Storm Princess Saga- the Complete Series

by Everly Frost

  Chicago.

  Earth’s surface.

  “There.” The Elven Commanders’ excitement makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Elwyn spins to Grayson. “Time to fly, Grayson.”

  I shiver as Grayson slides one arm around my waist from behind me, his other reaching for the knife, his big hand gently gliding down my arm before he pries the blade out of my cold fingers and drops it to the ground. He makes no move toward the older Commander, causing Elwyn to frown.

  Grayson kisses the side of my neck and whispers, “Not like this, Marbella.”

  He must be talking about the knife. Or the sky. Or the way we’re about to ascend. Or what… I don’t know. I’ve given up trying to figure him out.

  He sighs against my neck, holding me fast, unmoving, and says, “Tell me again how my mother died.”

  A confused frown grows on my forehead. “You didn’t kill her.”

  “Shh. Not you. Them.” He lifts his head, still cradling me, relaxed, as if he’s asking nothing important. “Elwyn?”

  A deep frown joins the wrinkles on Elwyn’s forehead. His mouth turns down. “You killed her when you were born.”

  “Hmm. Gideon told you that, didn’t he?”

  “It happened, Grayson. We were all there to see it. Now, let’s get on with it. The pathway won’t remain open forever.”

  “All of you were there. Right.” Grayson chews his lip, tilts his head, not budging. “Why were you all at my birth?”

  Elwyn falters. “Your mother had a vision of the Earth. You know that.”

  “Yes, but… what did that have to do with me? You are all very important people. Yet you took time out of your day to be there when I was born. Why?”

  “We…” Elwyn looks to Osian, clearly floundering.

  The big Commander clears his throat. “Her vision involved you.”

  “In what way?”

  Osian licks his lips. “The pathway… isn’t easy to get through. It looks like the surface is right there in front of us, but we are two miles under the surface.”

  Grayson nods, still holding me. “You need me to transport you. I guess my mother saw that too?”

  Osian pauses. “She did.”

  “Did she tell you her vision willingly? Or under force?”

  Above us on the ceiling, the image of the city fades at the edges, the rock face reappearing as a ring around it. It’s a slow transition, barely a few inches, but it’s visible.

  It’s closing.

  Elwyn turns angry red, increasingly agitated. “Grayson, keep your eye on the prize. The city is right there! You’ll have a new life. You can start fresh. You’ll even have Marbella. Now, why don’t we—”

  “No! We aren’t leaving until you tell me the truth.”

  Elwyn glances at the ceiling. The opening is still wide, but smaller than it was. Whatever placating response he was going to give disappears as another three inches of rock appear around the edges. He strides right up to Grayson. “Take us there. Now.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I will compel you.”

  Grayson carefully untangles himself from me, nudging me out of Elwyn’s way. “You can’t.”

  Osian advances on Grayson too, both Commanders standing much closer than I expected. Grayson returns their threatening glares with one of his own. “Be warned: I’m not cloaked.”

  Osian retorts, “We know.”

  Without hesitation, his hand shoots out to take hold of Grayson’s arm. Elwyn grips the other, his fingers like claws around Grayson’s bicep.

  I brace, expecting them to burst into flames like Baelen did, hoping they will.

  They don’t. Their mouths split into wide, malevolent grins.

  They haven’t… died.

  Grayson’s shock is palpable. It fills every angle of his body, confused and alarmed. I jolt backward, plastering up against the wall as he retaliates against them, pushing, using his power to fling them both back against the opposite wall. Priscilla shrieks as they crack against it, scrambling away from the fight. She already used up most of her sorcery fighting me. It will only take one blow to finish her.

  The older Commanders fight back, flinging light in the shape of crimson arrowheads into Grayson’s chest. His cry of pain tells me that they are fighting with a different kind of sorcery now—not death, because they don’t want to kill him—but torture. He roars, shakes, his arms still outstretched, trying but failing to keep them away from him.

  Elwyn finds his feet, pushing through Grayson’s opposing force. “The pain will stop when you take us up. Not before.”

  Grayson gasps a breath. “How are you… still alive?”

  Elwyn’s face lights up with cruelty. “Your mother didn’t tell anyone that your father was a gargoyle. In fact, she tried very hard not to tell us anything. We found out when you were born.”

  Osian snarls, “You were a freak!”

  “An elf… with wings!” Elwyn twists his hands midair and the arrowheads in Grayson’s chest turn to and fro, making him roar with pain. His knees buckle but he refuses to kneel.

  Elwyn says, “Dirty… filthy… gargoyle wings.”

  Osian sneers, “We cut off your wings.”

  Elwyn forces his way back to Grayson, his gnarled features cast in crimson light from the arrowheads. “Then we cursed you to kill what you touch.”

  “And told everyone you were half a gargoyle,” Osian says, looming over Grayson now too. “So you would never know any kindness.”

  I stare, wide-eyed, at the Elven Commanders, shocked by what they’re saying. Even I never imagined the depth of their betrayal. How far they’d gone to get here. To control Grayson.

  Elwyn laughs. “You can’t kill us. We’re the ones who cursed you.”

  Grayson roars out his pain. “Who did you kill for the power to curse me?”

  Elwyn gloats. “Gideon killed your mother. I killed your father. Pedr killed the healer. And Osian killed your baby sister.”

  Pain, not physical, floods Grayson’s face. He drops to his knees, broken, head tilted back to the ceiling. He exhales a moan of the deepest pain I’ve ever heard, tears leaking from his eyes.

  “Give in, Grayson. Take us up. Then all your pain can be over.”

  Grayson’s chest rises and falls. His chin drops to the runes lining his collarbone. He is beaten, empty, but he whispers, “Run while you can, Marbella. Take Baelen and get out of here. They can’t ascend without me and I won’t live much longer.” His eyes meet mine while he ignores Elwyn and Osian’s snarls. “You can beat them. You always could. Don’t show them mercy.”

  “Grayson…” My hands drop to my sides. I didn’t realize I’d flung them out in front of me, prepared to use my power. I brush Cassian’s bone lash: my only non-magical weapon.

  My resolve hardens. “Grayson… You should know by now… I don’t run from anything.”

  Anger rushes hot and strong through me. My Lightsworn power flashes bright sapphire—it is my skill in battle. I snatch Cassian’s bone lash off the hook on my belt and take a step into position as it unravels with a snap. The lash snakes out, straight and true, singing past Grayson, wrapping around Elwyn Elder’s neck. I spin and rip and the deadly tip does its work.

  Elwyn’s head tumbles across the ground.

  Priscilla screams. Osian freezes, panic spreading fast.

  The arrowheads fall from Grayson’s chest and he inhales a free breath, dropping forward, shivers still racking his body.

  My focus now is Osian who roars at me, eyes wild, as I advance on him as if he can stop me by shouting at me. He flings a death bolt at me but I absorb it and keep walking.

  Four paces is all it takes.

  Osian’s lips draw back. His teeth are bared. “You will not kill me.”

  “This is for Indira. And Grayson’s sister. And everyone else you hurt or killed.” I force my palm against his chest and release Incorruptible.

  Osian screams as his bones light up and blinding,
pure light courses through him, burning him from the inside out. I stride through the dust that remains. Priscilla is the only one left now. She’s already running, but not away. She races toward Indira, sliding to a stop at the edge of the water.

  Her hair flies around her as she shouts wildly at us. “Stay back! Or I will drown her.”

  I pause, drawing on Lightsworn to help me strategize. Indira is still frozen, vulnerable. Priscilla has probably already cursed her. If Priscilla forces Indira below the surface, then I need to end her before Indira runs out of air. I will have precious seconds…

  Grayson rises to his feet, rolling his shoulders, easing out the residual pain he must be feeling. He shakes his head at Priscilla. He sounds tired, resigned. “Enough, Priscilla.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re a traitor! You’re a… filthy gargoyle!”

  I sense Grayson harness his power a moment before he disappears. The sound chokes in Priscilla’s throat as he reappears right beside her. In a flash, he catches hold of her wrist and she screams and tries to lurch away from him, but he holds on tight. Her scream dies as she realizes… she’s still alive. “But… you’re not cloaked.”

  “Curses die with their makers. You know that. Now…” He releases her wrist to run both his hands across her face, drawing her forehead against his, breathing slowly, trying to calm her. He’s as close to begging her as he can get. “Please, let it be enough.”

  She’s breathing hard, shivering, gripping his shoulders. “I chose to be a killer, Grayson. I’m not like you. I never hated it. I had a choice and I made it years ago. I need the power. I like it. I won’t stop killing. You can’t make me—”

  A blast of light flashes between them.

  Priscilla goes limp in Grayson’s arms and he catches her… pulls her close, slides to his knees holding her, gently supporting her lifeless head and neck as he gathers her up against his chest. Her hair falls across his lap as he strokes it, staring at nothing. He doesn’t say anything as he sits with her.

  He is quiet and still for a long, long time.

  I wait for him to feel whatever he needs to feel. To think whatever he needs to think. Elyria told me that Grayson had to fall if we were going to survive. I’m not sure how literal her vision was, but I decide this is close enough.

  Above me, the entrance to Earth’s surface finally closes. The clear blue sky, the skyscraper, and the droning hum of mechanical engines fades and disappears. I wonder what it’s like up there: if humans have to fight for their families, their loved ones, fight to protect them like we have to. Somehow, I think they probably do. Maybe not with swords and magic, but it’s a battle still the same.

  Across the distance, cocooned in my whirlwind, Baelen waits for me to release him. I press my lips together to try to quell all the emotions I feel as he contemplates me, the look on his face telling me that he loves me, the lifting of one corner of his mouth pulling me toward him because… he seriously can’t give me that look when I’m not in his arms.

  I breathe out all of the fear I felt for him, exhaling it from my body, and then I breathe out all the emptiness I made myself feel, promising myself I will never do that again. I release the whirlwind at the same time, allowing him to touch ground. But as I walk toward him, he lifts his hand cautiously: wait.

  Grayson rises to his feet, carefully holding Priscilla, his fingers tangled in her hair and her face pressed against his chest. His voice is hollow. “I’m going to disappear for a moment, but I will be back very soon and I would appreciate if you don’t… view my return with suspicion. I will not harm you.”

  I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean or what he intends to do, but I nod. “You have always been true to your word.”

  “Thank you.” He’s gone as quickly as he speaks.

  That’s when I run to Baelen. He pulls me into a fierce hug, his lips finding mine. “Marbella, don’t do that to me ever again.”

  “Never,” I promise him.

  As soon as I crash into him, everything unfreezes around us. It takes Indira two seconds to assess the danger and find us alone and safe. She rushes to the edge of the water and sloshes out of the springs, dripping beside us. Even though the Elven Commanders are gone, she is pale and afraid. “Osian Valor hurt Erit. Badly.” She winds her hands together in front of her chest, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if my husband is alive.”

  A blast of air whips around us as Grayson reappears. He is crouched, holding the wrists of two gargoyle males who appear beside him, both lying on their sides, bloodied, barely breathing.

  Indira screams into action. “Erit! Llion!”

  Grayson barely glances up. “There are more,” he says, before he disappears again.

  I take one look at Baelen. He says, “I’ll get them into the springs.”

  “Keep their heads above the surface. If there are more, we’ll need help.” I wait only long enough for Baelen to carry Erit into the water, handing him to Indira. Then I race to the entrance of the springs, calling for the Grievous and Hideaway gargoyles.

  Bethany is the first to respond. “Supreme Incorruptible!”

  “Quickly, I need at least ten of you. Injured gargoyles are being transported here and we need to help them into the springs.”

  In a flash the rock wall comes alive and ten females glide to the ground, following me inside with several of the Hideaway males.

  Bethany speaks firmly to Baelen as she slips into the water and takes over helping Llion. “I will take him. He is Grievous after all.”

  Baelen doesn’t argue, returning to the edge of the water to wait for more wounded gargoyles. When Grayson returns with Welsian and two members of my Storm Command, Baelen immediately carries them into the water with help from the Hideaway males while the Grievous females hold them safely until they heal.

  Before Grayson disappears again, I touch his arm. “Have they stopped fighting?”

  He focuses on a point past my shoulder. “The war is ended. The elves are returning home to wait for their new Queen’s orders.”

  He slips out of my hold. “There are more, Marbella.”

  I step back. “Of course.”

  Grayson comes and goes and I lose count of the number of times he appears and disappears. Erit and Llion are healed. So are my Storm Command and Welsian. After the most badly wounded have been saved, Grayson brings those who are beaten and bloodied, but not at death’s door. After that, he brings the ones with cuts and bruises. As soon as each is healed, one of the Hideaway gargoyles flies them away, taking them to their loved ones, then returns to help transport the next one.

  Indira and Erit are the first to leave. She pulls me into a hug, telling me, “I’m going to bawl my eyes out now and you’d better not tell anyone about it.”

  The hours churn on. Baelen and I and the Grievous females keep working to make sure nobody is left unhealed. By the time Grayson staggers to the far corner of the springs and drops to the ground exhausted, nearly two hundred gargoyles and a hundred elves have been saved.

  Bethany helps the last gargoyle from the water, gives me a tired nod, and tells me she will see me at the Royal Residence. Baelen brushes the hair from my face, kisses my tired lips, and says he’ll wait outside with the Phoenix until I’m ready. He knows I have one last thing to do.

  I approach Grayson with caution, not because I’m afraid of him, but because I don’t want to force him to speak if he doesn’t want to. He found out so much about his past today: the truth about the death of his whole family, that the people he trusted were the ones who killed them, the fact that he had wings and lost them.

  He rises to his feet as I approach, steadying himself by planting one hand against the wall. “Marbella Mercy,” he says, stopping me in my tracks. He contemplates me, his gaze traveling from my headpiece to my disheveled hair to my tired eyes. The golden runes across his chest glow in the soft Elyria light.

  “Yes, Grayson?”

  He looks me in the eye. “Now we are no longer en
emies.”

  I respond, softly, “Agreed.”

  He falters. “I don’t… know how to be around people.”

  I choose my words carefully. “Neither did I. But I think you’ll find that… your people—the gargoyles—are incredibly tolerant of new and unique friends.”

  I gesture to the front entrance, inviting him to come with me. “Please?”

  He shakes his head. “I think it’s better if I disappear for a while. I have to figure things out.”

  “If that’s what you need to do.”

  He gives me a solemn nod and then he’s gone.

  38. Marbella Mercy

  We bury our dead the next day. I declare a week of mourning so that all of the fallen gargoyles and elves can be properly buried and mourned. I lay my five fallen ladies to rest on the crest of the mountain beside Cassian. On that same spot, I also bury Badenoch. My wise and kind friend had flown from the safety of the cavern he was hidden inside and taken the death bolt that Osian Valor had intended for Elise. His children stand beside me, heads bowed, as we lower his body into the earth. Now they have lost both their parents.

  I don’t have enough tears.

  The day after we bury Badenoch, I make my way with the old Priestess Dorothea to the highest room in the Royal Residence where the Queen’s journal waits. It is mine to write in now. Dorothea hands me a quill and ink and leaves me to choose my words. The pages will turn the color of my life as soon as I write my name on them.

  My hand moves across the page: Marbella Mercy.

  A gentle lilac spreads across the page like ink through water—the color of my heartstone. Then a crimson red grows in the middle of the page, unfolding like a rose, spreading outward—the color of the Rath Heartstone. But they’re both quickly followed by pristine white that bleaches the page clean again, the same color as Incorruptible’s life. I guess I am a little of all of them.

  I start at the beginning, from the day I became the Storm Princess, and I write about everything that happened since, writing long into the night about taming the Storm, about my Storm Command, the marriage trials, Baelen’s near death, my heartbreak, mining with the gargoyles and fighting with them, finding the heartstones, fighting Howl and losing Cassian, everything Grayson said and did, the war… until Baelen appears in the doorway, filling it with his massive body as I stifle a powerful yawn. He doesn’t tell me to come to bed, simply gathers me up in his arms and carries me there.