by Cora Carmack
Jinx appeared over her a few moments later, the sun haloing around her head, and Roar realized the storm was already gone—dark clouds had disappeared to reveal blue once more.
The witch crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. “That was pretty impressive … novie.”
Treat others with kindness. For you do not know which souls will visit you again as storms rather than men.
—The Book of the Sacred Souls
19
The inside of the blacksmith’s shop was sweltering. Locke and Ransom had both stripped off all their gear except their Stormheart belts. They were both damp with sweat. The forge roared, the blacksmith’s thin apprentice pumping the bellows as sparks mounted their daring escapes from the flame. Inside the blaze was the half-finished tank for the back of the Rock. They didn’t tell the blacksmith that the tank would hold storm magic, and luckily the man did not ask.
The metal glowed bright as the blacksmith set it on the anvil, and all three of them set about shaping the thing with small hammers while the young apprentice kept at the bellows. They had worked on the tank with huge sledges this morning, battering a large piece of iron until it slowly began to take shape. They were finishing up one rounded side today, and tomorrow would do the other and fit them together, and then they’d need one or two more days to install it in the Rock and repair the surrounding frame.
They’d worked straight through lunch, so by the time the blacksmith called it a day and locked up his shop, Locke and Ransom were ready to get back to the inn. Locke needed to know that Roar and Jinx made it home safely.
“Thinking about her again?” Ransom asked, as they turned on to the road where their inn was located. Locke shot his friend an annoyed look. He was technically thinking about Roar, but not in the way Ransom’s smug grin implied.
“I was thinking that I’ll feel better when the Rock is fixed, and we can get back to normal.”
“I don’t think normal is what you are ready to get back to.”
Locke rolled his eyes. “Ease off, would you?”
“Why would I do that? I never realized how much fun it would be to see you twisted into knots over a girl.”
“Oh? I imagine it’s about as enjoyable as seeing you pine over Jinx forever.”
Ransom shrugged, reaching up to wipe sweat from his brow with his forearm. “I’m numb to that particular prod now. So have at it.”
“Numb. Really?”
“I have had two years to get used to it.”
“Some might say you have had two years to grow a spine and say something.”
“It’s better this way. She is too young to settle down, and the moment she was mine, I would want to lock her away in some Stormling city and never let her set foot in the wilds again.”
“Which would make her insane. I’d give it a month before she started an earthquake in the middle of your house.”
“Exactly. I don’t know why you’re laughing. Your girl might not be able to start earthquakes, but she won’t let you keep her out of the action either.”
Locke cringed. “You didn’t see her when that thunderstorm hit. I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest and dropped in the dirt just watching her. There is nothing worse than seeing her cry, but that … that was a great deal more than crying.” Belatedly, he tacked on, “And she’s not my girl.”
The clop of horses’ hooves drew their attention to the road ahead. Locke recognized Jinx first as she climbed from her horse and tied it up outside the inn. Beside her he guessed was Roar, but she was covered in drying mud—it was plastered on her clothes and smeared across her cheeks and forehead.
When they were within hearing distance, Locke called, “What did Jinx do—throw you into a mudslide?”
Roar looked up from the post where she’d been tying her horse with the widest smile he had ever seen her give. The sight of her, even when filthy, made him feel like she’d punched a hole through his chest and then decided to stay and stake her claim, vital organs pushed aside to make room. She called out his name and then began running toward him at full speed.
“Not your girl, huh?” Ransom said.
A few seconds later Roar slammed into his body, knocking him back a few steps. He chuckled, and her face pressed into his chest, arms winding about his middle. She smeared mud everywhere she touched. He pretended to complain, but she laughed and wiped more muck on him on purpose.
“I take it today went well?”
She stepped back to grin up at him, and he beat back the urge to drag her into his arms for just a few more moments.
“It was wonderful. I mean … exhausting and a little messy.” She looked down at her dirty clothes and laughed. “But just … perfect. Exactly what I needed.”
He looked over her head at an approaching Jinx and said, “She’s never this happy after any of our training sessions. You must not be pushing her hard enough.”
Roar just collected a little more mud from her clothes and smeared it on his cheek. When he lunged like he was going to retaliate, she squeaked and bolted toward Jinx.
“Quick. Do one of those wall things,” she said to Jinx, and the witch laughed.
Locke lifted his brows in question and Jinx said, “I put her through an earth-magic obstacle course during a thunderstorm. She went through it twice as fast as Bait.”
The corners of Locke’s mouth twitched up. “Of course she did.” Roar smiled widely, and their eyes met. Hers were soft, and he could die a happy man if she kept looking at him like that. So of course his stupid mouth had to tack on, “Because I trained her.”
She rolled her eyes, and said, “I think I learned more from Jinx in one day than I have from you in several weeks.”
“Is that so?”
“I think it might be.”
He stalked a little closer, passing by Jinx, and said to Roar, “How long did it take you to go through the obstacle course?”
“No more than a quarter of a bell.”
He whistled. “That’s good. But if you’re caught in a storm you might need to last longer than a quarter of a bell.”
“I can.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. Jinx is an excellent teacher.”
A laugh rumbled up in his chest. He had forgotten how much fun it was to play with her. Since that day they’d wrestled in the river, he had done his best to avoid it, but no more. “We’ll see just how much you can handle when I’m training you again.”
Roar hesitated, the playful spell breaking as her head tilted to the side. “You are not passing me off to Jinx permanently?”
He felt like that question knocked the air out of him. “Would you rather stay with her?” Her eyes flicked behind him, and he turned to look for Jinx, but both she and Ransom were no longer there. They must have gone inside, leaving Locke and Roar in the street as twilight fell. “Would you?” he asked again. “I would not hold it against you. Jinx is good. She would be good for you.”
“If you don’t mind working with me, I like the way you … push me.” He knew she was talking about training, but that did not stop the heavy thump of his heart against his rib cage. She continued: “I mean, it would be nice to still work with Jinx on occasion. Her earth magic makes for a really interesting challenge. But … I don’t want to have any doubts the first time I stand in front of a storm’s heart. And I think my best chance to do that is with you.”
“Even though we argue?”
Her mouth twitched. “Even though we argue.”
* * *
Nova smelled the sweet scent of wildflowers, and a breeze tickled through her hair. The earth was warm beneath her bare feet and the sun baked her skin until sweat beaded along the back of her neck. She should go inside or her skin would burn. She swallowed, and sweat tracked from her forehead over her cheeks.
Can’t burn.
Cool. Think cool thoughts.
A breeze. The shower of rain upon her skin. Dark shadows.
No, not shadows either. Light
. Think of light.
Sweat burned in her eyes, and her hands shook with the effort of pretending.
Can’t burn, Nova. Don’t. Burn.
Metal clanged, pulling her out of her reverie and into the stifling hot cell. The door opened just enough for a tray of food to be slid inside, then it was locked once more. She turned back to the window, too hot to care about the hunger gnawing in her belly. It had turned cold outside. She knew that. But in this tiny stone cell with one door and one window, she felt like she was cellmates with the sun. There was too much magic inside her. It wanted out.
“Don’t burn,” she mumbled under her breath. Flame had never harmed her skin, but she did not know what would happen if her magic got loose, if it raged out of control. Could she die by fire if it consumed her?
She stood on her charred cot and grabbed hold of the window’s bars. She could just barely feel the breeze from outside. She sucked down tendrils of cold air like it was water and she was dying of thirst. She had to get control. She grabbed one of the empty water buckets, turned it upside down on the bed, and used it to get closer to the window, where the air from outside could hit her whole face.
But when she looked out over her city, she gasped.
The Pavanian flags that normally flew around the palace and city walls were gone. And in there place, the blue flags of the Locke family snapped in the wind.
Tears gathered in her eyes and a cry stuck in her throat. That was it then. She knew Cassius said that the queen was despondent, but Nova had harbored a secret hope that when the queen was well again, when she realized what had been happening to Nova, she would intervene and set her free.
But if the Lockes had taken over, the queen needed an intervention of her own. If she still lived.
* * *
Roar came home from her second day of training with Jinx just as exhilarated as the first. Today she’d had to complete another obstacle course, but this time in a sandstorm. She had barely been able to see or breathe, and she resolved that as long as they were in the desert, she was going to keep a scarf around her neck for use in such emergencies.
In her room, she removed the leather harness, laying it on the floor by her bed. She moved to the water basin in the corner to wash the sand from her face and arms. She pulled off the various necklaces she wore—crystal, firestorm powder, and the twister ring—and shoved them in her pocket. After she splashed her face with water, she heard a commotion in the hallway—a crash and yelling. She groped for a towel and quickly wiped the water from her eyes. There was a startled cry toward the front of the inn, and a harsh male voice yelled, “Quiet!”
Several dozen feet stomped down the hall, breaking off into smaller groups. There was a succession of loud crashes, one after the other. She darted for the harness that held her weapons at the same time her door burst open, wood splintering and flying through the air.
Several men rushed inside, and one kicked the hand she had on her harness. The impact reverberated painfully up her wrist, and several knives clanked as they scattered over the floor. The man snatched her still-aching wrist, twisting it behind her back, and pushed her toward the center of the room. The other two began ransacking the place, tearing the mattress off her bed, emptying her bags, tipping over furniture.
“Who do we have here?”
The man who held her had black, short-cropped hair and an uneven smile that sent shivers down her spine. He reached out his other hand to finger a strand of her hair, and she jerked away. He laughed. Her hours spent sparring with Taven rushed back in a jumble of information. She jerked the hand he held up above her head, making him follow and opening him up. Then she swung fast and hard with her free hand. It was her weaker arm, so the hit wasn’t as hard or as clean as she would have liked, but his head snapped to the side and he stumbled back.
That was when she looked at what he was wearing. What they were all wearing. Familiar blue military uniforms. These were Locke soldiers. She backed away toward the door, but another soldier caught her from behind, pinning her arms at her side. He was heavyset and smelled of sweat and dust.
“Look at that,” he said, his mouth too close to her ear. “I think we found us our prize.”
Her heartbeat screamed in her ears and her chest grew tight with fear. They knew. They’d come for her. Oh gods, had they found the other hunters? What had they done to them?
The one with the unsettling smile approached, rubbing at the reddened spot on his cheek from her fist. His hand shot forward, gripping her jaw hard and tilting her head back so that he could see her face.
“Not her,” said a third man still searching the room. But the soldier who held her face did not loosen his grip.
“I know that, Hamish. But we’ve been searching for weeks. The prince’s bride is long gone, but he won’t call us back. Surely we deserve a reward for our dedicated service.”
They did not know who she was. Thank the skies.
But they were searching for her. She had expected Pavanian soldiers, but apparently Cassius had the Locke military searching for her as well. If they had come from the south and the Pavanian soldiers from the north, the land was likely to be teeming with soldiers.
“What’s your name, sweet?”
She couldn’t tell them Roar. The hunters might not have caught on to the similarity with her real name, but these men were more likely to be suspicious. Her mouth was puckered from his grip, but she spat out “Nova” with as much force as she could.
He laughed and gestured to the weapons she had lunged for before.
“Think you’re some kind of warrior, Nova?”
“Galren,” the third man, Hamish, snapped. “We don’t have time for this.”
“Oh, I don’t think it will take long.” His hand slid from her jaw, down her neck, trailing toward the curve of her breast. “She might dress like a man. But I don’t think the little woman will put up much of a fight. Will you?”
Galren was very wrong. She jerked her head back, slamming it against the forehead of the man who held her from behind. His arms dropped, and she spun, sweeping her foot beneath Galren’s legs in front of her. He went down hard, but when she tried to go for her knives again, he snatched at her ankles, and then she was the one sprawling on the floor. She kicked out, her boot connecting with something hard.
She scrambled across the floor toward her knives and found one as the heavyset man recovered and grabbed her legs. Her hand slid over the blade first, but she gripped it tightly, uncaring about the cuts to her fingers. The soldier yanked her backward, and Roar screamed, flailing her legs. The knife was slick with her own blood, but she managed to get her hand on the hilt and swung it back at the soldier, catching him in the forearm and freeing her legs. The momentary reprieve allowed her to look backward, and she saw Galren stalking toward her, his cheek split and bleeding from what must have been her boot. She didn’t think, only acted, and she sent the knife flying. It slammed into his thigh in a spot she knew would bleed a lot and quickly. As blood poured from his wound, and the other two soldiers stared in shock, the broken door to her room flew back on its hinges again.
“Don’t touch her.” The growl came from Locke as Ransom and Jinx entered the room behind him.
Hamish rushed to Galren as he stumbled, his hand going to the knife in his thigh. The heavyset soldier growled, “What are you going to do about it? She attacked a member of the Locke military.”
Locke’s eyes went ice-cold. “I don’t like soldiers. Especially not from Locke. I watched my sister swing from a noose in Duvrall square thanks to pigs like you. And nothing would bring me more pleasure than gutting each and every one of you. If you even look at her again, I’ll take my time.”
Galren snorted, but his face had grown pale. His uniform was drenched with blood, and his feet slipped in the pool of it on the floor. He rasped, “We’ve over a hundred soldiers in this town. You would never make it out of this room alive.”
“Maybe not,” Ransom said, his bulky arms crossed ove
r his broad chest. “But neither will you if you don’t get that bleeding to stop. And your two friends would be dead before anyone even knew to come running.”
“Easy,” Hamish said, one hand outstretched. He’d been the one to halfheartedly try to rein in Galren. “We’re not looking to start anything. We’re here searching for a kidnapped princess.”
Locke growled, “The only woman I see in trouble here was put in danger by your men. And considering you are not in your own territory, I don’t think anyone in this town would fault me for killing you.”
“We’ll leave,” Hamish said. “We’ve done what we came for. There’s still more of the town to search.”
Hamish grabbed Galren by the back of his collar, tugging him toward the door. He stumbled, grown weak from blood loss. Roar fought the strong impulse to find another knife and send it into the soldier’s back. Just when she had started to get her confidence back, that monster had made her feel helpless all over again. And unlike a storm, he could be hurt by a knife. She wanted to hurt him.
But then all three soldiers pushed past the hunters and out of the room.
Locke was by her side a moment later, his hands cupping her face. She kept her eyes down because she didn’t want to see the look Locke wore. It didn’t matter if she saw rage or pity there—both would make her feel inadequate.
She shoved her hand in her pocket to find her brother’s Stormheart ring. Usually it calmed her. She just felt so angry and useless. Touching the Stormheart gave her some measure of peace. Not enough, but some. It eased the desire to go after those men and unleash the rage pounding through her.
One of Locke’s hands left her face to trail down her arm. “Let me see your hand,” he said.
Roar left the ring in her pocket and brought up her sliced hand for him to see. Jinx was behind him, offering up a handkerchief that he quickly wrapped around her fingers, squeezing to stop the bleeding.
“Roar, look at me.” She didn’t. She couldn’t.
Before he could ask again, the crystal in her pocket went hot and a horn blared. Locke cursed and Ransom said, “Storm?”
