Rage--A Stormheart Novel

by Cora Carmack

  His father swallowed, lifting his chin to meet his gaze head-on. His eyes were watery—from the drink, no doubt, not from emotion. Cassius knew his father had few of those.

  “You are wrong if you think he will stop at me,” the king spat. “The things you have yet to learn about this world could fill an ocean.”

  “Then perhaps it is time for me to venture out and see if I can swim. Good luck keeping your head above water without me.”

  Cassius stormed from the throne room, out into the hallway of the dome beyond, fury stirring in his blood. Soldiers and servants alike were working on cleanup, and he wove between them, determined to put as much distance between himself and his father as possible.

  Cassius was not, by nature, someone who second-guessed things. He made a decision, and he charged forward. But in recent weeks, he found his mind forging the same paths again and again—asking the same questions.

  What if they had never come here? Would the Stormlord have thought them dead? Or did he have some way of knowing? Of tracking them? Was it only his father’s greed for another kingdom that had brought him upon them once more? Cassius liked power, but he was not naive enough to think becoming king was the only way to gain it. There were a hundred different lives he could have lived if he had done as he threatened, if he had split from his father on the day his homeland fell. With the magic he possessed, he could have gone anywhere, seen anything, but instead he was here, doing this all over again—watching the world fall, piece by piece.

  Perhaps this time he would not stick around for the end. What did he care for this land, for these people? And thanks to his father’s careful raising, he had never grown too affectionate of anyone else in his family either—emotions were vulnerabilities, after all. There was nothing at all tying him to this place.

  When he re-entered his rooms, he ripped at the buttons on his shirt, needing the fabric off and away from his burns. He hissed as he pulled the fabric free, opening up wounds that had already clotted.

  Let it bleed. The pain helped dull his rage.

  Cassius grabbed a glass and poured a drink from the sideboard, and moved to his desk. He was about to sit when he noticed a piece of parchment directly in front of him. He tended to be rather meticulous with his belongings, and he did not recall doing any writing recently.

  With two fingertips, he dragged it closer to the edge of the table where he could read it more clearly. After the first read, he sank into his chair, tossing back what remained of his drink. Then he pulled the parchment close to his face and read the words again.

  I have my mother.

  I’ll be coming for my kingdom next.

  And whatever cruelty you’ve shown to Novaya, I’ll make sure is visited upon you a thousandfold.

  Aurora

  Cassius sat back in his chair, a burn on his shoulder stinging at the contact with the wood. One corner of his mouth pulled upward in a ghost of a smile.

  It seemed he still had one thing tying him to this place after all.

  Those with the gift of water were often lonesome creatures, for they knew the depths of the ocean and the farthest reaches of the world in a way no other could.

  —An Examination of the Original Magics

  12

  Thirteen Years Earlier

  Cruze was not sure of the days any longer. More than a dozen had passed, of that he was certain, but sometimes the days and nights blurred during tempests and it was difficult to know the difference when dark clouds blocked out the sun for endless lengths of time.

  The numbers of those he had been stranded with were beginning to dwindle quickly, and he did not allow himself to think too long on the loss. His father used to tell him that only the strong survived, and the rest did not matter. That was back when his father still visited … before he decided that Cruze was not one of the strong ones.

  But Cruze would show him. Someday. He would start by proving himself here in this jungle.

  Of those that were left, there was him and the girl Kess, the one with the bruise on her neck, though that had nearly faded away completely now. There was also a tall boy with dark skin, and a younger boy he had taken under his wing. One other girl remained, with dark red hair and a mottled purple-and-red mark around her eye that Cruze had assumed was a terrible bruise in the early days. But the color had remained exactly the same, so he guessed now it was a birthmark of sorts.

  It was her, the one with the mark, who made Cruze finally understand why all the others had been taken. He saw her save herself in a way that should not have been possible.

  It had rained so much and so often over the past few days that the river they depended on had swelled past its banks, swallowing up the rocky shelter they had claimed as their own. What had once been a calm and winding provider of sustenance became a ferocious blend of rapids and debris that rose with unexpected swiftness. Half their party had disappeared in the initial floods, never to be found—mostly the younger children who did not know how to swim, or those who had already grown too sick and weary to battle the rapids.

  But she—the girl with the mark—Cruze had seen her hold out a hand and stop a wall of rushing water in its tracks, giving her the extra seconds needed to climb up into the same tree in which he was already taking refuge.

  Even after they had relocated, the danger did not end. Animals had come after the floods. The rising water had displaced them too, so they were all on the run—everything from small, harmless creatures to wild boars to the large, predatory cats that stalked the jungle. It was the latter that had taken another member of their contingent.

  Kess had been the one to find the body. She and the marked girl had taken to wandering off together for long periods of time, sometimes to collect firewood or other supplies, sometimes for no reason at all. Cruze had sent one of his ghosts to follow them, in part because he was curious about the other girl’s abilities and because out of everyone, he felt a certain connection to Kess.

  He had had a great many visions since being stranded in the jungle, and he was learning to tell the ghosts apart, to communicate without words. In fact, he interacted far more with the invisible whispers and stirs of emotion than with the other children at the camp. When he heard Kess screaming, he feared the worst, and he yanked hard on the connection he had to the spirit watching her. Even from a distance, he received an answer, flashes of Kess, safe but distraught. He still tried not to care about the others, but that did not mean he wanted to be alone. And if that meant keeping someone alive with him, he intended for it to be the girl who was smart enough to save herself when needed.

  With directions from the spirit, he had been able to find the girls quickly in the woods. When he came upon Kess in the clearing, she was vomiting against a tree, and he knew why as soon as he saw the half-eaten body of the young girl who had wandered off to use the bathroom and had never come back. Her skin had been torn open in several places, and her insides were no longer where they were supposed to be. Instead they were scattered around her in a grotesque display.

  Another body he would have to deal with.

  The others were too squeamish, so Cruze had taken on the duty of disposing of bodies when nature did not do it for them. This would need to be addressed quickly or it would bring more predators crawling around their new camp.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Kess, who still hovered near the tree, her palms pressed to the bark and her head ducked low.

  “I do not know how much longer I can stay here.”

  “You are not her,” Cruze told her. “You are a survivor.”

  “Right now I am. But this place … if we stay here, it will take us eventually. Somehow, someway.”

  “You want to leave?”

  “Don’t you?” The question came not from Kess, but from the other girl, the one with the mark. Cruze scowled, turning to face her. A swarm of otherness pressed in around him, and he knew immediately what it was. He had made promises in his time here. He had seen deaths both in the present and the p
ast—so many that he was beginning to know the forest by the marks death left behind, by the memories and ghosts that lingered. They had opened themselves up to him, and he could not abandon them.

  “You two should go back to camp. I will deal with this,” Cruze said, gesturing toward the body, another death. He wondered if he would encounter her spirit at one point too.

  “Really though,” the red-haired girl continued. “You think it better to stay here than try to leave? Maybe we could make it out of the jungle, find another city to take us in.”

  Cruze resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He might have lived in a ramshackle house shared with near a dozen women, but one thing his father had done for him was provide the books needed to educate himself.

  “The nearest Stormling city is Odilar, on the other side of the Sahrain mountains. We would have to trek north through the entire jungle, then cross the mountain paths. Here at least we have water and some degree of shelter. If we leave, we are at the mercy of both the storms and the land.”

  The girl lifted her chin. “Then we don’t make for a city. We make for the coast. Perhaps we will have some chance there of finding help.”

  Curious. If she was a witch of water, as he suspected, she would feel more comfortable by the sea. His father had called the original magics evil. When Cruze had asked for a book on the subject, he had gotten a swift slap to his cheek, and an order never to speak of those magics again.

  But he did not think his father would approve of the voices he heard and the visions he saw either. Would they make him evil in his father’s eyes? After this long in the jungle on his own, Cruze decided he did not care what his father’s opinion would be. He had his own ideas on the subject.

  “On the coast, we will be a vulnerable target for the next hurricane. This is not a world in which one finds help,” he said.

  “So then what do you suggest?”

  Cruze was unsure what to make of the girl, the marked one—he had heard the others call her Jael. She looked at him with an expectant glare and asked, “Well? Do you have a suggestion or are you only here to tear apart ours?”

  Cruze straightened to his full height and said, “I suggest you keep surviving.”

  * * *

  Aurora did not recognize the building to which Kiran led them. It was only one street over from the palace walls, and appeared to be well kept. An intricately hand-painted sign hung over the door declared it THE MERMAID TAVERN. Aurora had little experience with taverns, but this one seemed nicer than most. The building was well painted and quite large—two, maybe even three floors. The inside was dark, but Kiran avoided the front door, leading them through a side alley and around back instead. He nodded to Ransom, and the man stepped up to the door at the back and gave a few hard knocks.

  There was no answer, and Aurora looked around nervously, wondering how long they had until the Locke soldiers would be crawling the streets looking for them. The storms had undoubtedly bought them some time, but the longer they spent out in the open, the more vulnerable they were.

  And it was all her fault. So many things were her fault that if she let herself think about them, let her mind wander in that direction, she feared she might collapse in on herself. So she treated the thoughts like she would a meddling soul and blocked them out.

  Ransom stepped up to the door again, this time knocking repeatedly until they heard movement on the other side. A lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing a haphazardly dressed Zephyr on the other side. She had replaced her rebellion gear for another one of the long, draped and flowing dresses that flattered her shape, but she appeared as if she had pulled it on in a hurry.

  “Bleeding skies,” the woman muttered. “Inside now, before anyone sees you.”

  Ransom went in first, his big body narrowly squeezing past Zephyr into the building beyond. Sly went next, and when Aurora hesitated, Kiran jerked his head for her to go in ahead of him. She did, but she hovered near to the door, waiting for him to pass through with her mother. By the time he did, Ransom had already cleared a nearby table of the chairs stacked on top, and Kiran swept forward, laying out her mother atop it with care.

  Aurora rushed over, hearing the slam of the door and the turn of multiple locks behind her.

  “What did you do?” Zephyr growled, pushing through the group until she stood facing Aurora across the table. “I already know you went against my orders.”

  “I don’t take orders from you,” Aurora shot back.

  “You do if you want to be part of this rebellion. There are lives at stake. Any miscommunication, any alteration in the plan could ruin us all.”

  Aurora did not answer. She couldn’t. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Zephyr was right. Jinx had walked into that palace with her today because she trusted her, because they were friends, and now she had lost her freedom, and possibly her life because Aurora had failed. Aurora could only hope that her note would save her. That the risk of revealing herself would pay off. If only she had not kept her plan a secret, if she had enlisted more help, if they had done reconnaissance rather than rushing in without more details … Aurora was no general in an army, nor was she a leader of a rebellion. She was a princess—a naive and defective one at that. How had she ever thought she could make a difference? Could do any of this?

  “Well…” Zephyr finally said, crossing her arms. “Is anyone going to tell me what you have here? Or did the princess simply miss her fancy linens and decided to take them with her?”

  Aurora gritted her teeth, and refused to rise to that bait. Instead, she leaned over the table and began folding back the sheets. Her mother’s hair came into view first—not quite as skyfire white as her own, more a starburst of pale blond and gray that shimmered in the low lantern light. It covered her face, and Aurora carefully pushed back the strands, tucking them behind her mother’s ears until her face was revealed.

  The room went deadly silent—not unlike the eerie quiet of a storm’s eye. Then things erupted in a cacophony of noise. An awed curse dropped from Bait’s mouth, at the same time that another curse, far less awed and more gruff, came from Ransom.

  “You kidnapped the queen and brought her here?” Zephyr said, somewhere between a shriek and a whisper. “Do you have any idea how many soldiers will be in here tonight, drinking ale, and shaking off the day’s battle? And you decided to put everything I have built at risk by coming to my place of business? Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  “We had to get off the streets,” Kiran replied. “This was the closest safe place I could think of.”

  “Safe,” Zephyr scoffed. “Safe? You are mad. The entire lot of you. This place is a lion’s den. On purpose. We cater specifically to soldiers and dignitaries and nobility in the hopes that they will let things slip when they are too deep in their cups. If there is ever even any suggestion or whisper that we are hiding something here, all of that goes away.”

  “I am sorry, Zephyr. I know it is not ideal,” Kiran said. “But the alternative was that we risked being seen with her as we crossed the city, or worse, captured. I made a judgment call.”

  Zephyr stared hard at Kiran, then shifted her gaze to focus on Aurora. “It seems to me your judgment is in question.”

  Aurora did not know whether that retort was directed specifically at her, or Kiran, or both. She did not particularly care at the moment. She was tired. Her body ached. Her spirit too. And her mind weighed far heavier things than the words of a near stranger.

  “I apologize for the disruption,” Aurora said. “But my mother is not well. She was being drugged by the Locke family. It’s why she sleeps. You may not like me—”

  “I don’t much like your mother either,” Zephyr snapped. “She might be better than the Lockes, but that does not make her a saint.”

  Aurora swallowed, and the truth tasted bitter all the way down. “I know that. I—I know you do not owe her anything. But you and I, we have an agreement. I take back the kingdom, you get to use and sell magic freely.”


  “Princess, after today I am not sure I trust you can even do that. Perhaps you need mother’s help. And what’s to say her royal highness won’t turn around and prosecute us all as soon as this is over?”

  “Aside from the fact that my mother may never wake—” Aurora steeled her voice and continued. “—I gave you my word. And I will keep it.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Frustrated, Aurora did the only thing left she could think of to do. She reached for the buckles on the neck of her leather vest and began pulling them free with hurried, agitated motions.

  “Aurora,” Kiran warned.

  “It’s the only way.”

  He pushed between her and Zephyr, blocking the other woman’s sight, and he laid a large hand over the two of hers where they worked.

  “Don’t.”

  Kiran’s voice was low and urgent, and it was the closest Aurora had been to him in days. Her hands felt freezing in comparison to his. She tilted her head up enough to meet his eyes. “I cannot run from it forever. I could run from this world into the next and still get no farther away.”

  His dark eyes bored into hers, and the intensity coming off him melted away some of her fatigue. She gently shook his hand off, and began working on the buckles again, less frenzied this time. “This is who I am. I either accept it, or live forever as a fragment of a whole. I told you on the night it happened I would never wish the world smaller, not even to make it easier. My mind has not changed.”

  She finished with the line of fastenings and peeled back the leather until a faint white-blue glow lit the space between them. She met his eyes once, firmly, and it was clear he still disagreed. But he had given up his right to have an opinion when he ran from what they had at the first sign of difficulty. He might be content to spend the rest of his life running from the truth, but she was not.