Taken by Storm

by Anna Argent

  Rohra wasn’t supposed to speak of it, but there was something about the empress—some aching vulnerability—that made Rohra open her mouth. “One of the royal guards was caught inside your mother’s chamber, unclothed. It was rumored they had been together in secret for years.” She paused, hoping that the next words she spoke didn’t end her in prison. “You look like your mother, but you have his eyes, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  “How do you know? Did you know the man?”

  Rohra nodded. “I did.”

  The empress’s mouth twisted as if she’d tasted something foul. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Rohra could no more ignore a direct question from Her Imperial Majyr than she could fly. She knew the next words from her mouth might end her life, but she had no choice. Some secrets were better left as hidden things, covered over so that no one could fall upon them and get hurt. “I will not say, Your Imperial Majyr. I am sorry.”

  Rohra waited with her head bowed, knowing her punishment would come. Instead, the empress sat back down, a frown marring her lovely face. “I understand. Please finish my hair so I can do what I need to do.”

  Shock left Rohra still and speechless. Her defiance should have earned her some kind of punishment, not acceptance. And yet the tiny empress sat calmly, with no sign of anger at all.

  Rohra picked up where she’d left off, fastening ribbons around the last looping braid. As her fingers tied the final knots, a sense of hope settled over her. This woman was not at all what Rohra had expected. She seemed frail and weak, but she had a core of stone, just as her father had.

  Rohra still mourned for her brother, even though his execution had been carried out long ago. It was heartening to see that part of him still lived on in his daughter.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Isa stared up at the giant device in the center of a large, stone dome. It reminded her vaguely of a dentist’s chair attached to a cannon, but disturbingly pretty. Detailed patterns were inlaid along the multi-colored surface, so intricate she swore she thought they were moving as her eye passed. The whole thing was constructed from varying colors of metal, and set on a dais inlaid with bits of crushed seashells. An elaborate set of carved stone stairs led to a seat upholstered in the same rich blue that dotted the palace and the people inside.

  The top of the dome was open to the sea-scented air, showing a nearly cloudless sky overhead. She could hear birds singing outside, as well as the deep, guttural sounds of men fighting. An occasional scream of pain wove through the air, louder than the rest, reminding her of what was at stake.

  Somewhere nearby, a battle was raging. People were dying—people who thought she could save them.

  “You want me to climb into that thing, don’t you?” she asked the five old men hovering anxiously nearby.

  “Yes, Your Imperial Majyr,” said Pretor, who seemed to be the only one of the group who ever spoke directly to her.

  “What do I do then?”

  Several of the men shared concerned looks.

  Pretor seemed more confident than the rest. “The device will draw power from you and become active.”

  “Okay. But what do I do once it’s active?”

  “You will find and eliminate any enemy nearby.”

  “Wow. Way to be specific, dude.” As Pretor darkened to an angry red, she decided it might be best if she reworded her concern. “How do I find the enemy?”

  “The device will guide you—show you what you ask it to show you.”

  Clearly this was going to fall into the learn-by-doing category. “One more thing. I don’t have an off switch like most people. Warrian said my mom was the same way.”

  “Off switch, Your Imperial Majyr?”

  “You know, that thing that allows you to stop bleeding energy?”

  Pretor nodded his bald head. “I know of this.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t have one. So someone will have to pull me out of here before I die. Again.”

  “Again, Your Imperial Majyr?”

  “Yes, again. As in I already died once fueling your pretty tech, and would prefer it not happen again. Are we clear?”

  Pretor swallowed nervously. “Yes, Your Imperial Majyr. We will be careful and remove you from the weapon before it is too late.”

  She just bet they would. She hadn’t squeezed out an heir yet, so she was still important to them.

  Isa stared up at the giant device, wishing anyone else could do this job. Or at least that Warrian was here. He would make sure they didn’t let her kill herself. He would make sure that no one snuck into her unlockable bedroom with the intent to rape her.

  But Warrian wasn’t here, and she was the only one who could do this. So she pulled in a deep breath, hauled her heavy ass up into the deeply cushioned seat, and laid back.

  As soon as her head hit the pillow, she felt a grinding vibration tumble through her. The whole contraption began to hum. Faint blue lights sparked all around her, reminding her of Warrian’s garala. A moment later, she went blind, but before she could panic, her sight came back, only this time she wasn’t seeing the intricate insides of the device, she was seeing the whole island as if hovering over it.

  “Whoa,” she breathed out. “So cool.”

  “Warm the room,” came Pretor’s voice from below.

  She ignored his misunderstanding, and reveled in the bizarre sense of omniscience. In the last light of dusk, on a hillside in the distance—one scarred from battle—she saw all of the rough headstones standing in rows. The mere thought of wanting to see them closer made it happen.

  She swooped past homes and buildings, right over to where the cemetery sat as a grim reminder of what was at stake.

  Before she could psych herself out, she pulled back. One side of the big island was untouched by war. The plants were whole, trees stood upright and green, the beaches were pristine and gleaming under the rising moon. As she flew over the water, right along the edge of the beach, she realized that today wasn’t the first time she’d seen the ocean. All her life she’d ached to see it, but until now, she hadn’t realized that the ache came from missing what she had already witnessed. The beauty, the power. Her father had held her on that stone balcony and shown her what she would one day rule. Even now she could feel the texture of his braid in her palm and smell her mother standing at his side.

  The memory was too much. She couldn’t let those things in now—not when she had to concentrate on learning how to use this powerful device.

  As the thought of finding enemies trickled through her mind, she felt herself being tugged toward something. She wanted to stay and fly over the water, but instead she relaxed and let the machine guide her.

  Isa passed over the island, moving from lush, protected lands to a heavily fortified encampment filled with soldiers, to the blasted, black wasteland that lay beyond. Men and women held a line, manning a high wall of sparking blue lightning. On the other side, Isa saw movement concealed by the shadows of burned out homes and blackened trees.

  As she got closer, she expected to see Dregorgs or maybe even the Raide, but instead, what she saw was something else entirely.

  They were black and spindly, with too many arms and legs. Their bodies were sleek and heavily muscled, with a sinuous stride that moved from two to six legs and then back again. They looked like a horrible cross between spiders and panthers, with the face of a toothy deep sea fish. Chitinous, black armor covered their torso, and dark red goggles protected their eyes.

  Isa lunged back in revulsion as one glanced her way. She wasn’t really there, so she wasn’t sure how it could see her, but it seemed to do just that.

  As she watched, a high-pitched chattering rose through the ranks, making the icky things line up into a more organized formation.

  “What the hell are those things?” she asked.

  “Cyturs,” came Pretor’s voice from far away. “War slaves of the Raide.”

  “Where are the Raide?”

  “They rarely come close enou
gh for us to see. They prefer to let others fight for them.”

  Cowardly assholes. She really wanted to get her hands on one of them and—

  Her vision blurred as she crossed some water. A few seconds later, she came face to face with one of the Raide.

  “He is too far away, Your Imperial Majyr. You must target closer to home.”

  Isa wasn’t listening. These fuckers had caused untold pain to everyone they touched. Or looked at. If she had the power to make them pay, then that was exactly what she was going to do.

  The vibration of the device began to deepen to a low rumble like distant thunder. As her anger at the Raide built, something else built as well. She could feel the device begin to make demands on her. It found that strand of power that wove through her very center and began to pull, like the garala.

  Only so much worse.

  Pain exploded through her limbs as energy was ripped from her in huge, ravenous gulps. There was no slow build, no hunger. Just the searing agony of being dipped in fire, headfirst.

  She couldn’t control the scream that erupted from her chest. Her body thrashed inside the cushioned confines of the chair. As more and more of her life was torn from her, she felt the machine shudder and jerk as it fired at the Raide she’d spotted.

  Behind the blinding red flashes of pain, she saw the Raide explode into an orange mist. One second he was there, the next he was floating away on the breeze.

  As fast as the pain came, it evaporated, leaving her gasping for air. The thin fabric of her dress stuck to the sweat on her skin. She was shaking from the inside out, nauseated and stunned silent.

  This was what they wanted from her. Every day. Only there wasn’t just one enemy for her to target, there were thousands.

  Just the thought of subjecting herself to more of that kind of torture was enough to make her want to curl into a ball and cry.

  A thick wave of exhaustion swept over her. Her limbs felt even heavier than they already did. She had to get out of here—away from this stupid device and the pain it caused.

  As she started to get up, she heard Pretor’s voice rise up from below. “You cannot yet stop, Your Imperial Majyr. Our forces on the northern shore have been informed of your arrival. They are waiting for your support.”

  “I can’t,” she said, panting.

  “You must. Many will die if the Cyturs break through their lines. The old, children—those who cannot defend themselves.”

  “It hurts. You didn’t tell me it would hurt.”

  “We can dull the pain.” He said something she didn’t understand, and one of the guards left the room.

  “Drugs?” she asked.

  “Medicine.”

  Isa stared up at the hole in the ceiling. Warrian had tried to warn her that this would be hard. She hadn’t wanted to think about it or dwell on it. Now she was kicking herself for not making him tell her more. She should have spent more time talking to him and less time sleeping with him.

  As the memory of their time together washed over her, it swept away some of the residual pain and fear. She wished he was here now. His touch was magic, replenishing her in a way nothing else seemed to do, and she could have used a little magical replenishment right about now.

  But he wasn’t here. She was on her own. And if she didn’t do something, people were going to die.

  When the guard came back with the drugs, Isa swallowed the bitter liquid. Then she laid back in the chair o’ pain once again, bracing herself for what she had to do. The sooner she drove off the bad guys, the sooner she could get out of this thing for good.

  The vibrations sped as she went back out to fly through the air. This time, she did as she was told and stuck close to home, targeting the spidery things skittering over the northern shore. Each one she killed took a little more of her life, shoving more pain through her skull until she was sure she couldn’t take even one more blow.

  But it didn’t stop. The machine kept firing, sucking her strength and slamming her with wave after wave of agony.

  The edges of her vision began to gray out. She let go, too weak to fight it. Instead, she thought about Warrian touching her, holding her. She called out his name, wishing she had told him how much he’d meant to her.

  As the last of her energy was sucked away, and she floated down into blackness, she pretended he would catch her, even though she knew he was a world away.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Warrian stood beside Radek and one of the Taken from House Soric. He’d been brought here as a child, but was now a grown man. The warriors had spent two days tracking the man down and seeing him safely to the window, and in that time, Warrian had not once stopped thinking about Isa.

  He swore he could still smell her on his skin and feel the flickering pleasure of her light touch. He dreamed about her when he slept, seeing them twined together as close as two people could be, driving each other toward the heights of passion.

  Several times he’d caught himself turning to tell her something, only to realize she was no longer there.

  She’d woven herself to him in such a short time, it hardly seemed possible. But even though she was gone, well out of his reach, he still felt her pull on him as if she were standing at his side.

  But those had all been memories—constructs of his mind. When the window opened and Radek’s man passed through, Warrian was sure he heard her voice.

  She cried out in pain, his name a pleading scream for help.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked Radek.

  The bare-chested man shook his head, frowning. “Hear what?”

  Warrian was certain it had been her voice, but as he listened… nothing.

  “Whoa,” said Talan, standing guard a few feet away. In his hand was the communications disk the Builders used. “Looks like the empress is in trouble,” he said. “Enough trouble that a royal guard from House Loriah paid one of the Builders to get a message to me.”

  “What does it say?” asked Warrian. His chest felt like it had been filled with ice as he waited for Talan to speak.

  “It says, ‘Summon Warrian. They’re killing her.’”

  Warrian didn’t stop to think. The window was already beginning to disassemble. He lunged for it, only to have Radek tackle him to the frozen ground before he could make it three steps.

  Talan growled as he pinned him to the ground. “Stop! You’ll kill yourself.”

  Warrian slammed his fist into the man’s head. “Let me go.”

  “You have to wait for the next window,” said Talan. “This one is already gone.”

  Radek shoved away, letting Warrian go just as the window winked out of sight.

  Foul, blistering words spewed from his mouth as he stalked away from the two men he’d come to see as friends. “You should not have stopped me.”

  “Sure, just let you go through. Half of you would end up bleeding all over the town square, in the middle of the Soric Empire, and the other half of you would be here for me and Talan to clean up.” Radek let out a heavy breath. “You’re welcome, fuckhead.”

  “He’s right, Warrian. There wasn’t enough time left for you to pass through. And even if you had, you would have been days away from the empress. Another window opens in a few hours. If we drive like hell, we’ll make it in time to do this right.”

  “You’d better hope so,” growled Warrian. “Because if she dies before I can reach her, I’m considering your stopping me as an act of war and I will respond accordingly.”

  *****

  Pretor let the female guard carry the empress back to her chamber. The guard was far too protective, adding to the pile of evidence suggesting she knew the empress was her niece.

  He’d tried to hide the previous empress’s foolish dilution of the bloodlines, but there were still some alive who knew what had happened—that a warrior had sired the imperial heir. That lapse in judgment on the part of Isa’s mother was a risk to all Loriahans. If Isa’s heir could not power the device…

  Pretor woul
d not allow that to happen. He’d chosen the proper man to continue the line once before. He would do so again. Soon, before her body became too weak to give them what they needed.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It took Kemp several days before he was able to function normally again. The Loriahan blade that bitch had cut him with had been impregnated with a rare metal not present on his world. It acted as a toxin, spreading through his blood, poisoning him until he was too weak to even hold his head upright.

  The Dregorgs under his charge had fled. He had no clue where they’d gone, but he knew exactly what was going to happen to them once he found them.

  By now he was certain the Loriahan royal would be reclaimed and back on her own world. Kemp now had to choose if he followed after her, or stayed here, searching for more of the Taken.

  He knew where they’d planned to send her. He’d collected the coordinates of the Loriahan palace the last time he’d seen her. He also knew that not far from there was an encampment of Cyturs. It was a safe place to arrive, surrounded by allies.

  He touched the bulbous scar bisecting his cheek. He could still feel the burn of her blade as it sliced through him. Thanks to the toxin, he always would.

  That wasn’t the kind of thing he could simply ignore. The bitch had damaged him, and it was his right—his duty—to damage her back.

  Kemp gathered up his gear and calculated the next window’s time and location. If he left now, he could just make it.

  He would sneak in under the cloak of his armor, unseen. Then he would find the woman and make her pay for what she’d done to him, after which time, he would collect her brain for his scientists. He’d be gone before anyone knew he was there, and the Loriahans would be down one very vital weapon.

  All in a day’s work.

  *****

  Time flowed past her in a river of pain and exhaustion.

  Isa passed out, only to wake inside the machine to the sound of her own agonized screams. The torture went on and on until she blacked out again. Then she woke again in her bed, too weak to fight off the hands that poured liquid down her throat. She had no sense of how long she’d been here. It could have been hours or years. There was no way to measure time inside the haze of pain.