by Jaymin Eve
Anger rises up inside me. I will never claim to be a gargoyle but to say that I don’t know anything about them is wrong. I cut off whatever response Senturi was about to make. I am not enjoying this game. “I have fought with your people, bled with them, felt their deaths like a blade in my own heart. They are my friends, some of the best and most loyal friends I’ve ever had—and that includes my Storm Command who are like sisters to me. Do not stand there and tell me I am not a gargoyle. Do not tell me who I am.”
All of the leaders blink at my outburst, but I don’t care if I’ve surprised or offended them. My voice lowers to a growl. “Seven years ago, the storm chose me to carry her power. Your storm chose me. She was a gargoyle just like you.”
At the corner of my eye, the Priestess raises her hand at me for calm. The heartstones have sped up in response to my emotions and that’s probably not a good thing. I’m not sure what she thinks flapping her hands at me will achieve. I try to rein in my emotions as Senturi appraises me.
I have the sense he approves of my reaction.
He says, “The Storm has everything to do with this. Please, Lady Storm, would you be so kind as to tell everyone what you know about our beloved Storm.”
I’m not entirely sure what he wants me to say. But I’m guessing the secret he spoke of earlier is the one Cassian told me. “Her name is Elyria.” That alone draws frowns, but what I say next turns the space around me into uproar. “She was Supreme Incorruptible.”
“Liar!”
“Princess Elyria was murdered by your kind!”
“The Storm was a servant girl!”
“How do you know this?” Lance demands.
I could be offended, angry, lash out, but I don’t. I meant what I said: I’m exhausted. I’ve experienced everything today from excruciating fear to overwhelming happiness. There’s not much more I can feel.
I reach for Baelen’s hand. He wraps my fingers up in his, quietly waiting for me to choose my response. The shouting clan leaders fade into the background as I focus on his quiet strength, finding my own within his. I take a deep breath, calming myself. The heartstones settle around me, their agitated movement slowing.
Admiration floods Senturi’s features, but his expression changes as he glares the clan leaders down, snarling at them. “You are foolish to contradict her.” His voice rises to a shout. “Look at her! Look with your hearts, not your eyes! Look again and tell me what you see!”
“Do not tell us what to believe, Outlier.” The Denrock Clan leader is the one who called me a liar and he is the first to retaliate, striding toward me, his wings tipped forward in an aggressive gesture. I let him come, squeezing Baelen’s hand to ask him not to react.
At the last moment, I focus on the Queen’s heart and the power I feel inside it. The stone drops into the space between me and the approaching gargoyle. The diamond heart lights up the air, flickering over me, flashing brilliant spears through the room. I sense it reflecting off my skin, even more brilliant than the flames in the fireplace. The gargoyle skids to a stop three paces away, his eyes shooting wide, one big hand flying up to shield his eyes. His eyebrows draw down and his wings suddenly hunch as he peers at me.
I don’t know what he sees, but something has stopped him in his tracks. His eyes grow even wider. He shakes his head side to side. “How is this possible?”
The other leaders huddle up behind him, drawn forward like moths to firelight. I peer back at them, perplexed by the sudden change. It’s probably not a good idea to tell them that my intention in drawing on the stone’s power was to knock this insolent gargoyle off his feet.
Senturi withdraws a little to the side, but not before he shoots me a pleased grin. He turns to his granddaughter. “Adalie, would you please tell the Storm Lady the story about our beloved Storm.”
“The pretend story or the real one?” she asks, her innocent gaze stuck to me like her brethren’s.
“The pretend one, dear heart.”
Adalie parrots her words as if she’s learned them by rote. “Four hundred years ago, the last Elven King brutally slaughtered our beautiful Queen Bethesda and her two children, including the heir to the throne, Princess Elyria.”
The Elven King murdered Elyria’s family! No wonder she hated elves. My hand shoots to my heart, to the sudden pain inside it. I’d heard awful stories about our last King and his sorcery. In fact, I suspected he was just as bad as Howl, but to murder Elyria’s family... For her to watch them die…
Baelen said that she was caught in the nightmares of her past. Howl had built this palace as an exact replica of the original one. It would be just like the home Elyria grew up in. Being surrounded by the same walls, the place where her family died must have broken her into pieces.
Adalie is still speaking, telling me what supposedly happened next. “Queen Bethesda’s brother arrived on the murder scene just in time to see the Elven King escape. He asked an unnamed servant girl to give her life to become the Storm and kill the treacherous Elven King. And so the royal family was avenged.” She tugs on her grandfather’s coat, whispering loudly, “Can I tell them the real story now, Papa?”
The clan leaders lean forward. This is clearly a truth they haven’t ever heard given their earlier assertions that the Storm was a servant.
Senturi pats Adalie’s hand. “Yes, dear heart, go ahead.”
Her face lights up. “I saw it in the Storm Lady’s eyes just now. It’s so much better than the pretend story. Bethesda’s brother arrived just in time to see Elyria herself become the storm. He tried to stop her. She was injured, her wing was broken, but she was determined to kill the evil King. She was her brother’s protector, not the other way around. She was going to become his avenger.”
Adalie’s eyes shine as if the idea of a girl avenging her family means a lot to her. “She became thunder and lightning, a savage tornado. She raged after the elves, killed the King and his advisors, and wiped out half the elven race as retribution for killing her family.”
She stops to take a breath, opens her mouth to continue speaking, but Senturi gives her a quick shake of his head. “Well done, dear heart, now go and play by the fire, but mind the flames.”
Adalie glances at me. There’s more. I can’t read her mind like she can read mine but I know there’s more. She says, “Yes, Papa.”
While Adalie settles herself in front of the fire, Senturi addresses me.
“Many years later, you stood at a cliff’s edge and risked your life to save Baelen Rath. You were about to plunge to your death when Elyria gave you her storm power instead. But on that night, you did something that had never been done before. You poured part of your power into Baelen Rath. You know that much, but here’s what you don’t know.”
He rolls his shoulders, the sharp edges of his wing tips catching the firelight. The flames reflect against the side of his face as he focuses on me. Pinpoint focus.
“The act of pouring your power into Baelen Rath left a gap inside you that the deep magic demanded had to be filled. To fill that gap, Elyria passed on her very essence, the very nature of who she was, including her royal blood.”
I stumble backward. “She what?”
“She gave you her soul, Marbella.”
I shake my head. This is… not okay… There are so many things wrong with what he just said. Elyria and I used to be connected. If she gave me her soul then the connection with me would have been crucial to her. But I broke that connection. I left her with Baelen. And then I broke it again today… I didn’t just break the connection. I broke… her.
I can hardly focus on Senturi. He’s so calm and I know I have to be calm as well, but it feels like my world just turned into a hurricane.
He says, “And so began a metamorphosis. Your body and your instincts changed: your eyesight developed to allow you to see in the dark, the scent of your blood changed, so did your reflexes, and when you came closer to where the Queen’s heart was buried even your skin and hair changed in response to its call
. You may not have wings and your ears retain their points, but you are in many ways a female gargoyle.”
“Then… I’m not an elf anymore?”
“You are a hybrid. Not an elf, not a gargoyle, but both.”
“What about Baelen? Is he a gargoyle too?” My eyes meet Baelen’s. My hand is still wrapped in his.
“No. Elyria’s essence didn’t reach him, but his bond with you gives him the same allegiance to the gargoyles.”
Lightsworn Lance is the first to speak into the silence. “Then… she stands in Elyria’s place. She is Elyria. She is heir to our throne?”
As Lance speaks, something clicks into place: when High Priestess Talia first saw me, she whispered ‘Elyria.’ I thought she was distracted by my armor, the inner skin of which is made completely of the unbreakable thread from Elyria spiders. She’d looked at me strangely afterward too. Talia is the only Priestess alive now who can still use deep magic. She must have sensed my true nature the same way that Senturi can see it.
Senturi stands aside to allow Lance to approach me. Senturi says, “Lightsworn Lance, you knew the King. Tell me who she smells like.”
I grit my teeth as the old gargoyle leans forward, glad that he keeps at a respectful distance. He closes his eyes. Inhales.
His eyes shoot wide open. “She is our Queen!”
All of the gargoyles shift where they stand. I don’t know what they’re doing until they sink to a knee, heads bowed.
“As you have Seen, Outlier Senturi,” Lightsworn Lance says. “She is Supreme Incorruptible.” He bows low to me. “Supreme Incorruptible, I honor you.”
The old Priestess leans in discretely and whispers to me. “Now you say: ‘I am honored.’”
Somehow I manage to push sound past my lips. “I am… honored.”
Each of the clan leaders echoes their allegiance in turn: “Supreme Incorruptible, I honor you.”
I repeat my response to each of them until the last when they return to their feet, waiting expectantly. I have no idea what I’m supposed to say now, but as far as I’m concerned, the game is over.
I say, “Howl did a lot of damage. Families are separated from their loved ones, fallen gargoyles need to be buried and mourned. I will help you, but as clan leaders you are responsible for ensuring that every member of your clan is safe and returned to where they belong.”
“May we rebuild our nests in the mountains?”
The miners once told me that each mountain used to contain the main nest of each clan. I had spent most of the last month working in Mount Prime where the Prime nest had been ripped out to house the miners instead. “Of course. You must rebuild.”
“What about the Grievous Clan?” another asks.
I scan the group. “Is there a member from that clan here tonight?”
They shake their heads. “They alone were allowed to remain on Mount Grievous. None from the mountain have come here for many years. We believe they may be afraid of your retribution now, Supreme Incorruptible.”
“Then I will have to speak to them personally.” And take Grievous Erit with me, since he is my pick to lead them. I know that Llion would also make an amazing leader, but I will need him here with me after he returns from the border.
I add: “But not tonight. Now…” I turn to the Priestess, wondering what the practicalities of hosting the clan leaders will be. “Is it possible to arrange a meal for the clan leaders? And beds please. I think we’re all in need of food and rest.”
She nods to me before she hurries away. “I will arrange for food to be brought in.”
The clan leaders seem surprised that I want to feed them. I guess basic hospitality has been sparse for the last ten years.
After they acknowledge my gesture with thanks, Senturi draws me aside, away even from Baelen. “You know there’s more.”
Nobody’s listening to us now. The clan leaders have returned to their seats, although they shoot me glances every now and then. Even Baelen is deliberately giving Senturi and me space. I get right to the point. “What did you stop your granddaughter from saying?”
“There’s more to Elyria’s story. But I’m afraid it would only cloud your rule for it to be public knowledge. Also, it’s for Elyria to tell you, not me.”
When I read the Queen’s journal, I read about Elyria’s mother, Bethesda. She had written about a truth that she didn’t want Elyria to find out. Whatever it was, I’m guessing Elyria discovered it.
“If Elyria gave me her soul, where does that leave her? I’m really worried about her, Senturi.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t see her present state, only the parts of her past that have become part of you. But I saw in your memories the moment when you severed your connection with Baelen. You also severed your connection with Elyria. Until that time, she was not separated from her essence. But now, she has no anchor. She will also experience a metamorphosis.”
“For good or bad? What will she become?”
He shrugs. “I’m sorry. As I said, I can only see the past. I can’t see her now.”
I worry at my lip. “How can I help her?”
“You already helped her when you allowed Jasper to take her away. He’s the only one who can help her now.”
“Well, if you can’t see her present, how do you know that for sure?”
He smiles, assessing me. Again, his face loses its years, becomes younger, so familiar. I gasp. I’ve seen the expression in Senturi’s eyes a hundred times on the face of one of my truest, dearest friends.
Jasper.
Jasper was the only one, other than me, who could see the Storm. She used to be invisible to everyone else—she said it was because she chose to be invisible. She was very upset when she found out that Jasper could see her despite her wishes. When we were trying to figure out how Jasper could see her, we guessed that his grandmother had fallen in love with a gargoyle, that Jasper’s father was half gargoyle.
If Senturi is Jasper’s grandfather that would explain a lot: like how Jasper is so perceptive, how he guessed all that time ago that I’d become the storm because I was trying to help someone, how he seems to know my thoughts before I do, and how he could see Elyria for what she truly is.
“And now you know another secret,” Senturi whispers. “I have long wished to have a place in my grandson’s life, but having me in his life would have ruined his life. Neither elves nor gargoyles look kindly on the mixing of our races.”
“You can meet him now. He needs to know his family.”
Senturi shakes his head. “I want to meet him more than anything. But Elyria needs him more than me. I can’t tell you what she is becoming but I have to leave them alone.”
He draws closer, his voice lower still. “Once she is recovered, you must ask her why the Elven King killed her family. The answer is very important to your future.”
“I suppose you’re not going to tell me.” My hand shoots up. “Never mind. I already know the answer to that. But how can you possibly see all of this when I don’t even know it myself?”
“Because I see the true nature of all things.”
I growl. He said that already. It’s hardly an answer. Elves don’t have Sight, but some rare elves are Visionaries—they have the ability to see past our world, as far as the surface of the Earth, and to predict multiple future possibilities. But they can’t see the inner workings of another person’s mind like Senturi can. I’m about to demand a better answer from him when the door bursts open behind me.
Roar stands inside it, his wings spread. “Lady Storm! Come quickly!”
“What is it, Roar?”
His enormous chest rises and falls rapidly. His wings shudder around his body. “It’s our wives.”
6
Fear shoots through me. I have no idea what might be wrong, but I’ve never seen Roar look so afraid. Deep fear pulls his features taut, thrumming through every rise and fall of his giant chest. Gilda is everything to him. If something has happened to her… I’m already runn
ing, Baelen close behind me.
As I pass by, Roar shoots into the space between Baelen and me. “No!”
Baelen skids to a halt, his silhouette turning acid red as he harnesses his power.
“I’m sorry, Wrathful One.” Roar doesn’t bow, won’t bend, rises up to fully block Baelen before he can step foot out of the door. He doesn’t seem to care that Baelen is glowing hot and angry. “This is not a matter for you.”
I don’t know why Roar’s behaving this way, but I beg Baelen to stay put. “Please. I’ll be okay.”
Baelen glowers at Roar. “I would not yield for any other gargoyle but I know you protected Marbella in the mines. I trust you with her life.” His voice lowers to a threatening growl. “Do not endanger her or you will answer to me.”
Roar growls back. “I would not expect any less from you, Wrathful One. The same way I would kill any male who endangers my wife. You have my word.”
As I race away through the halls, Roar joins me, running alongside. “With respect, Lady Storm, may I fly with you so we can move faster.”
My answer is to leap into his arms and wrap my arms around his waist. He catches me, spreads his wings, and we’re airborne in the next breath, soaring through the high ceilings and out of the wide front doors.
I see it already: some sort of fire, big enough to be visible above the top of the forest.
“Roar! What is that?”
His voice chokes. “They won’t look at us. They won’t speak to us. They’re breaking everything.” His voice becomes hoarse. “Including our hearts.”
We soar toward Harem Hall over the tops of trees into the eastern clearing. A fire rages outside it, casting firelight across the verandah and the yellow flags, but it’s the screams that hit me straight in the heart. As we touch down, a female runs from the Hall carrying an armful of clothing—scanty dresses and barely-there underwear flutter in her arms. She throws it all into the fire in one giant heave. Then she screams at the burning items, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Fuck you, Howl!” She roars again, emptying her lungs into the air, her arms spread wide, her scream turning into a wail as she collapses to the ground. One of the other females catches her, holding her close, both of them sobbing.
