Riot of Storm and Smoke

by Jennifer Ellision

  By the ether. Arms outstretched and hair gently flowing about my head, I float and stare up at the clear night sky, stars twinkling slyly back at me. With no sign of my friends or my ghosts, I’m truly alone.

  I smile.

  But I’m alive.

  My dear sister,

  Did you have to take half of our guards? I understand that you want to help your companion, but the estate was already quiet enough.

  No matter. I have taken measures to recruit in the village. Thank you at least for doing me the courtesy of leaving enough senior soldiers that we can train these new ones.

  Dorna is quite put-out with you—more so than your companion. In his case, she understands why he had to flee so suddenly. She’s less inclined to understand why her older sister, who is as tied to the estate as she is, would choose to leave it. But she will forgive you.

  As have I.

  Elsbeth

  My steel sings. My opponent’s sword snakes around my own and whisks it from my hand. It lands, still ringing, in the dirt, hilt thrust toward the sky,

  I wipe the sweat from my brow and glare at Lilia. “You do realize we’re not actually in battle?”

  She rolls her eyes, already removing her breastplate. “Lucky you. You’d be dead in the dust. Dorna could have lasted longer than you.”

  “You and your sisters just excel at swordplay,” I mutter.

  She laughs and claps me on the back. “Come, Highness. You know I jest.”

  Shading my eyes from the sun, I allow my lips to quirk up a fraction as I look at her. “Water?”

  “Water.”

  Lilia and I weave our way around the other soldiers panting and dripping with perspiration. Not all of the people we’ve brought to our side are strong swordsmen, but all are determined. At every turn, on every expression, I see gritted teeth and furrowed brows.

  Regardless of their skill level, they have heart. Nary a complaint has reached my ears. For three weeks, we’ve traveled all day. We rose early to train. And at night, we made camp. When they cannot rouse themselves to cheer, they keep their own council.

  We’ve settled in this area for two days now, and where that once would have seemed like a blink, it is too long a stretch of time now. I am growing restless. Nervous. Eager to move on before my father and his men can find us.

  Our makeshift army grows by a minuscule amount with almost every estate that we visit. Only three estates that we’ve stopped at have refused us troops, but even they have wished us well.

  I’ll be frank: I knew that Egria was not a happy nation, but I didn’t think most of its nobility realized it. Not enough to lend us troops at least. It would seem that I have underestimated a great many of them.

  And there’s the matter of distance. The majority of my father’s loyalists are those who lay nearest to the capital. Except for one.

  I sip from the water ladle that Lilia hands to me, contemplating the troops. “We need to move on,” I say quietly.

  She nods. “I’ve got a letter from Elsbeth to respond to, but I’ll have the troops pack it in after drills.”

  I don’t pretend that the breath rushing out of me as I straighten isn’t one of relief. I’d been preparing to sway her to my side. I’d been worried that she’d argue the men’s need for rest.

  Her eyes flick up, meeting my taken-aback gaze. They’re hard beneath a fringe of lashes. “You’ve been very frank about what’s at stake here, Caden. We all know this isn’t just about a throne.”

  The Reaping.

  I close my eyes for a moment and set the ladle back in the bucket. “Just…make sure they’re ready.”

  A foolish sentiment, I think as I walk away. There is no adequate preparation for the Makers’ fire blooming on earth.

  We ride hard, and I grit my teeth.

  Another day. Another handful of recruits. I’m not ungrateful, but it’s not enough. If we want to gain the upper hand—impossible. I correct my own thoughts. If we want to stand a chance against my father, we need double the men we have now.

  When night drips over us, we camp in the blank and cold countryside, beneath a canopy of empty stars. Thrilled with the boon of more men and the glimmering hope of victory, our troops are rowdy and bawdy. I twist my fingers within my palm as the campfire draws shadows across my face. The flames furl into a hand—beckoning.

  I blink as Lilia trips into my line of vision and breaks the spell. She settles down beside me and nudges my shoulder. “They’ll think you a mute, Your Glumness,” she whispers teasingly.

  I stay quiet as she passes me her flask, coughing when it burns on my tongue. “Lilia,” I say, returning it and wiping my lips on my sleeve. Makers, that’s strong. I massage my chest as the liquor winds its way down. “You had—what, mere hours to pack and rally your troops? And you didn’t forget the flask?”

  “Flasks are important in war.” She flaps a flippant hand at me. “You carry weapons that protect your body, but what of weapons to protect your mind? Your heart? To soothe the hurt there?”

  The hurt in my heart. I banish the flash of pain on my cheek, the memory of my father’s strike. I dispel the thought of Bree shrinking away from my touch, of her scowl. I viciously tamp down the worry over her, Aleta, and Adept Tregle forging an unknown path over the country.

  The laugh on her lips dies at the sight of my expression. “Jesting again, Caden,” she says quietly. Her eyes are searching. “What is it?”

  I shrug. Let a teasing twinkle of my own drift into my eyes as I lean forward and fan my fingertips against each other, quirking an eyebrow at her. “War isn’t enough?”

  “If it were anyone else, I’d say yes. You’re nursing a deeper hurt.”

  I sober, easing a breath out between my teeth, and admit what I haven’t before, even to myself. “I have been focusing on the war, but…” I grunt, frustrated, and press the heels of my hands to my forehead. “Did you know my father was the one who taught me to ride?”

  I don’t look up at her. I don’t want to see surprise—or worse, pity—in her eyes. But I hear it, delicately lacing her voice. “I didn’t.”

  “He did,” I say. I draw a line in the dirt in front of me. “And after the first assassination attempt on me—when poison was blazing a trail through my body—he not only commanded the palace guard to hunt them down, he had my bed moved to his suite. He stayed at my side, changing my forehead compresses himself.”

  “Caden…”

  “And…” My voice grows fiercer. “…when I saw my first battle at fourteen—Makers, I was so green, I nearly wet myself—he didn’t command me to seek great glory like you’d think he would. He pulled me aside. He smiled at me proudly and advised me to play to my strengths.”

  “He was your father.”

  At that, I look up at her. “He was my father,” I agree. “And I’m in this for the good of Egria—for the good of the world, at that. But sometimes, it’s hard to separate myself from it all. Hard to think of him as my enemy when for so long— yes, he was the king, but he was also my father. And a good one.”

  Lilia bites the inside of her cheek, clearly deliberating the correct choice of words. “He’s not that person anymore,” she finally says.

  No. I know the rumors. I know what Father’s reign was like, even before my birth. He and Lady Katerine—and even Duke Ardin—were thick into their plots long before I came along. He started numerous senseless wars, tore people away from their families to fight for his causes.

  My head drops to my hands. “I’m not sure he ever was.”

  The next morning, I tighten the straps of my saddle as dawn breaks. Lilia’s off conferring with one of her subordinates, and around me, the troops are prepare either their mounts or their weapons. The air tremors with the sound of sharpening blades.

  “Highness?”

  I look up from my steed’s mane. A young man wearing a crest I can’t place hovers before me uncertainly. He swallows when I raise a questioning brow. “Yes?”

  “Lady Lili
a requested that I confirm today’s destination…?” His voice dances around the end of the sentence, turning it into a question.

  “The Jospuhr estate,” I say. I swing into my saddle and nod at him.

  He sighs. “She was afraid you’d say that,” he mutters, walking off to deliver the news.

  I’m not thrilled with the decision myself. Some of the other estates we’d visited had had questionable loyalties, but even if they’d sent us on our way, they’d let us alone once we vacated their grounds. I fear our luck is about to run out with the next estate we visit.

  The Jospuhrs have a long history of loyalty to the crown. And not just that. They had ties to the crown as well. Many branches on my family tree have been named Jospuhr. Our ancestors had intermarried many times.

  I’d nearly had a marriage contract with their house before Aleta had been born and my father had turned his sights on a marriage contract with Nereidium, never dreaming that he’d be refused. He’d been wrong. And that may have started the war, but the Nereid King and Queen had been right to refuse him. They’d only have given him exactly what he wanted otherwise. We’d all be worse off for it.

  Lilia reins in her horse beside me, brow furrowed. “You’re sure of this?”

  “Yes.”

  The sun picks up the threads of red in her brown hair as she searches me. She tugs at a lock of it worriedly. “But you’re nervous.”

  “Yes,” I say again. I’d be a fool not to be.

  There’s a chance—albeit a small one—that this will go well, and I have to take it. The Jospuhrs have strong forces and funds besides.

  We need more men. This is the fastest way to get them.

  But I’m pragmatic and practical, and I know it’s far more likely that this will go in the other direction, that we’ll be in for a fight.

  The Jospuhr estate has more gold to its name than even the daughters of Masonstone. We have to try. Though they serve the crown, it remains to be seen whether they will choose to ally themselves with the current wearer—or its heir.

  Me.

  “Come,” I say to Lilia. My shoulders straighten beneath my chainmail. We move to the front of the troops, and I lift my voice to carry over them all. “We ride.”

  Makers. Makers above. I tremble in the river’s hold as it hushes me, a mother rocking her child. Grabbing hold of a tree root protruding into the water, I haul myself ashore.

  Panting, I flop onto the riverbed, sopping wet, and consider my options. What now?

  I have to follow them. But history has proved over and over again that I’ve no flair for subterfuge. And I know nothing about tracking. If I can find a town though…perhaps they could point me toward Clavins.

  The bandits have to be taking them there, I think, curling my fingers in the mud. They just…do.

  And then what? a voice prods.

  One step at a time, I caution myself. First, I need to see if Fi and the others left any of our supplies back at our camp. I push to my feet. Twigs and dirt cling to my sopping clothes, and I grimace. I hope that they’ve at least left a change of clothes behind, so I can dispose of these.

  The trek to find our campsite is fruitless in the darkness. Frustrated, I want to scream when it feels as though I’m going around in circles for hours. It’s nothing but the same dirt and leaves, the same trees and trunks.

  Finally, shivering in my wet clothes, I give up for the night and huddle next to a log. The leaves from the tree above me have mostly fallen off and created a softer forest floor.

  I just hope an animal doesn’t decide I’d make a tasty midnight treat, I think, just before I drift off to sleep.

  “Your Highness.” A giggle. “Your Hiiiiiiighness.”

  My long hair tangles around my waist as I bury my face in a cool white pillow. I sigh. “Tell Mother I require only five more min—” I shriek as a stream of water splashes onto my face, and I leap from my bed.

  “Wonderful,” my mother says, grinning over my washbasin. Her blue eyes sparkle out at me. Her brown hair is short and her crown sits neatly on top of it. She lowers her arms, still extended from Throwing at me. “You’re awake.”

  “Mother.” Exasperation coats my voice. My nightdress is soaked through. With a gesture, the water droplets cling to my palm as I draw it away and circle my hands to spiral it through the air and back to my washbasin. “Shouldn’t you be greeting the emissaries from Egria?”

  “Aleta,” she mocks me. “Shouldn’t you be joining me to greet their prince and your betrothed?”

  “Prince Caden is coming?” Ugh. But wait… I perk up. “May I wear the scythe tiara?”

  She sighs, but I see the amusement in her gaze. “If you must.”

  Ha! I scramble out of bed. My maids dress me quickly and fetch my favorite tiara—well, my favorite when it comes to the Egrians anyway. The metal work is exquisite: thorned ivy wreaths two razor-sharp scythes, which cup a flawless sapphire between them.

  The first time I wore it in front of Prince Caden, his throat had bobbed as he’d swallowed hard.

  Mother shoos the maids’ hands away and finishes up the laces of my dusky pink dress herself. “Your father is down there already,” she says. Her deft fingers loop a bow to finish it. Scrutinizing myself in the mirror, I smooth the dress down, lips puckered. The pink is an odd choice with the scythe tiara, but they’re so contradictory that it works somehow.

  She brings me into her chest, embracing me. Her heart is pounding, and I clutch at her shoulders. Before, this was a minor inconvenience, but now I’m worried. What’s different about this meeting?

  “Mother…?” I draw the question out, lingering.

  She kisses my brow. “May the Makers smile upon us this day.”

  My heart throbs. If she’s bringing the Mother and Father into this, it’s serious.

  Something skitters. A shadow at the corner of my vision, at the ceiling of my chambers. I turn to catch a better look—

  —and rise from my curtsy before the King of Egria and his son.

  What’s happened? I clutch my head, eyes wide. I don’t recall leaving my rooms. I don’t remember the walk here.

  “Princess Aleta?” My father. He starts forward behind me, arm outstretched, but stills, catching King Langdon’s gaze. I blink as Father’s form flickers. For a moment, he looks like someone else. A man shorter in stature. And bald. With brown eyes.

  The world rights itself, and it’s just Father, blue eyes worried. He exchanges a glance with Mother. “Are you well?”

  “I…yes.” I dip a quick curtsy this time. “My apologies.”

  Shadows seep down behind Prince Caden. His gray eyes are bored, as usual. But it’s not him that I’m focused on.

  I watch as the clawed shadows, inky black, drip down the walls until they reach the floor. Hooked, they haul themselves across the room, gathering speed until they rise, towering behind the Egrian King.

  The prince’s eyes stutter. Gone is the bored blankness. They’re worried, filled with emotion, and he reaches for his sword as he steps in front of me, turning slowly. “Bree? What is it?”

  Bree. Not Aleta, but Bree. With dawning horror, I gather my skirts and rush forward to shove him aside, but I’m too late.

  “Caden, don’t—!” I scream as the shadows swan-dive into Caden’s mouth. His limbs stiffen. His neck spasms, eyes wide at the ceiling as blackness shoots from his pupils, nostrils.

  The shadows envelop him. I whirl as they swallow my parents, the King and Queen of Nereidium. Da appears and disappears just as quickly. Tregle—gone. Meddie—gone. Aleta—gone, gone, gone.

  The King of Egria smiles.

  And I awaken in the daylight, screaming.

  I tamp down the screams by biting on the back of my palm so hard that I draw blood. I smear it across my clothing, now only damp, as I catch my breath.

  “What,” I mutter, “was that?” A glimpse of things as they could have been. Until something had turned. Just like the other dreams lately. Just like the dream befo
re I’d seen Katerine’s ghost for the first time.

  “We linger, my dear,” she murmurs into my ear now, stroking it. I start. She became visible so suddenly. “You’ve stilled my body, but my soul’s connection with the air is unbroken. That takes time to fade.

  “Your father—” Kat tuts. “He let his connection disintegrate while he still lived. If he’d wanted a constant presence, the ability to use the air to tie himself to a living soul like I have, he’d have needed to continue to train.”

  That’s true, I think, straightening. Da hadn’t used his abilities while we’d lived in Abeline. He’d been too busy pretending to be a non-Elemental. Too busy pretending to be a peasant.

  “If he’d done that, perhaps he’d still be with you now.” She smiles. “Like me.”

  “You know…” I stand up and rub at my neck, wincing when it cracks. “That’s just what a delusion would want me to think.”

  She sighs and I think I hear her mutter “hopeless” under her breath as she vanishes, but I ignore her. It’s time to move on. Back on the road toward Clavins. But first…back to hunting for our campsite.

  It’s easier in the sunshine to see the difference in the shade of the leaves. I wasn’t far last night, but the charred leaves and bark where Aleta and Tregle had fought Quil and Fi are evident now.

  In a patch of disturbed dirt, I locate one of Meddie’s knives, point half-buried in the soil. This must have been where we’d battled Roch. I pocket it. A dirty cloak—Tregle’s. His Adept robe. I take hold of that, too, stripping down and wrapping it around myself. I tie my clothes into a knotted, makeshift pack, but I’m relieved when I come across Aleta’s actual pack, dropped on our run from the river. Clutching it to my chest, I thank whatever small shred of luck I still have. There’s a bit of coin left buried beneath her bedroll, and… I feel in the corners of the pack and my fingers encounter a hard lump.