Storm Princess 3: The Princess Must Reign

by Jaymin Eve

  Elwyn laughs. “You can’t kill us. We’re the ones who cursed you.”

  Grayson roars out his pain. “Who did you kill for the power to curse me?”

  Elwyn gloats. “Gideon killed your mother. I killed your father. Pedr killed the healer. And Osian killed your baby sister.”

  Pain, not physical, floods Grayson’s face. He drops to his knees, broken, head tilted back to the ceiling. He exhales a moan of the deepest pain I’ve ever heard, tears leaking from his eyes.

  “Give in, Grayson. Take us up. Then all your pain can be over.”

  Grayson’s chest rises and falls. His chin drops to the runes lining his collarbone. He is beaten, empty, but he whispers, “Run while you can, Marbella. Take Baelen and get out of here. They can’t ascend without me and I won’t live much longer.” His eyes meet mine while he ignores Elwyn and Osian’s snarls. “You can beat them. You always could. Don’t show them mercy.”

  “Grayson…” My hands drop to my sides. I didn’t realize I’d flung them out in front of me, prepared to use my power. I brush Cassian’s bone lash: my only non-magical weapon.

  My resolve hardens. “Grayson… You should know by now… I don’t run from anything.”

  Anger rushes hot and strong through me. My Lightsworn power flashes bright sapphire—it is my skill in battle. I snatch Cassian’s bone lash off the hook on my belt and take a step into position as it unravels with a snap. The lash snakes out, straight and true, singing past Grayson, wrapping around Elwyn Elder’s neck. I spin and rip and the deadly tip does its work.

  Elwyn’s head tumbles across the ground.

  Priscilla screams. Osian freezes, panic spreading fast.

  The arrowheads fall from Grayson’s chest and he inhales a free breath, dropping forward, shivers still racking his body.

  My focus now is Osian who roars at me, eyes wild, as I advance on him as if he can stop me by shouting at me. He flings a death bolt at me but I absorb it and keep walking.

  Four paces is all it takes.

  Osian’s lips draw back. His teeth are bared. “You will not kill me.”

  “This is for Indira. And Grayson’s sister. And everyone else you hurt or killed.” I force my palm against his chest and release Incorruptible.

  Osian screams as his bones light up and blinding, pure light courses through him, burning him from the inside out. I stride through the dust that remains. Priscilla is the only one left now. She’s already running, but not away. She races toward Indira, sliding to a stop at the edge of the water.

  Her hair flies around her as she shouts wildly at us. “Stay back! Or I will drown her.”

  I pause, drawing on Lightsworn to help me strategize. Indira is still frozen, vulnerable. Priscilla has probably already cursed her. If Priscilla forces Indira below the surface, then I need to end her before Indira runs out of air. I will have precious seconds…

  Grayson rises to his feet, rolling his shoulders, easing out the residual pain he must be feeling. He shakes his head at Priscilla. He sounds tired, resigned. “Enough, Priscilla.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re a traitor! You’re a… filthy gargoyle!”

  I sense Grayson harness his power a moment before he disappears. The sound chokes in Priscilla’s throat as he reappears right beside her. In a flash, he catches hold of her wrist and she screams and tries to lurch away from him, but he holds on tight. Her scream dies as she realizes… she’s still alive. “But… you’re not cloaked.”

  “Curses die with their makers. You know that. Now…” He releases her wrist to run both his hands across her face, drawing her forehead against his, breathing slowly, trying to calm her. He’s as close to begging her as he can get. “Please, let it be enough.”

  She’s breathing hard, shivering, gripping his shoulders. “I chose to be a killer, Grayson. I’m not like you. I never hated it. I had a choice and I made it years ago. I need the power. I like it. I won’t stop killing. You can’t make me—”

  A blast of light flashes between them.

  Priscilla goes limp in Grayson’s arms and he catches her… pulls her close, slides to his knees holding her, gently supporting her lifeless head and neck as he gathers her up against his chest. Her hair falls across his lap as he strokes it, staring at nothing. He doesn’t say anything as he sits with her.

  He is quiet and still for a long, long time.

  I wait for him to feel whatever he needs to feel. To think whatever he needs to think. Elyria told me that Grayson had to fall if we were going to survive. I’m not sure how literal her vision was, but I decide this is close enough.

  Above me, the entrance to Earth’s surface finally closes. The clear blue sky, the skyscraper, and the droning hum of mechanical engines fades and disappears. I wonder what it’s like up there: if humans have to fight for their families, their loved ones, fight to protect them like we have to. Somehow, I think they probably do. Maybe not with swords and magic, but it’s a battle still the same.

  Across the distance, cocooned in my whirlwind, Baelen waits for me to release him. I press my lips together to try to quell all the emotions I feel as he contemplates me, the look on his face telling me that he loves me, the lifting of one corner of his mouth pulling me toward him because… he seriously can’t give me that look when I’m not in his arms.

  I breathe out all of the fear I felt for him, exhaling it from my body, and then I breathe out all the emptiness I made myself feel, promising myself I will never do that again. I release the whirlwind at the same time, allowing him to touch ground. But as I walk toward him, he lifts his hand cautiously: wait.

  Grayson rises to his feet, carefully holding Priscilla, his fingers tangled in her hair and her face pressed against his chest. His voice is hollow. “I’m going to disappear for a moment, but I will be back very soon and I would appreciate if you don’t… view my return with suspicion. I will not harm you.”

  I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean or what he intends to do, but I nod. “You have always been true to your word.”

  “Thank you.” He’s gone as quickly as he speaks.

  That’s when I run to Baelen. He pulls me into a fierce hug, his lips finding mine. “Marbella, don’t do that to me ever again.”

  “Never,” I promise him.

  As soon as I crash into him, everything unfreezes around us. It takes Indira two seconds to assess the danger and find us alone and safe. She rushes to the edge of the water and sloshes out of the springs, dripping beside us. Even though the Elven Commanders are gone, she is pale and afraid. “Osian Valor hurt Erit. Badly.” She winds her hands together in front of her chest, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if my husband is alive.”

  A blast of air whips around us as Grayson reappears. He is crouched, holding the wrists of two gargoyle males who appear beside him, both lying on their sides, bloodied, barely breathing.

  Indira screams into action. “Erit! Llion!”

  Grayson barely glances up. “There are more,” he says, before he disappears again.

  I take one look at Baelen. He says, “I’ll get them into the springs.”

  “Keep their heads above the surface. If there are more, we’ll need help.” I wait only long enough for Baelen to carry Erit into the water, handing him to Indira. Then I race to the entrance of the springs, calling for the Grievous and Hideaway gargoyles.

  Bethany is the first to respond. “Supreme Incorruptible!”

  “Quickly, I need at least ten of you. Injured gargoyles are being transported here and we need to help them into the springs.”

  In a flash the rock wall comes alive and ten females glide to the ground, following me inside with several of the Hideaway males.

  Bethany speaks firmly to Baelen as she slips into the water and takes over helping Llion. “I will take him. He is Grievous after all.”

  Baelen doesn’t argue, returning to the edge of the water to wait for more wounded gargoyles. When Grayson returns with Welsian and two members of my Storm
Command, Baelen immediately carries them into the water with help from the Hideaway males while the Grievous females hold them safely until they heal.

  Before Grayson disappears again, I touch his arm. “Have they stopped fighting?”

  He focuses on a point past my shoulder. “The war is ended. The elves are returning home to wait for their new Queen’s orders.”

  He slips out of my hold. “There are more, Marbella.”

  I step back. “Of course.”

  Grayson comes and goes and I lose count of the number of times he appears and disappears. Erit and Llion are healed. So are my Storm Command and Welsian. After the most badly wounded have been saved, Grayson brings those who are beaten and bloodied, but not at death’s door. After that, he brings the ones with cuts and bruises. As soon as each is healed, one of the Hideaway gargoyles flies them away, taking them to their loved ones, then returns to help transport the next one.

  Indira and Erit are the first to leave. She pulls me into a hug, telling me, “I’m going to bawl my eyes out now and you’d better not tell anyone about it.”

  The hours churn on. Baelen and I and the Grievous females keep working to make sure nobody is left unhealed. By the time Grayson staggers to the far corner of the springs and drops to the ground exhausted, nearly two hundred gargoyles and a hundred elves have been saved.

  Bethany helps the last gargoyle from the water, gives me a tired nod, and tells me she will see me at the Royal Residence. Baelen brushes the hair from my face, kisses my tired lips, and says he’ll wait outside with the Phoenix until I’m ready. He knows I have one last thing to do.

  I approach Grayson with caution, not because I’m afraid of him, but because I don’t want to force him to speak if he doesn’t want to. He found out so much about his past today: the truth about the death of his whole family, that the people he trusted were the ones who killed them, the fact that he had wings and lost them.

  He rises to his feet as I approach, steadying himself by planting one hand against the wall. “Marbella Mercy,” he says, stopping me in my tracks. He contemplates me, his gaze traveling from my headpiece to my disheveled hair to my tired eyes. The golden runes across his chest glow in the soft Elyria light.

  “Yes, Grayson?”

  He looks me in the eye. “Now we are no longer enemies.”

  I respond, softly, “Agreed.”

  He falters. “I don’t… know how to be around people.”

  I choose my words carefully. “Neither did I. But I think you’ll find that… your people—the gargoyles—are incredibly tolerant of new and unique friends.”

  I gesture to the front entrance, inviting him to come with me. “Please?”

  He shakes his head. “I think it’s better if I disappear for a while. I have to figure things out.”

  “If that’s what you need to do.”

  He gives me a solemn nod and then he’s gone.

  30

  We bury our dead the next day. I declare a week of mourning so that all of the fallen gargoyles and elves can be properly buried and mourned. I lay my five fallen ladies to rest on the crest of the mountain beside Cassian. On that same spot, I also bury Badenoch. My wise and kind friend had flown from the safety of the cavern he was hidden inside and taken the death bolt that Osian Valor had intended for Elise. His children stand beside me, heads bowed, as we lower his body into the earth. Now they have lost both their parents.

  I don’t have enough tears.

  The day after we bury Badenoch, I make my way with the old Priestess Dorothea to the highest room in the Royal Residence where the Queen’s journal waits. It is mine to write in now. Dorothea hands me a quill and ink and leaves me to choose my words. The pages will turn the color of my life as soon as I write my name on them.

  My hand moves across the page: Marbella Mercy.

  A gentle lilac spreads across the page like ink through water—the color of my heartstone. Then a crimson red grows in the middle of the page, unfolding like a rose, spreading outward—the color of the Rath Heartstone. But they’re both quickly followed by pristine white that bleaches the page clean again, the same color as Incorruptible’s life. I guess I am a little of all of them.

  I start at the beginning, from the day I became the Storm Princess, and I write about everything that happened since, writing long into the night about taming the Storm, about my Storm Command, the marriage trials, Baelen’s near death, my heartbreak, mining with the gargoyles and fighting with them, finding the heartstones, fighting Howl and losing Cassian, everything Grayson said and did, the war… until Baelen appears in the doorway, filling it with his massive body as I stifle a powerful yawn. He doesn’t tell me to come to bed, simply gathers me up in his arms and carries me there.

  At the end of the first week, Baelen and I travel to Erawind to meet with all of the elven houses. We take a handful of gargoyles with us. Talia’s rosebud mouth opens in awe at the elaborate elven architecture—the sandstone buildings and sculpted gardens. At some stage within the last few days, she has quietly taken over from the old Priestess in the role of my gargoyle advisor—apparently that is the job of the High Priestess—while Elise remains as my elven advisor. I am honored to have these two strong females at my side.

  Eli Elder meets us on the city’s outskirts to escort us to the arena where representatives from the elven houses wait to speak with me. As we enter the stadium, I’m glad to find there is no spellcasting at work here today: it is simply a meeting place. If the changes in my appearance stun them, Talia’s beauty makes them gasp. She has regained her strength in the last few days and now she glows; her emerald eyes are radiant, her hair is a river of gold, and her gossamer wings are sparkling silver. As soon as I can, I plan to order the destruction of all the monstrous gargoyle images that the Elven Command used as propaganda to spread fear.

  There is a lot to be done to restore trust with the elves. I start the meeting by opening the Heartstone Chest and returning the heartstones to their Houses. The Elven Command had hoarded them but they belong in the hands of their people. The representatives gladly accept the stones, grateful to have them returned. Then I address the need for new leaders in the Houses of the dead Elven Commanders, giving the representatives of those Houses the choice between holding an election or allowing me to choose for them.

  A representative from the House of Glory takes a knee, saying, “Our minds have been clouded by sorcery for many years. We do not trust our own judgment. We request that you choose for us. We will hold elections in the future once we trust our own minds again.”

  Impressed by their insight, I name Eli Elder, Gwynn Bounty, and Sahara Splendor, knowing they will be fair, wise, and most importantly I can trust them. It is harder to choose for the Houses of Valor and Glory. Grayson has not reappeared so I can’t ask him what he wants to do. And as for Valor, I’ve never trusted any of them.

  Luckily, Senturi agreed to come with me to this meeting. I hide a smile when the representatives from the Houses of Glory and Valor take a step back as he descends from the dais to study them. I don’t blame them. Senturi is in full ferocious form. A fur coat cast across his shoulders, he’s sporting his double chain of talons, making him appear wild and fierce. He stops in front of one of the Valor representatives. The older elf is the only one who doesn’t look away. This elf bears a scar above his eye and his features are hardened. He is not the one I would have chosen but Senturi gives me a nod, returning to my side to murmur to me, “He is a loyalist who believes in the Crown. He is ferocious and will bring his House into line.”

  I ask, “And Glory?”

  Senturi points at the male who asked me to choose for them. “That one’s daughter. She was instrumental in the protest after you were mistreated in this arena. Since your disappearance, she has worked tirelessly behind the scenes to free imprisoned dissenters.”

  “Dissenters?”

  “Elves who protested against the Elven Command. They have all been released now.”

  “Than
k you, Senturi.” I turn back to the representatives. “Now, let’s talk about the future.”

  I’m exhausted by the time we’re done, but I’ve begun building bridges and that is the most critical thing right now.

  That night, we stay in my old quarters. It is surreal being here now. So many memories are caught between these walls. So much heartache. As night falls and the moon shines full, I head to my old bedroom, taking Baelen with me. I lead him to my old bathing room and close the door. This time, he won’t leave this room without holding my hand and more.

  The days blur over the next month with all the work that needs to be done in both countries. While I go about restoring peace, strange and random things begin to happen in Erador. First, the talon crows disappear. Then the shadow panther population decreases rapidly—almost as if someone is hunting them mercilessly. The Outlier Clan reports that sightings of crows and panthers have become very rare. They bow deeply to Baelen when they tell us that the predator population hasn’t been this low since his time in the wastelands. Then, the day after Iago and his builders finish the new home for the Priestesses and orphaned children, elegant wooden furniture and plush seats miraculously appear in the living and dining areas. It looks suspiciously like the furniture from Grayson’s cage. The children love it.

  At the end of the first month, I awake in my bed in the Royal Residence with a start, sensing… a force I haven’t felt for a while. Baelen tugs on me when I slide out of bed, half-asleep, but I whisper for him to go back to sleep—I’m okay. I dress quickly and head out into the dark before dawn.

  My living arrangements for now are quite nomadic. I plan to spend two months at a time in each of the Royal Residence in Erador and then my quarters in Erawind, visiting my family on the way through. Iago is already making noises with a gleam in his eye about building me a new palace right on the border between the two countries. I tell him, “All in good time.”

  I follow the tingle in the air all the way past the new home for the children, past Crimson Court, and to the springs. I tread carefully inside, pausing at the spot where the walkway opens up into the cavern.