by Jaymin Eve
The advisor’s voice rises. “Does the Princess intend to offend the House of Rath?”
“My lord…” Elise hurries to defend me but I stop her.
I don’t touch her. That would be lethal with the storm’s rage still filling my veins.
As much as I feel like a mere vessel for the storm sometimes, the reality is that I control its power afterward. My outstretched hand crackles with lightning. The forces I’ve absorbed want to be released. It’s my responsibility to subdue the storm each day, but it gives me the power to wield its fury.
Technically right now, I am the storm.
It occurs to me then to wonder how long Baelen and his advisor were waiting inside the ante-room; how much they saw. It’s common knowledge that I can tame the lightning, but what I just did—stopping the storm in its tracks—was entirely unexpected. I have no idea if I can trust them to keep that secret.
Despite the power raging inside me, I’m tired. All I want is to slump in a warm bath and wash off the cold rain and its ominous message about my husband killing me.
More than anything, I want Bae to lower his hands.
I can’t take the heartstone from him without talking with him first. I can’t let him risk his life like this. Not for me. Not for anything.
I address his advisor. “My lord, you mistake my intentions. I can’t receive the heartstone right now. I’ve just come from the Vault. If I touch the stone, I’ll destroy it.”
I draw myself upright with my remaining strength, focusing on a point past the advisor’s face. “The power inside me will destroy the stone and anyone holding it.”
I lower my eyes to Bae’s, hoping he hears the message in my next words because I may not get another chance to say them. “I won’t be responsible for the death of the last Rath.”
I step up beside Bae, keeping my distance from him, but closing the gap between me and his advisor. The advisor takes a hasty step backward.
I sense Bae shift, his face turned to mine, but I don’t have time to assess his reaction—whether he’s as offended as his advisor is or whether he heard the fear in my voice and understood it.
I hiss at the advisor. “I will kill anything that I touch right now. Get out of my way and come back at a more appropriate time.”
He makes way for me as I push for the door and stride through the next room. Elise stays close on my heels. As my personal advisor, only Elise is supposed to be allowed inside the Vault’s ante-room. She’s the only one who sees what I go through to keep my people safe. How Bae and his advisor got inside the ante-room is something I mean to find out.
The members of my all-female personal guard, also known as the Storm Command, wait outside the final door. I prefer to think of them as the nunnery. They’ll surround me once I reach them, making sure nothing and nobody comes near me. That includes any male elf or even female who isn’t part of the Storm Command.
I can’t imagine what Jordan—the head of the nunnery—will say about me being approached by a male in the ante-room. It’s her job to keep all elves away from me. Until one of them wins the right to marry me, all contact is forbidden. Even the heartstone protocol is supposed to take place in a very public arena under intense scrutiny.
I risk a glance back at Bae through the open doors between us. He’s on his feet, turned in my direction. The stone rests in his fist at his side. I’m amazed at how it disappears inside his big hands. He was always the tallest, strongest, biggest.
All Raths are built for war. Fighting. Protecting.
It’s the reason they’re all dead.
I clench my jaw. I won’t let you die, too.
I push on the final door and Jordan immediately assaults me. The nunnery snaps to attention—ten strong female elves—forming a wide circle around me in the broad corridor. They don’t dare come within five feet of me, and they won’t let anyone else either.
To my surprise, Jordan’s expression is as worried as Elise’s—not a look I’m used to seeing on her face. Jordan is always confident, composed, and in control.
Her face is flushed. She holds out her arm horizontal to her chest and rests her forehead on it in a gesture of remorse. “Princess, I ask your forgiveness. I had no power to stop him.”
My eyes narrow. As the head of my personal guard, Jordan is ranked more highly than any other military officer. She doesn’t control the army—only the nunnery—but no other elf can give her orders except for me. It’s a necessary precaution to ensure that nobody can get to me.
The only military position of higher authority than Jordan’s is the Commander of the elven army—again for my personal safety: it’s important for the leader of the army to communicate directly with me without obstruction from my guard. Baelen’s father used to fill that position but he stayed away from me. After what I did to his son, I didn’t blame him.
Luckily, the gargoyles have been quiet for the last seven years so it was possible for him to keep his distance. After his death, a temporary replacement filled the position, but to my knowledge, the Elven Command hasn’t announced a permanent replacement yet.
“Jordan?”
“I received word while you were in the Vault. Baelen Rath is now the Commander of the armed forces.”
And the only male allowed near me.
My legs almost fail me with shock—but at the same time a thread of relief flows through me. Maybe now I’ll have the chance to convince him not to be a champion…
At least it explains how he got past Jordan and made his way inside the ante-room.
She steps back, her focus shifting to a point behind me, and I suddenly realize that the door didn’t close when I passed through it. I’d thought Elise was right behind me, but she’s hovering in the background.
I sense Bae’s presence in the doorway like a force stronger than the lightning. I twist to assess the distance between us, the logical part of my brain telling me I can’t endanger him. The illogical part wants me to close the gap between us.
He steps forward, allowing the door to close behind him, moving far closer than anyone else would dare. His eyes don’t waver from mine. The heartstone is nowhere in sight.
“Marbella Mercy.”
It’s strange to hear him say my name. Everyone else calls me ‘Princess’ or worse: ‘the Princess’ even if they’re speaking to me, as if I’m a thing. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard my name associated with my House: the House of Mercy. When I became the Princess, I had to leave my home and my family behind. My mother’s allowed to visit me once each year, but I’m not allowed to see my father and brother.
“I meant what I said,” I tell him. “I could hurt you right now.”
If he’s worried, he doesn’t show it. “Danger never bothered me.”
Spoken by anyone else, those words would sound conceited, but from a Rath they only ring with truth. I try to quell the smile forcing its way onto my lips. “I learned that about you a long time ago.”
Jordan clears her throat, her face flaming. Her eyes dart left. We’re blocking the corridor and, although it’s not a frequently traveled path, elves are gathering on either side unable to get through. Jordan’s expression makes it clear that we’re creating a spectacle.
On the eve of the marriage protocols, a spectacle is a bad thing. I remind myself that I’m not a girl anymore. I can’t catch Bae’s hand in mine like I once did, can’t tell him my secrets, can’t even smile…
I force myself to take a step away from him. He might outrank Jordan but he doesn’t outrank me. Damn that logical side of my brain. I want to stomp on it and kick it into a corner.
I swallow and speak loudly. “Commander Rath, you will attend the War Room to discuss your appointment. My Storm Command will be in attendance. I expect you there in two hours.”
I spin without another word, asserting my authority. He may be the Commander of the army but as a potential champion there are rules he has to follow.
The nunnery closes around me, stopping all the gaps tha
t someone could step through, protecting me even from myself.
I’m supposed to be alone, untouched, pure, and pristine.
Only Baelen Rath knows that I’m not.
2
As we sweep along the wide corridor, Jordan keeps pace on one side of me and Elise strides on the other. They’re my constant companions and I count myself lucky that I can also call them my friends. To be chosen for their positions, they went through a set of protocols seven years ago—similar to the ones my future husband will go through over the next few weeks: tests of emotional and physical strength, intelligence and, most important of all, compatibility. But even if I wanted to tell them everything, there are some things that nobody can know.
Such as what really happened on the night I became the Storm Princess.
I can’t be alone with Baelen Rath.
“Jordan, it’s important that you remain with me at all times.” I try to soften my order with an attempted smile.
“I understand, Princess.”
I glance at her and the grim look she gives me tells me she really does understand. The rulebook setting out the champion protocols is inches thick. It starts with dictating how each House chooses their nominated champion and ends with orders about my wedding night. I struggle not to roll my eyes about that.
There are so many rules it makes my head spin. I remember the first time I laid eyes on the giant book and I’d asked, “What happened to falling in love?”
Back then, Elise gave me the only stern response she ever spoke to me: “A Princess does not love. She does what is right for her people.”
That was when I’d banished all thoughts of Baelen from my mind. Or, at least, I’d tried to.
I turn to Elise next, but I don’t have to say anything. Her expression tells me she’s way ahead of me. The way her eyes fill with worry, the slight frown creasing her forehead. She’s thinking hard about my situation right now. Baelen Rath is an added complication to what happened in the Vault—what I did with the storm.
“We need to talk about the weather,” she says and I know it’s code for: we need to talk about the storm, Baelen, and basically everything that seems to be going wrong today.
The biggest question for me is: did anyone else hear the rain? I don’t think they could have because the Vault is soundproof—it has to be to contain the thunder: the vibrations produced by the perfect storm can cause whole buildings to collapse.
Because of that, I don’t think Elise heard the rain’s warning. For a moment, I debate whether I should tell her. I need to talk to someone about it. As much as I love Jordan, she can’t know about any of it. The rules again—only Elise can know what goes on in the Vault.
As we emerge from the corridor into the light, I flip my head back and growl my frustration at the sky. There’s enough thunder inside me to rumble past my lips and scare the nearby civilian elves. They scatter away from me as the Storm Command—and me inside the circle—takes the paved path through the gardens.
Above us, the artificial sun shines high in the afternoon sky. A thousand years ago, when the elves were forced from the surface of the Earth, they used deep magic to create an entire ecosystem between layers of the Earth, complete with a sun and moon, forests and rivers. We were at peace with the gargoyles then, and we divided our new home into two parts: Erawind for the elves and Erador for the gargoyles. The humans don’t know we’re here. Far above us, on the Earth’s surface, there’s a city of skyscrapers—I think they call it Chicago.
The Storm Vault itself is contained inside a citadel in the middle of our highest place of learning—the heart of Erawind and home to priceless spell books. The elves would never have chosen to locate the Vault here, but the storm was deliberately sent to this place to destroy all of our most precious knowledge. The elves had no choice but to contain its fury in the closest building possible—which turned out to be the stone tower where young spellcasters used to take lessons.
It means I’m surrounded by both warriors and scholars at all times. It’s an uneasy cohabitation. The passing professors bow deeply to me, but I know they still mourn the loss of the sanctity of their school and resentment lies beneath the respect they show me. The perfect storm is a constant threat to their most precious belongings, as well as their lives.
I leave puddles in my wake. I’m dripping and my body temperature is dropping. As a spellcaster, Elise has the power to warm me, but magic doesn’t mix well with the storm’s fury. It won’t be safe for anyone to touch me for at least another hour.
My plight is my own.
I sigh. I’m desperate for that hot bath.
“Princess!” The shriek from the side of the gardens breaks through my thoughts.
Jordan and Elise immediately close ranks around me. The Storm Command forms an impenetrable circle. I sigh with frustration, because they’re all taller than me. At a little more than five feet three inches, I have no hope of seeing over the protective barrier they’ve formed to identify the source of the commotion.
“Princess! Princess!” As the crying female draws nearer, I recognize her voice.
“Let her through, but don’t let her touch me for her own sake.”
The Storm Command’s circle opens so suddenly that the running elf skids through it. Jordan catches her at the last moment before she slides into me.
The newcomer’s red hair flows around her. Elves come in all shapes, sizes, and skin colors, but only female elves in the House of Reverie have hair the color of blood. My own hair is auburn and a pale comparison.
I keep my distance as I address her. “Rebecca, what is it?”
“Princess, you must come at once. Mai is ill.”
Mai Reverie—the dancer who used to meditate inside the rain. She never told me, but I sensed that she had a similar connection with the rain that I have with the lightning.
“She’s asking for you. She won’t speak to anyone else. Only you.”
My eyes widen. “She’s refusing help?”
“She is. She won’t let anyone help her until she speaks with you.”
Beside me, Elise’s worried eyes meet mine and I wish I could read her thoughts. In ancient times, spellcasters had the ability to sneak into another elf’s mind and catch their thoughts, but that practice was exposed and outlawed when the last elven King died. It was his scheming that turned the gargoyles into our enemies. He was the first to die in the storm and because he had no children, the heads of the elven houses agreed to form a new Elven Command in which all the Houses had representation and a vote.
I race after Rebecca, trying not to connect with anyone as I move. The Storm Command quickly clears a path for me and I marvel at their efficiency. Three females dart forward, clearing the way ahead, while the others close ranks and keep perfect pace with me.
Mai’s quarters are on the other side of the square. She’s the only other former princess who’s still alive. The other two lived for hundreds of years each, hanging on until the Storm chose its next princess.
My own quarters are on the opposite side of the square—Mai vacated them when the storm chose me. There’s never any resentment on the part of the vacating Princess. We have no real political power—that rests with the Elven Command. And besides, who’d want to spend their days fighting with a storm?
I still remember the look of relief Mai gave me when I met her for the first time. Her relief was so huge, it terrified me about what I was taking on.
I race through the outer wall of her quarters, through her personal garden and its neatly sculpted stone and sand arrangements. I slow my pace as we run toward the inner rooms. I call the Storm Command to slow down, too. “Go carefully.”
The female elves become like wraiths, their footsteps light, barely perceptible. My own are heavier because of the weight of the storm I’ve absorbed and my boots squelch on the pristine marble floor.
Jordan gives my feet a glance and I shrug my shoulders. I’m noisy, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
Bes
ides… the energy radiating from Mai’s greeting room tells me she’ll sense me coming no matter what. Her inner quarters are surrounded by indoor plants—vines full of red roses curling across the top of the door and internal windows. The House of Reverie is known for its ability to cultivate plants in any environment.
Jordan signals for the elves to halt and turns to me. “Her door is open.”
She describes it to me because they’re blocking my view. An open door, at least, is a good sign, because in elven society it’s a sign of good faith. Mai isn’t hiding anything.
“Open.” The Storm Command obeys me instantly, shuffling back into a crescent keeping my back safe so that I have a direct view of Mai’s quarters through the door. It fills me with faith to see how much they trust my commands.
Mai and her husband Darian sit on the rug in the middle of the room. Mai’s legs are in an awkward position, making me think she collapsed in that position, while Darian is supporting her. Beads of sweat rest on her brow and her dress is shiny as if she went swimming in it.
I step forward, but Elise is quicker. “No, Princess.”
I spin to her.
Her forehead is creased into a hard frown. “Princess, if there’s illness inside that room then you can’t be exposed to it.”
I shake my head. “I’m full of storm, Elise. I’m as strong as I’ll ever be. Mai needs my help. I can feel it. I’m not backing away from this.”
“I don’t expect you to, but please let me come with you.”
I’m surprised she thought I’d go in without her. She’s not only my advisor but my best friend. “Of course.”
Rebecca hovers beside me. “She said she’d speak only with you, Princess.”
“I understand, Rebecca, thank you for telling me, but the rules are the rules: a member of the Storm Command must be with me at all times.”
