Dynami’s Wrath
Kelly St Clare
Contents
Exosian Realm
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Thank you for reading
Acknowledgments
About Kelly St. Clare
Also By Kelly St Clare
Fantasy of Frost
Bonus Chapter
Dynami’s Wrath
by Kelly St. Clare
Copyright © 2019 Kelly St. Clare
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, media, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination, or are used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Edited by Melissa Scott and Robin Schroffel
Cover illustration and design by Amalia Chitulescu Digital Art
Map Art © 2018 by Laura Diehl, www.LDiehl.com
All rights reserved.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
Exosian Realm
For A.J.
Who flies.
Free.
Forevermore.
One
Ebba was about to do something drastic. Something huge. Something . . . unprecedented.
Face propped up on her hands where she lay across Locks’ bed, Ebba watched Verity dress for the celebration. Her eyes tracked the way the woman brushed her long, blonde hair, the way she braided it, and how the ex-soothsayer twisted the shining mass atop her head into a feminine knot.
Locks’ one-and-only girlfriend usually wore plain dresses, occasionally trousers and a shirt, but tonight she’d selected a lavender dress that highlighted her periwinkle-blue eyes. The dress perched on the tips of her shoulders, the neckline plunging. The bodice was tight and flared out at the hips, ending just below her knees.
The simple fact there was a dress on Zol at all, let alone someone wearing it, was testament to how much Ebba’s life had changed in the last three weeks. Their hidden sanctuary in the southern region of the Caspian Sea had never housed anything other than pirates—and the prince. Now it was filled with landlubbers and females. Females who didn’t behave the way Ebba had seen her only other woman friends behave.
“Hey, Verity?” Ebba asked, licking her dry lips.
The woman grunted.
That’s why Ebba liked her: she made normal sounds and didn’t waste too much time with politeness. Verity was a survivor. She didn’t take shite, she wasn’t bothered by how people saw her, she was beautiful, and yet she was still willing to put on a dress to celebrate Ebba’s eighteenth birthday.
She sat up, swinging her legs over the end of the bed to face the woman who’d single-handedly brought Locks to heel.
“Do ye think it’d be odd-like if I wore a dress tonight?” Ebba asked her.
Verity swished left and right, inspecting her appearance in a long, thin mirror. No one else had a mirror in their shack, but the hut she shared with Locks contained many new things that had simply appeared. Though no longer a soothsayer, Verity possessed what she referred to as ‘simple healing magic,’ which clearly included the ability to conjure whatever she wanted out of thin air.
“Of course not. You’re a young woman,” Verity answered without glancing back.
Asking her had been a test of how the others might react. Ebba released a breath, glad the healer hadn’t laughed. “I’m not really a young woman, though,” she pressed, studying Verity intently. “I be a pirate.”
The healer shrugged. “You’ve already been harping on that you’re a pirate and tribesperson. Why can’t you be more than that? Just because you haven’t wanted to wear a dress until now doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind. When you’re fifty, you may decide you’re a man.”
“I do wear feathers in my hair sometimes now.” She’d taken that away from her time with the Pleo tribe.
“Exactly, and no one thought that was strange.”
Also true. Her fathers had commented on them, and Caspian, too, on the rare occasions he came out of his funk. She’d even caught Jagger’s eyes on them a few times—though who knew what that really meant. He was probably planning to set them on fire as she slept.
Ebba sniffed and said casually, “I’ve been kind o’ thinkin’ about wearin’ a dress tonight.”
“What prompted the change?” Verity asked.
She toyed with a loose stitch on the bedspread. “Nothin’.”
“Lie.”
“It ain’t—”
“Lie.”
Ebba gritted her teeth and puffed a dread out of her face. “Fine.”
She’d made the mistake of sitting down with the elder of Caspian’s sisters, Princess Anya, last week. The other females, spawn of Barrels’ sister Marigold, had flocked to join them like a hungry fish to fresh bait, and soon they’d started gibbering about kissing and fashion and all sorts of things that Ebba had never really thought about seriously. Or ever.
“I’m eighteen today, and. . . .” Her face flamed.
How to put her uncomfortable realization into words? Last week, all the women had talked about their first kiss. Ebba sat and listened as the younger princess, Sierra, just thirteen, had shared hers. The girl was five years younger than Ebba.
She swallowed. “Do ye think there be somethin’ wrong with me that I haven’t kissed a person my age?”
Verity snorted. “No, Ebba-Viva, I don’t.”
Ebba hadn’t thought so either, but recently her priorities had shifted. Only months ago, her only urge was to fill her black dreads with beads, go on a quest, and become a fearsome pirate. That was before the crews of Felicity and Malice became embroiled in a war that turned into something much darker. Ebba’s beads were gone now, and she’d set out on enough quests to last her until her thirties—when she probably wouldn’t even want to do them anyway. Filling her dreads and embarking on dangerous quests weren’t burning ambitions any longer, and Ebba had found her mind turning to other things. Things like not limiting herself by ignoring any possible femininity within herself. Things like Caspian’s confession about holding a deeper regard for her.
He hadn’t brought the subject up since—still coming to grips with his father’s death. And she’d never given any response to his red-faced utterings, but like an itch she couldn’t scratch, the blasted confession had burrowed into her skull. She had eyes in her head. She just hadn’t been interested before. Now, Ebba was considering that she might be.
“You don’t feel pressured into dressing a certain way because of the other young women, do you?” Verity had turned from the mirror and stood with her hands on her hips.
“No.” Ebba drew the word out, frowning. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
The healer gestured to her lavender frock. “I’m wearing this because I like to dress up every now and again.”
“It be a pretty dress,” she replied, scanning the lavender dr
ess anew.
The ex-soothsayer was the exact opposite to her. Ebba had the dark skin of a tribesperson and moss-green eyes she’d inherited from her blood mother. Verity and she were both light-framed, she supposed, but the healer was a head taller. And where Verity’s hair usually hung in a rippling curtain of gleaming gold down her back, Ebba’s fell in thick, ebony dreads that hung to just below her armpits.
The bed dipped as Verity perched next to her. “What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t wear clothing or change who you are for anyone but yourself. Do you want to wear a dress?”
She’d always liked accessories and clothing—though not the dresses that Sherry the brothel matron had put her in—the boning dug in something wicked. Recently on Exosia, Ebba mostly just pretended not to like the dress Marigold forced her into. Overall, Ebba wasn’t mad-keen on how dresses restricted her movement and breathing, but for times like this, for a celebration when she didn’t need to run for her life or dash up the rigging, she was beginning to think that maybe they were okay.
“Aye, I do want to wear one,” Ebba confessed. “Just to see.”
“Then wear one.”
Ebba peeked up at the healer through her lashes. “Ye don’t think anyone will notice or laugh?”
The healer’s face smoothed. “I assure you they won’t.”
Was she really going to willingly wear a dress? Ebba grinned, saying, “Hey, Ver?”
“Don’t call me that.”
Ebba rolled her eyes. “Do ye have another dress?”
The healer arched a brow at her gleaming mirror. “I might be able to rustle up a little something. Did you have anything in mind?”
Ebba spent a portion of every day deciding what she’d wear. For the last week, she’d been thinking of exactly what kind of dress she’d wear if she ever wore one. “Ye could say that.”
Two
Ebba twirled inside her small shack, wishing she’d plundered Verity’s mirror to ensure everything was properly in place. The dress gave her the sensation that her under-butt was on display, but frequent checks confirmed the feathers really did extend down to mid-thigh.
She twirled again in the tight space. Marigold had taken her larger shack, and Ebba couldn’t really complain; her fathers had slept outside in hammocks for the last three weeks while they built shelters for the Exosian refugees. Yesterday, they completed the last shack, and Plank had furnished the beach hut to match the others. With their guests cared for, Ebba knew their departure for the Dynami Sea was nigh.
Not a second too soon, in her humble pirate opinion. And not just because Zol was overcrowded.
The pillars, six powerful immortals merged into one entity, regained their bodies a month ago after draining Verity of her soothsayer powers. In the space of a week, the evil force overthrew King Montcroix and seized control of Exosia. Soon, the pillars’ dark taint would claim every soul in the realm—mortal and immortal. Caspian’s subjects on the mainland probably fell victim to the pillars’ method of feeding weeks ago. And once a person’s eyes turned black, they were contagious; their taint could then transfer to anything living they came into contact with.
No one could outrun the darkness indefinitely, and Verity had described what would happen if the pillars succeeded in tainting the realm. Ebba’s crew had to save as many people as they could by defeating the pillars. Something they could only do with a certain weapon, the root of magic.
Ebba glanced to where the dynami glittered, the rounded end of the tarnished silver tube sticking out from beneath her pillow. The dynami gave the bearer power. They also had the purgium that could heal anything, if you were willing to pay the unknown sacrifice. That tube was a similar size to the dynami but had two flat ends. It cured Ebba of the taint not so long ago and left her with three white dreads either side of her middle parting. They also had a third piece of the weapon now. The veritas was a sword that revealed the truth, though they weren’t completely sure of the sword’s parameters just yet.
If Verity was correct, three more parts were yet to be found.
Sally zipped into the room, tiny arms hugging a jar of pickled beetroot twice the size of her body. She dived under the blanket on the unmade bed.
The sprite peeked out, eyes wide, and pressed a finger to her lips.
“Where are ye, ye wee shite!” bellowed Peg-leg outside.
They listened as he stomped past, shouting.
“Ye know we have to leave food for the soft people while we be gone,” Ebba chided the sprite.
Sally squeaked and emerged from the blanket, floating up to sit cross-legged as she opened her beetroot plunder. She popped a whole beetroot into her mouth. Purple juice squirted across the bed as she chewed, lips smacking together.
The sprite glanced up at Ebba and stopped chewing.
Her bulging mouth fell open and a few chunks of the beetroot tumbled out onto the bedspread. She squeaked and pointed.
“What?” Ebba scowled.
Sally’s eyes moved over the linen and feather dress Ebba wore.
“What,” Ebba said, her voice edged. When the sprite continued to gape, she added angrily, “I knew wearin’ a dress were a bad idea.” She reached for the bottom hem to rip the stupid thing off.
A tiny hand on her face stopped her.
Ebba glanced at the sprite who’d zipped over from the bed to float in front of her face.
Sally flew up and tucked the bristled end of one of Ebba’s dreads underneath another dread. The three nubs left over from where the crew of Malice loped them off tended to stick up when Ebba’s hair was pulled tight, as it was now. Verity had braided her dreads and the plait hung heavy down the middle of her back.
“Oh,” Ebba said, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, I thought ye were pokin’ fun at my dress.”
The sprite’s face smoothed, and she shook her head, squeaking and swaying her hips.
“. . . Thanks?” Ebba said, trying to decipher the display. “Do ye think I look all right?”
In a tight spot, Sally was half as likely to help as not, but Ebba loved her and often confided in the tiny sprite. Mostly because she couldn’t talk to anyone here.
The sprite floated back and pursed her lips, scrutinizing Ebba’s appearance from head to toe.
She hummed, flying in a slow circle around her. When she arrived back in front of Ebba’s face, the sprite was nodding with one finger held aloft. Zipping over to a chest, she flung back the heavy wooden lid, displaying a strength that wasn’t really in line with her pint-sized stature. From the chest, Sally drew out a black leather cord with an array of sea shells spaced out along its length. The sprite carried this behind Ebba and began to weave the leather cord through her thick plait, starting at the bottom and working up.
When the sprite finished, she patted Ebba’s shoulder, holding up a thumb.
Ebba grinned. “Thanks, Sal. But ye don’t think anyone else will notice I’m wearin’ a dress, do ye?”
Sally snorted and shook her head. It could mean ‘you’re crazy, of course they will’. But Ebba chose to believe she meant ‘I barely noticed myself’.
Ebba exhaled shakily, smoothing down the front of her tight dress again. “Good. Are they all there then?” It’d be better to just let everyone see at once, instead of one by one.
The sprite whirred softly in the back of her throat, which Ebba had learned meant yes.
She flew back to the beetroot jar which had overturned. The purple-red juice had poured all over the bed and was dripping into a puddle on the palm-leaf flooring. She grimaced, shooting Ebba a look.
“We’re leavin’ tomorrow anyway. I’ll just sleep outside tonight.” Ebba had bigger concerns. . .like if wearing this dress was a big, fat mistake. But Verity and Sally had both seen her, and Ebba would look like a coward if she didn’t go through with it.
“Sal, I have an idea,” Ebba said, fiddling with her gold hoop earring. “What if ye fly in with me and shine yer white glow really bright on the opposite side o’ the fire pit? It�
��ll draw everyone’s attention away from me when I go in.”
The sprite considered this and whirred, holding a tiny thumb in the air.
Ebba inhaled, cracking her neck. “All right then. Let’s go.”
She ducked out of her wooden shack at the end of the row and peered up and down the shadowed shore. She’d purposely waited for twilight so it’d be a bit harder to see her.
Palms sweating, she left the safety of the four walls and headed toward the fire pit where her crew, Verity, and all of their Exosian guests gathered for every meal. Jagger, too, if he deigned to grace them with his presence.
Their inlet was circular and lined by sheer white cliffs that prevented the small tribe on the island from attacking them. Turquoise water filled the majority of the space, bordered by a white-sandy beach mostly covered with coconut and palm trees. Previously, eight shacks had been erected in a row through small spaces they’d cleared among the trees. Now, there were sixteen. The only way to access their secret sanctuary was from a tunnel in the southern cliff that led to the ocean. This tunnel couldn’t be navigated via rowboat, only by a ship with a removable mast—which only Felicity had.
Ebba pushed through the cooling white sand toward the fire pit, Sally perched on her shoulder. She tried to recall what Verity had said about being and doing what she wanted because she wanted it. The words made sense a few hours ago but didn’t pack quite the same punch as her trepidation mounted.
Plank’s laughter reached her through the coconut trees.
Ebba listened to the murmur of conversation of those gathered, trying to guess how many were there. She weaved between the last of the coconut trees and gulped as she saw the large logs around the fire pit were filled with Marigold’s family members. They were laughing with the two princesses, kissing butt like usual because the two girls were royals. The Exosians were even worse around Caspian because he was the heir to the kingdom and all. No wonder he chose to disappear for hours at a time nowadays, though Ebba would be pretending if she didn’t admit that was only one of the reasons for his absence.
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