A Curse For Spring

by Amanda Bouchet

  For S & S

  You bring me so much joy.

  This is a stand-alone novella

  * * *

  Copyright © 2018 by Amanda Bouchet

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or business establishments, organizations or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover: Ravven http://www.ravven.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Amanda Bouchet

  Prologue

  Prince Daric touched his fingers to the giant column of mist and then jerked them back. He stared at his fingertips, but nothing had changed. His skin hadn’t reddened; the nails weren’t blackened. Nothing, in fact, had happened.

  With a nervous swallow scraping down his throat, he turned his head to check that no one had followed him from the royal encampment. The dying forest stared back with gnarled eyes, everything brittle, creaking, and ready to catch fire. Nothing disturbed the too-dry branches, but it was only a matter of time before someone noticed he’d snuck off and came looking for him.

  They were still days from home after a long journey to neighboring Raana followed by a pilgrimage to their own sacred Wood of Layton. Negotiations with Raana’s Royal House of Nighthall had not gone well, putting everyone in a foul mood, especially Daric’s father. King Wilder worried for his people, and Queen Illanna Nighthall had shown more greed than humanity, as usual.

  Every year had been the same since Daric’s birth—ten years of drought. Fields grew drier, the people of Leathen thinner, and the royal coffers lighter as Daric’s parents were forced to pay the surrounding kingdoms for water, grains, and provisions.

  After another look around him to make sure all was quiet, Daric turned back to Braylian’s Cauldron. A thick column of mist rose from the sacred circle, but he knew that at any second, the elements could shift, turning into violent flames, bolts of lightning fierce enough to blind a man, gales that whipped and wailed, or shards of ice that exploded upward before raining down like daggers.

  Children were warned away from the Cauldron from the moment they could understand fear. At least once a year, Daric joined the rest of the royal family at the volatile stone-lined circle to pay homage to Braylian, the goddess of the elements and the divine creator of the four seasons.

  Usually, he was not alone to come before Braylian and beg for the return of water to Leathen’s lakes and rivers. And to his knowledge, no one had ever stood this close to the Cauldron. He was not too young to understand the consequences of this ongoing lack of true springtime. He saw the tension in his parents and the gauntness of his people. The fact that he and the drought were the same age made him even more determined to find a solution. Somehow, he felt responsible.

  Gathering his courage, Daric stretched his hand into the mist again, this time losing sight of everything up to his wrist. It was cool, damp, and terrifying. He curled his hand into a fist and drew back. As he did, he could have sworn he felt a soft brush of fingers across his knuckles.

  Daric shivered in a way he knew a brave young prince shouldn’t, and had he been a hallerhound, he’d have felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and quiver.

  He squared his shoulders. Raana coveted Leathen’s orin mines. No longer satisfied with simply purchasing the strong, versatile metal, Illanna Nighthall had just successfully bartered for a nearly untapped mine that hugged the border. She had one shaft now. Next year, Daric feared she would have another.

  Why spring rains would still water and nurture the surrounding kingdoms but not Leathen was a mystery. All Daric knew was that Leathen had faithfully guarded Braylian’s Cauldron for generations. It was time that Braylian returned the favor for Leathen.

  “Braylian!” he called out, frightened, even though the stone circle seemed calm today. This was where spirits gathered, the seasons changed, and storms were born from nothing. “We need your help!”

  No response came, and the mist remained quiet. He leaned forward, dipping his head into the column. To do so was bold and spine-chilling, but if the goddess saw him, maybe she would answer.

  A thick gray cloud dampened Daric’s skin with more wetness than he’d felt on his face outside of his own washroom since the last snows of winter, but he saw only fog in front of him.

  Disappointed but also a little relieved, he straightened out of the column. Leathen’s summer heat sucked the moisture from the land, its autumn storms sometimes ruined the crops the kingdom’s struggling farmers managed to cultivate, and its harsh winter freezes left too many people huddled around kitchen fires, cold and hungry. The long, ground-watering rains of springtime had abandoned Leathen the moment Daric came into it.

  He didn’t know how, or why, but he needed to fix it before the drought forced his parents to sell their kingdom piece by piece to the power-hungry Queen of Raana.

  An orin mine for water. More orinore for bread. When Leathen had no riches left, what would become of it?

  Other kingdoms would turn covetous looks their way soon, just as Raana did. Land was land, even if it was dead.

  Daric appealed to the goddess again, leaning once more into the mist. He knew his actions were dangerous. Reckless, even. But what good was a prince to a kingdom that might cease to exist?

  He called to Braylian until he was hoarse. Finally forced to admit defeat, he withdrew his head and torso from the cloud and started back toward the royal camp, his heart heavy with failure.

  A lilting female voice stopped him in his tracks. “Who calls?”

  The sound was more water than words. Daric turned back in awe, seeing a hand emerge from the column. Small fingers mirrored the tentative movements he’d first made into the mist. As if she’d learned from him, she mimicked his gestures, eventually leaning forward. As she did, her upper body took form, solidifying. Every action matched his, except she was a girl. She was even his age, and the most ethereal, radiant being he’d ever seen.

  She stretched out her hand more boldly. Beads of water dripped from her fingertips. Rain. It watered the dying ground between them, turning it vibrant and green.

  Daric moved toward the Cauldron, his eyes wide and his pulse beating with wild hope. “I am Daric, of the House of Ash. Are you Braylian?”

  “I am her daughter,” she answered. Her speech was slow, as if she were discovering language as they talked.

  At the dawn of time, Braylian created the four seasons to help her govern the year. This daughter had new vines for clothing, silver waterfalls for hair, and eyes the color of the lakes he’d seen in Raana.

  Spring! She had to be Spring! And she had not yet gone to her rest. This was her last day of the season. At dawn, Summer rose from her bed.

  “Why have you abandoned my kingdom?” Daric asked. “Will you not water our fields again?”

  “I have abandoned no kingdom,” she replied. “I water all the lands that I see.”

  Daric frowned. “Then…do you not
see Leathen?”

  She looked as confused as he. She seemed to have no answer and withdrew into the Cauldron again.

  “Please!” Daric dashed after her. He stepped partway into the misty column, forgetting about the stone circle he wasn’t supposed to cross. “Can you see me? Can you see my kingdom?”

  A vague form twirled in the cloud, rushing like a river, swirling like a tempest. He moved toward the shadow, and an icy sheet of water splashed across his face. He jerked back with a gasp.

  “Do not step through, or you can never go back,” she warned. “Braylian will claim you, and you will race across the land and sky as weather.”

  Daric retreated, his heart pounding in fright. The girl followed him halfway out. They began a gentle back and forth, almost a dance. She met his gaze, and her delighted smile put to shame the most beautiful of starlit nights.

  “We’re in a terrible drought,” he said as they continued to sway together, sometimes Daric partway into the Cauldron, sometimes her partway out. “Can you help us?”

  She threw a high-arching spray of water into the forest with a tinkling laugh.

  “That’s wonderful.” Daric grinned. “But we need much more than that.”

  She shook her head. “I see only you and the magic of the Cauldron. Everything else is dark.”

  Hard hands suddenly ripped Daric away from her. He struggled but was no match for the large man dragging him back. He recognized Soren’s gruff voice as his father’s personal guard banded a heavy arm around his chest and told him to settle.

  As though Soren’s words broke a spell, people appeared around him. His mother stood only a step away, pale with terror. Beside her, his father swung a calculating gaze back and forth between Daric and the girl, the gears of his mind visibly turning.

  “No!” cried Daric a split second before King Wilder surged forward and clamped his hand around the girl’s wrist. With a decisive yank, he pulled her from the Cauldron.

  She turned entirely to flesh as she crossed the stone circle. The vines covering her milky-white skin withered and died. Her silver hair stopped cascading water. Her eyes were the only part of her that still brimmed with moisture, and she stood there, shaking.

  Daric shoved away from Soren and ran to her, throwing his cloak around her shoulders. He tugged it closed to cover her, and she clutched at the garment, her legs trembling like a newborn foal’s. She seemed barely able to hold up her weight, even though she was as slight as a sapling.

  “Can you make it rain, child?” the king asked urgently, bending down close to her. “I will give you all that I have for rain.”

  She blinked at Daric’s father, silent, and yet everything about her screamed out in horror. The tears in her eyes hit the ground, but they made no difference to the crisp brown moss still struggling to survive in Leathen’s sacred forest.

  Daric began to shake along with her. He’d failed, and he’d ruined spring forever.

  She’d seen only him, and Daric only her. Some magic had blinded them, a curse for spring, and him, and everyone.

  “Rain,” he pleaded softly. Maybe she could still control the elements. Maybe she was still Braylian’s daughter.

  Sorrow filled the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. “Once, I might have been what you needed. Now, I am nothing.”

  Chapter One

  “Rain? Are you awake?”

  Rain cracked open her eyes at the sound of Daric’s deep voice. Her lungs squeezed with joy and relief that he was home safely from his latest trip up and down the slippery Axton Peaks, although she simply mumbled something that sounded like No while her heart settled into a normal beat.

  Daric slipped into her room anyway and stretched out beside her on the high bed. He was lying down but hardly still. Her prince was a constant explosion of motion, going everywhere as if his heels were on fire.

  And he called her the storm.

  “Happy birthday!” Daric turned onto his side, beaming at her.

  “I’m sleeping.” Rain refused to open her eyes enough to do more than watch him through her lashes. The day her adoptive parents had chosen as her birthday was a terrible day. It was the first morning of spring, and another long season of nothing. “But welcome home,” she said with a budding smile.

  “You’re not sleeping. You’re talking to me.”

  She huffed, unable to fault his logic. “We’re not children anymore. You do know that it’s highly inappropriate for you to charge into my bedroom like this? Especially at the crack of dawn.”

  “The crack of dawn?” Daric scoffed. “That was at least three minutes ago.”

  “You’re impossible.” Sighing, Rain resigned herself to facing the day—this day when everyone still hoped she’d do something amazing and wonderful, even though they’d stopped expecting it a long time ago.

  At least Daric was back, which made it all more bearable.

  She stretched the sleep from her limbs and opened her eyes, allowing herself to really look at him. Her chest knotted with the usual mix of elation, misery, and longing. His face was weathered from his latest journey, maybe even a little sun-scorched, and his blue eyes stood out with brilliance against his tanned skin. His dark hair had grown, now tumbling over his forehead in a way that made her want to smooth it between her fingers and brush it back. And his smile…

  Rain’s pulse sped up again. His smile was the same as always: warm and devastating.

  “Did everything go well?” she asked.

  Daric nodded. “The last two towns in the dry-belt now have their full supply of ice blocks. I inspected the containers, and they’re all in good shape. It won’t water their fields, but it’ll give the townsfolk what they need to survive the upcoming season.”

  Several years ago, Daric had conceived of a plan to provide extra water for the towns around Leathen with the fewest natural depressions to collect rainwater and snowmelt from the winter. Under his direction, villagers had built huge watertight basins to hold blocks of ice that Daric and a team of soldiers regularly cut from the mountain lakes in winter. Each journey meant a difficult climb into the Axton Peaks, a long week of perilous work, and a treacherous descent with heavy sleds stacked with ice. While the weather was still cold enough to transport the frozen water, Daric brought it to the towns that needed it the most. There, it was stored and slowly melted as the weather warmed. With rationing, the ice provided enough water for areas hovering on the brink of disaster to survive the inevitably rainless spring while everyone waited for summer storms to help refill their water towers.

  Daric had yet to lose a man on these dangerous but necessary outings, and Rain knew he’d jumped into holes in the ice more than once to pull someone out. People didn’t die on Daric’s watch, despite the winter elements sometimes doing their best to blow his team from the mountaintops. Rain felt as though she held her breath each time he left and only let it out again when he returned.

  “Did you just arrive?” she asked.

  “Last night,” he answered. “But you’d already gone to bed.”

  That explained why he was clean-shaven and looked freshly washed. Polite and civilized were expected of Daric, but Rain enjoyed seeing him come home all bristly and wind-whipped and looking deliciously barbarous in his winter furs. Weapons strapped on. Somehow stronger and wider after each grueling, work-filled expedition. Eyes sparking blue fire from across the room.

  She shivered just thinking about it, although with him beside her, she was anything but cold.

  Rain sat up and wiggled back against the headboard. Daric did the same and then handed her a small box.

  He grinned at her. “I would have offered you a silver necklace to match your hair, a sapphire ring to match your eyes, or a ruby brooch to match your lips, but Leathen has no riches left, so you’ll have to make do with this.” He tapped the lid of the box, his smile widening.

  Rain smiled back, laughing a little. “You make me sound like a crown—silver and rubies and sapphires.”

  “Sadly, we d
on’t have a single crown anymore, either. Besides, they were all gold, and you certainly don’t have boring yellow hair.”

  The mood in the dawn-lit room abruptly soured as they both thought about who did have blonde hair—Astraea Nighthall.

  “You don’t have to marry her,” Rain murmured, turning the unopened gift over in her hands. She watched the box, unable to look at Daric again yet. The near constant ache in her chest ratcheted up with a vengeance. She’d thought her heart hurt before? Lately, it was in constant pain.

  “And do what?” Daric asked bitterly, some of the princely veneer slipping from his voice. “Run away?”

  Steeling herself, Rain turned back to him. “Talk to your father. He can’t possibly wish her on you.” Astraea Nighthall was all that was spiteful, vicious, and petty.

  Daric shook his head. “The contract has been negotiated. We marry. Our first child inherits both kingdoms. Raanaleath.” He snorted. “It sounds like a disease.”

  Angry, unhappy Daric felt like a stranger by her side. These past few months, though, this surly prince had become more familiar to her. “At least Leathen won’t be obliterated from the name entirely.” Not like the name of Ash, which they were being forced to abandon.

  He tried to smile and failed utterly. “Good point, Raindrop.” Rain watched as he drew a deep breath and forced back his visible dread over the future that was slowly destroying them both. “Now open your present.”

  Rain swallowed the lump in her throat. If Daric could focus on today then she could, too. It was better than thinking about the vile Astraea in his bed.

  She rubbed the velvet-covered box between her fingers. It was a daring red. She wasn’t surprised Daric had chosen something he knew she’d like, even if the color was better suited to an experienced, married woman.