There was no time to think, to weigh her options. She only knew a storm was coming, and everyone—Cassius, included—would expect her to participate in the kingdom’s defense with a magic she did not have.
She jerked her head up toward the sky and let her arms drop a little. Then she did her best to look shocked and horrified when the blade sunk into her left biceps.
* * *
Cassius’s roar drowned out even the blare of the storm signal. When he saw Aurora’s pale hand touch the hilt of the knife buried in her arm, he wanted to make the whole world bleed, starting with himself. He ran toward her, arriving moments after a few of the soldiers. He wanted to tear their hands off her, but she beat him to it, pushing away their attempts to help. Her hand was smeared with blood. She turned toward Cassius, her face nearly as pale as it had been the night before with layers of powder. The soldiers turned and looked at him like he was the enemy, Aurora too.
In some ways, he was. But not like this. He would never harm her.
“Why did you move?” he snarled.
She tilted her chin up, swaying on her feet. Her lips were beginning to lose that soft peach color. She said, “The horn. I was distracted. I’m sorry.”
He growled, pacing away, tugging at his hair. He should not have been throwing knives at her in the first place. He had let himself forget for a moment what his purpose here was. Her aggression had been a surprising but welcome new morsel of her personality. He had prodded at the fire in her, treated her like a woman he truly wanted, rather than a woman he had to have at any cost. He was meant to charm her, seduce her, steal away her heart. Just another heart, he had told himself. Like all the others he was so good at collecting. Only hers would not harden into stone or glass or crystal when he claimed it.
She was now surrounded by soldiers, each fretting over her as Cassius wished he could do. “Enough,” she snapped. “It is only my arm.”
As if in demonstration, she pulled the blade free like it was nothing more than a needle. The spread of red was barely discernible on the black uniform she wore, but when blood started dripping onto the dirt beneath her, Cassius rushed forward.
Two soldiers stepped in his way before he could touch her, and she was swept up into the arms of the man she called Taven. As she yelled for the soldier to put her down, Cassius demanded, “Where are you taking her?”
Taven did not answer, merely kept moving away, flanked by half a dozen others.
“He is taking her to the palace physician,” another soldier answered.
“I am going with her.”
The remaining soldiers closed ranks. One of Aurora’s guards from yesterday drew his sword, pointing it at Cassius’s chest, as Taven exited the courtyard with Aurora. Cassius knocked the sword from the guard’s hand with one well-placed hit and within a breath, he turned it back on its owner, pressing it harder than necessary into the vulnerable skin beneath the man’s chin. He could have slaughtered the man in front of him and several others by the time they clumsily pulled their weapons.
Cassius growled, “The next time you hold a blade to me, it will end with you sliced open and your insides spilled at my feet. Now tell me where he’s taking her—to a physician directly or to her room?”
The only response was the training of multiple swords on him. Cassius let out a long string of filthy curses, but not one word moved the soldiers in front of him. His mind was clear enough to see a hopeless battle. He needed to regroup and find another way to make things right with the princess.
“Very well,” he seethed. “I will return to my rooms and inform my family of this accident. I expect to be kept informed of her well-being.”
He threw his stolen sword into the dirt and pushed through the soldiers, unworried about their weapons. They let him go, though they followed him inside the palace until he turned down into the guest wing. As soon as he was alone, he spun and punched the nearest wall. Knuckles split and bleeding, he made his way to his room to collect what coin he had.
He should inform his father. If word reached him before Cassius had a chance to explain, his fury was likely to be unmatched by any rage his father had ever thrown. And he had thrown many. But he had to see her first. With his money purse in his pocket, he set off for the royal wing of the palace.
He did not enter the hallway that led to Aurora’s room, but waited nearby in an alcove behind a statue of a Stormling ancestor for someone to leave. It felt like hours passed before a maid bustled from the hall, head down and hands full of bloodied rags.
He stepped into her path, and she yelped, several wet rags slapping against the stone floor. “Your Highness,” she whispered.
“How is she?”
She hesitated, eyes darting back down the hall. He plucked a gold coin from his pocket and asked again, “How is she?”
The girl bit her lip. When he retrieved a second coin, she snatched them both and began in a hurried whisper. “The wound bled a great amount. But it is beginning to slow. She is awake. Coherent. But fatigued. She is pale.”
“Does she have use of her arm? Can she move her fingers? Bend at the elbow?”
“It pains her, but yes.”
“Who is with her?”
“Her Majesty. The physician. A few maids.”
“No soldiers?”
“No. They left to evaluate the storm. To give Her Majesty as much time as possible with the princess before she must attend her duties.”
“What type of storm is it?”
“Skyfire, Your Highness.”
“And how long until it reaches us?”
“A bell. Maybe more, maybe less.”
“Tell Her Majesty to stay with her daughter. I will see to the storm.”
The girl’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Oh, I ca—”
“If the queen would like to argue, she can find me at the storm terrace. But we both know she would rather stay here.” Cassius pulled out another coin and offered it to her. “Keep me informed of her condition, and I shall keep these coming. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” She grabbed the coin, bent to pick up her fallen rags, and bustled away.
Cassius weighed the coins left in his purse. He had a feeling it would be quite a bit lighter by the time he had all the information he desired, starting with where exactly the storm terrace was located.
* * *
Blue-white light struck the ground in the distance like a whip forged by the gods. Cassius stood on a terrace atop the famous golden dome of the palace. He had heard that in the mornings, sunlight reflected off this dome, making it appear as if two suns hung in the sky, but now dark had fallen hours before it was due, and the clouds pulsed with light.
He sought out the skyfire crystal at the base of his spine, pulling it from the holster in his armor. The hair on his arms rose as energy crackled over his skin. He focused on his connection with the stone, drawing its magic into him, stoking it into something greater, stronger. In the distance, he felt an echo of power bounce back to him.
“There you are,” he murmured. “Come and play.”
As if the storm could hear him, the sky blazed with light—dozens upon dozens of skyfire bolts streaking between clouds, lighting up the expanse of the churning black that had claimed the heavens. It was a show of strength from one storm to another.
Tempests were sentient enough to seek out destruction, to chase victims, or strategize like a commander during battle. But they could not see as a man could. So when he breathed life and magic into the Stormheart in his fist, that skyfire beast could not tell the difference between Cassius and a competing storm; and with a roar of thunder it began to approach Pavan at a quicker pace.
Cassius knew how most Stormlings would fight this battle. From a distance. It was the reason for the terrace upon which he stood, and the four watchtowers facing the cardinal directions. The Queen of Pavan likely would have produced a barrier in front of the city, and waged war against the skyfire there. But casting one’s energy that far took a toll
. It took longer to subdue the storm, and the fields surrounding the palace would be scorched beyond use as the skyfire struck again and again in the same area.
There was no challenge, no enjoyment in that kind of fight. He would not stand back and watch the storm flounder and weaken against his magic from afar. He craved victory, battle. Those beasts of the sky—where nature and the unnatural met and merged—centuries of myths and religions and scholars had tried to understand them, to know their origins, their purpose. But the only way to truly know a storm was to flay it open, to wring out its magic, to gorge on it until all that remained was desperation and hunger and fear. That was when the moment came, when the beast stopped fighting and surrendered its proverbial neck to the greater foe.
He lived for that moment. But it could only happen if the storm came close.
He gathered his magic, pulling from the well inside himself and ripping more from the Stormheart. The magic blended together, burning beneath his skin. For a moment, Cassius simply relished the power, then he flung it out far and wide, in all directions, not just toward the storm. He envisioned his magic like a woven textile, as millions upon millions of threads—crossing and knotting until it became a flexible but durable barrier that covered the city from wall to wall.
Then he waited.
The city below was still and quiet—the people hidden away in their homes or shelters as another warning horn sounded, louder and longer than all the rest. Nearer and nearer the storm drew. A few bolts streaked down, but the storm seemed to be biding its time, saving its destruction for where it would do the most damage.
When it had almost reached the city wall, the door behind Cassius slammed open. He scowled when he saw a few of the soldiers who stood between him and Aurora before.
“Why have you not stopped it?” one demanded. “Do it now, before it hits the city.”
He held up a hand, not bothering to answer, and kept his focus trained on the city wall. Every time lightning flashed, he could see the faint shimmer of his barrier. He was confident it would hold, but he would not know how much effort it would take until he felt the first bolt.
He clenched his fist around the Stormheart as the first wall of clouds touched the edge of the city. Power surged in the air moments before five bolts of skyfire rent open the sky.
They struck simultaneously, like five cobras sinking their teeth into their would-be charmer. The blue-white light fragmented against the barrier, filling the night with a bright blaze. His magic rippled under the blows, but stretched taut and whole immediately after. The soldiers behind him went silent.
And then … oh, then came one of his favorite parts.
A high, furious screech carried on the wind. Thunder rumbled, and the heavens rained down wrath upon the land. More skyfire bolts than a dozen men could count struck with a shattering boom, and the night exploded with light as they were repelled.
Cassius grinned despite the effort and held firm, baiting the storm to come closer.
Close enough that he could reach its heart.
Against darkened skies
And darker souls,
A Stormling stands.
Amidst thunderous cries
And raining coals,
Raise Stormling hands.
—A Stormling Stands: Verses of Old
4
Aurora had not realized an arm could bleed so much. The first few hours had been … alarming. Feeling woozy and fatigued, she still couldn’t quite believe that she’d purposely taken a knife to the arm. When the physician treated her, Rora’s tongue had been loosened by pain, and she told her mother in no uncertain terms that she loathed Cassius. Her mother made her drink a tea steeped with herbs that dulled the pain and clouded her thoughts. She slept some, but woke from a nightmare about storms and knives and blood that could not be staunched, and weddings that could not be stopped.
The world had gone dark while she slept, and her mother stood framed in the flashing light of the open window. Rora shifted in her bed, whimpering when she put too much weight on her arm. The queen turned, an expression almost like pride on her face. “Come and see,” her mother said. “It is … astonishing.”
Aurora slid from her bed, her bandaged arm hanging at her side. As she reached the window, there was an explosion of light, as if all the stars in the sky had broken open above their heads.
Rora’s mouth gaped. Overhead a skyfire storm had swallowed the sky from horizon to horizon. The thunder was so constant it sounded like the growl of a predator. Normally, the queen hurried Rora into the storm shelters beneath the palace well before a storm’s arrival.
A cry caught in Rora’s throat when light ripped across the sky. But the streaks of cold fire never reached the city. Instead, they collided with a nearly invisible shield, then fragmented, breaking off into dozens of smaller veins that moved over the barrier as if searching for a gap, before finally disappearing in the dark sky. With so many bolts of lightning striking at the same time, the whole sky burned like a silver sun when the skyfire spread over the invisible shield.
“How? Who?” she breathed.
“Your Cassius. We chose well. He is powerful.”
Rora returned her gaze to the sky. The epicenter of the storm was nearing the palace. As she watched, something dark and ugly rose inside her. It had teeth and claws, and bitterness coated its tongue. The feeling was so potent, so consuming that it took a moment for her to give it a name.
Jealousy.
For years, she had done everything her mother had asked, given up everything that made her who she was because it was safer that way. Because her queen required it. She’d thrown herself into her studies with rigor, wanting to prove that she was worth more than her magic-barren body. She had committed her mother’s every instruction to memory, believing that to rule was about more than magic—it took leadership and intelligence and compassion and strength. She cultivated those qualities in herself as best she could in her relative isolation—like a plant trying to grow in the dark.
And still … it was Cassius Locke her mother admired. Already Aurora could picture how her future would unfold. After the wedding, after her secret was spilled … she would be pushed aside by Cassius and her mother both. And the queen would finally have the heir she always should have had.
The darkest part of the storm began to stretch over the palace, and Rora saw the faint shimmer of the barrier disappear. That bitter envy reared up again, clawing through her veins. Then a single light flared, so blisteringly bright that she cried out, covering her eyes. All the power of the storm pummeled a single spot high on the dome, and then like a doused flame, the world went dark and still, and the storm raged no more.
Her mother murmured more praise, but Rora spun back toward her bed. The bile of jealousy and anger was beginning to drain away, but in its place Rora felt … ashamed and sad. Maybe she should just accept what was coming. Marry Cassius, let him rule Pavan, and she would continue her life in the same fashion as recent years—locked away somewhere with only her books for company.
A maid came to check her bandages, and the queen stopped her before she left to make a quiet request. Then her mother sat down beside the bed, looking pleased.
Rora felt bad for her earlier bitterness, but one thing was becoming clear … she wanted adventure and exploration, not more isolation. She wanted to feel like she was … more, not less.
“He is more than I had hoped for,” her mother said.
Aurora could not stop her derisive scoff. “As long as he refrains from throwing knives.”
“You mean, as long as you do not move into the knife’s path.”
“I had no choice! He would have expected me to take over storm duties. I did what I must.”
Her mother hushed her, brushing fingers through her hair. “I know you did. You always do. I wish that we did not have to make such hard choices. I wish that as a woman, especially an ungifted one, you did not have to fight for every bit of space this world gives you. But we do.”
She touched Rora’s bandaged arm. “And the skies know my girl is a fighter. Our world is brutal, but you are brave enough to face it. I know you are.”
Nothing about this situation felt brave to Rora. It felt like giving up.
“I don’t trust him,” she whispered.
“Good. You shouldn’t trust him. Or anyone. But better the beast you know. At least you will retain the crown and our home. The alternatives would be far worse.”
Rora knew that. While the various kingdoms in Caelira had not waged war against each other since the Time of Tempests began, conflict within the kingdoms was more common. Families disputed who was the rightful heir—who was the worthiest or the strongest. Other nobles tried to wrest control. Her mother had squashed a few such rebellions after the deaths of her husband and son. It was how Aurora knew her mother would have no pity for the hurt Cassius caused her. One did not rule in this world without learning to be ruthless.
“Did you know I fell in love once before I met your father?” the queen asked. “He was dashing and brave and handsome. I was smitten before he ever spoke to me.” The queen’s gaze was far away, in another time. “But he had no intention of being shackled to a crown. He was a free spirit. An adventurer. He slipped out of my life with as much ease as he came into it. I was devastated, of course. Swore that I would never love another man.”
“But then you met Papa?”
Her mother smiled softly. “Your father was a safe choice to rule by my side—wellborn, highly educated, and willing to take the Pavan name and submit to a woman as his ruler and wife. I thought that was all we would ever be—a safe choice. It took a little longer, but I fell so deeply for your father that it seemed impossible I had ever felt otherwise. I’m not saying you’ll grow to love your prince. Though stranger things have happened. I’m only saying that time tempers all emotions, and what feels terrifying now will not always be so.”
A knock sounded at the door, and the queen looked almost guilty. She squeezed Rora’s hand and said, “You, my daughter, have a will stronger than a hundred tempests, and that is something not even magic could ever give you. You can allow him a chance or fight him. I hope you will choose the former.”