by Jaymin Eve
The cliff changes around me then, rearranging itself, rocky outcrops smoothing into sunlit walls. The space around me morphs back into the arena. My vision clears, changing as reality seeps in and the walls, the dais, and the upper levels become crystal clear. The upper levels are empty. The onlookers have gone. The arena is clear and quiet.
There’s a groan to my right. Reisha lies on her stomach, trying to crawl toward me. Blood drips from cuts all over her body as she lifts her head, her outstretched hand dropping to the ground.
She’s breathing hard, gasping out words. “We tried to stop you fighting each other… but you were too strong… too strong…”
All around her, my Storm Command have fallen to the floor. Like dominos, my ladies lie scattered, their armor ripped apart, their bodies bleeding. Some of them are trying to get up, others don’t move. Jordan and Elise lie among them, too far away to see if they’re alive. Baelen’s soldiers are scattered around us too, many groaning, others lying still, all of them shuddering like an electrical force has ripped through them.
My electrical force…
My Storm Command were the gargoyles in the simulation—the gargoyles I blasted from the sky. They were trying to help us and I repelled them. I took out my own protection. And now the simulation has ended, but the Elven Command said it would only end when a gargoyle died.
I can’t breathe. I can’t look down. My heart isn’t beating.
Baelen is still beneath me. He’d told me to stay inside his wings until the simulation ended.
I can’t look down… I can’t…
He morphs before my eyes, his sharp face and dripping teeth disappearing. He transforms back into himself and suddenly, his wounds blossom before my eyes. There are four slashes across his chest like the corners of a square, piercing right through his armor.
Four Elven Commanders stand behind him, each holding a sword that’s bloodied and glows with an unnatural golden light. Among them, Gideon Glory’s face is alight with the blaze of sorcery. His spells shimmer along the blades that he and the others hold. Wisps of sorcery waft around the chairs of truth lying broken on their sides nearby. Even now, golden ropes of sorcery slide across the ground toward me. Pedr Bounty rubs his side and I can only guess that he was the one that Baelen thumped.
The Elven Commanders were the attackers we couldn’t see. They’d stabbed Baelen in the back. They’d orchestrated it from the start. The chairs of truth had immersed us in a simulation—a real one—until Gideon Glory used his sorcery to break the chairs and pull our bodies out of them but kept our minds in a false vision.
They’d tried to trick me into killing Baelen and when I didn’t…
Baelen’s chest is still. His eyes are closed. A drop of blood slips from his mouth. Gravity forces his arms to slide down my sides, slipping away from my back where he’d held me at the last moment and told me that he loved me.
They killed him.
My heart rips apart inside my chest. It’s beating so hard. Lightning and thunder, rain and wind build inside me. I can’t lose him. I won’t lose him.
As Gideon’s sorcery takes hold of my arms and legs, I scream and scream and scream.
28
Elwyn Elder rounds me and grabs me from behind, latching on to my armor and dragging me off Baelen. My skintight suit presses against my neck like a noose. He drags me across the floor, past the broken chairs to a clear space beyond them, and drops me onto my back.
I can’t move. The sorcery is like fire burning me and immobilizing my spine. Gideon Glory comes into view, leaning over me. So do Pedr Bounty and Osian Valor. The four Elven Commanders peer down at me while Gideon mutters beneath his breath, chanting over me. The other three raise a hand each and a golden thread extends between their palms, connecting into a circle when Gideon raises his too.
In unison, their hands lower toward me, one each toward my bare hands and my bare cheeks, lowering at exactly the same time.
They want my power. They all want my power. They wanted Baelen to die. They wanted the chance to kill him. They… I… my heart is… so torn I can’t do anything but scream my grief. “You did this!”
They don’t respond. Gideon’s chanting grows more urgent and all four of their lined old faces begin to glow as the sorcery keeps them joined, moving them as one hand, closer and closer to the surface of my body. I scream, shouting at them, but there’s nothing I can do to stop them. How long had they planned this? How long had they schemed? There’s a dagger at Gideon Glory’s hip but I can’t move my hand to reach it. They’re going to take my power and then… they’ll kill me.
Closer and closer.
I whimper as their hands touch my bare skin, connecting at exactly the same moment.
“Finally,” Gideon Glory exhales a sigh of sickening elation. Triumphant smiles break across all their faces, but I…
I feel nothing.
There’s no surge of energy, no crackle of lightning, no pulse of thunder, nothing of the storm passes from me. It’s like being empty but not because they took my power—because it’s not there to give.
I become very quiet, sensing… a heartbeat. It’s slow. Very slow, almost like the sound of someone taking careful, cautious steps toward me except that there’s nobody approaching me. I don’t know where the heartbeat is coming from or who it belongs to. All I know is that it isn’t mine and it doesn’t belong to the four Commanders whose evil grins are fading fast.
Their fingers claw into my skin, pressing deeper, frustration replacing their triumph.
“What’s going on?” Elwyn Elder demands, a glare forming fast.
Gideon shakes his head, filled with confusion. “I don’t understand… we should have her power by now.”
“You said this would work!”
They argue back and forth, yanking on my arms, clawing at my cheeks, and I begin to laugh despite the pain, great big sob-laughs. Mostly because I’ve lost it, I’ve lost everything, but also because… “It didn’t work.”
Gideon Glory hisses at me, snarling a chant, his eyes glowing like golden orbs, but his sorcery washes over me like water off a swan’s wings. At the back of everything, that slow, quiet heartbeat thrums and it’s turning into a shield around me. The Elven Command has taken everything from me—they took Bae and now I’ll never see his smile or hear him laugh or hold his hand or join my body with his. There’s nothing more they can do to hurt me.
Gideon’s hold on my spine weakens. He chants harder, but his power is fading fast. I kick my legs, freeing one of them from the spell, and strike out at Osian Valor on my right hand side. He shouts as my armored foot cracks against his ribs, knocking him off balance. He tries to keep hold of my hand, but falls to the floor. My hand is scratched and bruised from his raking fingernails, but it’s free now. As quickly as I can, I grab hold of the dagger dangling so recklessly from Gideon’s belt right beside me as he leans over me. Oh, the arrogance that he never thought I’d be able to reach for it.
He shrieks as my hand lights up on contact, struggling to get away from me, but I hook my fingers around his belt and press the sizzling dagger into his side. I whisper, “You killed Mai. You killed Bae. You are nothing but evil.”
He leaps to his feet but I follow him up and so does the dagger, finding its target. His eyes fade. The only light cast over his body radiates from the storm I wield.
As he falls, dead, I spin to the remaining three, finally in a position to see that Teilo Splendor lies across the far dais in a rumple of robes. I don’t know what happened while I was in the simulation, but Teilo’s head wound tells me he tried to stop the others.
I’m suddenly cold as the adrenalin of escaping Gideon’s sorcery wanes. I can’t bear to look where Baelen lies. I drop to my knees, only knowing that I have to end this. If I’m the first Princess to wield the storm as a weapon then I’m determined to make myself the last.
“You want the storm,” I say as the three remaining Commanders scoot away from me. “Then you can have it.�
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I lift the bright dagger to my own heart, “Be free, Storm.”
Before I can drive the blade home, a thud freezes everything around me. The dagger pauses at my chest, its tip refusing to budge. I’m not responsible for the pause in time. There’s not a lot I can think about right now but I know it wasn’t me who froze everything.
The three remaining Elven Commanders are caught between expressions of fear and rage, their glittering robes frozen in swirls as they scrambled to get away from me. My friends are frozen too, some half rising, some on their knees.
I finally see Jasper and Sebastian both stationary but in the act of running toward Baelen, with Sahara right behind them. They don’t look harmed like the others and their voices echo in my memory like a dream that happened around me while I was unaware. Get back! The Storm is too strong! And lastly Sahara shouting: Take cover! We can’t help him if we’re dead.
A drop of water hits my cheek, drawing my attention upward. A cool breeze swirls around me, creating soothing sensations across my scratched skin. I’m not sure where it’s coming from until a soft female voice speaks behind me.
“I’m here, Marbella.”
I freeze like the people around me but not because the thunder has affected me. I know her voice. Sure, the last time I heard it she was wailing and shrieking, but there’s no denying the lilt she speaks with, the gentle rush of sound like a waterfall lives beneath each spoken sound. I stand and turn slowly.
She’s just like an older version of the gargoyle baby I saw in the nest. Her skin is porcelain in texture and a soft caramel color; her eyes are deep brown and framed with long dark lashes; her hair rests across one shoulder and washes down her side to her slender hips and the longest legs I’ve ever seen only partially covered by the fine silver gown she wears. Her ears are round, not like mine, and she glows around the edges. Her wings shimmer in a cascade like her voice, except that… I frown… one is broken, the fine gossamer webbing torn and draping closer to her body on her left side.
“You’re the Storm,” I say, even though it’s stating the obvious.
“We are the Storm,” she corrects me, her mouth drawing into a serious line. “You, me, and… him.”
I follow the line of her arm and pointed finger, sucking in a sharp breath and spinning back to her before I see Baelen.
“Come with me,” she says, gliding past me in his direction, not quite touching ground.
“No.”
She pauses. “Why are you afraid of him?”
I choke. “I’m not afraid of him. I can’t look at him because if I don’t… I can pretend he’s not… gone.” I gasp against the pain clawing up through my stomach into my chest. I didn’t think there was enough of my heart left to break any further, but pieces are tearing out of me one by one.
She pauses beside me, her dress swishing around her legs. “But… he’s not dead.”
Now I’m truly frozen. My heart leaps as everything else stops. “What?”
“Close your eyes, Marbella. Listen. Tell me what you hear.”
I don’t have to close my eyes to know what she’s talking about. “I hear a heartbeat.”
“And what do you feel in every part of this room?”
“Thunder.”
“Well,” she says with a gentle quirk of her eyebrow. “It’s not my heartbeat and I didn’t cause the thunder. Neither did you so…”
“Baelen!” I’m moving before I know it, racing past the Storm, and zigzagging through the frozen people. I skid and drop to my knees at his side. I swill my hands across his face and neck, still afraid to touch him, but close enough to sense… he’s warm.
My heart can’t take any more pain. “I don’t understand. You said he’s the storm too. How?”
“The Elven Command was right about you being able to share your power. But they were completely wrong about the timing. They couldn’t take your power just now because you already gave it away.”
She gives me a smile, but it’s a sad one. “On the night you became the Storm Princess, you gave your power to Baelen Rath.”
29
“Let me show you.” The Storm brushes her hands across the space above Baelen’s chest, delicate gestures, painting colors in the air, images forming until I recognize my younger self wrapped in Baelen’s arms on the stormy cliff. My ribbon is a curl of blue floating above us. It’s moments before the lightning hit us.
“That first lightning strike wasn’t me,” the Storm says. “It was a natural storm and a natural strike. Deadly, for sure, but not me. I’d escaped into the clouds and I saw it as it happened.”
The lightning streaks down at us inside the image, illuminating my upturned face. I look away before I see myself push Baelen, but the Storm says, “This is important, Marbella. You need to see what you did.”
I force myself to watch as the images play out, watching myself drive Baelen out of the way, shoving him as hard as I can to keep him safe. He slips, but there’s something else… something I never realized…
My eyes widen as I watch my feet slide backward across the wet stone, my hands still outstretched, my lavender cloak billowing and weightless, tugging me, sliding me right out… past the edge... and the fear in Baelen’s eyes…
“You were so determined to save him, you didn’t know how close you were to the edge of the cliff. You slid right off it. That first lightning strike would have killed Baelen if it wasn’t for you.” She meets my shocked eyes. “But you would have died if it wasn’t for me.”
Inside the image I can see now the brighter streak of lightning—the Storm’s power—speeding toward me, overlaying the first natural strike to reach me first. The Storm’s lightning catches me in its rays and even though it rips me apart, it slowly drags me back to the surface of the cliff.
“But… I…”
“Keep watching, Marbella,” the Storm urges me. “Because what you did next changed everything.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I know what happens next. I hurt Baelen. Badly.”
Her eyebrows lift. She turns her hands mid-air and the image turns with her. Baelen’s image is now closer to me. “Is that what you think? Look again.”
Inside the image, the cascade of lightning from my hands hits him. Unable to turn away now, I flinch and swallow a cry, squeezing my fingernails into my palms. But then… the wound on his face heals.
“Cauterized,” I whisper. “But I saw him bleed for hours.”
“That was the rain mixing with the blood he lost before this moment. You couldn’t see from where you were.”
At the same time, Baelen lights up. Crimson strands just like the color of his heartstone curl around him. They pulse through his body right into his bones, even into his spine. I’d thought it was flame, that I’d burned him, but it’s not.
It’s red lightning.
“When I struck you, I gave you my power,” the Storm explains. “When you struck him, you gave him yours.”
She reaches out and wraps her hand around my arm. It’s like connecting with a shadow, unreal, transparent, but it anchors me to the spot. She says, “You bonded with him in a way that no Storm Princess has ever done before. He shares the storm with you like no male ever has before. You are connected body and soul. I don’t know how you managed to stay away from each other these past seven years.”
“Then… Those times he came to the Storm Vault and I could suddenly fight back against you…” I’d seen what I thought was his heartstone light shining across his body, but was it actually… crimson lightning?
“He was harnessing his power without knowing it, combining his strength with yours.”
“And when we were at Mai’s, he stood beside me. The spell couldn’t move him.”
“Just like it couldn’t move you.”
“And… now?”
She says, “Their blades injured him to the point of death, but his storm power keeps him alive. Your storm power keeps him alive.” The image fades above his chest. “You know the truth now
.”
For the first time in seven years, I’m not afraid to touch Baelen’s bare skin with mine. My hands shake and a sob rises to my throat, but I press my palm to his cheek.
A shudder runs through me at the contact. I’ve waited so long to be close to him again. His face is warm. A faint wash of bristles grazes my hand as I run my fingers across his jaw, aching for him to respond. “Wake up, Bae.”
He remains completely still. Tears slide down my cheeks. “If he’s alive, why won’t he wake up?”
Her eyes glisten with tears. “Marbella, I’m sorry. When I said the storm is keeping him alive I didn’t mean it healed him. Not this time. There’s too much damage. He’s alive, and he’s paused in this moment so the damage doesn’t progress, but… he won’t heal by ordinary medicine or spellcasting.”
She pauses. “It is probably a small consolation, but I want you to know that he isn’t cursed. The curse was destroyed when that sorcerer died.” Her delicate lip curls as she points at Gideon Glory in distaste.
The curse is over. It’s gone. Defeated. But I still face losing Baelen. Everything in my body aches. “Please tell me what to do. I won’t stop until he comes back to me. Tell me how to help him.”
She sucks in a breath. “You can’t help him. Only my people can.”
Her people? I take in her wings, her delicate skin, her rounded ears, and the fact that she is more beautiful than the males of her species—the gargoyles.
Her hand grips my arm. “If you want Baelen Rath to live, you must take him to the heart of Erador. You must take him to the gargoyles.”
I stare at her in disbelief. She wants me to take the male I love into the heart of our sworn enemies. “How can they help him when nobody else can?”
“The female gargoyles have a place, deep inside Mount Erador. There is a spring, which is the only water source that flows directly from Earth’s surface. They can harness the deep magic there. Only the deep magic can save him now.”
