by Cora Carmack
“There,” he said, his voice low so that only she could hear. “We’re touching. I can feel you, all soft and warm against my back.” He heard her sharp intake of breath behind him, and he could swear her fingers tightened on the holster around his midsection. “You can feel me, and the world has not descended into flame again.” Though there was plenty of heat moving down his spine.
“You are such an ass!”
He smiled. “Probably.”
“Definitely.”
“Yes, but I’m an ass who gets what he wants.”
He hadn’t meant those words to sound quite so possessive. He still thought it was a bad idea to get attached to her, but since the kiss, he was having trouble getting himself to care. All the thoughts he had ignored so diligently before abraded him constantly now. Good idea or not—he wanted her. He feared she was fast becoming a chink in his armor, but with her arms still around his middle, those long, delicate fingers splayed out over his stomach, the last thing he wanted to do was pull away.
The sun was setting, but they were near the town on the map, so they pushed on. A smell hung on the breeze that singed his nose and made his eyes water—the rot of death and the smell of burned flesh. In the falling night, they could not see the town clearly, but he had a feeling he knew what was waiting. And sure enough when they got close enough to see, the town was in ruins. Stone and wood lay in heaping piles, the shape of what once was visible only in a few places where a wall or a chimney had miraculously stayed standing.
Behind the ruins of the town they found a funeral pyre, only half burned. He had a feeling this was the town the remnants fled. They likely set the pyre ablaze before they left, and the fire died before it finished the job. Roar buried her face between his shoulder blades and he heard her taking short, broken breaths. Duke lit the pyre again, and the scent of smoke and horror followed them long after they left.
When no trace of death clung to the air, they stopped to make camp for the night. No one wanted to go to sleep, nor did anyone want to light a fire after what they’d seen. So they sat for a while in the dark, talking quietly. They ate bread and berries grown by Jinx before exhaustion forced them all to sleep.
* * *
The door to Novaya’s cell slammed open in the dead of night. She was curled up on her pitiful cot, and she quickly adjusted her threadbare blanket to ensure it covered the handprint-shaped burn marks on her mattress.
Prince Cassius stepped inside, a torch held high in his hand, and Nova’s magic shook awake at the sight of the flame.
She had not bathed properly in weeks. A handful of times they had dropped a bucket of water into her cell. She had tried to make it go as far as possible, but even on those days, she never got fully clean. Even her body seemed changed—her arms and legs thinner, the roundness of her hips and stomach less pronounced.
Was it not enough that the prince came to question her during the day, now he had to disturb her nights as well? Before all this, nighttime had been the height of her anxiety. But now it was her one solace. The air grew cooler, soothing her heated skin. The dark blocked out her surroundings so that just for a little while, she could pretend she was back in her own room.
Cassius cut straight to the point. “The queen seems to be under the impression that her daughter is dead. Do you know why that might be?”
“Rora is not dead,” Nova hissed back.
“And you know that how? Perhaps because you were involved in the plot to take her?”
“I’ve told you. She is my friend. I would never harm her. Never cause her pain.”
“Would you put her in danger?”
Nova hesitated. She had put Rora in danger, not purposely, but from her inability to tell her friend no. And she’d certainly had more than a few dark thoughts since about all the things that could go wrong in the wilds.
“You know, I had my men search your room again. And do you know what they found? Hidden beneath a loose floorboard under your bed? Quite a stockpile of coins. Perhaps, payment for services rendered?”
“I saved that money myself. Some of it even came from you, if you recall. Bribing me for information on the Eye.”
His eyes narrowed. “All that tells me is you are willing to break the law for gold.”
“And what were you willing to break the law for?”
“I am the law.”
Nova scoffed and gestured around the cell. “Clearly.”
His face was harsh in the flickering glow of the torch and he growled, “I do not wish to hurt you, but far more depends on Aurora’s survival than you know. I will do what I must to get her back. I am not afraid of crossing lines. You would be smarter to cooperate before I do. Did you tell the queen something different in your account of the kidnapping? Something that would make her believe the princess to be dead?”
Nova’s stomach sank. The queen thought her daughter had been kidnapped for her Stormling abilities. Only the two of them knew Rora had no magic. No wonder the queen was so brokenhearted. She assumed that when the kidnappers discovered Rora was no use to them, they would dispose of her.
Nova said, “I told her and everyone else in that courtyard the same thing I told you. I am cooperating. I don’t know what else you want from me.” Nova swallowed, her throat dry, and asked, “Can I see the queen? Maybe I can comfort her.”
Cassius sneered. “What could you possibly say that hasn’t already been said? If you know something, you’ll tell me, and I’ll decide if it’s worth telling the queen.”
Nova sat up on the bed, pushing the blanket off her legs as the fire inside her began to rise. She did not want the queen to suffer, but she had made Rora a promise. And telling Prince Cassius that the princess knowingly broke a betrothal treaty could make things far worse.
“I have told you everything there is to tell.”
“You are a good liar, Novaya. Many would likely believe you, but I am not so easily fooled. I know the taste of a lie better than I know the truth. I don’t know what secret you’re keeping, but I will. Eventually. Perhaps if sleep does not come so easily, you’ll find your tongue loosened.”
He took hold of her wrist and dragged her up from the bed. She barely fought; she had to focus too hard to keep from burning him where he stood. And when she felt a surge of heat at her back, she thought for a moment she had failed.
But then she opened her eyes and saw that he’d tossed his torch onto the bed, and the thin mattress, filled with straw, had gone up like kindling. Her anger surged and with it the fire on her bed. Flames licked as high as the ceiling, and a dozen fiery fingers seemed to crook at her, beckoning her toward the blaze.
Instead she stumbled back, her body slamming into the stone wall behind her.
“Why are you doing this?” Nova asked through gritted teeth.
The fire cast flickering shadows over the hard angles of the prince’s face. And for the first time, he did not look cold and emotionless to her. He looked … desperate.
“I’m doing what I must, doing everything I know to make this right, to bring Aurora home. While it’s still hers. If you won’t help me, then you are my enemy. And I have no mercy for enemies.”
He opened the door and a guard in a blue Locke uniform set three buckets of water just inside the door. Then they left, and it was just her and the fire, raging inside and out.
Nova did not bother going for the water. Instead she stood and ambled closer to the bed. The smoke burned down her throat and the heat was enough to make her drip with sweat. But she closed her eyes and stuck her hands into the blaze. It did not burn. It never did. And instead of trying to douse the flame, she pulled it to her instead. She imagined it soaking past her skin, engulfing her muscles, streaming through her blood. She coaxed it up her arms and toward her chest and shoved it down, down, down toward that door barred inside her.
One thing was clear to her now. Cassius would not release her, not ever. If she wanted to be free, she would have to make the opportunity herself. So instead of denying
the fire, she would save it up. And she would wait. Wait until a moment presented itself.
When there was no more fire to pull, she opened her eyes and found her bed charred black, only the smell of smoke left behind. At least she did not have to worry about the handprint burns any longer. She stumbled back, feeling like she was filled to the brim, like her very soul was stretched to its limits.
Then she went to the buckets of water in the corner, and for the first time in weeks, she scrubbed herself completely clean.
* * *
The hunters did not find another town until late afternoon on the next day. At first sight it appeared whole, if not a little worse for wear. A stone wall encircled the town, probably about as tall as Locke. It wouldn’t be much good for keeping anyone out. In at least two places, Locke saw piles of rubble where the wall had been knocked down. Storm damage. They were at the westernmost edge of the Sangsorra desert. What little grass there was had been swallowed up by a sea of rusty-red sand that had given the desert its name. Sangsorra meant blood sands in Vyhodin. The trees were the short, brushy type that could live through long droughts. Some of those appeared to be broken or split. Skyfire.
The town looked better on the inside than the outside. The houses, though simple, were in decent shape and made from some kind of clay that was nearly the same color as the earth. People walked and talked in the streets, but they were clean and well dressed. Neighbors, not beggars. A few stared at the group as they made their way down a dusty road toward the town center, but the townsfolk appeared friendly enough.
Locke spotted a nearby building with an oversize chimney and a blacksmith sign out front. He caught Duke’s eye and nodded. The town roads sprawled out like rays from the sun, everything meeting together in the center. They slowed the horses as they approached a courtyard in the middle, and already waiting for them was a well-dressed man with graying hair and a thick mustache. He stood with hands linked behind his back, strong posture, chin tilted up with confidence. At his back were a few sturdy men, not quite menacing, but with the potential to be so.
Roar’s arm was wrapped around his midsection, and he laid his hand atop hers. She tensed behind him, but he kept her fingers pinned where they were, and gave a quick squeeze.
“Stay here. Stay alert. If something goes wrong, take the horse and go.”
Her fingers twitched beneath his. “Well, that’s stupid. I wouldn’t just leave you here.”
He peeled her hands away from him, holding them a moment longer than necessary. Just a moment, not enough to hurt. “Glad to know you care about my well-being.”
He slid carefully off the horse, and Roar mumbled, “It’s only because I’m safer with you than without you.”
“You can’t fool me, princess. It’s too late. I know your secret.” She blanched, her already light skin paling further.
Scorch it all. How could someone so bold be so skittish? He patted her knee, just above her bandages, and said, “Sometimes in small towns like this, local bullies like to throw their weight around. Never anything too bad. It usually gets sorted out with a little coin, maybe a couple fists. But I would rather not take any chances with you. If things go sour, get safe, and I’ll find you when everything is over.”
“How about if things go sour, you yell for my help.” She touched one of the knives tucked over her shoulder to make her point.
He scowled up at her. He didn’t have time for this. Duke was already out of the Rock and heading for the men, but suddenly he was thinking about kissing her again, tugging her down until their mouths crashed together. Would she yell at him or kiss him back? He shook his head and said, “If you get hurt, you won’t like the training sessions I devise as punishment.”
“If I’m hurt, you can hardly make me run all day.”
He sighed. “Please. Stay on the horse.”
He joined Duke in time to hear his mentor introduce himself and explain that they were looking for a place to stay while repairing their carriage. The man with the mustache was clearly the leader, and he leaned to look past Duke at the Rock. His eyes flicked over the horses and the wheels, not seeing the damaged back end, and he said, “Seems to be working fine.”
This was always the hard part about staying in small towns. The bigger cities allowed them to pass unnoticed, but that was impossible in a place like this. And the decision on whether or not to reveal their status as hunters was always complex and dangerous.
“Hello. Name’s Locke,” he said. “We ran into trouble earlier today with a firestorm, and it did some damage. We could have her fixed up and on the road in a few days. Maybe a week.”
The man scratched two fingers over his mustache, brown eyes flicking repeatedly to the carriage and the rest of their crew. “Never seen a carriage like that before. What’s put you folk on the road? You scourge?”
Locke’s spine straightened, and he clenched his teeth. That hateful term told him they would indeed have to tread carefully here.
“We’re tradesmen. We flee no storms.”
“What kind of tradesmen?” The man was suspicious already, his voice hard.
Duke cut in. “We want no trouble. Nor do we seek to sell and hamper your own businesses. We were just passing through and hit a bit of misfortune. We’ll pay well for food and lodging as well as the help of your blacksmith.”
Locke looked to one of the men behind the leader, a dark-skinned man whose posture seemed more relaxed than the rest. The man nodded. Mustache said, “We can accommodate you. But you will have to make an offering. Everyone in this town is a follower of the Sacred Souls. It has kept us alive while others nearby have perished. We do not require membership, only observance.”
Damn. It would have to do, but a Sacred town would not be Locke’s first choice for refuge.
“Locke?” Duke’s voice snapped Locke back into the moment, and he focused while the town’s apparent leader explained what would be required of them. Locke nodded at his mentor, who said, “I’ll take care of payment with Minister Vareeth, if you’ll explain to the others.”
“Of course.”
“Welcome to Toleme,” the minister said as he led Duke away.
Locke made his way back to the group. He heard the minister reciting an invocation, and Duke repeating it. Locke glanced over his shoulder to see his friend lay something on a large circular stone altar just beyond the well in the center of the courtyard. He fought off the shiver that climbed his spine and gestured for the others to dismount or exit the Rock. They met on the road, out of earshot of the minister’s men who stayed nearby to watch them. The expressions on his team varied from grim to hopeful, and in Roar’s case a confused sort of eagerness.
“Did he say Sacred Souls?” she asked. “They follow the old ways?”
“They are not old ways to us all,” Sly said, and her normally soft voice held a cutting edge. He would have to keep an eye on that. He trusted Sly, but whatever rankled her about Roar, he couldn’t let it fester. Hunters who weren’t completely focused and in tune with each other became dead hunters more often than not.
“They’ll let us stay. But only if we observe their ways with offerings.”
“What kinds of offerings?” Ransom asked. He, like Sly, was raised around religion, but the two had left home with vastly different perspectives on what it meant to worship storms.
“A token of sacrifice or daily blood.”
Sacred Soul communities differed widely in their degree of devotion and the severity of their traditions. It certainly could have been worse. While a nuisance, it wasn’t a great hardship to offer a few drops of blood every morning. And a token of sacrifice only needed to be something of importance, something used well and often that the person offering would miss. But in some places, a token was not enough, and much greater sacrifices were required. Ransom left his hometown after his childhood sweetheart was offered up as a sacrifice, and he’d met Duke less than a year later in Odilar. Locke knew his friend wouldn’t take well to this town, no matter how
mild their customs.
Ransom ran a hand over his mouth, scratching what was left of his beard in agitation before replying, “Fine.”
Locke gave everyone a moment to decide what they would offer and fetch it if need be. All scattered except Roar. She glanced behind him at the altar with fascination and a healthy dose of fear. “I don’t know what to offer,” she told him. “Nothing I have is particularly valuable.” She clutched at something beneath her shirt, a necklace he guessed. “Nothing that I can part with anyway.”
“It’s not about the value of the object, but the value of the sacrifice. To these people, the storms are gods. Not the kind you pray to or the kind who grant miracles or comfort. They are like the gods of old who were a race all their own. Immortal and proud and unpredictable … and prone to cruelty. Like a child crushing a bug beneath his heels because he can. Followers of the Sacred Souls believe if they willingly sacrifice to the storms, they’re less likely to tempt their wrath.”
Locke didn’t loathe religion the way Ransom did, but he’d been a hunter long enough to see that storms cared nothing for trinkets or blood. But this town believed, and it had helped them survive without a Stormling this long. So he would do what he must.
In the end, Locke, Roar, and Bait chose blood, while Ransom, Jinx, and Sly chose tokens. He led the way over to the altar where Minister Vareeth and two others waited. The dark-skinned man was walking away with Duke, and Locke guessed he was the owner of the inn.
Sly volunteered to go first. She wasn’t technically a Sacred Soul follower. Her beliefs dated further back than the customs followed here, but it was close enough. She pulled back her hood, revealing the dark curls that were cut close to her scalp. Sly favored simplicity, another inclination from her childhood, so she didn’t keep much with her on the road. She walked up next to the minister, and then removed the shoes from her feet. She had others, he knew, but they were old and worn, and she had replaced them just weeks ago in Pavan.