by Melle Amade
“It doesn’t mean he should die,” she insists.
“You’ve been inside?” Zan asks, giving me a look that lets me know she thinks I should shut up. I clamp my mouth down. If all my friends are willing to work with her, I shouldn’t argue the point.
“I got a visitor’s pass last month,” she says. “And visited him on the same trip when I went to Iowa to see about the chalice.”
“But then you’ve only been to the public areas,” I grumble. “I don’t see how that’s going to help us.”
She looks me dead in the eye. “The place is overcrowded and he said he’s being held in the temporary cells where they place transient prisoners.”
“Which is where they would put Shae’s dad,” Callum nods.
“Exactly,” Iona says. “And it’s here.” Her finger jabs forward at the screen, pointing to the lowest level of the prison.
18
The kitchen of the plantation looks like it’s stepped right out of the pages of the history books. Is if carriages and balls just happened last night. Porcelain plate lined the walls, a frilled floor lamp stands in the corner. Wooden countertops full of large baskets of fruit and bread and canisters of flour and sugar are everywhere as Thomas bustles around with an apron over his suit, making sure we’re fed. I’m not used to getting a lot of respect everywhere we go, but here where the crocodiles reign, where Mubarak has lived since the days on the Nile...well his care and concern for us, his hospitality, is remarkable. Considering we’re really just a bunch of sixteen-year-old kids. Except we’ve been through so much, even now.
“This arrived for you,” Lord Mubarak says casually to Aiden, sliding a pristine white envelope across the table.
Aiden frowns as everyone at the table goes still.
“How does anyone know we’re here?” Callum asks sternly.
Lord Mubarak leans back in his chair expansively as he gnaws on a chicken leg. “I told you, boy,” he says, “consider this Switzerland.”
Aiden tears open the envelop with a single deft rip. “We are invited to lunch tomorrow at Luke’s,” he says. “With El Oso.”
My fork clatters to the ground, but no one else seems particularly shocked. “You can’t go,” I say.
Iona looks at me impassively. “He has to. Clearly the Order knows we’re here, so we must show up on their command. That’s what swearing fealty is about.”
“You told them!” I accuse Mubarak.
“I did not,” his teeth crush the chicken bone and he sucks on the marrow.
“It doesn’t matter,” Zan says. “He has to go.”
“We have to go,” Aiden says. “Callum, Zan and Iona included.”
“I’ll stay back,” Iona says. “You can tell them I’m sick.”
She and Callum exchange a look. It seems like he might argue with her, but in the end he nods. “Agreed.”
“Can I get a word with you?” Aiden asks me quietly. Even though he leans towards me over the corner of the kitchen table, I know there’s no keeping secrets in a room full of shifters. I don’t bother to look at Zan or Roman, who dig into biscuits and gravy and chicken like it’s their last meal.
“Of course,” I say, with no idea what the word is about, but hoping it’s nothing that will upset the emotional balance of my relationship with Callum. Aiden will always be the perfect guy to me. The perfect guy who I know deep in my heart is not mine, but somehow, I kind of want him anyhow. Even though Callum is the one who I know is mine and who it makes sense for me to be with.
Aiden stands up, his chair scraping sharply against the polished floor.
Right.
He wants to meet now. I stand up to and I look down at the table, wishing I could grab a couple more biscuits, but you hardly stuff your face and talk to the Heir at the same time. Instead, I grab a handful of bright green grapes and quickly start eating them as I follow him out the double French doors onto the terrace.
The swamp is quiet and still in the morning, creating not a movement or sound. The air is already hot and heavy, even though the sun is only just peeking over the trees. Aiden leads me past the rocking chair and well away from the kitchen. He leans against the railing at the far end of the terrace, staring out into the swamp.
I stand there awkwardly looking at the chaise lounge, but a little too anxious to sit. And leaning against the rail would be a little bit too much like mimicking his behavior. So instead I just stand there, trying not to look like I’m about to run away. I slip my hands into my jean pockets
“What’s up?” I ask, horrified when my voice squeaks and it becomes apparent I’m nervous to talk to one of my best friends.
When am I ever going to get over that? I wonder. It didn’t used to be like this with us. We used to just sit casually for hours up in the tree house, hanging out and relaxing. But things haven’t been very chill lately.
He turns to me and steps away from the railing, coming slowly towards me, holding out his hands. “Give me your hands,” he murmurs, his voice low as he stands within a foot of me. The air around him smells of sea, spruce, and clouds. It’s as if, even now on the ground, he is flying high above the world and mastering all of it. I take a deep breath and slowly reach my hands up to him, palms down. But he takes my hand in his, into the heat and warmth that rise from his hand and bring lightness to my spirit. There is an inherent feeling with Aiden that I will always be taken care of. Even if I am not his, even if he has other people and other things to take care of, I am one of his people and he will always provide for me.
I just have to remind myself sometimes that he will also provide for everybody else. It is his role in our world.
He twists my hands, turning them over so they face upwards. Then he reaches over with his thumbs, rubbing them slowly in circles in the center of my palms. I hold my breath, hoping so much he is not making a move on me. I glance nervously over my shoulder, looking towards the kitchen. But Aiden’s low voice brings me back around to gaze up into his golden-brown eyes.
“Does it hurt when it burns?” He asks.
I frown, jerking my head slightly.
He’s asking about the flames.
Of course, it’s about the flames. He’s not looking for more romantic difficulties. He just wants to find out about the fire.
“No,” I say, shaking my head slowly so he understands it’s true. “It’s more of a deep heat here.” I blush as I move my hand down to just below my stomach. But it seems like this is the question he wants answered.
He glances down at my stomach but he doesn’t bring his hand to it.
“I’ve been asking my father about the rain,” he says. “And what it feels like.”
I’m struck with curiosity. I’ve never actually spoken to Lydia or Jacqueline or Lord Van Arend about what their experience as a Thunder Being feels like. But now, I want to know.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“Well ever since he was healed, he has been nervous to create rain.”
The thunderbird was dormant in Lord Van Arend’s line for years. It was only when Aiden was threatened by Murtagh and locked up and he desperately needed the rain that he was able to bring it back again. He brought the rains down over Topanga and saved the town and rescued us from the Murtagh’s rebellious Ravensgaard. But it nearly killed him bringing the rains. It was only through the help and near-death of Lydia that we were able to save Lord Van Arend.
“Has he tried to bring the rain at all?”
“He practices it in small bits and pieces,” Aiden says. “But it’s not something he wants to do on a massive scale anymore. At least not soon. He talks about going back up to see Lydia to see what she can help him with, but I think we’re all a little nervous about that, too. We have enough problems, we don’t want to draw any unneeded attention to the village.”
I nod my head in complete agreement with him. Any breach of the village will destroy my family more than it already is.
“I want to do it,” Aiden says. “If my father can do it,
I must be able to. Nobody really knows how you are able to make fire, but it must be in your blood, it must be part of you, and I want to bring it into my life also.”
“I thought it was just something passed down by bloodline. So, does your dad have to pass it to you?”
“I was talking to Mubarak before lunch and he believes it isn’t necessary,” Aiden says. “He says everything is possible. If that’s the case, I’d like to try. But I don’t want to do it alone. I would like your help.”
I frown. “What about the others? You need everybody, not just me.”
“I don’t want the others to know if I fail.” He says. “Because there’s a chance it could fail.”
I frown. “What happens if you fail?”
“I don’t know, but there’s a priestess in the swamp. Mubarak said he would send a guide with us to go to her. If I have any latent powers, she can awake them.”
My eyes open wide. “And what if she can’t?” I ask. “What will happen then?”
“I don’t know,” Aiden says.
“Aiden, don’t you think we should maybe wait on this?” I ask. “Maybe we should just, you know, wait for a period of time until it passes naturally from your father to you?” I’m reaching at straws here, trying to find a way to explain it to him that doesn’t put me out in the swamp with an unknown priestess doing some sort of ritual where we could potentially get the Heir killed.
But the look in his eye is intense as he reaches over to me. “No,” he says. “I have been called to El Oso. If we are going to defeat him, if we’re going to get your father back and change the course of the Muiderkrings, we have to do this. I have to do this.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to risk your life. I have fire already, we have enough power to go against El Oso.”
“You don’t know that Why take the risk? Why risk all of us when we can go in there with greater power?” He asks.
“But why take yourself out before we even have a chance to attempt a battle against El Oso? What if it doesn’t work? What if we end up having to go to battle without you?”
“That’s not going to happen, Shae,” he says. “Please. I need you with me. Mubarak said it would be good to have another Thunder Being present. You’re the only one here. I can order you to do it if I have to, but I would much prefer if you came willingly.”
“That’s unfair,” I say.
“I am asking for your help.” Aiden says. “So I can help you and our people.”
As I stand there looking up into his eyes I realize there’s really no other option. He’s not going to take no for an answer. I could force him to command me to do this, which, alternately, would be harder for both of us to bear.
I bow my head, letting it sink slowly as I nod. “Okay,” I say. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
.
19
“Why does it look like some creepy horror film?” I ask as we approach the dock.
A fat yellow moon is out and the crocodile sentries of the plantation are sitting guard, but other than that, it’s me and Aiden stepping into a rickety old boat in the swamp in the dark of night with some disturbing old boat guy dressed in a black cloak, who’s going to paddle us out to some undoubtedly gloomy place where some mysterious priestess reigns.
I’m definitely not convinced this is a good idea.
But I take a deep breath and do it anyway. I guess somebody’s got to go with Aiden to protect him. The others have all gone into town. Aiden sent them to recon the place where they’re meeting El Oso tomorrow and to review the entries to the prison. For a moment, I thought he would have to give them the commanding voice.
But he didn’t have to.
Callum hadn’t even looked suspicious. I wasn’t sure if I should take it as a compliment that we completely trust each other, or an insult because he didn’t care enough to be jealous. He had given me a kiss before he left, in plain view of everybody, so I guess that was something.
The boat sways and bobs slightly as I step into it. But Aiden grabs my hand to steady us.
“Can’t we just fly?” I ask.
But he shakes his head. “The crocodiles don’t have birds,” he says. “And the Priestess doesn’t want anyone to have an aerial view of where she is. It’s deep in the swamp, and the only way to truly get there is if you know exactly where you’re going. The low overhanging trees would make it impossible to spy from the air.”
“But we’re allowed to fly out of here if anything goes wrong?” I ask. “Right?”
“You may be surprised,” Aiden says, sitting down across from me as the oarsman steps in and the little boat sinks even lower to the water’s edge. “But the answer to your question is yes. We have permission to fly out of here if everything goes to shit.”
The way he tilts his head and lifts his mouth almost makes me want to roll my eyes.
“There’s no need to be smart,” I say. “I’m just trying to make sure we are all safe and we don’t break any rules. The crocodiles look a lot more badass than we are.”
“Right. There is that,” Aiden agrees.
The swamp is alive with noise of animals slithering through the water and the trees, and the occasional call of some night bird or shriek of animal. It’s strangely comforting to me. It reminds me of being in Topanga and walking up the canyon at night, when all the night animals come out. It’s the same here, only with water.
But as the boat slides deeper into the darkness of the swamp, it becomes more and more still. First, one animal sounds and then another call slowly fades and disappears until finally we are enveloped in silence and there is nothing but the gentle splash of the oars sliding into the water as the prow of the low-lying boat slips through the swampy murk.
Aiden and I sit across from each other on the boat, balanced carefully and I don’t dare move in case the boat tips over. Part of me would love to be sitting right next to him, just feel the comfort of his heat.
I know if anything happens to the oarsman, we’re going to have to fly our way out of here, but I have no idea where we are. The boat has gone down so many small channels I would never be able to find our way out of here. So instead I sit quietly, holding my hands together in my lap, making sure not to spark a fire in my hands to draw any attention, even though I would love some light and warmth about now. But I have no idea if the oarsman knows anything about my Thunder Being nature, and I’m not about to test it now. If he were to freak out on us, we would be in a whole heap of trouble out here.
The moss-covered oak trees hang low, the branches covering a canal that we turn onto. Everything is almost completely black and it’s hard to imagine the oarsman can even see his way through the shadowy space. But we keep gliding farther and farther into the shadows and I’m looking around desperately, trying to see where we’re going, but I can’t.
Until suddenly there’s a dim light which surprises me, because it’s a lot closer than I would’ve thought. We must’ve come around a tree or a bush or a corner or something that I had no idea was there. Suddenly there’s a rickety old hut on stilts, with three pale lights beaming from the front.
“This is the kind of place people get murdered in,” I say to Aiden.
He reaches over and grabs my hand, giving it a warm squeeze.
I can tell he’s excited. He has known of the Thunderbird magic his whole life. He saw his father do it. I’m sure in this moment he is thrilled at the idea that he might gain this ability also.
But as much as I wouldn’t want to tell him, the truth is I am scared. Because what if this fails and what if he dies?
There is a small jetty that leads out from the dark and a few dim lights cast a pale-yellow glow onto the jetty. The oarsman doesn’t say a word, he just pulls the small boat up against the rickety boards of the dock and stands there as we disembark. I stand hesitantly on the jetty, but he motions us towards the shack.
I take a deep breath and Aiden and I move in unison towards it.
>
The unstable old stairs have no handhold and they rock underfoot as we edge up through the mist. Aiden steps up in front of me and then reaches back to hold my hand as we make our way towards the shack.
The door is propped open as if we are already expected. Aiden’s steps slow but they do not stop and he reaches his hand forward and pushes the door open stepping through. I’m right on his back because I want to make sure he doesn’t go in there alone. I want to make sure he’s safe. We find ourselves standing in a dark room full of a red-orange glow and a woman sits quietly in a chair that looks almost like a throne. It’s made of wood and hanging moss, as if she had collected the pieces and carefully carved them over a period of time into a structure to perfectly befit a swamp priestess. But this priestess is nothing like you would expect. Out here, I would’ve thought we would be meeting at crone witch of terrifying proportions, dressed in black and deep purple or some other menacing color, but this woman is dressed all in white. She has dark skin and dark hair, which is all pulled back and piled on her head. It cascades out of a loose bun into tresses that flow around her ears. Her teeth shine bright in the darkness because her mouth is open in a welcoming grin.
“So, you have come, Heir,” she says. “Exactly like the bones have told.”
I look a little askance. “Weren’t you told by Mubarak we were coming?” I ask.
Her eyes turn to me, gaze stern. “Being a Thunder Being does not give you the right to be dismissive.”
I retreat a bit, put in my place. But her look is not evil or vindictive, it is just a reprimand.
She motioned us towards two cushions sitting on the floor in front of her throne. That’s one way to exert power over someone, Have them sit at your feet. But Aiden does it, so who am I to question? I sit next to him.
“Is this going to work?” I ask.
This time Aiden looks at me sharply, but I can’t help the nervousness giggle that comes out of my mouth.
“It is up to neither me, nor the spirits to make this work,” the priestess says. “It is up to him.” She directs her attention to Aiden
