She tried not to look at Locke as they set out again, but she was often unsuccessful. He wore a linen shirt with more than half the buttons undone so that he could easily check his bandages. He had forgone his full leather vest to wear only a supply belt around his hips, no doubt to ease the strain on his shoulder. On his orders, they spent most of the first day at a gallop until they passed out of range of Sorrow’s Maw. And Locke galloping on horseback with his half-open shirt billowing in the breeze was a sight that tested her resolve not to look again and again.
He still pushed her relentlessly in training, and he began running with her again on their second morning back on the road. They still argued, often over trivial things, but she could tell he was at least trying to be more careful with his words.
Roar was beginning to find a pattern in this new life. Each day, more of the world was revealed to her—plants she had never seen, animals she had read about only in books. The crew had all laughed at her when she thought she saw a dust storm to the south, only to learn it was a distant mountain range, the first she had ever seen with her own eyes. Her life in Pavan had always felt stifling and constricting, but she had come to realize that the world was so much bigger even than her imaginings.
But each time she began to feel comfortable or confident, the wildlands seemed to rise to crush her hopes. She had to use the leaves three times over five days, and each incident stole a little more of her determination to see this through. Not only was she not any nearer to having magic, she had not even had the chance to see the other hunters work since she always ended up unconscious a few moments after a storm manifested.
A little over a week after the twister, Roar noticed something peculiar as they stopped for the night. Taraanar was due east of Pavan. Based on the constellations she saw as the sun set and the stars came out, they had begun turning south, having left the road behind several days prior.
She abandoned the tent with which she’d been wrestling. How after all these days did that thing still vex her beyond the limit of her patience? Glad to focus on something else, she marched her way up to Duke and Locke, hands on her hips, and declared, “We’re moving south.”
The old man did not look up from the spoonful of stew he lifted to his mouth. She caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an old tattoo on his forearm. It was faded and made even more illegible by his extensive scars, but was shaped vaguely like an anchor. Perhaps Duke had been a sailor in his early life; maybe the seas had called to him before the skies.
“We are,” he answered, lowering the bowl to his lap.
“I thought we were heading to Taraanar.”
Locke cut in. “Not for two days, we haven’t been.”
Bristling, she fixed her eyes on Locke, rather than the old man. He was a much easier target for her anger. “Why did no one tell me?”
Locke said, “I wasn’t aware you cared about the destination so much as the journey.”
She wouldn’t have normally. Roar didn’t particularly care where they went as long as there were storms involved. But there was a chance Pavan soldiers would still be searching for her and her abductors in the south.
“Are you trying to avoid storms because of me? I told you not to do that.”
“Yes, but the last time we encountered a storm, you looked like you wanted to rip my jugular out with your teeth. And I’m rather partial to it.”
She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, as if that could pull back in the words, undo this entire conversation. She made herself meet his eyes. “Whatever is happening to me, I will find a way to control it. I’m lasting longer every time before I have to take Rezna’s rest. You don’t need to coddle me.”
“I’m not exactly up to full speed yet either,” he said, but his shoulder had not stopped him from participating in any of the recent storms. “You must learn to trust my judgment, Roar. There is nothing wrong with being strategic.”
“That would imply you were actually teaching me how to take magic, how to defeat a storm, teaching me anything besides how much torture my body can endure before my legs commit mutiny.”
His eyes dipped down, raking her from head to toe. “Your legs look fine to me.” She drew in a sharp breath and fisted her hands against the urge to hit him. Insufferable man.
“As for our training,” Locke continued, “setting aside the fact that you are not ready to face a storm until you can keep control of your mind, I am teaching you the only things I can.” She knew it was stupid to pick this fight, knew that she could not possibly win this argument and it only hurt to have it, but she was so frustrated; she needed some way to release all this built-up tension. Locke continued: “I’m teaching your body to fight past pain, past fatigue. I’m teaching your mind how to make choices under pressure and react to any circumstance.” He moved in close and pushed a blunt finger against her chest above where her heart was beating rapidly. “And here … right here, I’m teaching you to trust yourself, to believe in your own strength. Skimming magic is the easy part. As long as you are near the heart of the storm, Jinx’s enchantments will do the work for you. But you have to live long enough to get close and get away.” His finger was still jabbed into her chest, his expression fierce. “The one thing I cannot teach you is how to defeat a storm. That you have to learn yourself.”
“Learn how?” she asked.
He tapped his finger above her heart twice more, and then pulled away. “You simply must have the stronger heart. You must have no doubts, no fear. You must want to survive more than the storm does. When you drive your hand into the heart of a storm, it in turn drives into you. It will search out every weakness, every insecurity. If you are afraid to die, it will know. I’ve seen hunters with tremendous skill—fast and strong and calm under pressure—crumble under the intensity of facing a storm heart to heart. The battle is different for every person, for every storm, but one thing always holds true—only one heart gets to live on. So tell me, Roar, do you think you are ready? Look into yourself and decide—are you willing to bet your life on it?”
Blood rushed in Roar’s ears, and her stomach writhed with nausea. Of course, she was not ready. She might have believed in herself when this journey began, but no more. It was torture not being able to trust her own mind, to trust that she would not hurt those around her.
The rest of the hunters had gathered throughout Locke’s speech, and mortification burned across her cheeks. With a hard, smug look Sly added, “It’s about honesty. A storm cuts through to the truth of who you are. If it finds darkness and deceit in you, it will win. It is only the purest hearts that come out unscathed.”
There was no question that Sly’s tone implied Roar would be found wanting. Jinx snorted, breaking the tension, and said, “Oh yes. I’m sure we’ve got the purest hearts around.” Ransom’s deep chuckle followed, and Jinx said to Roar, “Don’t let them frighten you too much. It is dangerous, to be sure, but in the end magic is simply an extension of a person’s will. If you want it badly enough, you can make it yours.”
She nodded, and one by one the other hunters scattered. Some sat to eat; others returned to their tents. Before he left, Ransom stepped up behind her and folded one of his huge hands over her shoulder. “I was impatient too. So much so that I refused to cook until they gave me my shot. But not even holding my cooking ransom worked.” He winked, blue eyes sparkling. “They made do with gruel and refused to let me risk myself before I was ready. And they were right in the end. Trust is a muscle, same as any other. It gets stronger the more you use it. Trust Locke. Trust us. And trusting yourself will come far easier, I promise you.”
She put aside thoughts of storms for the moment. Loath as she was to admit it, Locke was right. There was no point in him teaching her anything more until she proved she could stand in the presence of a storm without losing herself. The more immediate problem was their route, but she could not exactly tell them why she did not want to head south, not without revealing her secret.
If they encountered Pavani
an soldiers, would her disguise hold? Was she selfish enough to risk her companions’ lives? For if she were found in their company, the soldiers would assume them her kidnappers. She had known her plan was reckless, but she had thought only of the potential danger to herself, not to them.
More and more, it seemed as if she had more reasons to leave than stay with the hunters.
“Don’t look so glum, child. Feeling sorry for yourself won’t help.”
She looked at Duke through the flickering tendrils of fire. He looked older in the low light, the lines on his face accented by shadow. “I am more angry at myself than sorry. I know I am impatient. And reckless and tempestuous and stubborn. I want to be different, I do. But all my life, I’ve felt like something was left out when I was made, like a recipe with a missing ingredient. And it didn’t matter how hard I tried to be better because something in me was inherently … wrong. As if I’d been put into the wrong life by mistake.”
“Sounds to me like the only wrong thing was trying to force yourself to be something you are not. Locke is stubborn, Jinx is beyond tempestuous, and I—” He looked down at the multitude of scars that crisscrossed his arms and hands. “I have been known to be reckless a time or two. People are not recipes to be carefully measured and mixed together. Life is imprecise and messy.”
“But do I have what it takes to be a hunter?”
Duke tangled his fingers in his beard, his green eyes soft with knowing. “No one can decide that but you. Think about that book you love so much. Many called that expedition insane, impossible. But you can never know if something is, in fact, impossible until you have tried. And perhaps, not even then. Not until you’ve tried for an entire lifetime.”
“You were a sailor too, weren’t you?”
He looked at her, gray eyebrows raised high. She gestured to the tattoo, or what was still visible beneath his scars. He nodded. “Once upon a time. But I’ve not set foot on a boat in what feels like several lifetimes.”
“Navy? Or a trade ship? Or…” she trailed off, not wanting to accuse the man of piracy.
“I’ve done a bit of it all. Sometimes it feels like I’ve lived enough lives for ten men.”
He stared into the darkening night. His eyes went unfocused, and for a long while she sat there as Duke seemed wrapped up in something she could not see. Eventually, his eyes closed and he shook himself slightly before returning his gaze to her.
There was something invariably sad about the old man, and she wanted to fling her arms around him and hug him close. The only men she had ever had in her life were no-nonsense guards and stuffy officials. He was comforting but stern. It was how she imagined her father might have been, if he had lived. Though perhaps without the long beard and braided hair.
“Do you know how many apprentices I’ve taken on to teach about hunting?” he asked.
She shook her head, and he continued: “Somewhere around twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five!”
“Some couldn’t cut it or decided the life wasn’t for them. Some took to it well and were smart and talented. But even when you’re good at what you do, nature can catch you off guard. Ransom has had half a dozen. Sly was one of his originally. You already know Bait was brought on by Jinx. Even if they’re not ready to teach anyone themselves, they have brought people to me for help. Locke has been with me longer than any of them, and do you know how many times he’s brought in someone?”
She had a feeling where this was going. “No one?”
Duke nodded. “Not once. Don’t get me wrong: he gets it in his head that he needs to help people all the time, but he’s never once showed any interest in teaching anyone how to hunt.”
She snorted. “He didn’t want to teach me either.”
“Trust me, Roar. If he didn’t want to teach you, he would have pushed you on to Ransom or Jinx. Or more likely, found some way to leave you home in Pavan. I know how hard he’s pushing you in your training, and from what I’ve heard you’ve met every challenge he’s thrown at you. If you cannot hold on to confidence in yourself, be confident in him.”
She weighed his words. Could she do that? Trust Locke that much?
“And what you said earlier,” Duke continued, “about feeling like you were in the wrong life? I’ve felt that too. Felt it right up until the moment I decided to stop trying to run from storms and hunt them instead. I know what it looks like when someone finds the life they were meant to have.”
He clasped a firm hand on her shoulder and then left her alone with the campfire and her thoughts. She lost track of how long she sat there, but the night was deep when she finally left for bed. Weary, she trudged back to where she’d planned to make camp for the night, only to find that her tent had been mysteriously erected and all her belongings placed inside. She glanced around, wondering whom she had to thank for the kindness, but the camp was dark and quiet, and the call of her bed was stronger than her curiosity.
Embers do not fall
And fire does not burn
In the eye.
Rain does not pour,
Wind does not howl
In the eye.
Fear does not reign.
Death holds no pain.
In the eye.
—A Stormling Stands: Verses of Old
15
Cassius paced the length of Aurora’s sitting room, waiting for the guard who was supposed to bring him an update. He spent entirely too much time in Aurora’s rooms. He knew that. It was bad enough he had taken up residence in the empty rooms across from hers in the royal wing, but he could never seem to stop himself from wandering in here.
Nor had he been able to stop himself from searching through all her things. He had thumbed through every book on her shelves and read the ones that looked the most worn with use. They were books about daring adventures and dangerous storms. They weren’t particularly realistic, but he could admit they were entertaining. Others were filled to the brim with mushy romance that always made him want to throw the book across the room. He knew she was sweet, but if that was what she wanted … perhaps it was better that she had been taken before they wed.
He cursed himself for that thought, turning to pace the length of the room again. It seemed that she had been extremely sheltered by her mother, mostly because not a single person seemed to be able to tell him anything personal about Rora. He knew because he’d tried. He had questioned everyone who ever claimed to have come in contact with her. The queen had replaced her handmaidens constantly, so none of them knew anything except what herbs she liked to put in her bath and which hairstyles she hated the most, which was all of them to some degree.
The stable hands seemed to have a better sense of her, but they couldn’t tell him much that he did not already know. The soldiers he had combing the wilds were supposed to be on the lookout for the horse as well, in case the kidnappers had sold it off. That would at least give him some hint as to where she had been taken. But so far they had not one clue about her whereabouts beyond the blood and clothing scraps they found that first day of searching. She had tried to leave clues, but they stopped so abruptly that he could not keep himself from imagining what had been done to her to end that rebellion. And because he was all too familiar with how the criminal element thought and behaved, his imagination was disturbingly hard to ignore.
It had been weeks. He hated thinking about how much could happen in that amount of time. He had sent out as many soldiers as he could afford, issued a reward, and even expanded their search beyond the southern region they believed her to be taken to originally. The wilds were easy enough to search. There were no authorities that could stand up to a full company of soldiers, but searching Stormling cities proved much more challenging. None was eager to let unfamiliar soldiers into their midst.
And then there were the rumors. They could not hold them off forever, of course. But he was supposed to be married by now, rendering them unimportant. Everything had gone so incredibly wrong.
While his intent
ions had never been entirely aboveboard, he had a plan to keep things in check, to minimize the damage as much as possible. But now … without Aurora here everything had turned to chaos. And he knew even if they managed to find her and bring her back, she would hate him. That thought troubled him more than it should. He could not stop hearing the Taraanese girl’s words.
She loathed you.
A knock came at the door, and he barked, “Enter.”
The commander of the guard came through the doorway, followed by a few soldiers that Cassius recognized as runners. They’d been tasked with gathering updates from the searching troops and bringing that information back to Pavan.
“What news, Ortuze?” he asked, his tone clipped and to the point.
The commander said, “No sightings of her, sir. And Odilar sent out troops to stop the soldiers you sent to search the city. The king has refused them entry and threatened combat if they don’t leave.”
Cassius cursed and fisted his hands at his sides. “And in the wilds?”
“I’m afraid the losses are quite high. Two companies were wiped out completely, two are missing, and another three suffered devastating losses. And there have been confirmed reported sightings of him, sir. The second company sent word four days ago about rumors among the villages of his presence. The entire company was lost to storms the next day.”
“If they were lost, how do you know his presence is confirmed?”
“Another company found the bodies, sir. It took several days for their messenger to reach us. The bodies were laid out to form a message, Your Highness.”
Cassius hesitated. “Well? What was the message?”
“Soon, sir.”
Cassius pulled at his hair, pacing and biting down the need to scream.
“How many companies are still out searching?”
“Three companies remain, but with the Rage season in full swing, their odds are not good. Their numbers have already dwindled. May I suggest, sir, that we bring our men home, and prepare for his arrival? Even you cannot face him alone.”