“I’m not certain today’s a day to celebrate,” Rain said.
He drew back, his countenance darkening again. “You’re not to blame for any of this.”
“Neither are you,” she shot back. “And yet you’ll be punished for a lifetime.”
“If I hadn’t dragged you from the Cauldron, you’d still be Spring. You’d still control the elements, make rain and wind and grow new buds into trees.” He shook his head, his features contorting into something she saw more and more often these days—disgust.
Rain knew it wasn’t directed at her, but it still hurt to see. She feared Daric would never stop blaming himself for what had happened. Not only to her, but the drought, the failing farms, the hungry people, the empty coffers, their dependence on Raana… Everything.
“You did not drag me from the Cauldron,” she corrected.
“But my father…”
Rain put a finger over Daric’s lips to hush him, warmth tingling down her arm at the contact. “King Wilder did what he thought was best, and I don’t blame him, either. Your parents have been kind to me and have treated me as their own for the last fifteen years, despite my being a useless mouth to feed in their home.”
“Useless mouth to feed?” Daric echoed indignantly.
His breath swirled around her finger, and the feel of his warm lips was one of the most intimate things Rain had ever experienced. Though they did almost everything together, they rarely touched except when dancing. But no one really danced anymore. There wasn’t much to celebrate.
Rain dropped her hand. She remembered little of her life before she became flesh. She’d been ancient; she knew that. But she’d taken the form of a child to match the charming, earnest boy who’d called out to her that day. Awareness of her previous existence and abilities had been mostly stripped from her, and Braylian had refused to take her back into the Cauldron.
“What good am I?” she asked, knowing her tone matched Daric’s recent bitterness. “Braylian brought forth a new Spring, and she doesn’t see Leathen any more than I did. People are desperate and starving. I’m of no value to the kingdom. You’re being forced to marry Astraea.” Rain heard the near growl in her voice and didn’t even try to disguise it. Raana’s princess had been malicious as a child and age had only worsened her. On a royal visit many years ago, Astraea had snuck into Rain’s bedroom one night and cut off her hair while she slept. She’d then used Rain’s hair to make a noose to hang Daric’s cat. Astraea still gloated about it. That was who Daric was being forced to marry. That was who he’d have to endure so that Raana would create a canal to divert water directly into Leathen.
Raana’s mightiest reservoir sat mockingly on the border, filled to the brim with precious water. All they needed was a year of digging to direct some of that water into the dry riverbed that wound like a desiccated serpent through Leathen’s once-fertile farmland.
King Wilder had been trying to negotiate a canal with Raana for years, but Illanna Nighthall wouldn’t agree to it, even when orin mines had still been a valuable bargaining chip. She finally had, but her price was Daric. With a marriage, the House of Nighthall gained the heart of the continent, and Daric could finally save his people, if not his kingdom. His entire life revolved around bringing them out of this seemingly endless drought. He would do it, even if it meant tying himself to that witch Astraea.
“You’re of value to me,” Daric said softly.
Rain bit her lip to keep from saying—or perhaps doing—something rash. In moments like this, she wished that Daric would lean in and kiss her. And if he didn’t, that maybe she would find the courage to kiss him.
She let the thought seduce her and then pushed it away, as always. “And you’re of value to everyone.”
A shadow flitted through his eyes, the cloud of responsibility, and she wished she’d said nothing.
“Let’s talk of happier things,” Daric said briskly. “Open your present.”
Rain brushed her fingers over the velvet again, wondering what could be inside. When Daric said Leathen had nothing left, he meant it. Even the castle had been mostly stripped of tapestries, rugs, and furnishings and was in terrible condition, making cold mornings like this difficult to face. In return for the food Leathen so desperately needed, their neighbors, and especially Raana, now had everything the House of Ash could possibly sell or barter.
King Wilder had finally been forced to offer up the last thing he had of value: Daric.
If Rain had truly been a member of the Ash family, she supposed she would have gone first, likely to the House of Lockwood in the south to guarantee their continued friendship and assistance. They were the only ones with a marriageable male royal: a king much older than she who’d been widowed for years and whose heirs were daughters.
Any of the Lockwood princesses would have been better for Daric than Astraea. Regrettably, they were all married and also offered nothing in the way of easily accessible water.
“Your patience far exceeds mine,” Daric said, reaching for the box.
Rain twisted away from him with a smile. “Don’t you dare. I’ll open it. Right now, I’m savoring it.”
“Savoring the box?” His winter-blue eyes glimmered with roguish charm. “That’s older than I am, you know. I found it in a wardrobe. I’m reusing it.”
“It’s lovely.”
“And we’ll both be old and gray before you actually open it,” he grumbled.
Rain took pity on the impatient prince and lifted the lid. Amid more red velvet lay a delicate starflower carved from white marble. Her breath caught. It was Braylian’s mark.
“When I made it, I carved a small loop into the back so that you can slide a hairpin through it. See?” Daric pulled a hairpin from his pocket, picked up the starflower, and slipped the pin through the loop. Clearly, he’d planned ahead.
Rain watched his deft fingers as much as the sparkling gift, too overwhelmed to speak. Early morning sunlight poured through the window—long deprived of curtains now—and glinted off the crystalline stone, making it glitter like snow on a winter morning.
Daric gathered a portion of her hair and attached the gift above her ear. “Like a snowflake on ice,” he said, smiling as he adjusted a few sleep-tumbled locks and smoothed them down.
Rain shivered, not used to anyone else’s hands in her hair, and least of all Daric’s. She pressed her lips together, trapping her tears in her throat.
“Don’t you like it?” Daric asked, a worried crease forming between his brows.
Like it? She loved it. She loved him. It was torture.
“It’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever had,” Rain finally answered in a voice that thickened with every word. “Thank you.”
Daric seemed pleased with her response, but then his expression turned troubled once more. “Wear it now, while you can, because you’ll have to hide it after we all move to Nighthall.”
“Why?” Rain asked, the thought of their family being uprooted two moons from now to live among vipers making her stomach cramp.
“Because Astraea will take it. She’s always been madly jealous of you.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Rain touched the starflower, wanting to look at it again but not wanting to undo Daric’s careful handiwork. “She’s a princess. Rich, powerful, and if one can ignore her inner ugliness, quite attractive.”
Daric made a face as he hopped off the bed and moved toward the door. “I can’t ignore it. I have names for Astraea but saying them out loud would tarnish your image of my princely manners forever.”
Rain’s lips twitched. “I’m certain my imagination can supply them without your help.”
Daric’s eyes sparked with genuine humor, despite the terrible union he faced for the benefit of his people. “I’m leaving so you can get dressed and come face the frigid breakfast room with me.”
Rain got goose bumps just thinking about it. Even firewood was scarce these days, and they mainly kept it for the evenings, for a small moment of comfort
and peace. This winter had been darker and colder than most, and while it was officially spring now, Rain doubted the new season would bring much improvement. Gradual warming, yes, but no rain, of course. Thankfully, snowmelt would at least help fill the natural water basins for the coming weeks.
Daric turned back to her from the doorway. “As for Astraea being jealous, you’re of the House of Ash, and she knows she’ll never have what you have.”
“What’s that?” Rain asked, her heart jerking uncomfortably.
“A family that loves you.” Daric left and shut the door behind him.
Rain didn’t try to stop the wetness flooding her eyes. She would cry rivers if only her tears would make the crops grow again in Leathen.
Chapter Two
Rain decided to grab the bag of books she intended to donate and take a brisk walk around the upper city of Ash before breakfast. Daric would wait for her, probably reading newssheets and cajoling the kitchen staff into making his favorite berrybread, and King Wilder and Queen Marla never emerged as early as Daric and Rain did. Rising early wasn’t Rain’s preference, either, but Daric couldn’t seem to stop himself from waking her up in the morning.
Two guards fell into step behind her the moment she left the castle, which wasn’t unusual but also wasn’t truly necessary. Nothing would happen to an Ash in Upper Ash. The royal soldiers kept their distance even after she entered the busiest part of the city, and Rain spoke with passersby and shopkeepers who were opening up for business. Despite the brave front they put on, there was little in the way of foodstuff or wares in general. And hardly anyone buying. People were just scrambling to survive, especially after the harsh winter. Leathen was dying, choked by years of drought. Daric would be its saving breath.
Trying not to project too much melancholy since that wouldn’t help the people of Ash or Leathen, Rain handed out the books she’d collected from the castle. Illanna Nighthall had been clear: the royal family of Ash would come to Raana with little more than the clothes on their backs, reinforcing their position as beggars.
She gave a set of novels to the Carpenter’s Guild, although she feared the young apprentices would burn them in the place of firewood; poetry to the baker, knowing his wife would enjoy it more than he would; and a book of fairy stories to the cobbler’s daughter. Now empty-handed and ready to go home to join Daric for breakfast, Rain turned and saw an elderly man racing toward her.
“My lady!” He frantically waved at her. “Stop!”
Rain waited and reached out a hand to steady him. “Are you all right?” She was concerned about how hard the old man was breathing.
“I finally understood… Prepared my student…” He doubled over, gulping down air. “Needed to find you… Or Prince Daric.”
“Catch your breath,” she said soothingly as she waved her guards away. She didn’t need protection.
His hunched shoulders rose and fell on wheezing pants. Grizzled hair hung in stringy clumps down his narrow back, revealing a cloak that was torn in places. He spoke again without looking up. “Leathen doesn’t have to become one with Raana. You must find the Barrow Witch. She has the strength.”
Rain’s heart leaped in her chest. “Not unite with Raana? The Barrow Witch?” She’d never heard of the woman, but sorcerers were best avoided—especially for her.
The man straightened, and unease jolted through her. His eyes swirled with the madness brought on by using too much magic.
Rain turned cold all over as a swift and powerful response rose inside her. Instinctively, she beat it down. The only magic anyone needed from her was gone. What remained served no purpose other than to make her different from everyone else.
“Go to the castle and ask for Non. She’ll feed you.” Stiffly, Rain backed away from him.
“I’m not hungry, my lady. You need to listen.” He closed the distance she’d put between them, and it was all Rain could do not to unleash something that could hurt them both.
He gripped her arms, his fingers like talons. “Isme dolunde vaten crew.”
Magic snapped through her, itchy and hot. She didn’t know the language of sorcery, at least not anymore, but the feel of his sentence still grew into an imprecise thought. Something about an offering. The idea chafed and hollowed and hurt.
“Release me!” Panic thumped inside her, trying to wrench open places she’d locked up. Rain struggled for control over magic that wanted to burst out and expose her to the world. She couldn’t imagine what people would think if she let it out, especially Daric.
“Mockweed. Alderbank. The Blood of Braylian,” the sorcerer said, adding new riddles to the foreign words still banging around inside her as if searching for an opening. She didn’t understand them, but something told her she could.
Her two guards swooped in and lifted the old man away from her. Rain gasped in relief, and then Soren himself appeared from out of nowhere. King Wilder’s personal guard growled like a hallerhound as he swept her behind him and shielded her.
“Soren?” Rain clutched the back of his cloak. “What are you doing here?”
“Buying boots,” he answered, still half snarling as he turned to her. “We’ve a long journey ahead of us.”
To Raana. Her insides dropped like a stone.
Rain swallowed and released her white-knuckled grip on Soren’s garment. She had no desire to think about leaving. For the second time, she’d lose everything she knew and loved.
Soren still loomed protectively over her, a muscle ticking in his jaw as his narrowed gaze swung back and forth between her and the sorcerer. In a voice so gruff it scraped like an angry plow over parched fields, he asked, “Are you hurt? What did he say?”
Rain shook her head. “No. And I don’t know. He made no sense.” The guards still held the sorcerer between them. Soren would question him, but she needed to question him first.
She stepped forward, still shaken but now firmly in control of the part of her that wanted to answer magic with magic. Soren followed.
“What Barrow Witch? Where?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”
The sorcerer’s gaze darted to Soren before coming back to her. “It’s a curse.”
Rain frowned. Everyone believed Leathen’s absent springtime was a curse. They just didn’t know how to break it.
“Remember what I told you. Bring everything to the Barrow Witch, and you might still save Leathen.”
“How?” Rain asked.
“Take him to the castle,” Soren rumbled at the same moment.
The sorcerer’s madness-flecked eyes flared in distress. He uttered a solitary word in his mysterious language and disappeared. Vanished. The guards looked at their empty hands in terror.
Rain gaped. She’d lost him without answers. And she’d never seen such power—not in this lifetime. Just as frightening was the strong, cold echo of magic inside her. She wasn’t a sorceress, though. She was something other.
Soren didn’t let her out of his sight until he’d deposited her in the breakfast room and told the king, queen, and Daric about the incident in Upper Ash. Three times. In detail. Now, it was Rain’s turn.
“Repeat exactly what the sorcerer said to you,” King Wilder insisted once again.
“Mockweed, Alderbank, the Blood of Braylian. He said to bring everything to the Barrow Witch—whoever that is—and that we might be able to save Leathen.”
“Save Leathen from the drought?” the king asked. “Or from Raana?”
Rain shook her head. “I don’t know.” At this point, the two were the same anyway. “That’s all he said.”
Which wasn’t true. She had no desire to lie, but she kept the odd words the sorcerer had spoken to herself. It was as though they were knocking on a door she knew she could open, but she didn’t yet have the key. If she just held Isme dolunde vaten crew locked inside her a little longer, Rain thought she would understand.
“Mockweed grows in the Wood of Layton,” Daric said. “And if the Blood of Braylian is anywhere, it would
be in Layton, too.”
“What is Alderbank?” Queen Marla asked.
The king sighed. “It doesn’t matter. These are the ramblings of an unwell person. Sorcery corrupts the mind, and if this man was as old as Soren and Rain say, then he was at least two decades beyond insane.”
“That doesn’t make what he said false,” Daric argued.
“I know you hope for a way out of this marriage,” Marla said. “But we have a solution for the kingdom. We must persist.”
“A terrible solution,” Daric muttered. His eyes flicked to Rain’s. She saw anger in their blue depths.
She hated to think what this marriage was going to cost him. She knew what it was costing her.
“Nevertheless, it’s the solution we’ve agreed to. We have no choice.” Wilder sat at the table, having spoken in a way that clearly dismissed the topic.
Everyone sat down to breakfast in a solemn mood and with little appetite. There was no berrybread—perhaps they had no dried berries left?—and the tea was weak, at best.
They ate what they had, and what they could stomach, in silence. Rain fretted over her incomplete encounter with the sorcerer, and she knew Daric well enough to know he preferred to say nothing rather than let out the fury brewing in his chest. They both knew his parents had only ever tried their best. Wilder and Marla looked sad and defeated, which was as heartbreaking as the rest.
They eventually stood to go about their day, which at this point mainly consisted of emptying the castle and distributing items around the city of Ash. At the doorway to the breakfast room, however, the king and queen stopped Rain and Daric before they left.
“We have a birthday present for you, Rain,” Marla said.
Rain smiled. She knew it would be thoughtful, even if it wasn’t much.
When the queen took off her ring—the one with the Ashstone that had been in the Ash family since the dawn of Leathen—Rain’s heart stuttered in her chest. “In two moons, we must take the name of Nighthall. We’ve negotiated something for you, though, so that you might keep the name of Ash.”
A Curse For Spring Page 2