She cleared her throat. “She’s had a cough for a long time. Yesterday, she collapsed. Now she’s coughing up blood. I think she may also have a fever.” Her voice trailed off. Laid out like that, it sounded so serious. She hoped Dr. Maslak could just give her mother one of the potions she smelled through the doorway, and Mirela would be fine.
He nodded slowly. “Tell the captain I will be down this evening. Until then, keep her in bed. Try to soothe the cough as much as you can, and if she does have a fever, use cool rags to keep it contained.” He shut the door in her face. Behind it, Nadya heard his mutter, “First of the floodwater cases. Bit early, but not the last, not the last.”
Wondering what he meant, she turned to go. The Cinnabar district was unusually quiet—only a few people out and they seemed to be hurrying, heads bent low. The damp was less pronounced up here than back home, but it hung in the air like an oppressive curtain. People were struggling to accept another Great Storm. They had prepared for a season of storms no harsher than usual: a few days of storms, then a few weeks of being trapped by the waters of the Kyanite Sea. But Kesali had predicted the floodwaters would not recede until summer solstice, over two months away.
Nadya began to run down the stairs. If anyone saw her, no one paid any mind. It was as if the news of the Great Storm turned the city’s inhabitants into walking automatons.
A final gong rang out when Nadya reached the second tier. The Duke’s gathering in the Nomori square had begun, and she was missing it. Her parents as well, since Shadar would not have left Mirela’s side. She might already know about the oncoming Great Storm, but she did desperately want to know what the Duke was going to do about keeping peace after the storm, when the gates of Storm’s Quarry would be sealed by floodwaters.
She sped up. If she was lucky, she would be there for the last of it.
The Nomori square was nearly as full as the night of Arane Sveltura, but a distinct somberness pervaded the crowd. Nothing good could come of the Duke, his son, and a contingent of the Guard calling a meeting in the Nomori tier.
Nadya strained to see the figures beyond the red uniforms of the Guard, but she was too far away to make out anything. She heard the strong voice of the Duke, though. “We have all been shocked by this news, but we will not let shock turn into fear. Storm’s Quarry has faced worse in its history, and these walls still stand.” His grasp of Nomori was slow, halting, but clear.
Biting her lip, she looked around. Pushing through the crowd wasn’t an option; she might hurt someone. Instead, she headed toward the closest building, the Nomori public bathhouse. Scents of spices and beeswax soap drifted out of its cracked door as she slipped behind it. No one stood near the alley, and everyone’s attention was on the Duke. Nadya began to climb.
In the square, the Duke continued, “True, in times past, there was greater cause for worry. Such storms could not be predicted, and the city was often caught unaware and unprepared. That is no longer. Since you have joined us and become part of Storm’s Quarry, the gifts of your men and women have only strengthened our city.” She hopped over the wall and onto the roof with a small thump. Keeping low, she made her way to the other side of the roof.
Duke Isyanov stood on a makeshift stage. He wore simple clothes that would blend in on the third tier, if it were not for the jeweled collar around his neck—the signet of the leader of Storm’s Quarry. Beside the Duke, Lord Marko stood with his arm wrapped around Kesali’s shoulder.
Nadya stared. Her hands, gripping the raised edge of the roof, began to shake.
“Like her mother before her, Kesali Stormspeaker has given us a blessing. A forewarning of the storms that will come down on our city within the week. I thank her and the Protectress for the time they have given us,” the Duke said solemnly.
Whispers rose among the gathered crowds, most people nodding. For the Erevan ruler of Storm’s Quarry to acknowledge the power of the Protectress went a long way to bridging the chasm between him and the older Nomori.
Underneath her fingers, the marble of the roof began to crack. She could not pull her eyes away from Kesali, who looked out over the crowds with a calm, confident expression. She still wore traditional Nomori clothing, but that was not all. A chain of rubies encircled her neck. Every so often, she would reach up and touch it, as if reminding herself it was there.
“The Guard will be readying the city for this storm. They will assist in any way that you require—you need only ask. In six days, there will be a citywide lockdown. Stay in your homes, seal the doors, and wait out the rains. If we remain strong, this storm will pass easily.” For the first time, the Duke broke his somber expression with a smile. “Life goes on despite storms of any size, and I am grateful to give you a piece of glad news, something to hold on to through the coming weeks.” He nodded to Marko and Kesali, who both stepped forward.
Each heartbeat roared in Nadya’s ears, yet she felt lightheaded. She knew what was about to be said, she knew it in the very core of her being, because she was cursed by the Protectress, and someone who is cursed was not allowed to be happy.
“It has been twenty years since we welcomed you into our city, and I think it is past time that our peoples are bound by stronger roots.” Duke Isyanov put his hand on Marko’s shoulder. “I am happy to announce the betrothal of my son, Marko Isyanov, to Kesali Stormspeaker.”
The stone under Nadya’s hands turned to dust with a crunch as she curled her fingers into fists, knuckles white.
“It was the vision her mother and I held for the city when the first Stormspeaker saved us, and now it will bind our people together as one.” The Duke continued, but Nadya’s senses were slowly replaced by a dull roar.
Betrothed. Tears leaked down her face. She shook. So long in the planning. Kesali had known. She knew all this time, and yet she still allowed me to believe…
Anger so great that it frightened her built through her chest. Nadya stood up suddenly and sprinted off the back of the roof, leaping and coming down with the thud on a neighboring building. She had to get away before she did something she might regret.
Not paying attention to her step, she missed the edge of a roof and slipped into an alley. Her body hit stone with a crack, and Nadya bit back a scream. A hundred hot coals burned into her side. Gingerly, she got to her knees. She tried to stand but fell back.
The tears flowed freely now, and she couldn’t tell which pain caused them.
Nearly an hour passed there, in that alley among the stagnant drain water and rats, before Nadya struggled to her feet. She meandered through the streets of her district, not seeing anyone. No one saw her. The Duke’s announcement of a betrothal might have been an attempt to cushion the news of an oncoming Great Storm, but the Nomori were a practical people. When your family was down to the last piece of stale bread, your children crying from hunger, and your coin useless, a wedding mattered little more than a than a falcon wheeling its way across the sun.
Finally, her house was in sight, but there was someone standing on the stoop. The air rushed out of her like she had been punched in the stomach. She turned around quickly, but before she could run away, a voice called, “Nadya!”
Kesali’s voice.
Slowly, she turned. Kesali ran up to her. The ruby necklace, a betrothal necklace she realized with a taste like old salt filling her mouth, bounced with each step. “Nadya, I didn’t see you at the gathering.”
“I was there,” she mumbled, not meeting Kesali’s gaze.
“Oh.” Kesali started twirling the necklace again in a way that made Nadya want to throw up. “I just spoke to the captain. I’m sorry about your mother. I will pray to the Protectress that she gets well and soon.”
“Thank you.”
“Nadya, I am sorry I didn’t tell you before today, but everything moved so fast after I saw the storm coming, and—”
“Don’t lie to me.” Her hands at her sides were clutched into fists. She took a step back, just to be safe.
“What?” Kesal
i shook her head. “I’m not meaning to, I—”
“You’ve known. For a long time. You knew, and you still…” She couldn’t say the words.
“You mean Arane Sveltura? I…I did not know things would progress so fast. It was never certain. I was always told, one day.” Kesali reached out for Nadya’s hand. “Please, I meant everything that night.”
Nadya snatched her hand away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You know the struggles our people face. This might be the solution, to one day have a ruler who is half Nomori. We cannot keep up the walls we’ve built between us and them. I am a tool for that peace.” Kesali’s voice shook. “Don’t you see? I have to do this, just as I have to predict the storms. It’s for a better future for everyone. It has nothing to do with love. It cannot. I…I could not love Marko, not…” She stopped. “Nadya, I—”
“No!” Nadya practically shouted. She drew a deep breath. The sadness that crept into Kesali’s liquid eyes burned her, but she shoved that pain away. “You cannot have both. You chose this. Yes, you’re very noble, and that is fine. But you cannot come here and think you get to have both. That is your path. So take it back up to your palace, milady.” Nadya stormed passed her, to her front door. Behind her, Kesali did not speak.
*
The Protectress was punishing her.
For as long as Nadya could remember, the name of the Nomori deity, the ever-loving, ever-watchful spirit that kept her people safe, brought warmth to her chest. When other children teased her, she would hide in her loft, not letting either of her parents up. She huddled in a corner and held her seal close to her chest, praying. At the time, she never thought of it as praying. It was speaking to an older sister, a guardian, a friend.
Those days were long gone. Ever since she discovered her abilities, ever since the accident and her first deadly encounter with her strength, Nadya struggled to believe that she was not some kind of monster in Nomori skin, a curse unleashed upon the city. Now, she knew. The Protectress had given her a test those years ago when her abilities appeared. She’d failed. She continued to fail, then with the Erevan boy, now with Duren, with the gang in Brishen’s bakery, with her mother.
“Lung rot,” Dr. Maslak had said. With those words, the world of the Gabori family shattered. Shadar held Mirela tightly, as she tried to keep a brave face. Nadya stood off in the corner. Her tears were used up for the day.
“I am sure of it,” the doctor continued. “Too much exposure to damp. The coming storm will only worsen it. I don’t need to tell you how dangerous it is. Hope remains, though. There are medicines, but they are expensive, now so more than ever. I can give you an address, but I cannot promise anything.”
That was five days ago. In five days, Nadya saw lines in her mother’s face she hadn’t noticed before, and gray hairs and hollow cheekbones. In five days, Storm’s Quarry turned from a city of life to one under the oppressive shackles of the sky. She finally understood why Erevans used to worship storm gods. The storms truly controlled the city. Store shelves grew bare as everyone stocked their larders for what was coming. The doors to the mines were sealed shut to keep the rainwater from pouring in; the same was done for Miners’ Tunnel and the outer city gate. The Guard instituted a harsh curfew and mandatory district checkpoint. Shadar was barely home, so busy was he in the city, enforcing peace and quelling panic with raised rapiers and loaded muskets. Nothing had actually escalated to violence, but it did not bode well for the coming time of floodwaters, when the storm’s recession would leave the city trapped by the sea for two months. No food could get in, and Storm’s Quarry had little in the way of anything other than its gem mines. The city relied on trade for survival. No one could get out either. In the past, it was a peaceful, if tense time, with only a handful of disturbances. But a Great Storm was sure to be different.
In five days, Nadya slowly became numb to the news of Kesali’s betrothal. She hadn’t seen the Stormspeaker since that day. Instead, she spent her time damp-proofing the house, something she should have paid more attention to the past months. If she had, perhaps the doctor’s verdict would have been different.
Now, with the morning skies still dark with clouds and stars, Nadya donned her new disguise and left home. The cloak did encumber her a bit as she leapt between buildings, running up to the fourth tier her own way to avoid any unpleasant encounters with the Duke’s Guard, but the anonymity it and the scarf she pulled across her mouth provided was well worth it. Any who saw her from the street would only note a billowing, dark figure streaking above them.
Stone cracked under her boots as she landed on the roof of the practice of one of the best-known Erevan physicians in Storm’s Quarry. Unlike Dr. Maslak, this one treated only those who could pay dearly for it. Manors rose up on either side of the modest building. Below, on the meticulously maintained street, few pedestrians were out before the sun rose.
With few people out, no one would know who was breaking into the offices of a physician. Any signs of a break-in would be attributed to looters, a growing reality as the storm approached.
She climbed down the slanted roof. Her fingers clung to the edge of the final row of shingles. Twisting her body, Nadya peered down at the stone wall. A window sat ten paces underneath her. She pressed her legs against the wall until her knees bent, then pushed off. As she swung back toward the building, Nadya let go of the roof. Her boots hit the glass-paned window, shattering it, and she tumbled through onto expensive carpet.
She jumped to her feet. The room was deserted. Plush chairs stood in tasteful patterns, interspaced with ferns and other potted plants. Nadya did another sweep to make sure some servant wasn’t on duty, then went to the door. It was locked, but she broke it easily. The door creaked open. A hundred different scents hit her full in the face. She blinked away tears and looked up to survey the shelves of medicines in glass bottles labeled neatly. It took a moment for her to find what she came for: a vial stamped with an X divided by a line, the symbol of lung rot. She gingerly placed it in her belt pouch and left.
She hurried home, skidding across rooftops. At the edge of the fourth tier, just before the wall that separated it from the lower parts of the city, she paused. She was not far from Jurek’s manor, and the murder that had taken place there. Was Duren still alive, or had news of the Great Storm hastened his execution?
A lightning bolt snapped down from the sky. It lit up the entire world for half a moment, not even a full breath, before it struck the roof of a manor not far from where Nadya stood. She leapt back. The air buzzed. Hairs on her arms stood up. Thunder boomed, shaking the city to its roots. Nadya clasped her hands over her ears.
The first raindrop fell on her bare hand. Soon, it was joined by many others. The sky darkened as a curtain of rain advanced over the city. The Great Storm of the Blood Sun had come.
Chapter Eight
In the thousand years that Storm’s Quarry occupied a lone rock in the midst of the Kyanite Sea, every spring brought the season of storms. Torrential rains poured from heaven. Lightning split the sky as the storm gods ripped at the veil between the mortal world and the beyond. Over the years, the storms had lost a bit of their potency, with deadly onslaughts a rarity. According to the archives up in the palace, the realm of the Head Cleric and his apprentice, there had been twelve Great Storms in the history of the city. Those living now in Storm’s Quarry more than two decades old were the first to see two in their lifetimes.
It rained. It rained like the heavens dumped out a bottomless bucket on the city, hardly a hair’s breadth between monstrous drops. Water sloshed down through the culverts. It rose to chest height in the upper parts of the city. In the Nomori tier, no one could leave their home for fear of being drowned by waves of rainwater, higher than the tallest man. Any caught out in the storm died. There were probably a few drunken fools whose bodies would be found floating somewhere when the skies cleared. At the base of the wall, deep under the floodwaters, the steam pumps were the only things in the ci
ty working, tirelessly pumping the water out and over the walls. They hardly made a dent in the rainwater that filled Storm’s Quarry to the brim.
Up in her loft, Nadya could hear nothing but the dripping of water leaking into the house and her parents’ breathing, Shadar’s quiet and Mirela’s harsh and catching. The constant roar of the rain drowned out all else, but for sharp thoughts of Kesali. Nadya sat on her pallet. Her legs twitched with extra energy. She wanted nothing more than to burst through the stone wall and run until she could not run anymore. To let her feelings be swept away by currents, over the wall and out to sea. To purge the image of the newly betrothed couple from her mind.
Her family barely spoke. Shadar stayed next to Mirela, quietly stroking her hair as she tried to rest. The medicine kept the worst of the coughing at bay, but she looked pale and sickly in the light of the single lamp. On the fifth day of the rains, their final candle flickered out, and they sat in darkness.
The rain lasted two more days.
On the morning of the seventh day, Nadya dreamed of running. She raced along the rooftops of Storm’s Quarry, wearing only her nightshirt. Everyone who passed her recognized her. Their shouts fueled her legs. She leapt, and her feet found air. She was running through the sky, over the floodwaters, tracing the rivers her ancestors had once sailed.
Silence woke her. She started, hitting her head against the stones. She smiled as she realized what the silence meant. The storm is over!
Nadya heard her parents’ voices as she climbed off her pallet. She was surprised Shadar hadn’t been called out by the Duke’s Guard yet. Perhaps the city was not yet free enough of water for anyone to be out. She cursed under her breath as she stretched. Her body ached to get out of the house and run and jump and get away from the world, but there would be time enough in the next few days to explore the flooded city from its rooftops. Climbing down, Nadya nearly stumbled back at the bright smiles on her parents’ faces.
The Iron Phoenix Page 8