Storm Siren

by Mary Weber

  I beg the curse to aim for the forest, but the panic presses against my chest, overwhelming in its control, and I know I’ve already lost. As if I needed proof, my chin jerks up, and a thin strand of lightning sizzles the ground between Colin and me.

  “Aim for the trees, Nym.” Eogan’s tone is firm. Focused.

  I can’t do this. Oh hulls—I can’t do this! I shut my eyes and strain my mind for the trees.

  Crack! The ground shakes and the scent of burning erupts as thunder rips through the clearing, and suddenly Eogan’s hand is at my neck and his voice is a cool breeze in my ear. “Perfect!”

  I open my eyes to see a tall pine tree still standing with a black slice right down the middle.

  Colin shouts and runs to embrace me in a giant, awkward hug while I stand, mouth ajar, staring. Then I’m shaking and laughing and embracing him back because somehow we’re all alive instead of miniature pyres of charred flesh.

  We go through the exercise another four times until nothing is left of the tree and the poor thing finally tips over with a loud, crumbling thud. Colin jogs over to hug me again, and even though I pull away this time, it feels good to share this victory.

  Even Eogan smiles and socks Colin in the arm in what almost looks like affection. “Now, see that fir over there?” he says when Colin socks him back. He points to the shortest one sticking out away from the rest. “She’s going to aim for that, and you’re going to stop her. I want you to shift the ground beneath the tree and move the entire thing out of danger. You’ll have five minutes to see who wins.”

  Colin grins and moves eight paces from me. He hunches down. Then he stretches out his arm and beckons me with the tips of his fingers. “C’mon, storm girl. Do what you do.”

  “Just like before,” Eogan says from behind me. He squeezes my hand.

  I plant the tree in my mind and close my eyes. Scared. Thrilled. In the recesses of my chest, I command the storm above to obey.

  A snap followed by a crack rips through the air, and my ears and whole body shudder at the effect. I open my eyes expectantly, only to discover that the tree’s still standing.

  It’s just moved four feet closer.

  My eyes go wide. The ground behind it is burned to a crisp.

  “Blood of a bolcrane!” Colin shouts. “Did you see how I did that?”

  “Yes, we’re stunned at your magnificence,” Eogan says. “Four minutes.”

  I give in to the crushing weight over my fingers again and the exercise repeats itself. Colin wins again.

  “Three minutes.”

  And again.

  “Is there a reason you’re not trying?” Eogan’s voice asks at the two-minute mark.

  I squint. “I am.”

  “Liar.”

  I swallow. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s that you’re having me strike a tree? Or maybe it’s that I’ve spent my whole life destroying, and I want to learn to defend. Instead I’m standing here murdering helpless plant life.”

  “I can only help you if I show you exactly what you’re capable of controlling on a small scale. Because at some point, when your attitude takes over and your emotions get in a huff, you’ll need to be able to feel the difference between attack and defense.”

  When my emotions get in a huff?

  “One min—” He doesn’t finish before the tree is split into a perfectly neat, burnt lump of wood.

  CHAPTER 11

  Spattered tracks in the ashen snow. I count them—one, ten, twenty-two tiny, bloody footprints spreading out behind me. Like squashed fairy angels someone played hopfrog with.

  What am I doing out here? I cough in the thickening smoke and begin to cry, but this time when I call for Mum, I already know she won’t come. Because I’ve caused something dreadful.

  There’s a strange sound on my right—a male voice, I think—and then Mum’s and Dad’s screams start in as the fire hurls the chateau’s roofing to the ground. I feel my heart hurl down with it.

  Except the fire doesn’t just consume my heart, but my fingers and bones and body. I start to scream, begging to make it stop, to get back to my parents, but the heat is tearing me up and eating me alive. I drop to the snow and watch the blood ooze from my fingers. At some point I become aware that they are no longer my fingers curling into fists.

  They are the hands of a monster.

  And the blood covering them is that of my parents.

  “Pst!”

  A thick finger stabs my cheek.

  “Pssssst! C’mon, get up, lazy head!”

  “Go away,” I snarl to Breck.

  Somebody pokes my side, his voice deeper. “Maybe she’s a heavy sleeper.”

  I shove my head farther beneath the covers. “Leave me alone.”

  “Nah, not Nym,” Breck says. “She ’ardly sleeps at all. Dumb thing jumps at the squeak of a rat.”

  “I swear I will maim you, Breck. Go away.”

  Another poke. “Well, maybe we shoulda brought a rat, then.”

  “What the bolcrane do you want?” I pull the blanket off my face to find Breck’s round cheeks inches from mine.

  She straightens. “Ah, there she is. See. Told ya.”

  “Go dump yourself in Litchfell Forest,” I mutter, but I go ahead and sit up so I can glare at her from a better position.

  Colin is squatting beside me on the bed.

  What the—? I yank the covers back up to my neck. “What in hulls, Colin? Get out of my room!”

  He laughs. “You’re funny when you sleep. You don’t look so crabby.”

  “Get. Out.”

  He jumps off the bed and keeps laughing as Breck leans down. “Colin and me is sneakin’ up to one o’ the High Court’s common houses, yeah? An’ we wants you to come.”

  “Go without me.”

  “We’re goin’ to hear what’s being said ’bout the war.”

  Considering he and I have practiced every day in the sun and rain for the past eight days since my arrival—and most of my late evenings have been spent in the library or watching Adora’s wretched parties—hiking anywhere in the middle of the night sounds akin to death. “Go without me.” I start to lie back down.

  “Ah c’mon, Nym.” Breck pouts. “Adora’s only gone for tonight. We won’t get another chance for weeks! And then you’ll be sorry for not takin’ us up when we offered.”

  She has a good point. Rumor has it Adora is rarely gone.

  And Adora would never allow us to go.

  “Fine.” I reach for my clothes at the end of the bed.

  “Now there’s a good, dull-headed girl, yeah?” Breck’s round cheeks puff into a grin. “Colin, get outta here so she can dress.”

  As soon as he’s gone, I change under the covers, which proves ridiculously difficult—thanks to my achy, crippled fingers—as I try to keep the freezing bedroom air off my bare skin. I’m shivering by the time I’m done because even though I’ve started to thicken a bit from the frequent meals, it’s more muscle than insulation.

  Breck fetches me a gray, hooded cloak I didn’t even know was in the armoire while I tug my boots on. Then she’s hustling us both out the door.

  By the time we’re downstairs and out into the moonlight, Colin is standing next to two saddled horses that nicker as we approach.

  I stall midstep.

  “Are you insane, Colin?” I grab Breck’s arm and put myself between her and the animals’ mouths. So far we’ve ridden the beasts four times in the week I’ve been here, but always when Eogan was holding their harnesses so they couldn’t twist around and bite our heads off. And here Colin is thinking we’ll just take them out for a romp.

  “They’re the plow horses, Nym.” He tosses me the reins to the closest animal and goes to help Breck onto it.

  The mare nuzzles my arm, showing me he’s right. These are smaller and friendlier. Although the warm, damp nose against my fingers makes my throat tingle for a second with the recollection of the warhorse’s teeth.

  I swag my cloak and get ready
to climb onto the saddle in front of Breck when Colin is suddenly behind me, his hands on my waist.

  I spin around and shove my elbow against his throat.

  “Hey, whoa! Just tryin’ to help you up.”

  I drop my arm. Something about the too-playful way he says it freezes in my chest. Or maybe it’s the close distance between us. I step back. Has his smile always been so flirtatious? Abruptly I’m hot and uncomfortable.

  “Hurry up, you two!”

  I clamber onto the mare and Breck hooks her arms around my waist.

  “Ready?” I say. With a low click of my tongue, the two of us are off in an awkward, arrogant gallop onto the main road before Colin’s even mounted.

  When he finally catches up to us, he’s laughing and hooting, and Breck joins in with a merriment that invites me in. As does the balmy breeze, which is full of promise for a free night in the High Court after days spent trying not to take the world out in a hailstorm or punch the lights out of Eogan. What would he think if he knew we were breaking the “never leave the estate” rule? We’d be in trouble for weeks.

  Which somehow makes the night trek more satisfying. I can picture the disapproving look in his green eyes. The clenching of his mouth. The surprise at thinking he knows me so well only to discover he hasn’t a clue. Poor overly serious man. He could do with a little letting loose one of these days.

  Maybe tomorrow when I’m angry at him, I’ll tell him so.

  For now, I settle into the ride and inhale the enormous night sky edged with smoke from the shoreline and fires from our own squadrons camped throughout the valley. The sound of clanking and the smell of war travel with us until we hit the main highway with its tall hedges that block out everything but the ricochet of our horses’ hooves on white rock.

  The road climbs a quick two terrameters before the hedge disappears and the High Court spreads out ahead of us with its giant stone buildings and beautiful archways covering steep streets leading up to the white Castle. It is a sanctuary kept safe for centuries by the Hythra Mountains’ crescent range that extends from the waters up by Cashlin and curves around the base of Faelen. As we enter, Colin veers off one of the outermost lanes toward a low stone portico next to a row of stalls. “Let’s tie them over here.”

  With the animals secured and chomping sugar cubes, Colin takes Breck’s hand and winds us past stone houses and wood hovels, all well lit and noisy. My eyes are bugging out of my head, trying to soak it all in. The villagers I’ve known can’t afford to burn candles late, but here, near the High Court, even the poorest area is alive.

  The sounds are the same though. Snuffling comes from one home. Crying from another.

  A lady’s high-pitched laughter.

  A man cursing.

  I pull my cloak tighter and hurry past. Whoever it is, his anger is getting the better of him.

  A small cry rings out from within his oversized hovel, and I suddenly realize it’s not a hovel at all but a favor house, painted in the telltale crimson, and the shouting is directed at one of the girls. My gut turns.

  I cover my ears and keep my gaze straight in front of me. Let it go.

  Colin gives me a curious look, as if to say, “You okay?” Triggering the abrupt premonition in me that this may not have been the brightest plan. I still have no idea how to control my curse. If anything, Eogan’s work has made me hypersensitive to it. As has his dumb prying into my personal issues.

  We turn a corner and I keep with my fast pace until I’m certain the swearing and whimpering in the house have faded. I remove my hands and shove them back into my pockets.

  Colin’s still watching me. “You afraid of people fighting?”

  He can’t honestly be asking that. Unless he’s unaware of what we just passed, or worse, doesn’t care. “I don’t like hearing people get hurt,” I mumble, then quicken my stride.

  He softens his gaze and continues his survey of my face. “Do you want me to go back an’ check it out for a sec? Maybe I can do somethin’.” And his eyes are so sincere I know he means it. Even if his doing so would end up a complete disaster for all of us, of that I have no doubt. An image of the redheaded girl fills my head.

  “I don’t think that’d be a safe idea right now,” I whisper, even as my curse twitches and my stomach coils. I glance away to Breck, who’s got her head inclined to us, listening.

  “Well, maybe we can at least lighten your heart with a feast.” Colin bumps my shoulder and flashes an instant smile. He waves his free hand as if to bow at me, announcing, “Here we are,” as he stops in front of the common-house doors looming in the dark. Glimmering lights and the sounds of hilarity ease out from a crack at the base, along with the smell of liquid forgetfulness.

  Colin puts his hand on the door but doesn’t open it. “Don’t draw any notice to yerselves. Doubt anyone on this side of Court would recognize us, but still.” He yanks open the squeaky door and we’re flooded with light and raucous laughter.

  “Hey-o! Looksy what the dark’s dragged in!” a loud voice erupts. “More friendlies!”

  CHAPTER 12

  THE WHOLE ROOM TURNS TO FACE US, INCLUDING a group of men seated around the middle table, on top of which stands a taller-than-average dwarf.

  “C’mon, c’mon! O’er here! Don’t be shy!” the dwarf shouts. “We’re all nice folk, right, chaps?”

  A cheer breaks out along with a call for more drinks, but it’s all a little too boisterous, too forceful, as if to conceal the strain of fear I sense in the air.

  I look at Colin. So much for discreet.

  He grins, then plunges toward the group of men and their dwarf, all of whom I’d guess to be mine workers, judging from the soot coating their bodies.

  Breck nudges me. “Colin just went off an’ sat with ’em, didn’t he? Fool-head.”

  I shrug and, pulling her sleeve my direction, work us around the room’s edges to sit at a side counter, opposite the room from a table full of court officials in shiny, embroidered breeches and gold-buttoned coats.

  Breck pulls her hood back and settles in, then produces a small purse of draghts she uses to place our order.

  “You recognize anyone ’ere?” Breck asks in a low voice.

  “No.” I glance at the officials, one of whom catches my eye. Probably because aside from me, he’s the only other person who also has his hood up. A young, thin-faced man, he tips his head at me beneath the black folds of his cloak and shows his strong jaw and perfectly straight, shiny teeth in a smile I’m sure has dazzled a dozen barmaids. One of those teeth appears to be silver. I empty my eyes of emotion and look away.

  “Who’s Colin talking with?” Breck says in my ear.

  “Half the room and a tall dwarf.”

  She grunts. “Figures.” She lifts her nose and sniffs. “Reeks like frightened mine workers and a traveller.”

  I stare at her. She can smell them?

  I’m about to ask what else she can smell, but our drinks arrive and Colin saunters over to join us, ignoring Breck’s disapproving expression. “They’re mine workers out for a bit o’ fun afore they head to the war front.” He points to the noisy group with the dwarf still standing on the table. “And that smaller guy hails from the traveller camps.”

  I look at Breck. Impressive.

  “See that kid near ’em?” Colin directs my attention to an exhausted-looking boy our age who can barely hold his head up. “He just got back from the front. Not too willing to talk about it though.”

  Judging from the five empty pint glasses tipped over in front of him, I doubt he’s able to talk at all. The look on his tortured face says he’d likely cry anyway.

  “One of his mates said they never saw any airships. It was the plagues that did ’em in,” Colin says. “Ravaging the coastal colonies below the western cliffs. They’re cut off from the rest of us so we’ve not ’eard much of it. But they said by the time King Odion’s generals and Bron showed up to wipe those colonies out, there was ’ardly nothin’ there to take. Af
ter that, the disease started takin’ out part o’ Bron’s army too.”

  I shift in my seat, facing away from the soldier. “What kind of plagues?”

  “Wouldn’t describe ’em. Just said they turned men ‘unearthly.’ Musta been pretty bad though, seeing as half his troop got wiped out.”

  “Did he say where they came from?”

  “See that dwarf?” Colin tips his chin to the guy who’s now reclined on the table with his head cocked, listening to his friends. “Goes by the name of Allen. Says the word among the travellers is that the plagues are the work of Draewulf.”

  Breck coughs and nearly spits out her drink on us.

  Colin and I both look at her.

  “Dumb commoners will blame any superstition on Draewulf,” she says, as if sensing our questioning glances.

  Colin smirks at me with a confiding air. “Breck’s scared of ’im. She even sings that ‘Sea of Elisedd’ ballad just to assure ’erself it ain’t real.”

  “Am not!” Breck growls.

  “Are too. Always ’ave been. Squirrelin’ around like—” He shifts to a mimicking, high-pitched voice. “ ‘I’m a squeamish girl who can’t handle talk ’bout Draewulf.’ Same as you been actin’ about that Luminescent Princess Rasha. Afraid one of ’em’s gonna steal yer soul.”

  Breck hauls off with an awkwardly aimed hit that glances off Colin’s shoulder. It sends him tipping back off his chair, but he bounces back laughing. I look around to see if anyone’s noticed, but most are busy with their mutton and porridge.

  Except for the strong-jawed, silver-toothed official across the room.

  He’s eyeing Breck and me up and down, not even having the grace to glance at our faces this time. I shift closer to Colin. Coming here wasn’t a good idea.

  Our food arrives. Warm plates of white-worm stew and crusty bread. Colin and Breck order more mead to go with it. I stick with my tankard of water.

  “None for you?”

  “Drink and I don’t suit each other,” I tell Breck.

  “I’m bettin’ she gets a little too friendly.” Colin bats his eyelashes and makes kissy lips.