by Cora Carmack
“Your name,” she finally said. “I don’t think I caught it before.”
The other witch smiled, and there was something about her presence that made the world feel more in balance. Nova found herself wishing she had been given the gift of earth rather than fire. Maybe then she would not swing between such wild extremes of emotion. Maybe then her parents would not have had to give up everything they had worked for to live a life as servants here in Pavan.
“I am called Jinx by my friends, which you officially are. When you have done battle and been captured with someone, you get to skip over the boring niceties, I think.”
Jinx held out her hand in offering, and Nova hesitated. Normally she avoided touch as much as possible, but this witch had touched her down in the tunnel when she freed Nova from her cell, and it had not called up her fire then. And now that she knew more about Aurora’s ability, she was beginning to wonder if her unique abilities had something to do with why Aurora’s touch had also never bothered her. Perhaps her magic did not react defensively when it recognized a similar ability in the other person. Or maybe she had been so caught up in everything else going on that her magic had been too overwhelmed to rise up. Aurora’s reappearance alone could have put her at ease enough to coax her magic into sedation.
There was only one way to be certain. Nova lifted her hand and fitted it against the one Jinx offered. The earth witch squeezed and gave a firm, authoritative shake. Nova waited for some reaction, for the flames to crowd under the surface of her skin, or for the restless energy to prick her anxiety. But nothing came. She smiled, so wide her cheeks pinched as if out of practice.
Jinx grinned in return, and the expression looked mischievous and wild when paired with the leather she wore, and the hair shorn short on one side and long and flowing on the other. Something flipped in Nova’s stomach, but it was not fire. It was almost like the way her stomach rumbled when she was hungry, except the day had been too chaotic for her to even think of food. Instead, she just felt a little wobbly on the inside as Jinx released her hand and that reckless smile faded away.
Nova had a sudden urge to ask questions, every question—about how Jinx had met Aurora, and where she was from, and how she had become a hunter, and what her manifestation had been like. But at that moment the lock of the door slid back with a loud thunk. The door swung open fast enough that she only had time to turn her head before her familiar captor entered the space, taking the peaceful balance that Jinx carried with her naturally, and smashing it into a thousand irretrievable pieces.
* * *
Cassius had caught the two women off guard, which was good, for he was a bit off-kilter himself. He studied the one called Novaya—the one he had held in a cell for months, whom he had questioned multiple times, who had always insisted upon her innocence, and yet today was nearly rescued in a highly coordinated attack that had left the palace vulnerable, and his brother missing, along with the Pavan queen.
And then there was the letter, if it was real. He slipped a hand into his coat pocket, feeling the rasp of the parchment against his fingers. His gut told him it was her writing. He had spent enough time in her rooms now that he had seen notes scribbled into the margins of her books, or forgotten slips of paper tucked between pages. He had sat at his desk and studied her scrawl, wondered at the woman behind it, and the strange events of fate that had brought him to her and then taken her away.
Cassius should not have cared, that was the troubling part of it all. Things had arguably worked out very well for him. His family had gotten the kingdom they had come for without even having to go through with the charade of marriage. So why could he not have been happy and embraced his new role fully? Why had he obsessed so completely over her disappearance? And why did the possibility of her being in the city now make him want to abandon everything and search door-to-door until he set eyes on her and confirmed the truth for himself?
He had to know. He had put off this questioning as long as possible. He’d seen his mother settled, sent out scouting parties to search the city for his brother, assigned others to see to the city’s most immediate issues from the storm. He had done all the things his father should do but would ignore in favor of another drink, another distraction, another day of running with death nipping at his heels. But now he was done waiting. He needed answers. So he entered the room where the two women were being held, and this time he hesitated before closing the door. He looked to one of the soldiers outside and said, “It is cold in here. Fetch some blankets. And ask a maid to bring up something to eat and drink for our guests.”
The soldier hesitated, clearly confused, but Cassius fixed him with an impatient stare, making clear his order, and closed the door. He turned to the women and found another confused expression on the maid Novaya’s face. But the other, the one who had single-handedly fought a dozen or more of his men, if the stories were to be believed—she looked almost … smug. Certainly not an expression he had ever seen before on a prisoner’s face. It was almost enough to make him open the door and reverse his request, but then he remembered the note in his pocket.
He did not fear reprisal, but whoever this girl was to Aurora, clearly she was important.
“You do realize who I am, don’t you?” he said to the woman, unable to adopt a completely welcoming tone.
The girl snorted, flipping her strangely styled hair as if she were captured every other day.
“I have heard things about you, yes. A great many things. Most of them bad, if you were wondering.” She held up her hands in mock innocence. “No offense. Honesty among friends, and all that.” She leaned back into the wall with practiced ease, not a bit of fear showing.
“I’ve heard about you as well. Quite the fighter, it seems. Rebellion, are you?” Cassius asked.
“Hardly. I don’t have a say in this storm. This isn’t my city. I’m just passing through.”
“You mean to say you are not a legal citizen of Pavan?”
“Last time I checked, neither were you, since that wedding fell through.”
Cassius’s eyes narrowed. “I am a guest of the royal family of Pavan.”
“Are you now? And where are they? I would love to have a chat with them about the subpar hospitality we have received. Nova, here, is even quite good friends with the princess, I hear. I am sure a moment with the queen would clear all of this up.”
No wonder Casimir had not yet stamped out the rebellion despite his brutal tactics, if this was the kind of woman they had in their midst.
“You are quite brazen, aren’t you?”
“And you are ‘cold and calculating,’ ‘carnivorous,’ and like a ‘shark,’ from what I’ve heard. Now that we have had our introductions, can we move on please?”
“Who told you that?” Cassius asked, his eyes tracking to Novaya.
The chatty one snapped, “Not her, so do not think about harassing her more than you already have. Don’t you think you have caused enough trouble?”
“I? You were the one captured amidst a rebel raid.”
“I simply assisted in the rescue of someone wrongly imprisoned when asked by a highly respected friend.”
“A highly respected friend?” Cassius jumped on the clue, barely resisting the urge to reach back into his pocket for the note.
“Yes, that’s right,” the girl said.
“And who would that be?”
“I doubt someone like me and someone like you have the same friends,” the girl answered.
“One never knows.” He was too eager, damn it, and the girl knew it. He could see a glitter in her eyes, like she knew she had just gained the upper hand, and he had to gain it back. His instinct was to make her afraid by whatever means necessary—pain, most likely. But if his suspicions were correct, if this woman did somehow know Aurora, torturing her into giving him information might backfire in the long run. This required less blunt force, more a precise incision. He backed off a little, crossing the room, breaking the frantic pace of their conversatio
n, before finally saying, “For all I know, your special friend could be the Stormlord.”
The girl laughed openly. “If you thought that was the case, we would hardly be in this average-sized room with acceptable beds on a normal floor, with guards outside the door. And you certainly would not have called for blankets. And food.”
Cassius gestured in Novaya’s direction. “You clearly were able to breach the dungeons, so I decided spontaneity was in order. And whatever you might think, I am not a monster. You have information I want. Working with me will make each of you much more comfortable. And longer lived.”
“Oooooh!” she mocked, half laughter, half ghostly howl. Then she leaned forward with a hand up to one side of her mouth and whispered, “Your evil villain monologue does not work as well when an actual evil villain is laying siege to the city you stole.”
Cassius realized suddenly that his casual movement about the room had turned to outright pacing. The audacious little chit had turned the entire conversation around on him, and he’d lost control. He stopped abruptly, planting his feet and glaring at her.
“I could have you executed for my pick of offenses at this very moment if I so chose.” He raised an eyebrow carefully.
“You could. But I do not think you would.”
He gritted his teeth and tried to keep his face passive, tired of this game. He did not have the patience for the back-and-forth of interrogation. Not when it came to Aurora. If she was back in the city, free from her captors, why had she not returned home? Was she still in some kind of trouble? Had the rebellion found a way to retrieve her from the kidnappers? Were they using her for their own ends now? Or had she joined them willingly? Did she not know she could walk right back in and he would welcome her gladly? Maybe his brother’s treatment of the rebellion and his father’s hasty move to turn over the flags had left her insecure. If he could find a way to get her word, perhaps she would just come home. He would give her back her maid friend if that was all it took. She was nothing, just a means to an end.
If Aurora came home, they would stand a better chance at holding off the Stormlord with their abilities combined. That was what mattered now. She could have the throne. He found he was caring less and less for the idea of it by the day.
Cassius decided to cut through the subterfuge and straight to the point. “You know where she is, don’t you?”
“Where who is?” the girl asked.
“My future wife,” Cassius said.
“She will never be your wife.” The answer did not come from the brazen rebel, but from Aurora’s maid friend. The girl had nearly plastered herself to the wall where she sat on the bed, but she had roused herself enough for that impassioned interjection.
“You heard her,” the other girl said. “I don’t know any wife-to-be of yours.”
“I do not care to quibble about the specifics. All I care about is whether she is safe and where she is. I need to speak to her.”
The rebel’s head tilted to the side, revealing the way her hair was cut shorter than his own on one side. “She is safe. I do not know where she is. But she knows where we are. That is enough.”
“And if I want to get a message to her?”
The rebel smiled. “You could let us go. We will be your messengers.”
“Not a chance.”
“Then I guess your message will remain unsent.”
Cassius stalked toward the door and said, “Or perhaps I will tire of bargaining and decide to send a different type of message.” He directed a hard look at the maid, who sat quiet again on the bed. Then he stormed out, determined to find another way to reach Aurora Pavan.
When he returned to his rooms, he took a seat and opened a drawer on his desk, withdrawing the still-green and vibrant leaf he’d plucked from the vine he’d found outside Aphra Pavan’s room. He ran his thumb along the ridge on the underside. If he could not find Aurora, he would find her witch.
* * *
Kiran pulled the hood high over his head. He was glad for the chilly turn in the weather, so he had a good excuse to wrap a scarf around the lower half of his face, besides the fact that the streets of Pavan were crawling with Locke soldiers. He had stayed with Aurora at her mother’s bedside as long as he dared, so long that his skin smelled of her and every breath threatened to send him tumbling into painful memories of what he had given up.
He was stopped five times by soldiers between the tavern and his destination, and each time he answered their questions with as few words as possible. He let them pat him down for weapons because he was not wearing any. He had left his belt and storm-magic supplies back at the tavern too. Zephyr had received word from Taven that soldiers would be executing random searches on the streets and of properties in certain neighborhoods.
Luckily, the tavern was not in an area of suspected rebellion activity, so it was not one of the neighborhoods they planned to search at this time, but all the same they had put a plan in place for where to hide Aurora and her mother should such a search occur. It was lucky that Zephyr was as paranoid as a hunter, because the woman already had a hidden passage installed off her office that led down to the basement, where a small window could be lifted to make an escape. How they would make that escape with an unconscious queen, Kiran did not know, but he felt better knowing there was a plan at least.
As he neared his destination, the appearance of soldiers only increased. He knew they were focusing on the poorest areas of the city in their search for the rebellion. But they were not bothering to stop people in the streets. Instead, they were barging into houses, throwing around furniture and beds, making a heinous mess, and seeming to relish it.
He scanned the area, checking for any wandering eyes, but when the only soldiers he saw were preoccupied with their harassment inside people’s homes, he ducked into the alley where the rebellion’s secret headquarters was hidden.
He undid the latch on the storm-shelter door, pulling it up only enough for him to slip inside and swing his feet down onto the ladder. Quickly, he descended, closing the shelter door behind him. He waited on the ladder for several long breaths, listening for any sign outside that he might have been spotted. When all he heard was silence, he dropped down to the ground and crossed to the locked door at the end of the room.
He did the fancy little knock that Zephyr had instructed him to do, and after a few moments the door opened, Raquim on the other side. Kiran had never heard the other man say a word, but he was a competent fighter and clearly had Zephyr’s trust.
Kiran stepped past him into the long, dimly lit hallway and asked, “Where is he?”
Raquim pointed a finger in the only possible direction Kiran could go. Guessing that was all the answer he was going to get, Kiran set off down the hall. Next to Zephyr’s office, he found a room with a closed door, a hint of light showing out beneath.
He knocked, heard footsteps, and then the door swung wide to reveal the hulking man named Brax. Kiran knew of him from his previous trips to Pavan. The man was a brawler. He and others like him got paid to fight in bloody, ruthless melees that others bet on. The events were big draws and made a fair amount of money for whoever won—both the fighters and the gamblers.
He looked past Brax into the room and saw the man he had come to see.
Casimir Locke.
He wished it was the other brother, but he would take what he could get.
“How goes it?” he asked Brax.
His answer came from farther in the room. “He’s stubborn. And annoying.”
Kiran stepped past Brax to see Zephyr seated on a stool in the corner, her legs crossed far too elegantly for what he guessed was an interrogation.
“Who is this bast—” The snarled question died on Casimir’s lips before he could finish the word.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Zephyr tsked. “What did I tell you about annoying me?” She rotated that red-gloved hand of hers, and Casimir shook in his chair, his mouth gaping open like a fish dying on land as Zephyr used her water magic on h
im.
“Man, I wish I could do that.”
Kiran swung around, shocked to find his best friend, Ransom, sitting in another corner. He had not even known the other man was here. He had assumed he was back at the inn with the others.
Ransom met his gaze. “Bait would never get a word in if I could do that.”
Kiran huffed an almost-laugh. Ransom returned what might have passed for a smile, were it not for the bleak expression that ruled the rest of his face. His friend’s eyes returned to Casimir, and Kiran had a feeling Ransom was thinking about Jinx. Kiran was having difficulty not thinking about what might be happening to her in that palace.
She could be in this exact same situation, only it would be her tied to a chair rather than the smarmy, hateful cretin who sat before them.
“What has he told you?” Kiran asked.
“Nothing,” Zephyr answered. “Yet.”
At that moment, Zephyr’s pet wildcat ducked beneath Casimir’s chair, slinking between his legs as if waiting for its owner’s command to pounce.
Kiran crossed to the center of the room and bent so that he was at eye level with the Stormling. “Do you know what we plan to do with you, Casimir? We’re handing you over to the Stormlord. So anything you tell us now, every moment you prove yourself useful by giving us valuable information about your family, the military, their plans—that’s that much longer you stay here with us, instead of out there with that madman. Do you understand?”
Zephyr must have released her hold on Casimir long enough to let him speak because he let out a croaked laugh, his voice dry and ragged. “You don’t scare me. Neither does he. This,” he said, using his chin to gesture at the ropes that bound him, “captivity was a game when I was a child. So was torture. My father liked to see which one of his boys would break first. You want to send me to the Stormlord? Go ahead. I look forward to meeting him.”
