Rage--A Stormheart Novel

by Cora Carmack

  So Aurora stepped around him and into the open. The flickering of the light grew stronger as she met Zephyr’s gaze, and she pulled the leather down enough that the skyfire branching out beneath her skin became visible to the woman.

  “You can trust my word because I am not like the other Stormlings. I am what happens when the magic of a spirit witch combines with the lineage of a Stormling.”

  For the first time since they had met, Zephyr looked uncomfortable, perhaps bordering on afraid. She did not look away from the storm that resided in Aurora’s chest as she said, “You—you are like him? Like the man outside the gates?”

  “Not like him, no. But I can do what he can do. I can call a storm to do my bidding if I so choose.”

  Her jaw slack, Zephyr shook her head and asked, “Then why do you need me? Why bother with the rebellion at all? Just go in and take your kingdom.”

  “As I said, I am not like the man outside our gates. I have no wish to cause destruction, no wish to bring another unneeded death upon this city. I want to protect it. See it thrive in safety and freedom. If this becomes an all-out fight between my magic and the Stormlord’s with the Locke family in between, I am not sure anything or anyone would survive. I don’t know the answer yet, but I know throwing another storm into the sky is not it.”

  Zephyr stared at her for a long moment, hesitated, then took a step closer, leaning to peer closer at her chest. “So, that’s skyfire then? Inside you?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. It’s the soul of a skyfire storm I took in the wildlands.” Aurora kept her chin up, and hoped none of the residual anguish from that experience showed on her face. She might be telling her secrets, but that did not mean she wanted to show all her vulnerabilities. “For another hunter, it would have produced a Stormheart. But for me, because I carry the power of a spirit witch, things … happened differently.”

  “And do you carry other storms too?”

  Aurora heard Kiran shift behind her, and somehow knew he was moving closer. She could feel the nearness of him the way moisture collected in the air after it rained. “Not in the same way,” Aurora answered. “But I can call any storm I wish with the use of a Stormheart.”

  “Interesting,” Zephyr muttered. “So, if we needed a particular kind of storm magic, you could call that storm and control it long enough for one of your hunter friends to collect significant supplies?”

  Aurora considered the idea. “The storm would draw attention, of course. But if we could get outside of the city, into the wildlands, then yes. Yes, I could get you whatever you needed, provided we had a Stormheart for me to use for the summoning.”

  “Good. Then fasten yourself up, and let’s get you and your mother hidden away before it’s time to open. I don’t want you taken away before we have the chance to make use of your skills.”

  Relief rushed through Aurora, followed closely by the exhaustion that had been gnawing at her since she had used her magic in the palace. Zephyr led them up two sets of stairs, Kiran following behind again with her mother. She showed them up into a loft area that overlooked both the first and second floors, and placed them in a room connected to her office with a soft bed covered in silken sheets and thick, warm blankets. Aurora saw her mother settled, then seated herself on a plush sofa nearby, sinking immediately into the cushions with a barely contained groan.

  “I could use some help getting things ready downstairs if any of you are willing,” Zephyr said.

  Ransom volunteered. Bait and Sly made plans to return to the inn to fill in Duke, who would no doubt be worrying about their long absence. As the group began to filter out, Zephyr stopped at the door, wrapping her knuckles softly on the frame.

  “If you need anything, send Kiran down. You just stay out of sight, Princess.”

  Aurora did not know when it had been decided that Kiran would be staying with her. Frankly, she was too tired to argue. And she was not sure she would, even if she were fully rested. It had been too long since they had been in the same room alone. Too long since she had been able to just look at him. She wanted that, even if it was not wise.

  Zephyr continued, “And thank you, for trusting me with your truth.” Then the water witch was gone, along with all the others, and the door closed, leaving her alone in the quiet with the man who broke her heart and a mother who might never wake.

  * * *

  Kiran leaned back against the door, keeping his distance. That was the safest thing to do, really. If he crossed the room like he wanted to, he would begin by checking Aurora over, because he itched to be certain that she was well. And if he did that, if he touched her, he would want to keep touching her, and he would not be able to remember all the reasons it was a bad idea for them to be together. He would forget all the ways in which he was wrong for her, and she for him, and he would offer himself up in any way she would have him—as friend or comforter or lover, whatever she asked.

  So instead he concentrated on the feel of his shoulder blades pressing into the door, and he watched. She removed the heavy hood that covered her hair, along with the high-necked leather brace that hid her secret. He understood why she had told Zephyr, but that did not make him any more comfortable. She did not see herself the way he saw her. She was constantly throwing herself into the midst of things—willing to be the shield for others—but she did not know how easily she could be made a martyr, or a pawn, or a commodity to trade. She was not as naive as she had been when they first met, but she still always assumed the best of people, of this world. Kiran knew better. And he knew it would demolish him if something happened to her because he did not protect her when he could have.

  But where did he draw the line between guarding her from harm and guarding himself from her? For there was nothing for him in her world except pain; he knew that with the utmost certainty. As she shook out her starlight hair and stretched her tired limbs, he wondered if he was past the point of caring. Did he really think he could leave her one day? Even if she regained her crown, if the Lockes were removed and the Stormlord no longer a threat, could he walk away and leave her to live a life with him nowhere in it?

  He was not sure. He could not imagine himself doing that any more than he could imagine himself staying while she drifted farther and farther away, out of his world and back into hers. There were only impossible choices left to him. He had never been one to contemplate the future. With the life he led, it was better to assume you did not have one, live each day as it came.

  Aurora was the first to speak. With her hands folded in her lap and her head down, she said, “I know you must hate me.”

  Kiran stood frozen, the muscles of his shoulders bunching even tighter. The only thing he hated was that he did not know how to act around her anymore. He wanted to reassure her, but he worried if he said more than a few words at a time his heart might come tumbling out after. He might tell her of the way he lay awake at night thinking about her, how he could close his eyes and recall the exact color of her eyes, and the curve of her chin, and the way her nose tipped up ever so slightly at the end. He would just keep going until he turned inside out from wanting her.

  So he fell back on old habits, and asked his own question, rather than providing an answer. “Why would I?”

  “Because…” Her voice shook slightly. “Because Jinx.” Her shoulders trembled, and she buried her face into her hands, and he was across the room before he even realized his shoulders had left the door.

  He crouched down in the space between her and the bed, but did not move to touch her. “She made her own decision to accompany you into the palace. I have known Jinx a long time, and she does not do anything she does not wish to do. She knew the risk, and she went anyway.”

  “For me,” Aurora whispered, lifting her head. Pools of tears made the light blue of her eyes look almost incandescent. “She took the risk for me. You must wish I had never walked into the Eye.”

  Did he wish that?

  Maybe. Or rather … a part of him wanted to wis
h that. He wanted to be able to go back to his old life, to slip away into the wilds as if nothing had changed, and be content as he had been before, if not entirely happy.

  But now … goddess, he knew he would find nothing but misery in the wilds. He could not even remember what being content felt like anymore. There was only this chasm that existed in the space between being with her and without her. She had stretched him beyond what he had thought himself capable of, and now the world was brighter and bigger and more dangerous, but sweeter too, and once a life had been expanded as his had been, he did not think it could be shrunk down to what it once was.

  But the guilt she felt? That … that was something he knew intimately. And he knew how to deal with it too.

  He stood, squaring off in front of her. She had to lean back into the sofa to see him, and when she did, her eyes had gone wide and wary, as if she was waiting for him to pronounce some terrible punishment.

  “Are you one of us?” Kiran asked.

  “What?” Her head tilted slightly, wide eyes blinking.

  “Are you one of us? Our crew? Would you fight by our side if we needed it? Would you provide help if we asked? Would you risk yourself for one of us?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “Then why would I hate you? You could have died at any moment you were with us. There are a thousand ways to die in the wildlands. Attacked by an animal. A fever. Bandits. Not to mention the storms. We take risks. It is what we do. And all of us are prepared for the day one of those risks does not pay off. Jinx made a choice, and this time the risk won out.”

  “How can you be so casual about this? I thought Jinx was like family to you.”

  “Close to,” Kiran affirmed. “My point is … accepting the bad days is part of being a hunter. If each of us held on to the blame every time something went wrong in the wilds, we would never make it past a city gate again.”

  “But we are not in the wilds.”

  “That’s true. But it’s also not over. You said you are one of us. There will come a time to get her back. I do not know when. And I do not know how. But I know we will keep going until we figure it out, and I know you will be right there beside us, novie. And that is all I need to know.”

  Kiran finished his speech with his arms folded, and with her in his peripheral vision. His heart thumped unsteadily as he waited for her to respond. Normally, he knew how to lead his team, knew how to soothe the fears of a conflicted novice, but things were so much more complex with Aurora.

  “It seems you know a great deal more than me,” Aurora said, with a hiccup of a laugh. Kiran turned quickly, unsure if he had offended her, but she was … smiling, albeit tentatively, her eyes still red with worry.

  He shrugged. “I have a lot of faith in you, that’s all.”

  “I guess it’s good at least one person does,” she replied, her tone dropping.

  “What happened to the girl who was going to travel the wilds and win her magic, no matter what I or anyone else said?”

  Aurora sighed. “I am beginning to realize that I traded one kind of naivety for another. I left this sheltered place, looking to learn more about myself and the world, and I did that. I thought I had cracked open some secret and everything would then fall into place. But I forgot that it is not as simple as my single journey from beginning to end, that there are thousands upon thousands of other journeys happening simultaneously. Why should mine be any more important than theirs? We’re all connected, and more suffering for one means more suffering for all. At least that’s how it should be. But everything is so divided, no one here looks past the parameters of their own wants and needs. Promise me you will tell me if I ever do that—if I put my own wants ahead of the humanity of others. Again, that is.”

  By the end of her speech, she was rubbing the heel of her hand over the place where the skyfire originated in her chest. And he could not help himself any longer; he was drawn to her like waves to the shore. He could try to hold himself back, but as long as he was near her, he would find himself falling again and again and again. She was the irresistible tide.

  He sat down on the sofa beside her, slowly, so that she had the chance to object or move away if she wanted. When she stayed where she was and boldly met his gaze, he looped an arm gently over her shoulder.

  “I did not want you to be a princess. You know that by now. But if anyone should be admitting mistakes it is me. I was selfish and greedy. I wanted you all to myself. But the world needs a princess like you, Aurora. It needs someone who contemplates the suffering of others. We need someone willing to admit to mistakes, willing to compromise and work alongside people from every background. This world needs your courage and your compassion, and I never should have tried to keep that for myself.”

  Ever so slowly, her body began to lean into his, until her head nestled into the hollow of his neck and her chest lay along the side of his own. She breathed in deeply, and then turned her eyes to her mother. He felt the soft tickle of her hair against his cheek, and the gentle rise of each breath as it moved from her body into his. And when he went to say something else, anything else to prolong this moment, he realized she was already asleep.

  And for the first time in a long while, the knot of longing in his chest began to unwind, and the pain of missing her subsided.

  The least studied of the original magics is the power of spirit. Those documented were typically of weaker ability, and their gifts might be nothing more than a sense of knowing—an unusual awareness of both the living and the dead. But it is believed that a powerful spirit witch can speak to the dead as easily as the living, and perhaps command them to do his or her bidding. Some have hypothesized that a similar sway might even be possible over the souls of the living.

  —An Examination of the Original Magics

  13

  Nova should have been terrified. And she was, in part. But she also still felt the rush of energy coursing through her from the fight before. Her palms tingled with the seemingly boundless supply of magic she had absorbed from the firestorm embers she had been holding at their final capture. It coursed through her, making her feel alive, and banishing the fatigue and despair that had clung to her for so long. The soldiers did not return them to the dungeons, but instead took them to the wing that housed the military forces, and she and the other witch were placed in a small barracks room meant for a few soldiers to share. The soldiers on guard did a thorough search of the room, removing anything metal or large in size that might be used as a weapon, and then locked them inside. She heard their continued conversation outside, so she assumed they remained on guard, but she tentatively took a seat on one of four narrow beds, her body rejoicing at the first sign of comfort she had felt in ages.

  The warrior witch paced the room, stopping to listen to the soldiers’ chatter on occasion or pressing a hand to the wall or the floor without explanation. After a while, she seemed to have ascertained whatever she needed, and she crossed the room and sat on the same bed as Nova.

  “Someone will be coming to question us soon, and we need to have our stories aligned.”

  Nova nodded. “It will be the prince. He always questioned me himself after Aurora disappeared. He was obsessed.”

  The witch tilted her head. “Was he?”

  “Yes. He never stopped searching. He questioned me again just last week trying to find something he’d missed. He even stays in Aurora’s old rooms.”

  “Interesting.” Her companion nodded. Continuing, she said, “For today, keep things simple. You had no idea we were coming. We are friends, and we freed you in the chaos of the storm. You know nothing about any rebellion, no mention of Aurora, and if anyone asks about how you were able to touch the firestorm embers, you tell them you were given firestorm powder, understand?”

  Nova’s spine went stiff at the last instruction.

  “Yes,” the warrior witch continued. “I noticed you pelting my opponents with embers, and I don’t recall you screaming in pain. Nor do I see any burns on y
our hands now.” The girl tilted her head, and her dark hair fanned over her shoulder, softening her fierce appearance. “Does Aurora know you are a fire witch?”

  Heat crept up the back of Nova’s neck, and a little wisp of smoke danced up from her clenched fist. Novaya had always imagined the moment her secret came out would be much more disastrous. She feared punishment or exile or even a fight to protect herself. Instead, it had come with a tiny flicker of shocked flame, snuffed in an instant. The years of agonized fear had prepared her for the worst, and now she was amazed by how freeing it felt not to carry the knowledge alone anymore.

  Of course she was still technically being held captive, probably for more serious crimes now, and her position had just become even more precarious, but yesterday Nova had been in this alone. Every day it had been her in that cell with that too-small window, and that burned bed no good for sleeping, and the memories and worries that pressed down until even breathing felt like work. But now she knew Aurora was alive, that she had a whole team of people working to help Pavan, and she had this witch, who was far more courageous and capable than she.

  Goddess knew she was still afraid, but she was not alone, and that made all the difference.

  “I suppose that’s a no?” the other witch asked.

  Nova answered, “No one knows. It has been my secret since I moved to Pavan as a child.”

  “From where?”

  “Taraanar. My father was a trade adviser there, before … before we had to leave to keep my secret after an incident with my magic.”

  The earth witch nodded. “I know my manifestation was dramatic. I can only imagine how much more terror you felt to have fire at the tips of your child-sized fingers.”

  A rush of emotion built up in Nova’s throat, and she found herself struggling not to cry. She did not often think about those days, afraid if she allowed herself to go into those memories, she might never crawl back out. She cleared her throat and searched for a change of direction.