by Cora Carmack
Their humor quieted as they put on their clothes, some of which were still damp from the day before. It would make for an unpleasant day, but they did not have much of a choice. Kiran caught a rabbit, while Aurora gathered berries and greens for their breakfast, then they set out from their camp, being careful to mark their journey by placing piles of rocks or large fallen tree limbs to help them recall their way back.
They found their way back to the river, and followed it farther from the city until they came upon an area where the water slowed and spread out into a calm pool before traveling on again in a small, more winding stream. The area around the pool was large and open enough that it would provide them ample space, but it was slightly lower in elevation, giving them some cover. Aurora guessed it was the best they would do, unless they wanted to travel even farther from the city.
Kiran knelt over the satchel, unpacking supplies for both him and her, laying them in two neat piles. For him, he had numerous empty vessels with which to collect magic. Aurora did not know whether these were jars they had had on hand that had already been enchanted by Jinx before her capture, or if he had sought out another witch—Zephyr, perhaps.
In her pile, he laid a series of Stormhearts, some of which belonged to him, others duplicates from the crew’s collection.
Still kneeling over the supplies, he looked up at her and asked, “What would you like to try first?”
Aurora searched the pile of Stormhearts, waiting for something to jump out at her, but her stomach was a jumble of nerves.
She shrugged and asked, “Where would you like to start?”
“Maybe something simple to begin? Wind? Or rain?”
Aurora nodded immediately, glad he had not jumped to something like a firestorm first. For while she was fairly confident now in her ability to call a storm, she was still unpracticed in her ability to control them. And it was just the two of them alone out here. If something went wrong … she could not think of that. Starting small did indeed seem the best option.
“Wind,” she said. “Maybe it will dry our clothes the rest of the way.”
He grinned. “Wind it is.”
He offered the Stormheart up to her, and she took it, turning it over in her hands. “How much do you think we need?”
He shrugged. “Wind is moderately useful. It can make a good distraction.”
“It is also good for clearing fog in a pinch,” she added, frowning at the memory of that day in the palace, the last time she had seen Jinx and Nova.
“I think we can get a mix of things to send to Zephyr. Then if she wants more or less of anything, she can let us know.”
Aurora nodded, then looked to Kiran. He was looking at her, and she realized she was stalling. With a sigh, she took a few steps back and closed her eyes. She began preparing to lower her walls, but this time she remembered what Sly had said about focusing on the boundaries of herself, not just keeping intrusions out. She worked to find those edges, and at the same time she let the walls she held up between herself and the world fall.
The barrage of sensation and souls was immediate, but the advice from Sly did help. It was not another barrier, per se, but it held her apart just enough to keep her from getting lost in the chaos.
Then it was time to find a soul. Aurora could have picked any of them, could have forced the bonding of soul and storm, but she thought there was a better way.
Focusing, she tried to pinpoint exactly the way it had felt when she had been trapped in Pavan with no options, no future but the one decided for her. She remembered the claustrophobia of it, the way she would open every window in her rooms to let in the breeze so that she might pretend that her world was not so closed off. Once she had that feeling, once she had shaped every nuance of helpless frustration in her mind, she sent it out into the wilds, searching for a soul that knew that same ache.
It did not take long for one to rise up from the pool of water nearby; it came at her gasping, as if it had been drowning for eternity and she was the only rope that had ever been offered. She took hold, offering comfort and assurance.
I know, I know, she crooned. I felt the same.
The soul sent her fragments of a life—not enough to piece together any true identity, but enough to know it was a woman whose soul she held. Her husband had worked at the dockyard. And he had not been a good man. His wife had feared him a great deal.
Aurora was bombarded then with flashes of a young boy, of the Pavan gates, and a panoramic view of the wildlands, storms flashing dramatically in the distance.
You felt trapped.
She was still trapped, by the memories, perhaps by the son she had left behind.
I would like to give you a taste of freedom, if you would trust me.
“Aurora?” Kiran’s voice sliced through her concentration, breaking the bond, and she barely managed to hold the woman’s spirit in place. She held up a finger in frustration, and focused back on the woman.
I promise, I mean you no harm. Will you trust me?
Aurora laid her soul bare for the spirit, trying to show she had no malice. Finally, the spirit accepted, submitting completely to Aurora’s control.
Carefully, Aurora did as she had only a few times before, drawing the soul through the stone she bore in her palm. This time, there was no gust like there had been with the soldier soul in the palace. A light breeze lifted the hair off Aurora’s neck to start, then swept through the trees, rustling the leaves. Aurora felt a prickle of excitement in the air as a stronger gust turned and blew over the river, causing a few waves on the previously still surface.
She heard Kiran murmur something nearby, but the words passed by unrecognized.
That’s it, Aurora encouraged. Stay close to me, but you can blow as fast as you would like.
She felt a flurry of wind whirl around her, and opened her eyes to find herself in the midst of a wondrous vortex, dotted with leaves, burgeoning with warmth and relief that only Aurora could feel. She too felt a little more free having experienced it.
* * *
Cassius did not bother trying to disguise his identity, not for this venture outside the castle. And from the moment he entered through the swinging tavern door, the volume of the establishment grew quiet and eyes followed his movement.
Groups of soldiers who had no doubt been carousing only moments before seated themselves sedately around wooden tables, suddenly on their best behavior. But it was not them he came to seek.
His gaze roved over the room, and he was impressed by the crowd. From what he heard, The Mermaid Tavern drew similar numbers nearly every night. The room was cast in a blue tint, and he heard the sound of running water somewhere. Waitresses moved throughout the room in long shimmering skirts, no doubt meant to reference the tavern’s mythological namesake.
Growing up near the sea, Cassius had gone through a fascination with mermaids himself as a boy. He had read the stories of their unrivaled, irresistible beauty, and that alone would have piqued the interest of most young boys. But it was not only that which had drawn Cassius to the stories. His father had instilled in him the spirit of a conqueror from the time he could walk. No accomplishment was ever enough, not when it could be done faster or to a greater degree. So a young Cassius had contrived a plan to capture a mermaid, the first step toward conquering the inhospitable seas. It was how he had found the lagoon that eventually became his sanctuary away from Locke. As a young boy, he would spend day after day there, setting up traps, devising new ways in which to lure a creature of the sea into his control.
Then one day a hurricane had come in unexpectedly fast from the coast. The water had disappeared from the lagoon as he worked on one of his traps. He turned to see the very ocean disappearing, drawing away from the land as if someone had pulled a plug. For a moment, he had panicked, worried that a mermaid had somehow found out his plan, and was taking the ocean away as punishment.
Then the skies had turned black and the winds had begun to change. He had barely made it back to
the palace before a hell like he had never known descended upon the city. That was the first time he had helped his father with storm duty—because the winds were so strong, the storm so vast, that it battered the entire peninsula for days before the storm’s heart was near enough for his father to challenge. Every Stormling in the kingdom worked in shifts in an attempt to contain that storm. But still the flooding and winds brought significant death to the city.
That was when Cassius changed his idea of what it meant to conquer. Unlike his father, he stopped caring about land, about riches and status. Cassius Locke wanted to control that which would not be controlled. He wanted the kind of power he saw in that tempest, the kind that could pull the very ocean from where it rested. He wanted the ability to conquer death, or as close as he could come to it.
He hated to admit it to himself, but he wanted what the Stormlord had.
But for today, in this tavern, Cassius would settle for answers to a few of his questions from the tavern owner he had heard so much about. As he approached the bar, one of the sparkling waitresses intercepted him, bending courteously as much as her costume would allow. “Your Highness, may I escort you to a private table upstairs?”
Cassius lifted his chin, trying to peer at the upper level. It could be seen from downstairs, so the danger of an ambush was minimal. And he knew some of his commanders did business here, meetings with soldiers or informants and the like.
“Only if the owner will meet me for a drink.”
The girl’s smile stiffened, but she did her best not to let it show. “I am not sure the owner is in, but I can certainly find out for you, Your Highness.”
He pressed his lips into a stern line and said, “You do that.”
Cassius let the girl lead him up the stairs to the private area, where he was seated at a large booth meant for a party of five or more. He ordered a strong drink and sank back into the cushions, inspecting the environment around him. Upstairs was more elaborately decorated with hanging vines and plants. Combined with the blue light and ocean sounds, the decor kept drawing his memories to the past, to shores where he had wandered as a child and then grown into a man. A peculiar twist pulled somewhere below his ribs; it was not overly painful, more like the smallest of blades had been slipped between the bones there. Smaller even, a needle perhaps. But every time he breathed in the air in this place, he felt it pinch a little more. And with it came simple, innocuous memories—his bare feet sinking into the sand, the constancy of the waves that crashed against the bank, the otherworldly quiet of his little lagoon, broken only by the occasional call of a bird or croak of a frog.
The emergence of memories had become disquieting enough that he was considering leaving when another woman arrived, setting a drink on the table. Something dark, two fingers deep in a small glass. This waitress was not wearing the same costume as the other, but her dress was equally as appealing. Draped in expensive maroon fabric, the waitress had generous hips, and skin a shade darker than his own. He guessed she was of coastal origins, like him.
He nodded his thanks, and took a sip of the drink. It went down smooth; the burn did not start until a few moments after he swallowed, when he could already feel the warmth spreading in his stomach.
“Good,” he commented.
“I am glad you like it,” the woman said, her voice deeper than he would have guessed. Then she slid into the booth across from him.
He stiffened. He was not in the mood for this kind of attention. He was well aware that this place was popular for the female companionship it provided, but that was not why he had come. He looked at the woman—her eyes were dark, but not quite as dark as the sable hair that poured over her shoulders. There was so much of it that even with the dozens of braids she wore, there was still more than enough loose for two false wigs, should she ever be in dire enough straits to sell it. Her brows were thick, almost mannish, but it somehow all balanced out when combined with her wide, red-painted lips.
“I mean no offense, but I am not here for company. I only wish to speak to your boss.”
Those red lips pursed as she blew out a breath, then pulled wide as she gave him a chagrined smile. “That might prove difficult.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“I have no boss.”
“Your employer, then.”
“I am the employer, Your Highness.” As Cassius looked at her, dumbstruck, she continued, “I was told you have questions.”
He was quick to recover, shifting his evaluation of her to note the unreadable expression on her face, the unintimidated tilt of her head, and the single black silk glove she wore on her left hand. He had miscalculated indeed. This woman was a mystery. She was the tavern owner? The Pavanian nobleman he knew had described someone with their finger on the pulse of the city, with the ability to pull whatever strings needed to get a man the information or item he needed. He took her in again—from the elegant dress to her thick fall of hair to the shrewd look in her eyes.
She smiled and spoke. “Forgive me, Your Highness—I am, of course, happy to cooperate in whatever way the crown may ask, but you have caught me in the midst of a busy night. Is there something you needed?”
Cassius was unsure how to continue in his quest. He had been planning to threaten the man he encountered, but now … he was not sure if that was the course of action he wanted.
“I pride myself on my ability to garner information.”
The woman’s shoulders stiffened for the briefest of moments, but she did not hesitate to meet his eyes.
“What kind of information?” she asked.
“Every kind. You never know what will be useful.”
The woman nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds wise.”
“I had heard once upon a time that the proprietor of this tavern had some connection to the Eye.”
No reaction that time. Well, that was not quite true. After a moment’s pause, she smiled. “I cannot tell you anything about that, Your Highness. The Eye is long gone, or did not your brother tell you?”
He stared at her, wondering if she could possibly know the open wounds she was dragging mud through with her flippant comments.
“I know that. But did you … have a connection?”
She laughed. “Can’t say that I did.”
“I am not looking to punish you for some crime you may or may not have committed in the past.”
“You don’t say? Well, don’t I feel ever so much better.”
“As I said before, I am only looking for information. I had heard that the person who ran this tavern was who I should go to if I ever needed information that was difficult to obtain.”
“And what information is it that you need?”
“I have it on some authority that there is … a magic user in the city.”
She stared at him, unflinching. “A magic user? Would you not qualify as that?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I am afraid I do not. If you want information from me, you will have to spell it out clearly.”
“An earth witch. I am looking for an earth witch,” he snapped.
The woman inhaled, considering. “I hate to disappoint you, Your Highness, but there are no earth witches running around the city that I know of.”
“Have there been?” he demanded.
“I did hear rumors of someone like you are describing, but she has not been seen for quite a while.” He searched her eyes, and she did not flinch under his gaze. She stared right back, her eyebrows lifted, almost in challenge.
Cassius cursed and threw back more of the burning liquid. Whoever the witch was, she must have left the city right after she rescued the queen. He thought about asking about the princess directly, but he could not trust the woman with such a direct question. Not yet.
“What about newcomers? Anyone new to the city who sticks out?”
She gave him an exasperated look. “There are about a thousand newcomers camped outside the gates, but inside? No, Your Highness, I have not noticed anyo
ne new inside, other than your soldiers.”
She stood from her seat across from him, the fabric of her dress falling artfully down her body. “If you have any more questions, you know where to find me.”
It was not until she had disappeared down the stairs that Cassius realized he still did not know her name.
The tempests came without ceasing. As soon as the king engaged one in battle, another emerged to bear down on the city. After days of torment, the water breached the first walls. As the floodwaters ravaged the lowest levels of the city, Finneus stood high atop the castle’s battlements with his uncle, the screams searing his soul.
—The Tale of Lord Finneus Wolfram
18
Kiran had always preferred the wildlands. But the wildlands alone with Aurora? That was more of a blessing than he ever could have dreamed. During the day, he watched in absolute awe as she brought storms to life before his eyes. And at night, they kept each other safe from the cold, wrapped up so completely in each other that it was torture to untangle themselves come morning.
But he did it anyway, because the sooner they were out of bed and fed, the sooner they could start their walk down the river. It was a long journey, and Kiran was determined to soak up every moment he could. He asked her every question he could think of. Some were silly—things about food or colors or animals. Others were more introspective—regrets and accomplishments and hopes. Anything that she would tell him, he wanted to know.
“Do you like it?” he asked, as they made their way to the pool for another day’s collection.
“It?” she asked, her eyebrow raised and a provocative smile pulling across her mouth.
He tugged on the hand he held, pulling her close enough to steal a kiss. “Not that, Princess. I mean your magic. Now that you have it mostly figured out. Do you like it?”
She considered the question as they walked, their intertwined hands swinging lightly between them. “I think I do.” She continued, “It is still odd, of course. And I would rather avoid the darker souls altogether. But the rest … it is heartbreaking how many there are, and how their lives—full and real and detailed—have been reduced to a series of impulses and emotions. It is as if someone made a shaded copy of an etching on a piece of paper. And then copied that paper, and the next, again and again until all but the most pronounced designs of the original etching had been lost. That is what so many of these spirits are. They are holding onto trauma from memories they no longer have. I feel like I get to provide them an escape. And I do not know, maybe … maybe a few of them will find their way to the next life through it.”