Sword of Storms

by Tara Brown

  Her breath left in a short burst.

  He got closer, the scar on his face becoming visible. She remembered her fingers tracing the lines of it. His body inside hers, sheets crinkling, sweat dripping—a soft moan escaped her lips as she felt it again, felt him. Her breath picked up in speed, matching his.

  “I love you, Lenny. I always have.” He was so close, his whisper brushed wind against her lips.

  Scar whimpered, nudging Lenny.

  She glanced down, losing the connection she had with Ryze.

  She blinked and the ring on her finger reminded her where she needed to go.

  “Crail!” she screamed. Ryze screamed at the same time, running at her but the mist faded and the darkness took over.

  Lenny gasped for air as the stars disappeared and the smell of dirt flooded her nostrils.

  Lying on her back, heaving her breath, Lenny felt the dogs at her side. Light was filtering in the box, silvery moonlight just like the night she had left.

  Was she still in the forest outside Mamble?

  The dogs whimpered again.

  Lenny took a deep breath and in the silvery light she could see the mist of her breath. She shivered from the cold as Ollie jumped up, forcing the lid off them. He hopped out of the coffin, followed by Scar. Lenny sat up and eyeing the dilapidated coffin, she knew she wasn’t in the same place. The snow on the ground was the second indicator.

  Had she been in there for months?

  Was that possible?

  She could still smell the incense in the air as she climbed out, noting the hunger pains in her stomach. She gripped her clothing, shivering and stumbling from the snow-covered coffin.

  A sound caught her ear, drawing the hounds’ and her attention. Golden-colored light at the edge of the woods beckoned her.

  Lenny hurried forward, shivering and starved.

  “There ya are!” a small voice called to her.

  Lenny could see a lady at the edge of the forest. She waved and hurried forward.

  “Ya must be Lenny Evadarc.”

  Lenny parted her chattering lips to correct her but the woman was right. Lenny was an Evadarc. Lenny Evadarc. Lady Lenny. Wife to Lord Ivor.

  “I am,” Lenny called back.

  “Took ya long enough to get here. I thought perhaps I’d missed ya.” She smiled wide. She was older than Lenny but not by much. “I’m Nance Woodstock. Your cousin on your gran’s side. My gran was Eileen Anshul’s sister before she died. Sally Anshul.”

  Lenny offered a cold hand to the woman, feeling the spark of kinship the moment their hands touched.

  “You are just as pretty as I heard,” Nance commented, beaming at her much taller cousin. She had to be the shortest woman Lenny had ever seen. But the sparkle in her eyes matched Gran’s perfectly.

  “How did you know I was coming?”

  “Blackwater Maggie, she sent a message ya would be here soon, but that was ages ago. Said I was to ensure all your questions were answered. Said it was a matter of life and death.” Nance lifted her pale eyebrows. “Matter of life and death from a woman such as herself makes me curious, Cousin, I will admit it. I’ve come to the woods twice daily for months—”

  “Months?” Lenny asked, her worst fears confirmed.

  “Indeed. It’s the first night of Yule tonight.” Nance drifted her gaze to the hounds. “And who are these beauties?”

  “Ollie and Scar,” Lenny spoke softly, counting the days she had been in the coffin. It was too many. She had been missing for months. Lord Ivor. She nearly turned and ran back for the coffin but starvation, exposure, and the fear she might end up trapped in there again convinced her to stay put.

  “Well, come and meet the family. Dinner will be a feast!” Nance turned and led the way into the town of Crail.

  Lenny stared at the ring of markings on her finger and wondered if he could feel that she was all right. Her heart ached as if the distance and time passed had caught up with her.

  “This is our house.” Nance pointed at a large home on the corner of a street near the woods. The glow and warmth of it gave Lenny chills before they even entered the door. “Welcome to it, and happy Yule, Cousin.” Nance beamed.

  Lenny smiled back, forcing herself to remain calm. “Thank you for coming to find me. And happy Yule to you too, Nance.”

  “Let’s eat. Ya must be starved!” She hurried inside with the hounds hot on her tail, even Scar.

  Lenny paused on the doorstep for one moment longer, staring up at the stars. She closed her eyes, feeling for him. And he was there. She smiled sensing he was looking at the stars too, thinking about her.

  And it would have to do for now.

  It would have to be enough.

  The End

  Also by Tara Brown

  If you enjoy this genre, In the Fading Light is similar.

  Here is a sample chapter of In the Fading Light!

  This isn’t the story I wish it were.

  It isn’t a love story.

  Please try to see the light in the dark.

  Because it is there, hidden and frightened, always overshadowed.

  The Blood

  The trees sway, tickling each other with their branches, rustling the leaves like secrets being whispered into the breeze. I am not sure if the wind uses them or they use the wind, but the exchange is mesmerizing. A welcome distraction from my current situation.

  “Are you ready, my lady?”

  A slow smile crosses my lips. She never calls me that unless we are here. Here, the place I used to love coming to see my siblings, is now a place something I want no part of is about to happen. And there are no siblings left.

  Her right eye shines as if any second a rogue tear will slip from it, outing us for the lie we live, pretending happiness when we are in pain.

  She doesn’t wish it either; the day, the future, the lie.

  We had plans—plans to enjoy life free of the burdens of castle and crown.

  We had dreams of fleeing to my uncle’s lands again, the place we were the happiest. We only came here to bury one of my brothers, the second to last of my cursed siblings. We had secured passage and were preparing to leave when my remaining brother died, and my name day was sprung upon us.

  My name day.

  A day that should not have come.

  Not even in the darkest off hells would we have imagined this fate.

  And now the idea of being named sickens me.

  “The dirt on his grave is fresh and black,” I whisper, “they can’t expect me to take the throne so soon. It was to be his. It was always his. It was never mine.”

  Gail, my closest friend and companion, grips my hand as her eyes follow mine out the window, to the mound of dirt in the yard of graves where my kin is placed. My beloved siblings are there. All of them but me. Legend says if you sit on the surrounding rocks, you can hear the cries of my family mixed with the windswept gulls and ravens. But alas, I have yet to hear them. Perhaps they avoid me.

  “They expect you to take your name, Estelle, that is all. Your father would prefer you not to have the throne. He wants you married, so your husband may run the kingdoms. He is not the sort of man to leave a kingdom to a daughter.” Gail scoffs, our feelings for my father matching.

  “Marriage. Has he chosen for me yet?” I ask, hoping she has heard some castle gossip. Certainly the servants would know before I would. My parents have not spoken to me in at least a year’s time. Their recent years have been riddled with deaths, pain, and loss. Deaths they likely wished were mine instead.

  “Yes.” Her tone darkens as I imagine her face does, but I can’t meet her gaze as she speaks the names; my eyes are stuck to my brother’s grave. I wish I could hold his hand, press my lips against his cheek, and tease him like I always did. “The Prince of Seven Rivers, Edmond Lamont, and a prince from the South, Prince Griffin Giovanna. They both arrive tonight for the ceremony.”

  “From the South? Are you certain?”

  “I am.” She swallows
what appears to be a lump. “Quite certain. The son of the king of all the South, apart from your uncle’s lands, naturally.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Her grip tightens. “You are lucky. They are handsome and young. Your sister did not fare so well.”

  “Fare well?” I drag my eyes from the graves of my family, desperate to rein in the threatening tears that beg to accompany my wavering voice. “I am the last of seven brothers and sisters. I do not feel lucky. I feel cursed. My sister died in childbirth and five brothers all died in either lonesome misery or my father’s wars. I am the very last child, and my parents’ eyes are heavy with the pain they have suffered, thus I am more akin to the last burden than heir. For I am not my obedient sister nor one of my noble brothers. I am the last and least of their hopes. Once I too am dead, they will be free of the reminder of all they have lost. They would be better off if I ran away. I could fake my death. They would live out their years free of the last of the children, and I would have the life I always wanted. Free from all this.”

  “Don't you dare utter those words.” Her dark eyes sparkle with ferocity and passion. “You are still of the blood, you are still their child, and you are still my queen-to-be. Remember that well.” Her words are bold for a servant but she is not that to me. She is Gail, my friend and handmaiden. She has been with me since she was five and I was three. She is mine, and the only thing or person in the world—and that includes my own heart—who is honest with me at all times. She is the only one who loves me for no reason. The last one. The other six people who loved me that way are gone, lining the yard of graves with all that is left of them, husks and hair. And honestly, they never loved me as well as she does.

  I relent and let her wipe my face free of the remnants of pain that linger in my heart. Pain I will never be free of.

  “Cheer up.” She forces a merry face and winks at me. “The prince from the South is finer than the prince from the North. Perhaps if you smile and nod enough, he will be yours, and your parents will take to their old age gracefully and give you both the kingdom. The throne is yours either way—why not have a handsome man to fill the hours between council and celebrations?”

  She always lightens the mood, but I’m not in the mood for talk of men. “You have a tainted mind. You have since we visited that city in the sands, near my uncle’s palace, where that one particularly handsome man led you out into the gardens they called an oasis.”

  Her eyes widen and her cheeks fill with color, but it’s not embarrassment she feels as she revisits her night with the man she thought I was unaware of. My cheeks blush watching her.

  “If such a man existed here, I would never leave his arms.” She lifts a finger to graze her lower lip. The whole thing is obscene, but I am excited for her. At least she has lived. In our travels I have always been chaperoned and observed. I have yet to know the warmth of a man pressed against me. I have yet to create memories as lewd as the one she is reliving.

  My stomach tightens, making me uncomfortable as she dallies in the memory. I walk to the door, leaving her in her trance of debauchery and sin. The hallway is silent, everything is. No one is eager to have a party for the last of the blood. The least of the blood. No one wants to celebrate my name, not even me.

  If I am able to find a corner to fade into, I will. From there I will plan my silent escape. I will be free of this life. I will live in the forest if I must, as a peasant who survives off the earth and asks for nothing. I would rather a thousand lives of that, than one of forced marriage and a cold wedding bed.

  My shoes click on the stone floors, announcing me before I am ready. The eyes below glance up the stairs to find me, paused and worrisome. The crowd of hundreds is spread across the wide-open gathering room and at least half have noticed me. The smiles are forced. They match my own. We all pretend everything is fine; it will be an entire night of it. And then, once I am married, it will be an entire life of it.

  The crowd moves, adjusting for someone making their way to me. I expect my father but a man comes from behind my so-called friends and family and townsfolk.

  He’s handsome and young, and I have to assume he’s one of the princes. He doesn’t appear to be tainted by the stain of recent pain and death, unlike the rest of the room. He is fresh and revived. But it too could be an act. People like us are skilled at it. The best actors in all the kingdoms do not dwell in the playhouses but rather the castles. The closer I get to him, the more intrigued I become. He is handsome but there is something else to him. Maybe a secret. I want to know it, whatever it is. I want to know him. It’s an odd feeling to be instantly intrigued by a stranger. He doesn’t smile at me as a stranger would; perhaps I have made his acquaintance before.

  My father peers up at me from his goblet. His stare pulls my eyes from the face of the intriguing man coming my way. Unlike the stranger’s, my father’s face is filled with something morbid. I read the thought maybe or silent wish in his gaze. It’s one that he dares not say aloud but it fills his heart. Why her? Why is she the last of the blood? Why not one of my boys?

  His silent questions match my own, though I would never reveal this to him. I would never wish a bad thing upon myself, but why me?

  Why not one of my brothers?

  How is it possible I am the last standing heir of my family?

  Are the gods so cruel?

  My father excuses himself and crosses the room to me, parting the sea of people much smoother than the man almost begging to make my acquaintance. Father clears his throat and holds a hand up when he reaches us. “My daughter, Princess Estelle Dumont, last of the blood and heir to my throne.”

  The man steps toward me as if we are well acquainted. Perhaps we have met and I was young, too young to have paid him much notice. He does look a touch older than I am. He clasps his hands around mine, holding them like they are something breakable. “My princess, I am Prince Edmond Lamont, and I’m honored to make your acquaintance.”

  My wicked brain has a thought, If he’s the less attractive one, the other prince must be perfection.

  “Prince Edmond.” Ignoring my own imaginations, I curtsy and smile. I don’t have to force it as much when I gaze into his dark-blue eyes. He looks like he’s from the North: dark-blond hair, dark-blue eyes, ruggedly handsome, and massive. Other than his size and my pale blonde hair, we could pass for brother and sister. His hands are warm and his smile is mysterious as though he hints of something he cannot say. The way he holds my hand is gentle but firm. If I could judge him by appearance and grip, and even smell, he would be a fair match for me. He is handsome and strong. I nearly laugh at myself assessing him as though he were a cut of meat or a gown requiring inspection though we have yet to speak beyond introductions.

  Whatever it is about him that seems familiar, I enjoy. Which makes him the first thing I have enjoyed since departing the South and my uncle’s home.

  I remind myself I know nothing about him and that to weigh a man properly, you need none of the things I have seen. A fine smile and a twinkle in the eyes are nothing if he is not kind. I must see the way he treats people below him and discover the place at which he stands among his men on the battlefield. Tonight, I will note if his eyes stray to every pretty girl in the room when he is with me. I need to see my reflection in his eyes, like I live there, knowing I have his heart, and he has the heart of my people.

  Because regardless of how much I daydream of running away, these are my people and one day they will be my responsibility. I must choose wisely for us all.

  Tonight, I will watch and begin to weigh and measure him accurately.

  No one else will be looking out for me.

  My father only requires him to be a man and royalty. My sister’s match proved where my father’s interests and care come into play for his daughters. An old man with a cruel hand and a cold heart was whom he saw fit for my sister, Alexandra. The Baron Liard is a horrid man who let her die in her bed after he got his son from her belly. I have heard the whispers o
f her death, regardless of how he acted devastated by it.

  If I were a man, I would have avenged my sister’s death, but my brothers were at war at the time and my father was overseeing the kingdom. Only my mother and I recognized what had truly happened. Unfortunately, my mother has never been a woman of action nor passions, beyond her wine and her affairs.

  Snapping me back from my regrets, my father’s hearty laugh booms across the room. “You are right at that,” father replies to whatever clever thing the prince said. I smile and take a goblet of wine from the silver tray being offered. I have missed their conversation, and I begin to think I have missed my whole life.

  The wine is spiced, to warm the heart in the cold winters we are accustomed to. In the summer months, we drink it cold but still spiced, different from the South. It’s one of the few things I love about the North.

  A horn sounds making me jump.

  The three years of war my countryside has seen have made us all uneasy at the sound of a horn or bell. It could possibly mean anything from invasion to death.

  Prince Edmond takes my hand again. “You are jittery, my princess.”

  “Not a fan of horns,” I admit and take a sip of wine while watching his eyes. I enjoy the way his gaze stays on mine. Determined to stay focused on assessing him, I force a rude comment from my lips, “There has been an abundance of funerals in our lands, as you well know.”

  “I do. Three of my brothers have joined yours in the world beyond this one. I have but one brother left. Andrew.”

  “Oh.” I try to recover and take his hands as though we are kin. “I am sorry for you and your losses.”

  “And I you for yours. I was there when your last brother fell,” The words are a whisper, hushed even, as if for my ears only.

  “You fought the battles with them?”

  “I did. No lord can ask his people to fight while he hides behind a wall. I was there the entire time.” Again, there is something to his voice, his tone, and even his stare. I admire that he stood with his men on the field. He has crossed off the first item on my list.