Freed by Flame and Storm

by Becky Allen

  “The Highest were mages who’d sworn never to let magic ruin their world again. That was why they didn’t join the Wellspring Bloodlines. And why, after the War, they decided to seal all magic away forever—at least, as much as they could. They thought the Curse and the Well would last forever, so there was nothing else they needed it for, and it was dangerous.”

  Jae nodded again. So the Highest had turned away from magic, killed any remaining mages they could find—they’d slaughtered the Order, and done the same to every Twill mage they’d run across since.

  “I’m sure there’s more to it. Lenni says there are still other documents we can translate, now that it’s safe to bring them out of hiding. Letters and journals and more,” Elan concluded.

  “That’s good,” Jae said.

  They fell silent, watching the Well together for a while. It was nice to just sit quietly with Elan. It hadn’t happened in so long. Not since before…

  “I thought you were dead,” Jae said at last, forcing out the truth. “And once I knew you weren’t, I still thought you were lost.”

  “You saved my life,” Elan said. “You got me out of those chains. I’d have been trampled, even after Erra…”

  “But I hadn’t planned to.” Jae swallowed her shame and made herself speak. “I thought saving your life would cost the Closest their best chance at freedom, so I wasn’t going to, until Erra surrendered and Lenni thought our best chance was to save her.”

  “I see,” Elan said, and turned to look at Jae. “Forgive the question, but is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

  “Yes,” Jae said. The Curse was gone, she was free, she could lie now. But not to Elan.

  Elan was quiet for a long moment, then placed his hand over hers. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I understand why you made that choice. I…sort of suspected it, actually, and I was at peace with it. I would have died to save the Closest’s freedom. I’m glad I didn’t have to, but I would have.”

  “I wish you hadn’t…hadn’t come so close to needing to.”

  “That wasn’t your fault,” Elan said. “And the fact that you told me the truth just now, that you would have sacrificed me to save your people…that’s why I followed you in the first place. Out here the first time, and everywhere since. Because you’re honest and devoted, and you always do what’s right. Even when it’s hard. Jae, that’s why I…I still…”

  He trailed off, and she stared at him. He looked uncomfortable and didn’t say anything else.

  “I care for you quite a bit,” she said at last, remembering what he’d said to her so many weeks ago. She couldn’t stand to look at him as she spoke, so she stared up at the cliff face instead, tracing the jagged cracks and the way the colors in it were layered and stacked.

  “Yeah, that’s what I was trying to say,” he agreed. “That’s why I still care for you so much.”

  “No, I meant…” She made herself look at him this time. “I meant, I care about you. I…I feel…I’d have given anything—almost—to save you. I wanted to. I did.”

  He smiled slowly, like he truly hadn’t expected it. Her heartbeat sped up as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. She swallowed heavily, feeling a little shaken and unsure, as he lowered her hand again.

  “I know you’ve survived awful things,” he said. “Rannith, I mean. And I don’t want to…It’s all right if it…if you don’t want to…”

  “I don’t want to think about Rannith,” she said, though she wasn’t sure how not to. Because no one had ever kissed her but Rannith, who had raped her, and then Elan, when she’d panicked. Even now, the thought of Elan kissing her again…She didn’t know what she felt, but her stomach churned with anxiety. She didn’t want to disappoint him, but she didn’t know how not to.

  “I just meant, if it takes you a long time,” Elan said. “I’ll wait until you’re ready. I’ll help you however I can. That’s all.”

  She had to look away and made herself breathe slowly, deeply. Their hands were still joined, and this time she was the one who brought his to her lips. Who kissed his hand gently, and realized it was shaking because her own hand was shaking.

  Elan gave it a gentle squeeze, and they sat quietly for a long time, as the sun began to sink. She’d watched the sun set over the Well before, several times since the whole of the world had come out here—and once before that, with Elan and Tal. So long ago, now.

  She tore her gaze from it, up to the cliff face, and thought that the cracks and lines of the cliff were almost like Closest art. So subtle no one would even know there was a pattern or picture to it. Except Closest art was meant to be remade over and over again, and something like a cliff was forever. Or so close it didn’t make a difference.

  She gazed in other-vision. She was weaker now, but earth was still her strongest element, and she could sense the cliff easily enough. She stared at it, willed the lines and the colors to shift. Elan gasped next to her, watching it all change.

  Jae wasn’t much of an artist, but she knew Tal’s face by heart, even now, months later. The lines of the cliff came together, swirling into place to show him as she remembered him: smiling, kind, protective. Here, watching over the Well he’d given his life to.

  She didn’t know if anyone else would even notice the change, unless they happened to sit here on the landing and look up at it. But that was all right, too. Tal was gone, and all that was left were her memories and his legacy, and that was enough.

  As the sun set, she leaned against Elan, surprisingly comfortable with her head on his shoulder, with their fingers tangled together, sitting in silence. Until, at last, she had the energy to stand. “They’re probably missing us up in the camp.”

  “Mostly missing you,” he said, smiling, and stood to lead the way. “And dinner would be nice.”

  She nodded and followed him up, but just for a few steps. Then she stopped.

  She looked back once, at the image of Tal hidden in the cliff face, at the Well, at the sky, where a few stars were barely visible on the horizon. Elan waited for her while she took it all in. Then she turned to walk up the steps, to return to the people who needed her and to whom she’d given her life, almost as surely as Tal had given his.

  And, for the first time since he’d died, she felt at peace.

  So you know how conventional wisdom says that writing a book under contract for the first time is the hardest thing ever? It turns out that’s totally true, and there are so many people I need to thank for getting me through this.

  First, my amazing agent, Hannah Bowman, whose vision for this book was much bigger than mine and who pushed me to get it done. And of course, my fantastic editor, Kate Sullivan, whose encouragement, wisdom, and patience helped me turn this mess into a story. Major thanks to the whole team at Delacorte Press. My experience with these two books has been so wonderful, and I’m eternally grateful.

  I have an incredible group of first readers who talked me through multiple drafts and more freak-outs than I can count: Rachel, Jess, and Maddy, thank you for everything. Enormous thanks to Brittney for her vital insight on sensitivity issues. Thanks also to Margot, Jen, and Nicole for the endless cheerleading.

  Thank you to my extended family and friends for all the lovely messages and support. Thanks to the amazing YA book blogging community, who are so welcoming to new writers, especially Nori for her incredible enthusiasm and positivity. Finally, a huge thanks to my work family: everyone at Remedy, but especially folks at The Body (past and present) and most especially Myles, Olivia, and Aryeh.

  I feel like the orchestra is about to play me off, but seriously: thank you to everyone who read Jae’s story, everyone who encouraged me to write it, everyone who emailed or tweeted or otherwise messaged me about their excitement. You are all awesome, and I owe you some serious high fives. Like I said, writing and sharing these two books has been an incredible experience for me. Thank you for being part of it.

  Sometimes, when the sun made her dizzy and her skin burned an
d peeled and there was no water to spare, Jae thought about revenge. She was in charge of the estate’s grounds, and here in the garden, a cactus loomed over her work. Decades old, it overshadowed everything but the fountain. Back when it still rained, the cactus had grown enormous red flowers. Now there was no rain, there were no flowers, but the spines still grew, some of them as long as Jae’s hand and as thick as her finger.

  She tossed weeds into a sack so she could drag them out back, but she eyed the cactus for a long moment before turning away. She’d never be able to get her hands on a real weapon, but if she ever had a few minutes of freedom from the Curse, she could do damage with one of those spines.

  “Jae? Jae! There you are! Don’t move!”

  Jae’s body went stone still at the unexpected order, which locked her in place where she knelt. She could only shift her gaze to look up. Lady Shirrad was already moving away from the window she’d yelled from, leaving the faded gold curtains swaying in her wake. So Jae waited, using the moment to catch her breath. As orders went, just waiting wasn’t so bad. Not yet, anyway. Though if Lady Shirrad was looking for her, it was to give Jae yet another task.

  The Lady strode into the courtyard a minute later, the scent of noxious perfume accompanying her. That meant bad news. Lady Shirrad only covered herself in perfume when there wasn’t enough water to bathe. That meant there would be even less water for Jae to use in the garden this evening—and less for Jae and the other Closest to drink.

  The sneer on Lady Shirrad’s face made her look older than seventeen. She and Jae had been born within a day of each other, but that was all they had in common. Lady Shirrad’s features were softer, her skin a lighter brown, and she wore an embroidered red robe with sandals, where Jae had only a stained, shapeless tan dress and bare feet.

  Hand on her hip, Lady Shirrad declared, “This garden looks horrible—like it’s dead.”

  Jae just waited, still kneeling. The Curse didn’t allow her to speak in front of anyone Avowed unless it was to answer a direct question. Lady Shirrad was right, though. The courtyard garden wasn’t much to look at anymore—an open, square space in the middle of the building, with red and orange rocks ringing the cactus and a few scraggly bushes. The bushes’ leaves were brown now, dying, just like the few tufts of grass that had fought their way up through the stones and sand.

  Jae could just remember the way grass had covered the whole courtyard when she’d been a child, and that there had been real flowers. Those had died off years ago. Years before that, according to her mother, the fountain set back in one corner of the courtyard had actually worked, with fresh water flowing down into its trough, free for anyone to drink—even the Closest. Now the fountain was just an oddly shaped sculpture of four columns overlapping one another and linked together in the middle, representing the four elements that mages had once called upon for magic.

  “I have guests coming, and it can’t look like this when they arrive. What can you do about it?” Lady Shirrad continued.

  Jae braced herself as she answered. The Curse forced all of the Closest to tell the truth as well as they knew it, but the truth didn’t always make Lady Shirrad happy. This certainly wouldn’t: “Without more water, I can’t do anything at all, Lady.”

  Lady Shirrad narrowed her eyes, an expression that was usually accompanied by a sharp slap. But thankfully, she only said, “Then use what you need to, but don’t you dare waste a single drop.”

  The weight of the order gripped Jae like stone sandals, so heavy that she’d barely be able to trudge forward until the order was completed or lifted.

  “I can’t have Aredann looking like this when they arrive. I don’t even want to think about it. Do you understand?” Lady Shirrad demanded.

  “Yes, Lady,” Jae said, understanding what mattered: the order she’d been given, and that Lady Shirrad would be even more frantic and impossible than usual until her guests had come and gone again. Lady Shirrad had been Aredann’s Avowed guardian—its absolute ruler—since her father had passed away when she was thirteen, and she hadn’t had many visitors since. No one seemed to want to travel as far as Aredann, especially during the drought.

  “Good. Now get to it.” Lady Shirrad started back to the arched entryway, but then paused, her hand on her hip and her sandal tapping against the floor. “Do you know where your brother is?”

  A bone weariness, worse than any day under the sun, wrapped itself around Jae’s shoulders at the thought of Tal and Lady Shirrad. At least this truth came easily. “No, Lady.”

  Lady Shirrad gave her one last scowl at the negative response, then swept out, her swirling robe kicking up dust. Jae finally straightened up, her body protesting the change in position. She took a moment to stretch as she decided how she’d go about her work. The Curse would give her that much freedom, at least. As long as she was working, obeying Lady Shirrad’s orders, she could do what she wished.

  She stooped to pick up the last few weeds that had escaped her, annoyed at how those could grow even ages after the last proper plants had died. She’d want them all gone before she claimed one of the clay water jugs from the basement to use on the bushes and grass. There was no point in watering weeds.

  At least Lady Shirrad had allowed her the water she needed. After a year of giving Jae only smaller jugs or water skins, barely enough to keep the garden alive, Jae could now use whatever she required. But rather than being a relief, that tiny bit of freedom left Jae dry, brittle. More water for the garden meant less for the livestock and the fields, less for cooking, less for bathing and cleaning. Less to drink. There simply wasn’t enough to go around, and Lady Shirrad’s order meant she cared more about impressing her guests than she did about keeping the Closest slaves from getting sunsick as they worked.

  The garden’s life was more important than Jae’s own. Jae glanced at the overgrown cactus again as she hauled the sack of weeds out, stooping under the weight of her orders, and under the weight of the Curse of obedience that compelled all Closest.

  The sinking sun stained the garden bright orange, and Jae shielded her eyes. Even her dark skin practically glowed under the intense light as she set about watering the garden, trying to save the dying grass.

  In a landscape of unbroken browns and tans, under a sky that was endless blue all day and star-speckled black at night, green was the color of wealth. Green meant thriving plants, which meant thriving people.

  The grass was brown. Jae frowned at it, dizzy for a moment, and sagged against the fountain until the spinning sensation passed. She heaved a deep breath, willing herself to move, to just get back to work. She had to return the rest of the water, the little bit that sloshed at the bottom of the massive jug. But the water was so tempting….

  A shadow flickered at the arched entryway into the courtyard. She reached for the jug, willing whoever it was to go about their business and not bother her. But the person stepped into the garden silently—barefoot, not causing the pebbles to grind. Jae’s gaze flicked sideways, and she was relieved to see it was only Tal, her brother.

  He caught her glancing, and smiled, then waved with an open hand, which signaled that no Avowed were near enough to see or hear him. It would be safe for them to talk. Even so, he walked toward her silently, and then stopped next to her on the path, brushing his hand against her elbow in a silent greeting.

  They were twins, but he moved through the world with an ease she’d never mastered. It was in the way he glided from the doorway to join her; it was how he sat near her, light and relaxed, as if the Curse didn’t weigh him down at all.

  He nudged her elbow again, and when she glanced down at his hand, he opened his palm to reveal a date. He pressed it into her hand and murmured, “You look exhausted.”

  She had to lean in to hear him, and she chewed the fruit for a second before answering, “I’ve been outside all day. Be careful. Lady Shirrad was looking for you.”

  “I know, but she just keeps missing me.” He gave Jae a sideways smirk. Lady Shirrad
adored Tal, treated him with kindness she never bothered to show anyone else. He was the only one of the Closest who ever ate or drank his fill, a privilege he earned by smiling to Lady Shirrad’s face and saving his scorn for when her back was turned. But he used her favor to get away with scrounging up the few scraps he could, and he shared these first with Jae and then with the other Closest. Sometimes Jae thought his position as the most favored of the Closest was the only thing that had saved her from dying of exhaustion or sunsickness.

  “Lucky you,” she said. She didn’t know how he managed it. The Curse would never allow them to lie with words, so Tal used his body instead, acting for all the world as if he adored Lady Shirrad. His smile was his only weapon, but he wielded it ruthlessly.

  She didn’t have Tal’s advantages. They looked similar enough, but the sharp features that were handsome on him were awkward and boyish on her. Tal was gorgeous and knew it; Jae was a mess of scraped hands and gangly limbs. Where he wore his hair in long curls, bound at the nape of his neck, she kept hers cropped almost to her scalp. Considering that she was nearly as flat and curveless as he was, only the fact that she had a dirt-stained dress instead of loose pants made it clear from a distance that one of them was a girl.

  She stood and took a step toward the jug, but the dizziness hit again. She paused, waiting for the sensation to pass, but Tal was at her side this time. He guided her back to the fountain carefully, his hand gentle on her arm. While she waited for the world to stop spinning, he grabbed the smaller water skin she’d been using for the plants and held it out to her. He pressed it into her hands, urging her to drink.

  She tried to push it back, turned away, as if not seeing it would suppress the longing. “Not allowed,” she said, mouthing the words because her throat was too dry to do much else.

  He understood anyway, frowned, and didn’t let her release her grip on the skin. “Tell me if the Lady actually said that.”

  She didn’t have to obey an order from him, another Closest, but if she didn’t answer, he’d ask it as a question. The Curse would force her to answer that. No matter who asked, the Closest were compelled to answer all questions. So, to spare herself, she said: “She ordered me not to waste any. Tal, I have to work.”