyn, turning my disappointment on Gideon. “Was this your plan?”
“What plan?”
“To kill the gargoyle on Rath land.”
He sighs. “We need it eradicated, Grayson. I know it’s a terrible business, but that gargoyle has threatened the local villagers, stealing their food. The House of Mercy has so little to live on as it is…”
Gideon has told me many times about how the Rath fortune has been squandered. Now, he says, “Baelen Rath is a warrior, a soldier first. He’s a good commander, but he has no skill for the day to day task of caring for his people.”
I take his speech with a grain of salt. I’ve stolen out to see Rath land for myself. The House of Mercy is one of the happiest minor Houses I’ve come across. They’re treated with respect and allowed to make decisions that other minor Houses are forbidden from making. They love Baelen Rath with such genuine feeling that it takes my breath away. For all accounts, he trusts them without question. The only thing that causes them grief is the possibility that they might lose him.
Still, I know Gideon worries about the order of things. The balance of power between the major and minor Houses hangs on a thread. If that balance were broken, our land would descend into war. The gargoyles are the tinder that could light the spark.
“Gideon,” I say. “I know you think this is the right course of action, but I can’t do this.”
He casts me a worried glance before he exhales slowly. “I know it will be difficult for you, but you are our last h
ope. We’ve tried everything else. You’ve carried out other tasks for us. May I ask what troubles you about this one?”
“I draw the line at infanticide.”
“Ah, the babies,” he murmurs. “They will perish without their parent.”
If I could close the gap and touch him, I would grip his shoulder and ask him why. Why does he think I could do this? It’s true that I’m a killer. I have killed. Too easily. Not even fair fights. There’s no such thing as a fair fight against me. But I will never harm a child.
He nods his head, raising his eyes to mine. “I’m sorry we asked you to do this. You are right to refuse.”
I step back with a nod to Gideon and a glare at Elwyn. I might not always agree with Gideon, may not always see things the way he does, but he’s all I’ve got. He’s the only voice of reason among the Elven Commanders. Elwyn, Pedr, and Osian are always bull-headed. I’ve never met Teilo, but the others don’t speak highly of him.
Elwyn snarls at Gideon before he storms out. “That gargoyle will be the death of us.”
Gideon lets him go, his expression remaining serious. “The final fight in the Protocols is approaching. I need you to remain alert and ready. The Storm Princess is unpredictable. We don’t know what her motives are, and I fear…” He rubs his forehead and lets out a sigh. “I fear for the future.”
I stand as close to him as I dare. He’s the only father I’ve ever known.
I was born hated, feared, and shunned. I could have been killed as a child. Gideon stood between me and death.
“I have your back,” I say. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
35. Marbella Mercy
The morning after the wedding, there are no messages from the Elven Command about the final battle. I was expecting something already but Elise makes reassuring noises at me. “They’re bound to send word soon. In the meantime, we need to talk.”
She drops us into a sound bubble at the breakfast table. She hasn’t touched her food and neither have I. Anxiety builds inside me with every passing minute that we don’t hear from the Command.
I try not to look at the door for the thousandth time expecting a messenger to arrive. “What have you found out?”
Her forehead crinkles. “There have only been five deaths in the past month. It’s actually the least in terms of averages. Of those, four were elderly and their passing was expected. The fifth was a female who had been ill for some time; also expected.”
“None of the deaths were untimely?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well…” I grasp at straws. “What about disappearances? Deaths that might have been covered up?”
“I looked into those as well. There was one disappearance, but the female was found safe and well.”
“Then we’re no closer to figuring out the origins of the curse.” This is not the news that I need right now. I glance at the door again. I need to know about the final battle and I need to know who’s behind the curse. By the look of things, I’m not going to get either of those pieces of information any time soon.
Elise prods at her plate. She’s been slowly turning her eggs into mush as we talked. “The only thing I can think is... no… it’s not likely…”
“What Elise? I’ll take any information right now, even something unlikely.”
She drops her fork. It clatters against the side of her plate but she’s too distracted to notice. “What if the death hasn’t happened yet?”
“But… the final battle’s supposed to be tomorrow. That would mean someone has to die today.” I’m going to leap out of my skin now. If what she said is true then any minute now the curse could be completed and I have no way of knowing who is going to die so that I can stop it from happening. “The victim could be anyone.”
She chews her lip, momentarily silent, her gaze flashing around the room. My Storm Command is used to Elise and I having private conversations—and they’d expect us to have even more in the lead up to the fight—so they don’t pay us any attention. “Actually… I can’t be sure but… I think such a terrible curse would have to stem from a connection with the storm.”
“Then… someone in my Storm Command?” I stare at her, fear rising fast inside me. “Jordan? You?”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t know, but we need to remain vigilant. I’ll send word to Jordan to keep a look out for anything suspicious and to be on her guard. I think you need a Storm Commander sooner rather than later. Did you have anyone in mind?”
“Reisha Gild,” I say without hesitation.
“Okay then, I’ll make that happen. In the meantime, stay calm. This is all just maybes. We don’t know any of this for certain.” She’s back to her usual calm self and I’m incredibly grateful for the way she balances me out. My emotions are going haywire. The threat of losing Baelen is already tearing me apart. I can’t lose anyone else close to me. Even ‘maybe’ is too much possibility for me.
I spend the rest of the morning secretly watching over my Storm Command instead of them watching over me, keeping track of where each of them is at all times and whether any of them seems ill or different in any way. By the time we finish lunch, there’s still no word from the Elven Command and I’m way past edgy. The battle is supposed to be tomorrow. They didn’t take this long with any of the other trials.
When it’s time to subdue the storm, I take off at a run to the Storm Vault, my ladies shooting concerned glances at me, but keeping pace around me. Even Elise rushes beside me, not speaking. She knows I can’t make conversation right now.
Even without touching steel, I’m crackling at the edges. The lightning inside of me is being fed by my anxiety and it needs to find a way out or I’m going to explode.
When we get there, I race through the inner rooms, but I pause before entering the Vault itself. “Elise, I need you to go back out there. You need to watch over my Command and make sure nothing happens to them.”
“But, Princess… you need me here.”
“I’m fine. I’m not in danger, but they are. I need to know they’re safe and you’re the only one who knows there’s a threat. Go. Please.”
It’s clear she doesn’t want to leave me. Her entire life is built around protecting me, especially while I’m in the Storm Vault—she’s never left me while I’ve been subduing the storm. I say, “Please. I know you don’t want to leave me, but I need you to protect them.”
She bows her head. “Yes, Princess. I’ll make sure nothing happens.”
“Okay, I’ll be out as soon as I can.” I wait for her to leave and then I step into the Vault without another moment’s hesitation.
Lightning leaps straight to me, giant threads of it twisting around my torso and legs, hugging me close. There’s a hurricane brewing in the center of the room, the biggest I’ve ever seen. I step into it willingly and for the first time ever the wind can’t pick me up. The whirlwind blows from the right so I push back at it, both hands up at my side. It beats at me, whipping my hair across my face, but I don’t lose my footing, leaning into the wind. In fact, the pressure against my body soothes my frayed nerves as I push through, one step after the other, grateful for the release of energy inside me. Finally, I make it to the quiet center, but I pause before stepping out of the hurricane, not ready to face the silence yet.
Thunder booms overhead so loud it makes my bones rattle. I turn my back to the pounding wind and tilt my palms up, allowing lightning to trickle upward, wispy like smoke. The wind quickly rips it away. I listen carefully to the storm, hoping to hear it speak. It had tried so hard to say something to me yesterday.
Today, it remains silent.
I step into the quiet center, tilt my head back, and close my eyes, waiting for the rain. It doesn’t come. Too soon, the hurricane begins to die down, the wind faltering like the rain did yesterday.
“What’s wrong, Storm?”
I wait, listening, but it doesn’t answer. Maybe there’s nothing wrong. Maybe I’m just getting stronger and t
hat means I’m subduing it faster. I’m about to turn away from the quiet center and head through the dying hurricane again, when light suddenly streaks from above me, striking through the hurricane’s core. At the same time, the hurricane springs back into life.
A scream fills the air around me. It’s the Storm’s voice, shrieking like a wailing banshee: He’s here! He’s here and I can speak!
I crouch into a defensive position, ready for anything. “Who’s here?”
A wind tunnel splits off from the hurricane, the hissing sound forming the storm’s voice. It’s not me! It’s not my fault!
That’s what it said yesterday, but I have no idea what it’s talking about. I shout back at it, “Stop speaking to me in riddles!”
The wind tunnel whips around me, spinning from one spot to another. Somehow it avoids colliding with me while it says: I couldn’t see it before. I can only escape the Storm Vault when there’s a natural storm outside and even then, only a very small part of me can escape. I finally saw it two nights ago, but I couldn’t tell you. I tried so hard, but I can only speak when he’s here.
A fine mist of rain washes across my face and drips to the floor where I think my jaw is located right about now. That’s the most the Storm has ever spoken to me. Much of what it said doesn’t make sense, but the fact that it’s talking to me in sentences is, well, unexpected would be an understatement.
“There was a rain shower two nights ago,” I say, latching onto the only thing the storm said that makes sense.
A tiny part of me escaped and I saw her. She’s dying! She’s being killed for the curse.
Fear shoots through me like electricity, a thousand bolts of it. “Who’s dying? Tell me!”
The reverent one. The one before you. But it’s not my fault. I didn’t do it! I wanted to warn you, but I couldn’t speak…
Mai Reverie is dying!
I’m already running, pulling as much of the storm’s power to me as I race to the side of the Vault and yank open the door. I’ll need as much of the storm to fight whatever’s hurting Mai.
