by Cora Carmack
Each horse in the royal stables had been trained for every circumstance imaginable, so this was by no means outside the mare’s ability. It was herself that Roar feared for. Her one constant right now was that she spent her days on the back of that horse, who was at once a comfort and a reminder of the freedom Roar had craved for so long. And she needed that reminder now more than ever.
“She’ll be fine,” Locke said, misreading her apprehension. He held up a bag of supplies and said, “Let me take a look at your legs.”
She stiffened, wanting to ask for Duke to help instead, but her pride refused to let Locke know she was nervous. She followed him, and they sat on a lightly charred fallen tree trunk. He gestured silently for her to lift a leg onto the log between them. He began unlacing her boot, and she blushed.
“I can do that,” she insisted, but he swatted her hand away as soon as it came near. She looked away as he worked, pinning her eyes on a still-smoking tree across the road while he eased off her boot. She hissed out a breath as the top of the boot peeled away from her burned skin, and he made low, soothing noises, running his hands over her legs, from her calf down to her stocking-covered heel. She tried not to notice the strength of his hands, the rough pads of his fingertips. He braced her foot in the space where his thigh met his hip and said, “This is going to hurt. Push against me if you need to.”
He offered her a hand to squeeze, but she declined, leaning back and bracing her hands on the log below her. He opened a waterskin and dribbled the cool liquid down over her reddened skin. For a moment, it felt nice. But then that sensation seemed to break through her shock, bringing all the pain she’d blocked to the forefront of her mind. She gasped, and when she reached out a flailing hand, Locke took it, allowing her to squeeze his fingers until they popped.
“You have some blisters,” he said, pouring more water over her damaged skin. “We’ll have to bandage it well and often.” He poured water over a cloth until it was soaked and then gently laid it over her shin, wrapping the cloth so that it covered the burns on the sides of her calf as well. He left it there, turning a little and lifting her other foot to prop up on his knee. Then they went through the whole ordeal again, only now she could concentrate on nothing but the pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her bottom lip, trying to stay in control.
“You’re doing well, Roar. Just a little longer.”
She let out a shaky breath, and a whimper sneaked out with it.
“Tell me about Honey,” he said as he wrapped a wet cloth around her leg.
Glad for something else to focus on she said, “She’s my best friend.”
He smiled. “Your best friend? Must be some horse.”
Roar was too frazzled and aching to be anything but honest. “For a long time, she was my only friend.”
“I doubt that. You’re far too…”
“Far too what?” she ground out.
“Interesting,” he answered. “And smart. And vivacious. I can’t picture a world where people are not falling all over themselves to be your friend.”
Her stomach swooped at his words, stealing the heat from her wounds for the flush rising up her neck. She did not understand him, did not know what he wanted from her. First, she had reminded him of his sister, then he could not look at her without bursting into spontaneous arguments, and now … now he seemed so soft—his words, his touch, those eyes.
She snapped her gaze back to the smoldering tree. “Yes, well, apparently we live in different worlds. I … I never quite fit in mine. Honey was my confidant. I told her my secrets and my sins. My hopes and my fears.”
“We don’t live in different worlds now.”
She coughed out a bleak laugh. “Yes, and now that I go rabid in the presence of storms, I am sure to gain legions of friends.”
He laughed, and the sound burrowed beneath her skin.
“Who knows? Perhaps with a little control, you’ll be the best warning system we have ever had.”
“Yes, when I start attacking innocent bystanders, you’ll know to take cover and hit me with a heavy object. Perfect.”
He had been in the middle of unwrapping the wet cloth from her first leg, and he paused, his eyes dark and serious. “I told you … no one is knocking you out again.”
She was too tired to argue and after what happened earlier, almost afraid of what their arguing could lead to. She remained silent and tense as he began smoothing a sticky salve over the burned portion of her leg.
“How old are you?” he asked, distracting her with questions again.
“Eighteen.”
“Have you always lived in Pavan?”
“Yes.”
“Is there any Stormling ancestry in your family?”
She jerked, and it made his hand rub too hard against one of her blisters. She cried out, and his hands left her calves to grip her thighs, trying to hold her steady. “Easy. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t startle me,” she barked, furious that she had let her guard down.
It wasn’t until he spoke again, his tone quiet, private, that she realized his hands still rested on her thighs. “I do believe you are the most confusing girl I have ever met.”
“I’m not confusing,” she insisted. He was the confusing one.
He dropped his chin toward his chest, laughing, and that sound—at once masculine and soft—sent shivers down her spine. Even with smudges of soot on his face and his wet hair wild and loose, he was beautiful. In part, because of the soot and wild hair. He looked every bit the daring adventurer, and that dangerous edge balanced the softer set of his mouth and the long lashes that framed his brown eyes.
“See?” he said. “That’s exactly what I mean. Sometimes you are so painfully shy that my own words tangle on my tongue for fear of saying the wrong thing. Then, other times, you are frighteningly brave. I think if you met a bear in the woods, you might order him not to eat you. And he might just listen.”
“Well, there are some books that suggest challenging a bear. To pretend as if you are the greater predator to scare it off.”
“And that—why am I not surprised that you know what to do should you run into a bear, though you’ve said yourself you had never set foot outside of Pavan until now? I do not understand you, and it’s maddening.”
“You don’t need to understand me.” In fact, she would be in a great deal of trouble if he did.
“Ah, there we go disagreeing again. I think I do need to understand you.”
“No, you want to. There’s a difference.”
He reached into his pack for fresh bandages, but kept his eyes on her. He finished wrapping her second leg, taking his time before answering. With her feet still balanced on his hard thigh, and the sun overhead glancing off his long dark hair, he said, “Maybe it’s both. I need to know. And I want to.”
She did not know how to answer that, so she deflected her attention to him.
“You better have Duke take a look at your shoulder. It’s bleeding again.”
He looked like he wanted to say something else, like maybe he wanted to talk about what had happened before, but she turned away and shoved her feet back into her boots before he could.
Locke was the leader of this crew, and regardless of what happened between them, she knew he would not let her face a storm until he trusted her. But the things he spoke of—the two sides of her—she did not know how to explain them outside the context of her life. How could she explain that she had spent her life dreaming of adventure, while simultaneously hemmed in by fear? She could not explain that she had never wanted for any material thing—not clothes or money or food—but had lacked all the things that came free. Companionship. Truth. Choice. She could not tell him that she was so very good at pretending that she no longer knew exactly who she was.
Sometimes she was Aurora. Confident. Clever. Cultured.
Sometimes she was Rora. Afraid. Alone. Ashamed.
And more and more, she was Roar—bold, brash, an
d increasingly baffled by the situation in which she found herself. And sometimes she was none of them, lost and adrift somewhere in between, like the wildlands between Stormling cities.
Stormlings are not our saviors. They merely keep us weak. They keep their heels upon our necks and call it protection. The heavens rule all, and it is to them we owe allegiance.
—The Book of the Sacred Souls
16
Cassius heard a commotion stirring outside the room he had claimed for himself in the royal wing—the heavy thud of boots and shouting voices. He pushed open his door to see a small contingent of soldiers barreling their way down the hall, swords drawn.
He stepped out, his hands held palms up. “Gentlemen, there is no need for weapons, I assure you. What seems to be the issue?”
He recognized the soldier in the lead as part of Aurora’s guard, the one who had carried her after the knife incident. Taven, Cassius believed was his name. He fought a scowl.
“We demand to see the queen.”
Cassius sighed. Honestly, he was surprised it had taken this long.
“I understand your concern, but the queen is unwell. I assure you a maid is looking after her. But I hardly think a group of soldiers barging into her personal rooms is going to help her recovery.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Taven growled. “Does she know your father is cavorting about the throne room as if it were his?”
Cassius gritted his teeth. The old fool. Did he not realize that caution was imperative? “My father is used to being in charge, and might occasionally step over the line. It’s why my brother and I took over handling storm duty for Locke. I assure you, the king means no harm.” The lie slid like a razor off his tongue.
“Then perhaps it’s time for your family to return home.”
Cassius narrowed his eyes at Taven. “So you’ve already given up on your princess?”
The man’s nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched. “Never.”
“And yet you would have me give up on her and leave? Take all my soldiers with me?” Cassius’s eyes flicked to the bands on the soldier’s arm, signifying his affinities. Thunderstorm and skyfire. “Taven, is it?” He did not wait for confirmation before continuing: “I’m going to be quite blunt with you. Your queen won’t get out of bed. Your princess has been kidnapped. The Rage season is in full swing. The soldiers I have out searching for the princess have reported multiple destroyed villages, far more than is typical for this soon in the season. And yet you would have one of the strongest Stormling families in existence leave so that the city is protected only by … whom? You with your two affinities?” He glanced at the soldiers behind Taven; none had more than one band. “Them with only one? Do you know what happens to a kingdom with a power vacuum? It collapses while people fight over control like dogs. I can let that happen. Or … you can let us keep the ship sailing smoothly until either your queen or my wife is ready to take the helm.”
The soldiers shifted uneasily, and Taven replied, “Then you stay. Your family must want to return home. The king has been absent from his throne for weeks now. I’m sure he would be glad to return home and relieve his … brother, was it? He must trust him a great deal to leave the kingdom in his hands for all this time.”
Clearly, someone had been talking. The question was how much Taven knew. Cassius had a feeling the soldier was just stabbing in the dark. None of his soldiers would dare to speak any of their secrets. They were far too knowledgeable about his father’s penchant for cruel and painful punishments.
“I’m sure my father would like to return home very much. My mother and brother too. But they are staying as a kindness to me. Even with my betrothal to Princess Aurora, my position here is tenuous at best. If left here alone, some might see me as a stepping-stone to taking the throne for themselves. And I’m not keen on being collateral damage in a coup. So, you see, we are simply doing what must be done to keep the kingdom stable.”
Most of the soldiers looked mollified. Taven did not. Cassius sighed dramatically. “I suppose we could let one of you in to see the queen. But you must not upset her. She’s been distraught for some time, and has only recently found any peace.” Cassius was fairly sure that was because his father was paying the maid to keep her heavily sedated, but of course they did not know that. He did not even know it for sure. He just knew his father too well.
The others remained in the hallway while he took Taven inside the queen’s rooms. A maid rose from her seat by the bed, the same maid Cassius had paid all those weeks ago for information. He was sure she had no qualms about taking his father’s gold. She curtsied and moved aside as they came closer. The queen lay abed, her eyes open but unseeing, fixed on the open window and the land that stretched on and on until the horizon.
Taven sheathed his sword and knelt beside the bed.
“Your Highness.”
Queen Aphra did not respond.
Tentatively, the soldier reached and touched her hand. It lay limp on the bed. No reaction.
“Do you see?” Cassius asked. “All is as I said.”
It did not stop Taven from glaring at him. “I’ve never seen her like this.”
“Yes, well, her only remaining family has never been kidnapped, has it?” he hissed.
Taven clenched his fists and turned away, back toward the bed. He took the queen’s hands once more and bent to kiss the ring on her finger. “Do not lose hope, Your Majesty. We will return Aurora to you.”
The queen blinked, her fingers tightened, and she said in a rasp, “They’ve killed her by now.”
Cassius stiffened, then moved closer to the bed. This was new.
“No. Don’t think like that,” Taven said. “She’s of far too much worth for them to harm her.”
The queen squeezed her eyes shut tightly and shook her head against her pillow, her already tangled hair mussing further. “The goddess is punishing me for my disbelief. She took them all, one by one.”
“Your Majesty, please. All hope is not lost.”
But Queen Aphra was no longer listening. Her gaze returned to the window, and her grip went soft. Taven tried to rouse her again, but this time not even her daughter’s name pulled her from her stupor.
Taven stood and marched across the room to Cassius. “My men are at your service for the search of Princess Aurora. Whatever you need. Just find her.”
The soldier left and, before Cassius followed, looked back at Queen Aphra. Cassius hadn’t meant for it to be like this. But he did not know how to fix it without Aurora.
Perhaps he too should reconsider his belief in the gods. How else could things go so incredibly wrong at every turn? After all, he had lost not just one bride now but two. He would not let the same hold true for kingdoms.
* * *
Locke thought he probably should have felt guilty, seeing the blood drain from Roar’s face when he told her where she would be riding now that her horse was pulling the Rock. But Ransom had put the idea into his head, and it had stayed there, tugging at his mind. And it did seem like a much better idea to have her ride on his horse with him than for her to squeeze into the already packed Rock with Duke, Bait, and now Sly.
Besides, if he could not scrape up any guilt for kissing her, there was little chance he’d feel any about having her pressed up against him on a horse.
According to their maps, there had once been a town a few hours east of their current location. No one could remember any specifics about it, so they just had to hope it had a blacksmith, but the first concern was finding out if the town was even still there.
And if having Roar on his horse gave him the opportunity to wheedle a little more information out of her, then all the better. He heaved himself into the saddle, then held a hand out to help her up too. She gave him that furious glare that never failed to make his blood pump a little faster. She ignored his hand and hauled herself up behind him without any help, and her tall, lithe frame molded against his back. Almost immediately, she shifted, trying to
find a way to sit comfortably in the saddle while also touching him as little as possible. The saddle was large, but not meant for two people, so she would end up pressed against him sooner or later. He only smiled, and snapped the reins.
He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he didn’t understand her, at least not completely. She’d kissed him back, but he honestly did not know what she would do if he kissed her again—accept him or punch him. She was a bundle of contradictions, but one thing he understood all too well was her independence.
It reminded him of his own early days with Duke. The old man, whose hair had been shorter and darker then and only streaked with gray, had given Locke more than he could possibly hope for. A purpose. A home. It was on the road and ever changing, but it was more of a home than what he’d had in Locke. But even with the delirious happiness he felt with his new life, he had chaffed under Duke’s control. He’d been a scrawny child the last time anyone had ever told him what to do; and for every ounce of strength he spent holding on to his new life, he expended just as much energy rebelling against it. Hell, it wasn’t that long ago that he’d slipped away in the night to go after a hurricane alone when Duke had expressly forbidden it.
He was intimately familiar with Roar’s sort of reckless independence. It was one thing for him to risk his own life, but to see her risk hers uncorked emotions in him that he thought he had buried years ago.
For the first hour, Roar was stubbornly silent behind him. She had pushed herself back so far in the saddle that she sat on the upward curve at the back, and had to clench her legs tight to keep herself in place. And even then, a change in terrain or speed sent her tumbling forward, her hands grabbing his waist to keep from slamming into him. After the tenth or so time she had tried and failed to keep from falling against him, he was out of patience. Wrapping the reins once around the pommel so he didn’t lose them, he reached both hands back to grip her thighs, well above her burns, and tugged her forward. She squeaked in response, her fingers tangling in the leather straps and holsters that crossed his abdomen. He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he got pleasure out of both her outraged cry and the feel of her surrounding him.