Storm Princess Saga- the Complete Series

by Everly Frost

  His thumb grazes my lips, trailing across my jaw. “I lived with Outliers. That sets me even further apart. But I promise you, I will do anything to be with you.”

  How am I going to wait a week? I shiver as his other hand strokes the curve between my waist and hip through my shirt.

  He sighs, but it’s resigned. “Our time is up. Erit has returned.”

  He picks me up and slides me to the floor. I smooth my clothing in time for Erit to push through the doors. “Lady Storm, everything’s ready.”

  I steel myself for what’s ahead of me. It’s time to face the Grievous Clan head on.

  10. Marbella Mercy

  I’ve never flown with Erit before. He was the leader of one of the mining teams and for a while, he was the last gargoyle I thought would ever be my ally. Over time, I got to know him and heard his story. He’d told me about killing a shadow panther when he was a teenager—that if he didn’t come back with one, clan law meant he would be thrown out of his home to starve. Now, he’s flying me to the heart of the Grievous stronghold.

  After some consideration, I left my armor behind. I don’t want to fly into Mount Grievous looking like I’m about to launch a war. Erit has chosen to wear light armor, but that’s because it has straps that he has wrapped around me to make sure I don’t fall. It’s a handy addition to gargoyle armor that is usually intended for carrying bundled weapons but happens to be conveniently Marbella-sized. The safety straps are also helpful when he has to navigate through mountain peaks, tilting on his side or even flying horizontal. We decided early on in our flight that it would be a good idea to stay low and fly through the mountains, rather than making ourselves a target in clear sky.

  He apologizes along the way for the bristles on his chin, which catch my hair as I press my head against his chest. I laugh, thinking it’s strange that I’m so comfortable being this up close and personal with a gargoyle, let alone one I used to think wanted to kill me.

  When I first arrived in Erador, it was nighttime and I didn’t get to see the landscape. Every time I flew across Erador since then I was bundled into a basket so I couldn’t see. Now it takes my breath away. A spider web of mountains spreads out beneath us, each leading back to Mount Erador where the palace is located. Mount Prime is rust-colored, Mount Virtuous is a deep mossy green, and far, far in the west looms a mountain that is black as ochre: the perfect place for shadow panthers to thrive.

  “There it is,” Erit says, his voice a rasp as the air rushes past us. “Mount Grievous. The last mountain before we hit the wastelands.”

  As we near it, multiple villages come into view, located at various points along the mountain range and deep in the valleys, many of them surrounded by thick forests. Erit angles for the far side of the mountain where the shadows are darkest and the sunlight barely reaches.

  I ask, “Should we go to the Cavity?” Each mountain contains a place called a Cavity—it’s where the main nest is located.

  He shakes his head. “Grievous live out in the open. They believe it makes them tougher.” He points to a cluster of buildings located at the highest point on the side of the mountain. “Whoever is in charge will be in that village there. It won’t take long for them to show themselves once we land.”

  The village approaches fast as Erit speeds toward the nearest cobbled street. I sense movement below us, swift and furtive, but when we glide to a stop, there’s nobody in sight. The buildings are shuttered and closed. A chill breeze whistles through the gaps between them. Erit unstraps me and I step off his feet, stretching my arms and legs. I love flying but remaining in the same position for hours has left me stiff and sore.

  Erit stretches out his muscles while I smooth my hair. He gives me another apologetic glance. He’s older than some of the other gargoyles, but no less agile as he unstraps a sword and hands it to me, swiftly reaching for his bow and nocking an arrow to it. Between us, we have attacks covered both at a distance and up close.

  I draw on my power to cast a soft glow across the dark street, the Queen’s heart responding to my wish: destroy the dark. I’m still getting a handle on how to use and control this new power. I hope at some point, I might be able to use it to fly on my own, but I’m not sure how yet. Destroy gravity? Probably not a good idea.

  Erit raises his weapon, assessing all attack points from the rooftops to the street. “Go ahead, Lady Storm.”

  I plant my feet in the middle of the street and raise my voice. “I am Supreme Incorruptible Marbella Mercy. You will show yourselves or I will burn your homes to dust.”

  It’s a horrible threat; one I wouldn’t normally make but Erit has schooled me up on Grievous culture. They will only respond to brute strength.

  A shadow grows from an alleyway on my right and a figure emerges from the darkness, but not so far that I can see who it is. A female voice hisses, “Supreme Incorruptible, you stole something from me that can’t be replaced.”

  I consider shining the heartstone’s light into the shadowed recess that hides the newcomer. But I let her have her cloak of darkness for now. “Who are you?”

  “I am Grievous Indira.”

  Erit stiffens beside me. His eyes widen and tension enters his posture. “Careful, Lady Storm. She is Howl’s sister.”

  Sister. Of course. Always a boy and a girl. It’s difficult to imagine Howl having any sort of family.

  The female emerges into the light. All female gargoyles are beautiful, but she is savagely gorgeous. Her eyes are such a dark shade of brown that they appear black like her brother’s. Her hair matches the color of her eyes and it’s glossy, long, and braided down one side. She wears the skin of a shadow panther slung across one shoulder, attached to leather armor that covers her entire body. Female wings don’t have wing daggers like the males, but she’s made up for it with leather casings that cover the top of her wings attached to which are sharp spikes.

  I appraise her as she takes up position ten paces away. She doesn’t carry any weapons as far as I can see, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t hidden around her body.

  I say, “I won’t apologize for killing your brother.”

  “But you will apologize for taking his death from me.”

  My forehead crinkles. That is a strange thing to say. I’m not sure what she means.

  Her hands curl into fists as she snarls, “It was my right to kill him. Not yours! You stole that from me.”

  She wanted him dead? I definitely didn’t expect that. “Then I saved you the trouble.”

  She stalks toward me. Erit keeps his bow trained on her and I ready my sword, although it’s the heartstones I’ll draw on if I’m really threatened.

  She stops three paces away. Up close, I can see there are rips in her wings. It looks like someone took a knife to them, shredding the bottom third into wide ribbons. Llion once told me that to injure another gargoyle’s wings was a heinous crime, an act of violence that was meant to subjugate the victim.

  “Did he hurt your wings?”

  She snarls, “I did this to myself.”

  Well, she’s a ball of contradictions.

  “You owe me his death,” she says, drawing her right hand slowly up to her left shoulder and toward the first spike on her wing armor. It looks like she’s about to scrape her palm across it.

  “Stop.” Erit lowers his bow, surprising me by separating bow from arrow and raising both in a placating gesture. “Lady Indira, you don’t have to do this. Lady Storm was mistreated by your brother the same as you. She had every right to kill him.”

  “I don’t care! He hurt me first. That gave me first right.”

  “Lady Indira—”

  “Nobody calls me ‘Lady!’ Especially not you!”

  He tilts his head, taking his time to respond. I’m dying to leap into the conversation with all sorts of retorts. If she claims she had first right to kill Howl, then why the hell didn’t she try? Or maybe she did and failed? And why is she so angry at Erit? What did he do?

  Erit contemp
lates her. “So you do recognize me. I wasn’t sure how much I’d changed over the last fifteen years.”

  Indira scowls back at him, one foot planted slightly in front of the other, right palm resting across her upper chest very close to the spike. I’m still not entirely sure what she was about to do with it, but Erit’s efforts to stop her make me worried.

  She studies the cut of his stubbly jaw, his gently pointed ears, and slate-gray eyes, taking her time to assess him. Her flinty gaze softens, but only briefly. “They told me you were dead.”

  “Dead?” It’s his turn to appear surprised, but he slowly nods his head. “Of course, that’s what my parents would tell everyone to save face, isn’t it?”

  She whispers, “You got out.”

  “I did.”

  She says, “Then you know I have to do this.”

  He shakes his head. “You really don’t.”

  In a flash she drags her hand across the wing spike, spilling droplets of blood on the street.

  “No!” Erit’s shout dies in this throat.

  Indira’s focus returns to me. “Supreme Incorruptible Marbella Mercy, you owe me Grievous Howl’s death. I will have yours instead.”

  Erit sags beside me. The fact that he’s concerned makes me concerned. I keep my voice low, trying not to react to this fierce female. “Erit?”

  “She has challenged you to a fight to the death.”

  The heartstones glow around me. “That seems unwise.” But as I speak, the glow dims and all of a sudden, the lights in the heartstones go out.

  “Unfortunately, it is a blood challenge. The deep magic is bound by it, which means you will not be able to use the heartstones’ power in this fight.”

  This is news I didn’t want to hear. No wonder Erit was trying to stop her. Leaving my armor behind is suddenly the worst decision I made today.

  Indira watches my reaction closely, so I keep my response casual, calm. Just talking about the weather. Nothing to worry about. “So it’s just me and her?”

  “I’m afraid so. You need to know that Lady Indira is a fierce warrior. She will not be easy to defeat but… Lady Storm, I’ve seen you fight without any power to aid you. Like many others before her—including myself—Lady Indira is underestimating you.”

  I search his eyes. Indira can hear every word he says. He’s deliberately allowing his genuine concern to show through. I consider carefully what he said. First of all, he’s trying to psych her out, which tells me I actually need to be worried about her skill as a fighter. But on top of that, he’s reminding me of my fight with Arlo, of how I forced Arlo to yield. Whatever history Erit has with Indira, whatever injustice Indira has faced, to kill her would be a tragedy and it will get me no closer to improving relationships with the Grievous Clan.

  I place my hand on his arm. “Erit, I can see that you care deeply about the outcome of this fight. I promise you, I will show mercy.”

  Indira spits from the side. “How very magnanimous of you, Supreme Incorruptible. I assure you, I will not.”

  It’s her turn to try to psych me out. As she speaks, gargoyles emerge from the shadows around us. The street is wide enough for a single gargoyle to spread its wings and land with room to spare, but the alleyways between the buildings are narrow and cramped. Gargoyles cling to the sides of the buildings, hanging off the edges of the roofs, their faces shadowed, hunched beneath their wings, their wing daggers pointed aggressively forward.

  Now this is the picture of blood-thirsty gargoyles that the elves fear. I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cower. Neither seems like a good idea.

  “Well, what are the rules?” I ask Erit. I’m still holding the sword. “Weapons or hand-to-hand combat?”

  Indira is quick. “There are no rules.”

  She takes two steps forward, feinting around my sword, and aims her fist at my face.

  I evade Indira’s attack just in time. Light on my feet, I sidestep and throw my sword off to Erit in the same movement. I won’t use a weapon until she does. He catches it by the handle and hurries out of our way.

  Dodging Indira’s next attack, I assess her movements, the rips in her wings, and the way she favors her right foot. She won’t be able to fly, which makes the fight between us even, but she makes up for it with five wing spikes across each wing, each spike at least an inch long. They remind me of Senturi’s wing tips, razor sharp. Of course, she has to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself with them so I could turn them into a liability.

  She comes at me again and I discover I was wrong about her wings being completely out of action. She spreads them and catches air that lifts her higher than I expected. At the same time, she shoots forward. My defensive position is too low and her fist slams down on me like rocks. I’m forced backward, rolling to my feet. She comes in too close, allowing me to land two quick jabs, left-right on each of her cheeks. As she rolls backward with the punches, she uses her unbalanced position to her advantage to kick her upper leg straight into my stomach.

  I slam hard up against the wall of the nearest building, grab the closest object I can lay my hands on—a ceramic pot with a dusting of soil and dead weeds in it—and crack it against her head. Her arms fly wide and I use the gap to land several hits to her stomach and face before she grabs my arm, lifting me bodily upward across her shoulders. Her wing spikes scrape across my arms and chest. I’m lucky they don’t pierce anything important before she throws me across the street.

  Thud. That definitely hurt. Damn she’s strong. Curse my little body. I’m so light she can fling me anywhere. And she’s coming right back at me. I scramble to my feet but halfway up her knee attempts to slam my chest. I lurch backward just in time, pushing down on her knee defensively, but she spins, using her momentum to slam another fist at me. I block, dance backward. She leaps at me but I crouch, use my shoulder to lift her, and it’s her turn to take a tumble along the street. She lands right next to Erit, jumps to her feet, hits him square in the jaw, and steals my sword from him.

  Suddenly the fight is no longer close to equal.

  I don’t wait for her to unsheathe the weapon. With a roar, I barrel straight into her, grabbing her sword arm as we slam into the nearest building. My fingers close around her wrist and my fingernails dig in.

  “Lady Storm! Catch!”

  My hand shoots out. Somehow, I catch the dagger Erit throws to me. Turning my attention back to Indira and all I see is her fist. Pain explodes in my temple, the hardest hit she’s landed. I drop but I don’t let go of her sword arm, taking her with me. Once again we tumble, but not before I nick her cheek with my knife. We roll apart, both shooting back to our feet at the same time.

  The sword is out of its case now and my dagger is no match for it. She charges, I defend, and metal scrapes on metal as her sword sings down the blade of my dagger, forcing me to my knees. I’m using both hands on the smaller weapon to resist the sword’s force, but I brace, pushing with all my might to set my left hand free to thump her stomach. The impact causes her to flex forward and I use the small shift in her weight to unbalance her. She tumbles to my left, angles her shoulder to take the fall, ready to roll through it, but I grab her nearest wing, yanking backward on it. She lands on her back with an oomph. I land on her stomach, straddling her.

  My dagger descends to her heart.

  Her sword ascends to my throat.

  Both blades draw blood, making us freeze. If we continue, she will slice open my neck as fast as I can slide the blade into her chest.

  Neither of us will survive.

  11. Marbella Mercy

  This fight started with a blood challenge. The only way it’s going to end is with another one. I have no idea whether it will work but I have to try. Without moving any closer to the blade at my throat, I stretch my free hand forward, reaching out to drag my fingertips across the same spike she used when she made her challenge, screaming out the pain in my jaw and all the places she thumped me with those rock-like fists of hers.

  “I a
m Supreme Incorruptible Marbella Mercy. Grievous Indira, you owe me the Grievous Clan’s allegiance!”

  I take hold of her face with my bleeding hand, curling my fingers into her hair, forcing her to look at me and not the weapon at my neck. “I hold you to your clan’s debt, body and soul, for the rest of your life.”

  Her eyes widen. “For the rest of my…”

  I ease my bloody fingers from her hair, too sticky not to catch and pull, making her wince. I don’t apologize. “For the rest of your life. Which will have to be very long to pay out the debt that your clan owes.”

  I pull upward, withdrawing my dagger.

  Her arms flop to her sides. The sword clatters onto the street. “What did you do?”

  I have no idea but she stopped fighting me so it can’t be a bad thing. The heartstones flicker back to life, telling me the blood challenge has ended. I check my fingers. The cuts have healed and when I brush my neck, it no longer hurts. Virtuous’s heart has done its job and healed me.

  Now the Queen’s heart casts a soft glow across Indira’s stunned features. “I… can’t fight you now.” She scrambles to her feet, sporting a cut across her cheek and another across her am. “How did you know which blood words to use? You’re an elf.”

  “I’m really not.”

  Her chest heaves. She roars, long and loud, curling her fingers into fists. “Grievous Clan! Come down from the rooftops!” She picks up my sword and hands it to me, her voice lowering. “We have a new leader.”

  She takes a wobbly breath. Drops to a knee. Bows her head, her braid falling across her shoulder. “Supreme Incorruptible… I honor you.”

  The gargoyles swoop down from the rooftops and out of the alleyways, settling down onto the street in neat rows, hunched under their wings, faces hidden, all of them taking a knee. “Supreme Incorruptible, we honor you.”

  I frown as they speak. Their voices are not quite what I expected… but relief overcomes any uncertainty I feel. “I am honored.”