Rage--A Stormheart Novel

by Cora Carmack

  “The bedclothes will have to do. We can use them to wrap your mother and lower her down.”

  Aurora nodded, still feeling numb, but she carried her mother over to begin the process. Sly laid out one linen blanket on the floor, and Aurora carefully positioned her mother on top. Efficiently, Sly rolled the queen onto her side and said, “Pull her knees up. We need her as small as possible.”

  Aurora blinked, but did as she was told, swaddling her unconscious mother like a child. In minutes they were ready to try their escape. Aurora would lower Sly down first, then send her mother down next. Together, they carried her mother to the balcony door. As soon as they stepped outside, the smell of ash and rain filled Aurora’s senses. She looked up and saw pillars of smoke rising from the city beyond, and all at once that numbness went away, reality coming back in a sharp slice.

  “Wait,” Aurora gasped. “Wait. I have to do something.”

  She did not let herself think or worry or fear as she charged back through her mother’s room and to the door. She listened only for a moment before she returned to the hallway, Sly’s quiet objections lost as she closed the door behind her.

  The hallway was still empty, which was good. She strode forward until she reached the door that had once been hers, then pushed it open and ducked inside before she could change her mind.

  She blinked, taking in the mix of old and new before her. Her books remained, as well as the small love seat where she used to curl up and read, where she had sat beside Cassius as he discussed their impending marriage and decided that she would do whatever it took to make her own future. But other things were different. A large black desk lay in front of her bookshelves, covered in papers and ink and books—some of which she recognized and others she didn’t. There was a burned and bloodied coat slung over a wooden chair—neither of which were hers. There was a rack of weapons in one corner, with two discarded pairs of boots nearby.

  Aurora shook her head in disbelief. It was not enough that he had taken her kingdom and drugged her mother, Cassius Locke had moved into her rooms? She had a sudden urge to destroy it all—his, hers, it did not matter anymore—but there was no time for that. Instead, she made for that monstrosity of a desk and grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill. And she did the only thing she could think of to possibly save her friends.

  Aurora wrote Cassius Locke a note.

  She scrawled the words quickly, but with a firm line of ink. When finished, she stared down at the words, hoping she was not making another mistake, but knowing she had to do something. She took one last look around her old sitting room and slipped away, returning to her mother’s room.

  “Finally!” Sly cried. “Hurry up.”

  Aurora’s brow furrowed in confusion as she emerged onto the balcony to find the linens with her mother inside them already gone.

  “Go, up and over,” Sly urged.

  Still confused, Aurora leaned over the edge of the balcony and she found her mother, safe in the arms of the man she had loved and lost. Kiran was covered in soot, and a bright red burn streaked from cheek to chin, but he cradled her mother effortlessly and with great care. Ransom and Bait were huddled close, keeping watch for soldiers no doubt. Tears began gathering in her eyes as she and Kiran looked at each other, but she knew there would be time for her gratitude later.

  So Aurora crawled over the ledge of the balcony, her feet dangling, and she let go.

  And so the first magic users turned themselves over to destruction. They took from the land more than they gave. They ransacked that which was plentiful and violated what should have been sacred. And the goddess repays their sins a thousandfold with each new dawning of the Rage season.

  —An Examination of the Original Magics

  11

  Terror was a strange thing—it at once brought her every fear and worry to the surface, bubbling like hot oil, yet it was so consuming, so immense that it eclipsed them all. Novaya could not get sucked down the well of thoughts about the future or tangled up in the past, for this moment, this horrifying moment loomed so large that there was nothing but this, nothing but her and another witch, whose name she still did not know, back-to-back against more soldiers than she could count.

  The other witch had given her a short dagger, but Nova did not have the first clue what to do with it, other than to hold it out as a warning.

  “Come now, pretties,” she heard a man say. “You are outnumbered. Don’t make us hurt you. Some here enjoy that kind of sport, and I can’t promise they will stop when you’re subdued.”

  “Ah, yes,” the other witch replied. “I have met some Locke soldiers like that before. In the wildlands. I regret to inform you, they met a grisly end against a twister in the Sangsorra desert. Though I rather thought they deserved it. Have you been to the Sangsorra desert? It’s named for the red sands, supposedly the blood of the first tribes or some such nonsense. But it was very clear that day that the red sand was much lighter than actual blood.”

  Someone lunged, and the next moments happened as fast as a skyfire strike. Nova heard the clash of swords, saw a menacing male face come toward her, then felt herself swung around by her elbow just in time for the other witch to stop the sword that had been arcing toward her. Without thinking, Nova jabbed her dagger forward, slicing through the raised arm of the bicep that her partner held off. The man’s sword clattered the floor, and she quickly picked it up, even more at a loss with the larger weapon than she was with the smaller blade.

  “Well done.” The earth witch smiled before planting their backs together once more.

  A little bird of hope stretched its wings inside the cage of her chest, and Nova wondered if they might somehow make it out of this situation alive. Even if they could just stall, maybe Aurora would be able to send in reinforcements.

  Then the men seemed to think better of their strategy, and they all rushed in at once. She was torn away from her partner in moments, both weapons falling uselessly from her hands. Two soldiers caught her arms, hauling her back.

  But the warrior witch proved to be a far greater foe than Nova. She spun and lunged, her dark hair whipping around her like a third blade. She was surrounded, but her feet moved so quickly that she managed to keep pushing them back and back, creating a small pocket in the middle for herself as she fought. When three men charged all at the same time, Nova could not see how the witch would fight them off, but then the earth lurched, the palace floor shaking and the walls rumbling, more of the damaged ceiling crumbling overhead.

  Nova stumbled, as did the men holding her, and for a few brief moments, she ended up free and on her knees near a pile of burning debris. She spied a mound of firestorm embers that had piled up during the storm, and she reached, grabbing two just before a soldier took hold of her again. Nova let the soldier pull her back to her feet, then she shoved her hand at his neck, until she heard the sizzle of the still-burning ember make contact with his skin.

  The man’s scream was piercing, and so close to her ear that it echoed painfully inside her head long after he had stumbled away. Novaya didn’t look down at her hand. She could feel the pleasant warmth of the ember against her palm. It did not burn her, but instead whispered to her magic, like something familiar and foreign all at the same time, like a dear old friend she could not remember. It was fire, and yet it was not. It was … more.

  Another soldier came at her, and this time Nova did not hesitate, throwing one burning ember straight at the man’s chest, where it burned through the uniform in a near-perfect circle before hitting the skin beyond. The soldier dropped his weapons, his hands patting down his rapidly disintegrating uniform as he screamed in reaction to the ember’s unseen path beneath. Nova spun, scooping up as many embers as she could hold, and then she began launching them at the men who were ignoring her in favor of the warrior witch.

  Her first throw went wide, missing the group entirely, but she hurried forward, and her next throw made contact, causing another soldier to peel off, clawing at his own back
where an ember had struck him between the shoulder blades. Again and again Nova threw her embers, picking off men on the outside until she’d left the other witch with only two foes.

  Novaya was out of embers, so she rushed to a nearby wall where the winds had pushed a drift of the smoking stones. Grabbing as much as she could hold with two hands, she stood and suddenly heard the world go quiet.

  The strike of sword against sword disappeared.

  No one spoke or groaned or grunted during the ensuing fight; in fact, she could hear no signs of fighting at all.

  Over the hammering of her heart, she realized that she heard no signs of the storms outside either—no howling winds or rumbling thunder.

  Slowly, she turned, and she saw the warrior witch with her arms raised, and a wall of soldiers that blocked out the rest of the room. Nova let the embers drop, and they scattered around her feet like scorching little skipping stones.

  From among the wall of soldiers emerged a tall form—light brown skin, dark hair, eyes nearly as black as his heart.

  Cassius Locke.

  It appeared reinforcements had arrived.

  They simply were not hers.

  * * *

  Kiran had always prided himself on thinking quickly on his feet, but the moment Roar—no, Aurora—landed with a soft thud from the balcony overhead, his thoughts scattered, and all the plans he had been making fled with the wind.

  He was so relieved to see her whole and safe, but the weary, shamed expression she wore as she met his eyes made his skin feel too tight against his bones. Or that could be the burns, which were aching something fierce under the pressure of the weight he held. It was a person, that much was clear, but Sly had not told him more than that when she lowered the cargo to him over the balcony’s edge. Whoever it was, they appeared to be alive at least, based on the warmth he felt and the occasional subtle breath.

  Sly made a quiet landing a few moments later, and Kiran managed to tear his eyes away from Aurora for a moment to look at her as she approached. His old friend wore a dark and serious expression. “We need to go. The grounds will be crawling with blues soon.”

  “Where’s Jinx?” he asked, then hesitated, lowering his head to look at the covered form he held. Jinx, he was certain, was far shorter.

  “Not here. We got separated.”

  “Separated?” Ransom cut in, his voice gruff.

  There was a long moment of silence, and when Sly’s expression gave nothing away, Kiran shifted his gaze back to Aurora. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her cheeks hollowed, and her lips pursed as moisture gathered in her eyes. “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “I took her in there. And now they have her.”

  “Have her?” Ransom growled.

  Kiran cut him off. “Who has her?”

  “Locke soldiers. When the twister hit, we were in the dome, and part of the roof collapsed. Sly and I ended up on one side, and Jinx on the other with my friend Nova. We would have found a way through, but soldiers came on their side, and … and … we had to leave before it was too late.”

  “Speaking of too late,” Sly said, “is there a way out of this place that isn’t going to be guarded by a legion of soldiers? Otherwise, we might all be captured.”

  Kiran kept staring at Aurora, feeling like he was being pulled in two different directions. He was furious and horrified at the capture of his friend, at the fact that she had been in needless danger at all, but he knew, knew with every bit of certainty there was in the universe, that he would always want Aurora to save herself if she could. But that did not stop the shredding feeling inside him, like he was being pulled not so cleanly in two.

  Feelings would have to wait. For Sly was right; they could do little for Jinx now. They needed to get to safety, regroup, and plan. He had a grappling hook and a rope; they just needed to find an isolated spot and hope they could get all of them over the wall without being seen.

  In the end, they used his hook and one of the steel-arrowed anchors they used sometimes to keep their footing during high winds when hunting. He threw the hook over the wall, pulling until he had solid leverage, and then he shot the arrow into the uppermost section of stone. It only sunk into the rock a bit past the arrow’s head, but that would have to be enough. Together, the two ropes allowed them to move quickly, and it helped him and Ransom carry the added weight of their extra passenger. They were lucky that the sky was still shrouded by smoke from the firestorm; it made the city dark and hazy, and they were over the wall after a tense period without drawing any unwanted attention. But the danger was not over once they had made it onto the city streets.

  People were beginning to venture out of their homes, striving to save the parts of the city that still burned, because it was clear no one from the government cared enough to send help. Kiran knew that desperate people, especially ones whose homes had just been damaged or destroyed, would not think twice about giving their descriptions to anyone who came looking if the information garnered them coin or some other much-needed good fortune in this miserable place.

  The lot of them could hardly traipse through the city back to their inn carrying an unconscious person wrapped in bed linens without standing out in someone’s memory. They needed to find somewhere close and safe to lie low until the danger passed.

  He looked to Aurora then and raised the bundle in his arms slightly. “Do I get to know more about this now? Any chance our guest will be able to carry their own weight soon?”

  Aurora’s face grew troubled, and she shook her head. “I can carry her if you need a break,” she said, drawing nearer.

  “No, it is not a problem,” he insisted, despite the ache in his shoulders. The burns had mostly grown numb by now anyway. “Just curious as to who she is?”

  Aurora lifted a hand, running it lightly over what must have been the person’s foot.

  “She’s my mother.”

  He looked at her, wishing he’d heard the wrong words, that his tired ears had somehow mixed them all up. But he knew that wasn’t the case. It all made sense now. Her secret journey into the castle against the rebellion’s wishes, and why Jinx would help. The earth witch had lost her mother shortly before joining the crew, and the loss still plagued her.

  Holy raging goddess. Kiran was holding a godsdamned queen.

  Now, more than ever, they needed to get off the street and somewhere private. There was only one place he could think of, and it would not go over well, but he did not think they had much of a choice.

  So he hefted the queen higher in his arms and said, “Follow me.”

  * * *

  “Where in the bleeding skies were you while the kingdom was under attack?” Cassius snarled, slamming the door to the throne room behind him as he approached his father. It did not close properly, undermining his anger, but the hole in the ceiling and the pile of half-charred furniture and curtains and rugs in the center of the room underscored his point well enough.

  His father straightened, slowly, lifting one hand off the table he leaned on, then the other. His black hair was scattered with gray, and the wrinkles in his tanned skin settled into grooves as he sneered. “I was busy. I had assumed you had things under control. It seems I assumed wrong. Perhaps I should listen to Casimir. He thinks you’ve lost your edge. Maybe it is time for a little healthy brotherly competition.”

  Yes, his father would love that. The brothers had spent their childhood more like animals his father trained to fight each other than a true family. His father had a certain cruel curiosity when it came to pushing his sons.

  Cassius turned that same cruelty back onto him as he said, “That might prove difficult, seeing as Casimir is missing.”

  That news caught his father’s attention, wiping the bored sneer away in an instant. “What do you mean, missing?”

  “I mean as soon as the palace was infiltrated, I sent men to protect each member of the family, but they were too late. The residential wing had been ransacked and bombed with fog magic. Casimir was gone, and my mother,
your wife, was laid out on the floor as though she’d been crawling for help. Not that you likely care. The fog left her confused and frightened, and she has been asking for you, and no one knew where you were either until moments ago, when I was notified that you showed up here. So, where were you?”

  His father avoided the question and asked instead, “Are you saying your brother has been kidnapped?” The Locke patriarch marched across the room as he asked the question, but his feet didn’t cooperate, carrying him in a wobbly diagonal instead of a straight line.

  “Gods. You are drunk,” Cassius snapped. “And getting more pathetic by the day.”

  The king’s face reddened, and he puffed up his chest. “You will not speak to me that way. I am your father. Your king. I made you.”

  Cassius knew those last words had nothing to do with parentage and everything to do with brutality. His father had made him cold and hard and hungry for victory and violence in equal measure. His lip curled in disdain, knowing one day that urge would turn on its maker. Cassius did not regret being ruthless. It was necessary in this world. But if he was to be a monster, he would be his own, not his father’s.

  “And what a failure you are in those roles now,” Cassius said. “King of a city that no longer exists and father of a son you did not even know was in danger.”

  With a growl, his father lunged, and it took surprisingly little effort for Cassius to spin his momentum around until his back crashed into the nearest wall. Dust and ash floated down around them, and a loose, half-burned plank of wood toppled from the ceiling to join the debris scattered about the floor.

  “I should leave you here,” Cassius growled. “How long do you think you would last against the Stormlord without me? How long before he would have you? Do you think he would kill you slowly? Keep you around to torture and play with? I hear he’s viciously mad. Maybe you will get lucky and he’ll take your head in one clean cut, and mount it on the battlements to make a display of you like he has done to so many of our soldiers. I’m done being your pawn, old man. I should have gone my own way the day you got our home destroyed.”