by Alana Serra
“Oh, absolutely,” she couldn’t seem to keep the sarcasm from her voice, “I was just taken from my home, poked and prodded by people I don’t know, and essentially called a lying whore by the Storm Lord. Everything’s great.”
Imara’s eyes widened, her hands immediately closing over her mouth as though that would stop what she’d already said. God, she knew she was out of sorts. She knew she tended to run off at the mouth when she was upset. But this was a new low. She didn’t know this man. He might be close to Rheor. Or worse, he might be Rheor’s enemy and she’d just told him something that would give him plenty of ammunition.
The thought filled her with more dread than she ever would have expected. She shouldn’t feel anything at all when it came to Rheor’s safety, yet she already knew in her heart she’d take that guilt upon herself if something happened to him because of her.
If this man was Rheor’s enemy, though, he was a much less conspicuous one than those she’d seen before. There was genuine amusement on his face, and she noticed for the first time that he didn’t… quite look like the others Raknari. His skin wasn’t pale in the same way theirs was. There were tones of peach and pink in it, like her own. So much so that she might have thought he was a human if not for how large he was, his long ears, and the small points to his teeth when he grinned.
“I’m sure that’s anyone’s idea of a good time. You should feel ashamed of yourself for being anything other than overjoyed. You are the chosen one, after all. Everyone’s saying it.”
The deadpan humor in his voice caught her off guard. He was the second Raknari she’d met who wasn’t at all like the others, and yet something about him resonated with her even more than Nava. She just felt as if he was… harmless, for lack of a better word. Not in any way that spoke poorly of him. She was sure he could be menacing if he wanted to be. But he felt like someone she could call a friend, and that was a greater comfort in this place than she’d realized.
She did have to snort at the “chosen one” rhetoric, though. “I’m sure they are. Everyone seems to know about that except Rheor and myself.”
That did seem to surprise him. One of his brows arched as he closed the grate on the stove, looking back at her. “He didn’t intend you for Roinim? That’s strange. It’s all anyone’s talked about since you arrived, and considering the mood he was in this morning, I thought for sure you’d been the one to reject him.”
Imara felt the sting of that, the sensation immediately chased by a shot of anger at herself. “No, I am… definitely not the one who rejected him.”
“Ah.” He winced. “It’s no business of mine. I shouldn’t be asking such invasive questions. I apologize.”
He strangely seemed to defer to her, as if she had any authority here. Maybe it was just the residual effect of people thinking she’d been chosen by Rheor. She could only assume that Roinim would give her some greater role here, something she had to remind herself she didn’t want. At all.
“I wouldn’t have answered if I was going to get angry at you for asking,” she said. Then after a beat, a smirk tugged at her lips and she added, “I might, actually. My father always said I could be a terrible hypocrite.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Anything but that.”
She grinned at him, that heavy feeling vanishing. She did feel at ease around him, for whatever reason. It would be nice to have a friend here, if that’s what was happening. It might even be helpful to her sanity. “I’m Imara.”
“Almir,” he said with a smile, giving her a strange bow that again felt like deference.
She opened her mouth to say something else, but her door was suddenly opened yet again. This time it was shoved with such an entitled air that there was no doubting who was on the other side. Even if she hadn’t been able to sense him, she would have known. She was about to turn her words on him, fall back on that same dry sarcasm that had won her a friend and provoked Rheor on their journey, but the words died on her tongue when she saw the murderous look in his eyes.
“Drotun,” Almir said, his whole body tense as he backed away. “I saw the smoke from outside. I just wished to make sure our guest was not in any danger.”
“I will make sure she’s not in any danger.” Rheor’s voice was low; dangerous. He prowled toward Almir with an energy Imara found herself shamefully drawn to. “That is not your concern.”
“Of course,” her new friend began to defer.
But the Storm Lord still advanced, looking as though he wanted to teach the man a more impactful lesson. For as much as her body responded to this sudden show of possession, Imara wasn’t willing to let it happen without saying anything to thwart Rheor’s idiocy.
“Put your cock away,” she grated out. “He was doing exactly what he said. Even if he wasn’t, I’m fairly sure you gave up any claim you had to me last night.”
She knew it was the wrong thing to say, but somehow Imara couldn’t stop the words from leaving her mouth. The Storm Lord instantly stiffened, and for a moment she expected some violent burst of energy. She didn’t truly think he’d hurt her, but he might hurt Almir.
What he actually did felt worse, though. He turned cold, dropping the temperature of the room by a good ten degrees, if she had to guess. Imara shivered with it, her eyes widening slightly as she looked at him. Those runes were glowing, and so too were his eyes.
“Is this what my life is going to be here?” she asked, a hint of desperate misery in her voice. “You check up on me, and if I’m not doing what you want me to do—and what that even is, I have no idea, by the way—you literally freeze me and everyone else out?”
Imara had the distant thought that anyone else in her position would have just kept their mouth shut; waited for the storm to blow over. But if she allowed this behavior now, if she said absolutely nothing about it, this really would become the rest of her life, and that wasn’t acceptable.
“I came to apologize for my behavior last night,” Rheor said tersely, his jaw so tense it could have cracked solid stone, “and to tell you the Peak is yours to explore. You’re not a prisoner here.”
“You could have fooled me,” she muttered.
She knew it wasn’t fair. She wasn’t even sure she believed it. They hadn’t treated her like a prisoner so far. Even if she wasn’t an equal, she wasn’t some kind of slave, either.
But Imara’s pride was her greatest vice, her father had always said. In that moment, as she held the Storm Lord’s gaze, she knew he was right.
“I truly didn’t mean to impose, Drotun,” Almir began again.
“Go.”
Unlike the roar of last night, this was more an icy growl that cut through Imara’s mind. She didn’t like him like this. She’d rather see him rage like an inferno than whatever this was.
It worked, though, because Almir dipped his head and slipped out of the house, mouthing a “sorry” to her as he went. She dared an apologetic smile, half expecting Rheor to lose his mind over that, too. But his face was like frozen stone, completely unreadable.
“I need you to understand something: There can be no Roinim between us. That is why I reacted the way I did.”
Pain sliced through her heart and Imara looked away, unwilling to let him see it. She shouldn’t be upset over this. She didn’t even want it. Or him.
“Fine. I’m not exactly eager to be some kind of Ice Queen, anyway, so you won’t hear any complaints from me.”
Silence stretched before them, thick and heavy. It lasted for what felt like an eternity, and everything in Imara wanted to shatter it. It didn’t even matter what was said, she just couldn’t take it anymore.
Fortunately, Rheor broke it before she could let her mouth run away with her.
“It’s not anything to do with you.”
Unfortunately, his words sounded so pained that she was forced to look up at him, and what she saw in his eyes took her breath away. Great, incomprehensible storms swirled there, like sleet tearing through a narrow mountain pass. She had no
idea what had caused him so much pain or conflict, but she felt the sudden urge to make it go away. To comfort him somehow, warm the chill from his heart.
It was foolish. A girl’s fancy and nothing more.
“Thank you for letting me know,” she responded, not liking the cool edge that came into her own voice.
He must not have liked it either, because he gave her a strange look, almost like a wounded animal. He nodded, then turned to go. Imara bit her lip, her arms coming around herself as that cold seeped into her bones. She wanted to apologize for her own behavior, to ask what his words meant and why he was so reluctant for Transference if it wasn’t just her. Instead, her mind seized on something more immediate and far safer as a topic.
“Has Tiva… has her rider finished the rites you mentioned? I’d like to attend, if that’s not rude of me to do.”
His features softened somewhat, and Imara felt a flicker of warmth in her heart, as if everything in her was tuned so keenly to what he was thinking and feeling. It was ridiculous.
“It is not rude. Loken finished preparing her yesterday, but the rite will not be performed until later.” A brief pause and a frown as he added, “He wishes to see if any of the cubs survive. If not, they will join the rite with their mother.”
A gasp stole over her and Imara raised a hand to her chest. She’d always had a tender heart when it came to animals, and it was no less true now. “Will they not latch to another female?”
“There are none currently nursing, and they will not latch to a bottle. Loken has been trying, and I will try again myself when I am able.”
Her mind worked, her thoughts fixing on every time she’d nursed baby animals who’d lost their mother. The very first had been a baby ox whose mother fell too ill to properly care for her offspring. He’d taken to the bottle easily, but there were other creatures who needed more encouragement. She’d saved an entire den of baby foxes once, despite her father telling her it was hopeless. She could save these cubs, too, she was sure of it.
“I’ll do it,” she said, lifting her chin again as if daring him to defy her.
She might have felt remorseful over her words to him earlier and last night, but she wasn’t willing to back down from this. Even when he was looking at her strangely again. None of that mattered. Not when it was a difference of life and death.
“I have a meeting,” he explained somewhat hastily, “but I will have someone bring you to them.”
At least he wasn’t going to deny her this. Imara smiled, that warmth finding a place in her heart even as Rheor excused himself from the small cottage without so much as another glance at her. He could be cold and distant. So long as she had some kind of purpose, some way to use her limited talents, she would survive here.
It was the first true glimmer of hope she’d felt since arriving, and she held onto it tightly as she went to prepare for her day.
Chapter 12
Rheor left the human’s dwelling with a vast and confusing mix of emotions.
He’d been certain when he left his own chambers that morning. He’d spent the entire night lying awake, feeling guilt over something he would have never felt guilt over in the past. Something needed to be done about it, and he’d decided that something was to swallow his pride and apologize. It was not Imara’s fault his people were eager for him to undergo Roinim. She had no idea what it was or why it was important, and she certainly had no clue as to why he might be reluctant to engage with her.
Seeing Almir in her home had driven him into a sudden and inexplicable rage, though. He’d never been so very possessive, had only once ever looked at a female as completely his. Even then, he hadn’t been so quick to judge someone, practically attack someone he knew was true to their word. Almir was harmless, and there was no doubt in Rheor’s mind that he was doing what he’d said. If he’d ever been a threat, it was long before the Svag got to him, and even that seemed unlikely.
But once again, he’d gone almost feral in Imara’s presence, as if something inside of him was reverting to a primal, elemental state. Strangely, not even his own element. When he was around her, he felt as though he’d been consumed by Igvis’ flames. They melted away his icy resistance, beckoned him into their heat, drove him to do things he would never do under any other circumstances.
He’d managed to calm, yes, but even after Almir left, he hadn’t felt on even keel. There was something strangely vulnerable in Imara when she “accepted” his apology. Something that made him want to pull her into his arms and hold her tightly, until all of that fear and doubt left her completely. That was not a comfort he could give, nor was it one he’d wanted to give in some time. He thought himself numb to it, even with his own people.
Apparently he was not, nor was he numb to the warmth that seeped into him as she expressed an interest in Tiva’s rites, and in helping with her cubs. It clouded Rheor’s mind, drove him to distraction to think of her nurturing those creatures, taking care of them and ensuring they would grow strong. When he stepped out of the cottage, he drew in a deep breath of the frigid air, his eyes closing as he centered himself.
Perhaps Kiova was still punishing him. Perhaps this was part of his penance, and he must learn to exist with it and grow from it. For now, all he wished was to ignore it. There were far more important things at stake, like the current state of the other three Drotuns and their seats of power. He’d sent word for them to meet him at the Tempest Seat when the sun reached its apex, and as the journey would take some time, he prepared himself for it now. Gathering his best men—apart from Loken, who he charged with staying behind to care for Tiva’s cubs and finish any last preparations for her rites—he set off on foot, making the journey through the treacherous cliffsides that led to the center of the Spine.
The closer he came, though, the more he realized all was not as it should be. The winds howled around him, buffeting him from every direction, threatening to pull him from the narrow path. There was no adjusting to this storm, no chance for him to overcome or even control it. It was beyond him, accepting absolutely no input from his powers.
The further he walked from his own seat, the more he noticed the other elements acting strangely volatile, as well. He and his men walked a bridge that had been sturdy for hundreds of years, only today, steam blasted up from crevices well beneath it, forcing Rheor to leap backward and nearly off the bridge entirely to avoid being burned.
Rocks dislodged from the cliffs with seemingly no reason other than the presence of people walking underneath them. And as they reached an open stretch of mountain where their only task was to climb, the wind had a great deal to say about that, whipped into a near frenzy as lightning arced through dark storm clouds above.
“The Tempests are displeased,” Skaul muttered as they narrowly avoided a strike of lightning.
They certainly were. Rheor had been well aware of Kiova’s fury, but he’d not noticed anything from the other three thus far. Either his Goddess had suddenly gained the ability to affect her sisters, or the other Drotuns were suffering as much as he. Rheor hoped it was the former, though he had no answer for either problem.
They continued on, reaching the Tempest Seat, the site upon which the Tempests were given life from this earth. A great crater stretched atop the mountain, flattening out what once had been the tallest peak between the ring of four that surrounded it. Now it was host to a theater of sorts where Drotuns and their trusted allies allowed debates to rage between them in hopes of at least entertaining the sisters, if not inviting some kind of intervention in times of crisis.
Coming in from the north, the Frozen Peak behind him, Rheor stepped over hard, icy stone that shimmered like crystals in the midday sun. Across the crater, the rocks were charred a deep black, lava flowing between the cracks. To his left, beautiful geodes and other formations made up a tangled, weaving path that only Vara’s Chosen could walk. And to his right, wind-ravaged stone was electrically charged, static rising off of it and joining the bodies of those who tread t
hat path.
It had always been thus, for as long as Rheor lived, and long before. All Raknari had similar beliefs, similar values, and similar ways of living, but the favor of the Tempests determined much of their lives, including where they chose to reside. He would have never been comfortable at the Molten Peak, just as Drotun Brunyr would not be comfortable in his domain. At best it would be a miserable experience. At worst, the land itself would reject them.
But this space was somewhere all four elements converged. Ice. Fire. Earth. Thunder. Winds of the North, South, West, and East. And in this space, they were all equals. Old friends whose struggles were only understood by the other Drotuns.
Rheor smiled when he saw Brunyr crest the charred stone, his blackened armor swallowing the burning light of the sun. Igvis’ Chosen was tall and broad-chested, his hair as black as the armor he wore, with streaks of flame running through it. Soot-darkened skin and bright red runes marked him as different from Rheor as he could possibly be, yet Brunyr’s smile mirrored his own as he came closer.
“Rheor,” he greeted.
“It’s been some time, my friend.”
Rheor stepped close to him and placed his palm upon Brunyr’s upper arm, feeling a warmth as the rune etched there glowed, the one on his fellow Drotun glowing in response. Brunyr did the same to him, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze before he took his hand away.
“Too long,” he agreed. “It’s not so distant a journey, you know. There’s no reason for us only to see each other at these meetings.”
“I can think of plenty of reasons,” Rheor answered with a smirk. “Not the least of which being that I don’t appreciate feeling sweat trickle through every crevice of my body.”
Brunyr flashed him a grin, his eyes—an orange-brown that sometimes veered into red—lighting with amusement. “Just as I don’t appreciate my balls shrinking when I set foot on your uninhabitable mountain.”
“I don’t think that has anything to do with my mountain.”
Brunyr’s laughter was warm, the resulting clap of his shoulder a friendly, familiar gesture. Rheor always missed these moments when he returned to his own seat of power. He had friends and trusted allies at home, but Brunyr was one of the closest. Their interactions always came especially easy to him, much like they might with a brother, had he ever been fortunate enough to have one. But there was more than mild discomfort when he stepped foot on the Molten Peak. It was a place where he very clearly didn’t belong, everything inside of him reacting to the drastic change in climate. Even his mood was altered, and what should have been an easy friendship became strained.
