When Rains Fall

by Cassidy Taylor

  Her hands grasped his arms to keep him there even though she knew it could not last. Sweat prickled where his hands touched her neck and her face, his big thumbs wiping the tears from her cheeks. She wanted to melt into him, disappear in the shelter of his arms. Her stomach rolled and the ground seemed to tremble beneath them, his hands growing hot as he sucked up all the warmth in the room. Stay, stay, stay. The word was on her lips, but she didn't dare pull away, even as she struggled to breathe against him.

  It was the slamming of the front door that jarred them apart, the heavy oak bouncing off of the stone wall, the afternoon light streaming inside. Tierri's hand slipped off of her and to the sword at his hip. She immediately felt the chill of his absence. A boy her age stood silhouetted in the doorway and they all watched as he moved into the foyer. The guards were arguing with him, demanding that he stop, that he announce himself, but he strode forward without acknowledging them. When he grew nearer to her, going as if to pass her and head to the gathering in the great hall, Tierri stepped forward in the boy's path.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his hand still on the sword of his hilt. “You cannot come into the palace acting like you own the place.”

  The boy glanced from Tierri to the sword, then to Rayne, where his eyes lingered too long, as if he were trying to remember where he had seen her before. Rayne studied him, too. He had light brown hair and olive skin decorated with black tattoos that looked strangely familiar—the swirls and patterns not words she knew, but words she had perhaps seen before. A bow was strapped to his back and a full quiver of arrows was at his hip. In one of his hands, he held a delicate circlet. He looked travel-worn and exhausted, his clothes crusty with salt air and stained red with blood in places, but he forced himself to turn back to Tierri and meet his glare.

  “I am Evenon Feathermark,” he answered. “The king will know me.”

  “Will he now?” Tierri sounded dubious but Rayne took a step forward. The name sounded familiar and she turned it over in her head, trying to remember where she had heard it.

  “He will. I am one of his Assassins.”

  Rayne nearly snapped her fingers in recognition. Imeyna had received the report from their contacts in Alas about a year ago now, when her father had sent two brothers across the Impassable Strait in another attempt to kill the escaped queen. Everyone had assumed them dead, but now here he was, standing in front of her. No assassin had ever returned before. Some of the greatest warriors in the land had gone in pursuit, and of them all, this boy was the only one to come back. And that meant that the circlet in his hand was—

  “I must speak with the princess and the king,” Evenon said, trying to push past Tierri who pressed a hand to the boy's chest.

  “Here is your princess,” Tierri said. “You can speak with her now.”

  Rayne couldn't take her eyes off of the circlet—the crown, for surely that's what it was. The true crown of Hail, the one that Hail's queens had worn for countless generations.

  “The other princess,” Evenon said derisively.

  “There is no other princess.” Tierri's voice had dropped, taking on an almost gentle quality. He had picked up on something that Rayne hadn't.

  “I am Princess Rayne Crowheart.” Rayne pushed past Tierri, glad for once that she had dressed for the occasion. It was easier to call herself a princess when she looked the part. “I believe that crown belongs to me.”

  “It belongs to Princess Edlyn Crowheart,” Evenon insisted.

  “The princess is dead.” Rayne's words rang out clear in the foyer. Everyone was silent for what felt like an interminable breath. Then Evenon fell to his knees, the crown dropping from his fingers to clatter against the floor.

  “No,” he said. It wasn't a wail or a shout, but a whisper. His eyes were somewhere far away, in a land across the sea, perhaps, or in an earlier time, when a different Crowheart girl had been meant to receive this gift.

  Rayne wanted to go to him, but it wasn't her place. She had already said goodbye to Edlyn. Instead, she beckoned to two guards. “Take him to my father.” The men hauled Evenon to his feet.

  Before Rayne could follow, Tierri bent to pick up the circlet and handed it to her. It was a delicate thing, different strands of gold and silver woven around each other like branches. They both stared at it until she finally reached up and took it from him. His fingers lingered on the metal and she wondered what it meant for him to give it to her, this symbol of power that had belonged to his family for years. But that was in the past. And she was the future of this country, whether he was with her or not.

  “I have to go,” she said. Evenon and his guard escorts were nearly out of sight. She wanted to be there when her father saw him, to hear his tale and find out how this had come to be. The last obstacle, the last person that could stand in her way, gone. Wido and the threat of the Knights seemed insignificant now that all of Hail would have no choice but to support her and her family. They had no one to fall back on now, especially not if Tierri were gone. She pushed down the pang in her chest, imagined closing her feelings behind lock and key.

  “I know. So do I.”

  She raised the half of the slaver's band that she still held. “This is yours.”

  Tierri was already backing away from her. “Keep it,” he said, “and remember.”

  She almost protested, told him that she didn't want to remember, but thought better of it and tucked it into the pocket of her gown. Tierri gave her a sad smile before turning away, and she did the same, going in the opposite direction. When she heard the doors creak open behind her, she didn't turn around, and by the time they had closed, she was already out of sight.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Rayne

  When Rayne found out that queens of Hail were crowned in the waves of the Impassable Strait, she would have it no other way.

  “It's a ceremony called the Submersion,” her mother had told her. “It's the same in Mer. Countries that live by the sea need a ruler that is born in the sea.”

  Her father had protested. “You are Duskan,” he had said. “We like things dry.”

  Rayne had shaken her head and stood her ground. “The people of Hail need a ruler they can trust. What better way to earn their trust than by respecting their traditions? When I complete the Submersion, I will be Hailian.”

  It was the crown that had given her the final push she needed. It had made it real—this was her country, and she would do whatever it took. Tierri had told her once that they would do it together, but he had lied. He was gone, Edlyn was gone, Danyll was gone. It was entirely up to her.

  The tide was high that evening, and the narrow beach was crowded with spectators, nobles and merchants alike. Even children had been scrubbed and subdued for the occasion, standing with their solemn-faced parents. Her father stood knee-deep in the water, his black britches rolled up but still damp, with the almoner at his side. Rayne stepped off of the last step and directly into the waves, wading out to meet him.

  He took her hands in his big, clammy ones and squeezed. The waves were rough, crashing into them as if trying to spit them back out onto the shore. What they needed was a wielder to control them, but with Tierri and Danyll gone, there was no one left with the power that they possessed.

  The priest began to speak, his voice carrying over the rushing sounds of the water to the shore. He praised Enos and the Crowheart family. He spoke of the time known as the Casuin Conquest, when her ancestor, Casuin Crowheart, had settled and explored these lands and owned everything from north to south, from the Impassable Strait to the Silver Hills. He spoke of the War of the Five Families that had divided the Crowheart Empire and then praised her father for his attempts to reunite the countries once again. He called for unity and peace, and the people looked on, unimpressed. Rayne flushed but ignored them, turning to her father when the almoner stopped talking.

  “It is a lucky thing you were not there that night,” her father said. “I'll admit, when Danyll told me you were unwell, I
was upset. I would have liked you there by my side. But it was your absence that saved you.” It was a convenient lie and one that had worked in her favor. Innis had not known about Rayne's betrayal or her imprisonment, and because of Danyll's lie, had believed Rayne to be locked up safe with Edlyn. It explained her presence during the attack and her grief at not being able to save her sister.

  Innis continued. “It's hard, sometimes, to trust in Enos, but it is true that he guides us in all things. He guides you now, to the throne. It is under your rule that Hail will prosper and the Crowheart Empire will grow.” He was finally proud of her, but only because he didn't know the truth.

  The almoner held the back of Rayne's neck and pushed. Rayne's knees gave and she sank into the water, ducking her head beneath the waves. She opened her eyes, her cheeks puffed out with air, and studied the silty bottom of the ocean. She could almost pretend she was back in the Tor River if it weren't for the almoner holding her there, his white robes swirling around his legs. After a minute, her lungs began to fight against her, straining to expand. She felt herself sinking to the bottom, determined not to struggle. Determined to prove that she was as good as any Malstrom queen. Better, in fact. She was glad, at least, that even as her air ran out, none of her ghosts came to visit her.

  Then her father was grasping her arms and hauling her up. She burst through the water and not even the dubious spectators could help but gasp, some going so far as to cheer. The almoner was speaking but Rayne couldn't hear him over the rush of water through her ears. She tossed her head back and sprayed water over them. The almoner stilled her with a hand on her back. Then her father, holding it carefully between his hands, placed the freshly-polished crown on top of her head. It slipped over her curls and rested comfortably there, as if it had been meant for her.

  The crowd couldn't help it then. A cheer rose out of them, swelling as more and more people took it up. They were competing with the ocean and winning. Rayne raised her arms to more cheers and smiled. They had seen her submerged, had seen her reborn. She was their true queen now; there was no other.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  When Rayne returned to her room that night, it was blissfully empty. She had dismissed her maids and left her guards outside the door. In the halls below, the gathering still raged, but her parents had sent her away, her mother telling her it wasn't proper for the queen to be the last one to leave her own ball. So she had come upstairs, but deciding she was still too excited to sleep, she crossed to the picture window and drew the drapes aside, letting the moonlight fall across her chilled skin.

  It was all so unexpected how everything had gone so wrong but still felt somehow wonderful, too. The weight of the light crown on her damp hair. The ache in her heart that had once been filled by so many people now gone from this world. The anticipation burning just below the surface. It was a delicious, crackling sensation so full of potential.

  Her window pointed southeast, and she could just see the edge of Orabel, lit up by lanterns as the citizens continued the celebration in the streets. But she could also see the ocean, mirroring the light of the moon in ripples and waves. Ships docked in the harbor rocked gently, their sailors either sleeping or joining the festivities on shore. It was almost too beautiful for her to bear, and the thought that it was all hers rose goosebumps on her arms.

  A breeze scooted past her into the room and fluttered a book that lay open on her desk, a book she had nearly forgotten about. She picked it up and held it gingerly. Merek had loved his maps and the idea of a world full of possibilities. It didn't seem right that the one time he left Shade, he had been killed.

  She flipped to the front page and folded out the page to reveal the map of Casuin and the lost lands beyond. Her fingers traced her country’s coastline that had been carefully inked onto the delicate bound parchment. She found Choral Isle, where her ancestors had first landed, and then let her finger wander across the Impassable Strait, where someone had drawn depictions of sea serpents waiting for their next victim. On the other side of the Strait was the strange, savage land known as the Lost Fields. It was where Evenon had found Darcey Malstrom, and where he had killed her.

  “What else are you hiding?” she wondered aloud.

  Rayne looked between the Impassable Strait depicted in the book, and then at the waves beating at the shore. How odd to think that another land was out there somewhere, a land full of mysteries and strangers. If Evenon was to be believed, it was also full of violence and strange magic and powerful women. Rayne wondered if those women would be able to tell her how and why she had done what she had done during the battle. Why, up until that moment, men had been the only wielders in Casuin.

  Just then, she had the strangest sensation that she was being watched. She put the book back on her desk, and gently placed her half of the broken slaver’s band on the leather cover. Pushing the window open, she leaned out, letting the breeze ruffle her hair. A bird landed on the balcony railing beyond her window, startling her. She yelped and then laughed at herself. The bird—a black raven, its plumage looking slick in the moonlight—preened its wings and cocked its head sideways to look at her.

  “Shoo,” she said half-heartedly, waving a hand at it. It took great offense at that and launched itself into the air.

  But the feeling that someone was watching her didn't fade, and she kept her eyes on the eastern horizon and the endless sea until finally drawing the curtains and shrouding herself in darkness.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Sibba

  “I cannot spare the men.” Thorvald coughed into a rag after his proclamation, but Sibba didn't move forward to comfort him. The woman at his bedside had warned her not to even go in the room, but Sibba hadn't spent the last two weeks on the road only to have the man die before he made good on his promise to her.

  “I delivered Jary back to you,” she said.

  “And you are free to go.” He shifted and when he did, the lamplight from the dim room fell across his face and she saw the blood crusting his beard. She resisted the urge to step back. The Blood Flu was a vicious killer, fast-moving and indiscriminate. It had killed her grandmother, and it looked like now it would take her father. “Based on what I've heard about your exploits in Ydurgat, we should expect retribution when the snows have passed. I need every fighting man here, not on a doomed ship. But you can go. You've earned that much. It would be best if you were not here when Grimsson arrived, anyway.”

  “I've earned everything you promised me!” Sibba yelled. “You can’t just get rid of me like you did my mother. I brought Jary back, I did what I said I would. Now it's your turn.”

  “Aye, but you didn't bring me her sword, did you? I believe that was part of your promise.”

  Sibba was speechless. A rough cough shook his shoulders and the nursemaid at his side, wearing a rag tied around her nose and mouth to keep from breathing in the blood, patted his shoulder amicably, saying nothing. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, but Sibba didn't feel sorry for him in the least. This was the man who had shamed their mother. He had forced her to keep her past a secret, and then he'd run her away with his anger and his indiscretions. Then he had used Sibba. Used her and now expected her to just go away so he wouldn’t have to face the things that he had made her do.

  Her fingers twitched by her ax handle. What would he do if she pressed it to his throat? She imagined the sound the sharpened blade would make against the whiskers on his chin. It was a challenge every day to keep the anger tucked away inside. It was easier with Tola around. The girl had become a fast favorite in the village, treating wounds and illness and doing tricks for the children when the adults weren't looking. Then there was Estrid, who was acting like a roosting hen, and Ari, who watched her with such awe that Sibba couldn't help but smile.

  But her father kept testing her. He put her off, sent her away, ignored her. They had been back for days and she wanted answers now. And she knew how to get them, though perhaps threatening her father and clan chief was
n't the wisest choice.

  “Give her what she wants.” The voice came from behind her, sounding husky and raw. She turned and found Jary in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame. Tola had forbidden him from leaving his bed, but Jary was never one to follow orders, much like his sister. The arrow wound to his leg was largely healed, thanks to Tola's ministrations, but he was weak.

  “There are some wounds you cannot see,” Tola had said when Jary slept without waking for days while they'd holed up in the farmhouse outside of Ydurgat. Sibba had been on edge the entire time, waiting for Isgerd the Younger to find them. Finally, she had forced Jary awake and slung him over a horse, and they had ridden hard and fast for Ottar. The weather had held but it had been slow going. When they'd arrived a few weeks later, Jary had slept again. This was the first time she'd seen him since then, and he was a fearful sight. His eye was the worst of it, an angry red gash tracing a line down half of his face.

  Now he kept his one good eye on their father, though he didn't move any farther into the room. News of the chief's sickness must have spread. “If you made her some promise for my life, you cannot renege, not with me standing here before you.”

  Thorvald's face visibly relaxed at the sight of his son, and Sibba saw the fight go out of the old man. “A chief cannot be soft,” their father said anyway, still trying to exert some semblance of power.

  “A chief also cannot be a liar.” Sibba stepped back to Jary, slipping beneath his arm to let him rest his weight on her. He smiled at her gratefully and then turned back to Thorvald. “If she wants to leave, you must give her what she needs to go. Perhaps Interis has woven a different fate for her, and you should not stand in her way.”

  Sibba tried to imagine the goddess of fate sitting beneath her sutvithr tree, plucking strands and winding them expertly together on her loom, but all she could see was her mother at her loom in their cabin on Ey Island. Her mother, who didn’t believe in Interis or fate but who had inexorably set Sibba on the path she followed today. Would Darcey be with Interis now, twisting and unwinding the strings of fate? Would she be proud of what had become of her children and the strings of their lives?