by Cora Carmack
“Yes.” That was Duke. She wasn’t sure whether he got here before or after the soldiers left. She hoped it was after.
“Let the soldiers handle it,” Locke growled.
Duke sighed. “They won’t care at all for this town. Unless it directly threatens them, they’re unlikely to do anything.”
With her eyes still cast down, she saw Jinx’s small feet move toward the door, followed by Ransom’s. When they were both gone, Duke said, “I’ll stay with her.”
“No,” Locke growled. “I will.”
Duke sighed. “Locke—”
“Go,” Roar whispered, finally meeting his eyes.
His hand squeezed around her wrapped fingers. “You want me to leave?”
“I want the others to be safe, and the best way for that to happen is if you’re there with them.”
“I promise I won’t leave her side,” Duke said.
“I’ll be back,” Locke whispered, his head dipping toward her ear. “And then it will be me who won’t leave your side.”
Roar did not watch him go, an act she immediately regretted when she realized she had no idea what kind of storm was out there waiting for him.
* * *
The hunters only had to leave the inn to see the reason for the siren. It was another twister, menacingly dark and large, and it was eating up ground at such a fast pace that it might hit the edge of the village before they could get close.
Locke cursed. He looked to Ransom, and his friend’s eyes were grim.
“Sly,” Locke said, “start pulling wind away from the storm. Try to dissolve the updraft powering that thing.”
“Jinx—”
The witch didn’t even wait for Locke to give her instructions, she spouted off her own plan. “I’ll reinforce the wall in case the town gets hit. And I’ll start cooling down the earth. That should weaken the base.”
“Good,” Locke replied. “Ransom?”
“I’ve got your back.” Together they took off down the road after Jinx and Sly, Bait hard on their heels.
“What can I do?” the boy asked. He was still enough of a novice that he couldn’t do much. His only affinity was rainstorm. Locke’s gut told him to send the boy back to the inn to stay with Duke, but one look at Bait’s face told Locke that was not an order with which Bait would comply. So he gave Bait the only job he could. “We might not be able to take that thing down before it hits the village. You start hitting doors near the north end and evacuating as many people as you can.”
“Got it.”
He took off, and Locke hoped he wouldn’t regret sending him right into danger. But there wasn’t time to second-guess it now.
As they neared, he got a clearer picture of the mammoth twister. Rain poured around it, swirling with the wind and debris and sand, the latter of which gave the twister an ominous bloodred color. About a hundred paces past the wall, a line of soldiers stood in the twister’s way. They were completely still, not running. None of them appeared to be working any Stormling powers.
“Mesmerized,” Jinx called from up ahead of him.
Locke cursed and called back, “Strengthen your mental shields. It has to be potent if it got all those soldiers. If any one of us gets mesmerized, grab whoever it is and retreat toward the inn. Better part of the town get destroyed than us.” As he spoke the words, the twister’s winds reached the first line of soldiers, and they were swept up like pebbles into the churning vortex.
Behind them, more soldiers were retreating; a few appeared to be trying their best to fight the storm, but whatever magic they had was not enough. Locke could feel the storm’s pull. Even this far away, it was trying to ensnare his mind. But he was prepared.
He could not say the same for the next group of soldiers who were picked up and swallowed into the maelstrom. There were fewer than ten soldiers remaining outside the walls, and realistically, he imagined most of those would be taken out too.
“Stop!” The others pulled up at his yell. “We make our stand here.”
They were fifty paces from the wall now. They didn’t have long before they would be in danger from flying debris. The ground trembled beneath their feet, rippling until sand drew up around the village wall, adding extra bracing.
“Good girl,” Ransom shouted to Jinx.
Locke felt a wave of cool air sweep up his calves. Jinx didn’t look at the others as she focused on pushing that air out toward the twister. But she called back to Ransom, “Talk to me like I’m a dog again, and I might just bite!”
Locke plucked the black Stormheart from his belt. A rush of wind blew past his face, Sly sucking air away from the storm. He used his magic to search out the edges of the twister. It was huge, and it roiled with magic so fierce that it bucked his hold.
With a twister affinity, he should have been able to take hold of the storm, surrounding it with his magic and forcing it into submission. He could suffocate it, force it back into the sky, or just break it apart. He didn’t have to break it apart from the inside like he did when they hunted. So it should have been easier.
But this was by far the fiercest twister he had ever faced. Each time he thought he got hold of it, a smaller funnel would push out from the larger one, challenging his grip.
He heard screams—the remaining soldiers, he guessed—but he could not spare even a flicker of concentration. The earth rumbled and a series of thunderous booms sounded. In his peripheral vision he saw roofs tearing from buildings and walls crumbling under the force of the outer winds.
Finally, he locked his magic around the lower half of the storm. The cool air coming off the earth had weakened the bottom of the storm, and it began to skip, lifting off the earth, only to touch down again a few moments later. He focused on pushing his magic up the column, surrounding it all. It had begun to narrow, no doubt due to a dwindling updraft thanks to Sly’s work.
It was weakening, and in one great lunge, his magic swallowed up the rest of the storm. He could sense Ransom’s magic layering over his, adding their strength together. Locke took a deep breath and pushed every bit of power he had at the storm, crushing it beneath his magic like a clod of dirt in his hands. Tension eased from his spine as he felt the storm give against his power. It thinned and wobbled, lifting off the ground and pulling back toward the sky—almost completely dissolved.
He eased off, but just before the twister disappeared completely, he felt one final lash of magic at his mind, crashing into his mental barriers. He fell to his knees, clutching his head, holding tight to his control. The assault lasted only for a moment, and then it was gone with the rest of the storm.
Calibah will not bend to tyranny, even if it comes from a storm rather than a king.
—The Tale of Lord Finneus Wolfram
20
Duke and Roar began righting the room in silence. They returned the mattress to the bed, and picked up overturned furniture. Roar knelt by her bags, folding her clothes and putting them back inside. She picked up her copy of The Tale of Lord Finneus Wolfram. The binding was loose and a few pages fluttered to the floor. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. Instead she just felt … tired.
And she could hardly worry about mere possessions when the winds were screaming outside, an ominous rumble shaking the walls. She was on edge, waiting for the storm to draw close enough that she felt its presence, waiting for the invasion of emotions that weren’t hers.
“They’ll be fine,” Duke told her, after she spent too long sitting still, her eyes fixed on the window. “I’m more concerned with how you are.”
“Me? I’m fine. I’m always fine.”
“Roar. I want you to know that you can talk to me.”
“I know I can.”
“The man who sold me Stormhearts in the market in Pavan, the man you know … he’s a Stormling, isn’t he?”
She stilled, then fled to the water basin to clean off the blood smeared over her skin. “I don’t know.”
“I assure you, Roar, that I am the last person wh
o will judge you for wanting to leave behind that kind of life. If you have Stormling ancestry, it could help us understand the way you react to storms.”
“I am no Stormling,” she said truthfully.
“You are no girl from the streets either.”
She whirled back to face him. “What does it matter? All the hunters had lives before joining the crew. It’s in the past.”
“Is it truly in the past for you?”
She thought back to the soldiers. Would there be more? How many were searching for her? Could she possibly hope to go undetected by them all? “For now.”
“Just know you don’t have to keep carrying all those secrets alone, and the past has a way of holding on to us, even when we want to let it go.”
Duke helped bandage her cuts, the two of them silent through the long process. Eventually the winds died down outside, and the nervous tossing of her stomach eased. The others were safe. They had to be.
But how long would that remain true while she stayed with them?
“Perhaps we should turn our route back toward Taraanar,” she said, her voice tentative. “The Locke soldiers … they said they were searching the southern regions for their missing princess. It might be better to avoid them.”
Duke’s green eyes fixed on her, but she did not meet his gaze. She knew how perceptive the man was, and that she had just given him the key to her identity. But she did not know what else to do. She would rather risk herself than the other hunters.
He hummed and scratched at his beard and said, “I’m sure that could be arranged. We’ll have to talk to your Locke.”
“He’s not my Locke.”
She didn’t know what he was. How could she possibly decide what she wanted from him when she did not even know what she wanted from herself? With him, there was no crown making her appear more than she was. There were no rumors of her magical skill to make her seem more desirable. He had seen her covered in blood, dissolved into tears, taken over by rage, and frozen by fear. He had seen each and every weakness she had, and somehow, he managed to make her feel … strong. If the skies made her feel small, then Locke made her feel big enough to face whatever waited for her up there.
But she was still Aurora, no matter how much she was Roar.
If she accomplished her goals, if she returned home with Stormhearts that answered to her touch, would her mother allow her to choose her own future? Could a princess choose a hunter as her prince?
* * *
As soon as Locke had checked on each of his teammates, he was running back for the inn. He knew the town had sustained significant damages, and there had been significant loss of life, though it was difficult to feel any sense of loss for the soldiers after what he had walked in on with Roar.
He was panting by the time he fell through the broken doorway to Roar’s room. The furniture had been righted, and her belongings put away, but pools of blood still stained the floor. The water basin in the corner was a vivid red, and Roar sat silently on her bed, her hand now properly bandaged.
Her whole body was tense, and he wanted to scoop her up into his arms and hide her away from the world. Instead he grabbed a towel and began mopping up the blood. Duke got up to help, and he quietly filled Locke in on her condition. She had several cuts—one across the fatty part of her palm and the others around the first joint in her fingers.
When the room was as clean as it was going to get without scrubbing the floors, Duke left to assess the damage from the storm, and Roar finally looked at Locke. Her jaw was tight, and her nostrils flared with strong, slow breaths. He focused on keeping his expression blank. She said, “Is everyone okay?”
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t you be with the other hunters? Or talking to the minister or—”
He shook his head and said, “I’m not leaving you.”
“I want to be alone. Please.”
“Then I’ll sit outside your door.”
“My door that’s broken and hanging off its hinges? Yes, that will really give the illusion of solitude.”
She was angry, and he didn’t blame her. He still wasn’t sure how he’d let those men leave the room without sinking his blade into each and every one of them. It had taken a monumental amount of control, and in the end it was only the thought that he did not want to put her in more danger that held him back.
When he did not budge, she insisted, “I’m fine.” He had lost count of the number of times he had heard her utter those words. And he had never believed them less than he did now. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and her voice grated as if her throat had been stripped raw.
“Roar—”
“I mean it,” she snapped. “Please just leave.”
So quickly that he might have imagined it, her eyes dropped to his mouth and then she whirled away, sitting on the bed facing away from him. Even though it went against everything his instincts told him, he left the room and even took a few steps down the hall out of sight before he sank down against the wall. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. He tried to still his thoughts and drain his anger.
Listen.
That was all he needed to do. Just exist and listen in case she needed him. He was not sure how long passed, but it felt far too long. Finally he heard her call, “Locke?”
He called back, “I’m here.”
She was silent for a long time, then said, “I’m sorry about your sister.”
A breath rattled in his chest and his head thudded back against the wall behind him. “Thanks, princess.”
She made a noise that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Far too close to the latter for his comfort.
“Sorry. Roar.”
“It’s fine. I don’t think I care anymore.”
He hated not being able to see her face. Especially when her voice sounded so hollow. He heard shuffling in her room, and she sounded closer when she spoke.
“Soldiers did that to her?”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth. He did not talk about this ever. But he’d rather split open his chest than suffer through her silence, so he answered, “On orders. But yes.”
“On orders from whom?”
“The king, I suppose. She was just one of thirty that day.”
He heard her gasp. “Thirty? Was that … common?”
“Common enough. Locke isn’t like Pavan. The weather there is even more brutal because of the sea. And the jungles surrounding the city make it a hard place to leave. The people who live there are desperate, and desperate people don’t always think about consequences. And there were consequences for almost everything in Locke.”
“Your sister … was that a consequence?”
He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and tried to deaden his heart for the rest of the tale. “I told you I was young when my parents died. They died during a hurricane. It was just my sister and me left, and she was five years older than me. We weren’t prepared to fend for ourselves. Begging and the few belongings we had left from our parents kept us alive for a couple of months, but that ran out fast, especially after the crown seized the house and all our belongings. I met a man who gave me a gold coin to be his lookout and alert him if I saw any guards. I don’t know what he did while I kept watch. I did not ask. I wanted the coin too badly. He said I did good and if I wanted to make more I could find him at a tavern not too far from the abandoned building where my sister and I slept. That man was the first person to introduce me to the black market.
“It wasn’t like the one in Pavan. There were too many guards, too much danger to keep the market in one place. So, it rotated around the city. He paid me and a few other boys to keep watch. My sister begged me to stop. She insisted we would find another way, even when the few coins I brought home were barely enough to clothe and feed us. She begged on the streets and did odd jobs for anyone who would have her, but I brought home more from one night than she could bring home from a week of working herself ragged. So I kept going back.
One night, she followed me, tried to convince me to come home with her. We fought, and I sent her off. I was distracted, so I didn’t notice the guards until it was too late.
“The military raided the market, and I barely got away, hiding behind a cart until I could squeeze through the crowds and run. They rounded up everyone they could get their hands on. Even innocent bystanders who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I ran all the way back home, but at dawn when my sister still had not come home, I knew something was wrong. I got to the square just in time to see them lining everyone up. I was so small, I had to climb up the gutter of a building to see. She was eleven, and they hung her there with mercenaries and thieves and men that she would have been scared to stand beside, let alone spend her last moments with. I don’t remember much. But at one point, I think she saw me in the crowd. Tears were streaking down her face, but she did not make a noise. She smiled at me. One of those, supposed to be reassuring, everything-will-be-okay kind of smiles. And that’s all I remember. I lied before. I don’t recall the moment it happened. Maybe I looked away or ran. Or maybe I’ve just blocked the memory. But she died that day. Because I dragged her into something dangerous.”
Roar did not answer, and he could not blame her. It was a depressing story, not exactly the kind of thing you say to cheer someone up. When he looked up, she was standing in the doorway.
She asked, “Is that why you never took on any apprentices?” His brows lifted. “Duke told me.”
Of course he did. “That’s part of it, yes. I entered this life because I had no other choice. I hated that city. I hated the streets and the guards, most of whom were exactly like those men we just encountered. I hated the royals and the people who cowered in their homes rather than speaking out. I hated everything. And Duke offered me the chance to get out, so I took it and never looked back. Honestly, I think I was hoping I would die. That it would just end. I had lost my parents and my sister, and for some reason, despite ample opportunity, I could not seem to follow them. Before Duke found me, I was becoming more and more reckless with my behavior in the black market, associating with dangerous men, taking risky jobs that were bound to go wrong; but no matter what kind of peril I threw myself into, I always seemed to crawl out of it still breathing. Still do, I guess. I’ve grown to love this life, but I still would not recommend it to anyone who has another option.”