Queen of Storms

by C. N. Crawford

  The Nathair cocked his head, barely interested in this conversation. Then, he snapped his fingers. An instant later, a door groaned open in the rock, and two people walked toward us.

  A tall, stooped man wore light metal armor—black and sleek, with a shield strapped to his back and a sword at his waist. On his chest plate I spotted a crest featuring a stark, black sword. Behind him walked a woman in a long robe. A sheer veil partially obscured her face, but I could make out that she was blindfolded. She walked behind the guard with a small pile of clothes in her hands. Lightning cracked the sky, and I got a better impression of her face—beautiful, porcelain skin, full lips painted black.

  “Guard, search her.” The Nathair spoke with a quiet command that had the guard snapping to attention.

  The man took a step closer and reached for my collar. “Hello, pretty one.”

  Instinctively, I smacked his hand away. I didn’t want him touching me, didn’t want anyone here touching me. “Do you mind?”

  “You will submit to being searched,” said the guard, trying to tear my coat off like a pervert. “And I’ll enjoy doing it. You have no rights here.” He gripped my collar, trying to pull the coat off me, but I clutched it tight.

  At that point, something snapped in me. Anger surged, and I grabbed his forearm. I twisted it hard behind his back. I could’ve broken it, easily, but I stopped myself. The guard screamed, struggling against me.

  “Enough.”

  One word, one quiet command from the Nathair sliced through the air like a sword. Everyone went still, silence falling over the hall. Even I’d stopped fighting. He might not be a sorcerer, but he possessed some sort of unnatural magic—the ability to compel people with a simple command.

  Thunder rolled around the tower.

  The guard’s body was now trembling, his eyes wide. Without moving from the spot, the Nathair flicked his wrist, and the guard jolted up into the air. Every one of his muscles went rigid as he hovered above the mezzanine.

  The Nathair spoke with a quiet detachment. “You are all wasting my time. The witch is small, and yet she almost broke your arm. What is the point of you?” Silvery magic curled around the guard, pulsing like a heart.

  The guard made a strangled sound, and the Nathair jerked his hand again. The guard flew back over the railing—then fell to the ground with a sharp cracking noise that turned my stomach.

  Silence reigned over us, and the Nathair turned to me again. He stared at me as if gauging my reaction, and I felt like a butterfly pinned under his gaze.

  Internally, I was thinking something like, So I have to sneak around in a fortress controlled by this monster. But I willed my facial expression to calm, betraying nothing.

  The Nathair had his own sort of magic, different to a witch’s. My magic came from using spells, sometimes potions. But this creature—his magic was a part of him, every bit as destructive and wrong as he was. A dark, corrupted sort of power.

  “You’re only wearing a coat,” the Nathair said, his voice soft.

  It took me a moment to get up to speed again, to mentally shift gears from terrifying magic to a discussion of my outfit.

  “She’s a sad little creature,” Oren chimed in, charmer that he was. “She lives like a peasant. I expect she earns her keep as a whore, letting herself become defiled by human men. She is dull-witted. I’m not sure she’ll last long here. But she does have storm magic, and it is powerful.”

  I didn’t think I’d cared what Oren thought, but my cheeks flushed anyway. Why had he decided I was a whore? Bloody old-fashioned fae males, born centuries ago. You were either a queen or a whore, no in between.

  Bizarrely, I felt determined to prove them wrong, to destroy everyone in their trials. It was true that I had powerful deep magic inside me—far more powerful than they understood. But that wasn’t why I was here, and I couldn’t let my ego get the better of me. I had a mission.

  The Nathair glanced at the veiled woman, who stood still as a statue. “Give Cora her clothing. Then bring her to the pit.”

  The pit?

  “Is that the dungeon?” I asked hopefully.

  “No. It’s the pit,” Oren enunciated slowly. He really did think I was dim-witted.

  The woman nodded, then extended one of her arms toward me. Black satin gloves covered her bony fingers. I took her hand, and she led me away from the two knights. Even with the glove, I could feel the cold skin underneath.

  Something was off about her—I mean, something besides the veil and the blindfold. Still, she was at least female, and she had a calmer vibe then the rest of the Institute savages.

  She led me down the spiral stairs to the tower’s base, and I tried not to look at the guard’s crumpled body. Was he dead? Gods, this place was insane.

  After a jaunt through an arched corridor, she led me into something that looked like a temple. Floating crystals glittered like tiny gems and cast silver light over the small pews. The air smelled of rosemary and jasmine. At the far end, statuettes stood on a dais, interspersed with candles. Burned down to their wicks, they guttered on the altar.

  On one of the walls, a skilled artist had engraved an image of Taru. No one really knew what Taru looked like, but this was a good guess—a bit like Zeus. Tall man in the clouds, with a full mane of flowing hair and lightning arching from his fingertips. Beneath him, waves crashed against a shore full of cowering people. Lightning was immolating some of them.

  Taru, like the knights who served him, was into domination. And yet, we had no choice but to serve him. The gods were all-powerful.

  I closed my eyes and muttered the mantra that had gotten me this far. Taru, give me the strength to see this through.

  I’d nearly forgotten about the creepy woman until she spoke. “Please, come,” she said, her voice soft and melodic.

  She led me to a corner of the temple with a beautifully ornate, many-paneled screen and guided me behind it. Each pane displayed a different piece of art—scenes from the fae kingdoms. The flame-haired rulers of Elfhame, and the mad fae kings and queens of Edinnu, wrecking ships on their coastlines with their twisted magic. The sirens, hair flowing in the wind, compelled to drown sailors in tempests. More souls for Taru.

  Over the top of the screen, the woman laid out the clothes she’d brought. I picked them up to look them over. Plain black, and they looked about my size. Most importantly, they looked warm. I unbelted my damp coat and used the lining of it to dry off my skin.

  I slid into a pair of leggings, then the long-sleeved black top. Just as I was about to slip into the boots, the woman beckoned me out from behind the screen. Confused, I stepped out and moved to sit on a pew, as she directed me to do.

  The woman now held a small bowl and a towel. Slowly, she knelt before me, set the bowl down, took one of my feet, and gently rubbed it with the towel. I winced at first, but the pain went away after a while. My blood stained the water pink.

  The water soothed my aching feet, and I sighed with relief. “Thanks,” I said. “You are definitely the nicest person here.”

  “You need not thank me,” she said. “I am but a simple servant.” Her voice was soft and warm. Behind the veil, I could see the way her lips moved, but little else.

  “Do you know your way all around this place?” I asked.

  “I only know what I need to know.”

  “I’ve heard the dungeons are quite terrible,” I ventured.

  “I couldn’t say. Only the knights know the way to the damned.”

  Shit. Did I actually have to become one of these assholes to get to Wren? How long would this take?

  The woman said nothing. She just kept washing my feet.

  “What should I call you?”

  She shook her head. “I am one of the reverent sisters. With Taru’s blessing, we bring comfort to those in pain.”

  I hated Taru at times, but I owed him my life, too. Without his blessing, I might not have made it here. I’d be dead, and unable to save Wren.

  The sist
er pulled my other foot up and dabbed at the ravaged skin with the wet towel. Already, my other foot felt healed. When I looked at it, I saw the skin was pink and healthy and tingling with magic.

  “You pray to the god of storms also?” she asked.

  “I do. I guess, in that way, we’re the same.”

  “Blessed be you, then, daughter of Taru.” She placed two fingers against her chin, then against her forehead. Behind the veil, a hint of a smile.

  I hadn’t known they were so devout here in the Institute. The shrine, the turbulent weather just outside of the castle walls—Taru was all around us. I shivered. Would Taru’s blessing be enough to save me? I faced almost certain death here.

  As she finished cleaning my feet, the sister gestured at the boots.

  Smiling with relief, I slid my feet into the leather boots while the woman in black clasped her hands and said a silent prayer. When I was done with the straps, she stood, helping me up. She guided me back to the temple door, into the corridor.

  I swallowed hard. “Where are you taking me?” I asked. “The Nathair … I don’t know his name yet … he said something about a pit?”

  “Yes, the Pit of Damnation.”

  My chest tightened. “Damnation … that sounds … are you trying to be ironic with the name? Like, maybe it’s not all that bad?”

  “Please don’t worry about it. You just have to trap the Bone Harvester. Sorry, I’m really not supposed to tell you.”

  I cleared my throat. “The Bone Harvester.”

  The reverent sister stopped at a heavy black door covered in reinforced steel rivets and skirting. “Don’t worry. It will be better for you if you have a clear head. Taru protects.”

  With a nod, she left, and the door unlocked with a series of loud clacks. My stomach twisted. The door opened into darkness. A chilling breath of stale air with a slight hint of metal wafted over me.

  “Enter.” It was the Nathair’s smooth voice skimming over my skin.

  I stepped inside to meet my fate.

  Chapter 5

  I found myself not in a room, but a cramped cave lit only by the faint glow of a few twinkling crystals. The walls pressed in on all sides, cold and damp. Droplets of water dripped from the ceiling, making my skin jump each time. The Nathair stood before me—just at the edge of a chasm.

  Already, my nerves were starting to spark, but I didn’t know if it was because of him or because of the pit behind him. Tendrils of his magic curled into the space, the color of pewter, adding to my sense of panic. A metallic smell wafted through the air.

  I’d find one of two things down in that pit—a graveyard of rusty pipes and dead machines or a pool of blood. The Nathair looked completely at ease in here, but he was likely used to the scent of blood.

  I pointed at the pit. “Right. So, is this your hole?” Phrasing, Cora. Phrasing.

  “The pit is the site of your first trial. Fail here, and you will not cross the threshold into our world.” His voice caressed my skin with his malign presence. This nightmarish creature could rip someone to shreds within moments. “And that’s because failure to complete this trial means death. Most don’t survive.”

  “Right. How long until I become a knight?”

  “A little overeager, are we?” His pale eyes pierced the shadows, and he sauntered closer. In the dim light, I could see that his perfect face expressed little emotion. Of course, not a big deal. Just another day at the pit-office, telling someone they were probably about to die a terrible death. “We’re not there yet. First, the pit. It serves a very important purpose. One you will become familiar with in a moment.”

  As long as the trial involved magic—and not fighting someone to the death with my bare hands—I was golden. Magic, I could do.

  He nodded at the pit. “We need to see if you belong here as one of the uninitiated. One of the unsworn. You have to prove yourself, Cora.”

  Once again, his presumptuousness irritated me. Who the hells were these people who believed that I had to prove myself? I was just here for the dungeon.

  I plastered a smile on my face. “What do I have to do?”

  He shrugged. “It’s simple. Get inside the pit, then get back out.”

  The raw power of his magic radiated into my bones. For just a fraction of a breath, I felt a deep stab of fear. My stomach plummeted, and a voice screamed in the hollows of my mind. For that one moment, my sense of self-preservation was shrieking at me to run from the monster.

  Then, I mastered my own fear. It was all over so fast, I didn’t think he could have noticed.

  He took a step closer, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “I can hear your heart beating when I draw near. I think that I scare you very much.”

  Okay. So, he did notice.

  I crossed my arms. “You like scaring people, don’t you?”

  He hesitated for a moment, then lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug. He walked past me, apparently losing interest in the conversation. “Good luck.”

  Of course, I had a million more questions, but I didn’t think the Nathair wanted to answer them.

  He disappeared, crossing out of the door I’d just come through. It shut behind him, heavy iron locks slamming into place. Then silence fell, leaving me alone in near dark, with a huge pit in front of me. Tentatively, I stepped toward the edge and looked down. Only shadows greeted me.

  I could think of many things I’d rather be doing at this point than jumping into a gaping shadow pit to meet someone called the Bone Harvester. Like, I’d rather be giving sponge baths to convicts or hanging in a cage at a crossroads.

  But since I wanted to get Wren out of here, I had no choice. In no time at all, they’d realize their dim-witted peasant whore had outsmarted all of them. At least, that was the plan.

  I took a step closer to the pit. First, I had to get into the pit and get out.

  I flicked my wrist and chanted the word for light: Or. Storm magic crackled down my arm, igniting the air with blue light. But immediately, the darkness swallowed it, like shadows consuming the sun.

  What the hells?

  I tried again, a more powerful blast of magic this time. But just like before, darkness enveloped my light. I cocked my hip. It seemed they had some kind of magical spell to snuff out the light. Hopefully, I could still use some magic in the pit if I had to.

  At the ledge, I felt around for a ladder or nooks in the rock, but I found only a sheer rock face. No iron rungs I could use. After a moment, I did manage to find a few indents in the rock I could just about slide my foot into.

  I took a deep breath and started lowering myself down. My hands slid against the cold, wet rock.

  The Nathair hadn’t said a word about the Bone Harvester, but I’d use my magic against him if I had to. After all, they’d recruited me here for my magic.

  The walls grew more slippery, and I struggled to keep my grasp on the shallow handholds. Then, the handholds simply disappeared. Nothing but solid, uninterrupted rock.

  Bollocks.

  In desperation, I tried the light spell again, but even with a powerful burst of magic, it fizzled out into darkness.

  I closed my eyes, murmuring an ancient spell for sightless vision. Taru’s power trembled along my limbs, and threads of silvery magic coiled out of my body. Like an insect’s antennae, they reached out until they felt solid contours beneath me.

  The tendrils reached about fifteen feet down. I winced. It was a bit far, but I’d survive.

  Nothing to do but jump and hope for the best.

  With one last deep breath, I let go. I hit the ground hard with my shoulder, a bright flower of pain swelling up at the point of impact. Grunting, I rolled onto my other side and cradled my shoulder. Darkness swallowed me. Instinctively, I tried the light spell again—Or. To my surprise, it actually worked this time, and a dull blue light hung in the air above me. Not as strong as it should be, but enough for me to see the pit’s rocky walls. I wasn’t sure how I’d get out of the pit, but I’d cross that bri
dge later.

  I tried to move my arm, but a burst of pain shot through me, forcing me to groan. Pretty sure I’d broken it.

  Jaw clenched, I sat upright and scooted my bum over to lean against the closest wall. I breathed through the pain, waiting for it to go numb. Then, I whispered a healing spell. Warm magic spread through my muscles, soothing me from the inside out. As I healed myself, cold water droplets fell hard from the top of the pit. The sound echoed over my breathing.

  I finished healing myself and rose to standing. Get in, get out. That’s all I’d been told to do, so now I just needed to scramble out of here again somehow.

  Before I could figure out my exit plan, a cold blast of air spilled from the darkness ahead of me. As it did, an image burned in my mind, something beamed straight from the depths of the storm hell—an old man with blood on his teeth. I could just about smell him on the phantom breeze. I shut my eyes and turned my head away, but that didn’t help. Was this the Bone Harvester?

  All at once, pain ripped through my shoulder again, as though some of the healing magic had been stripped away. My breath caught in my throat at the brutality of it.

  Then, a voice interrupted the quiet.

  It sounded like a madman chattering wildly to himself, and the voice drew closer. Presumably, this was my new friend, the Bone Harvester.

  I shot a glance up to find the top edge of the pit, but I couldn’t see that far in the dim light. Was it possible to make it out of here before I came face to face with this Harvester? I ran my hand over the entire wall until I found a crack. I grabbed hold of it and shoved my fingers into it. I felt for a place to fit one boot, and then the other.

  Grimacing, I swung my injured arm over and felt for a spot that could hold my weight. I sucked in air and pulled myself up hand over hand, one movement at a time. My arm was already on fire, and I’d barely made it off the ground, but I was climbing. With Taru’s help, I’d make it to the top.

  Only, I didn’t.

  As I gripped for the next handhold, it simply disappeared, the rock smoothing over. The pit wasn’t ready to release me yet.