Stormrise
Page 32
She pulled back and looked at me, her expression one of complete disbelief—and unfettered joy. “How can this be?”
“Did you not receive my letter?”
“No, there was no letter.” She wiped her cheek with her palm. “What carriage is this? Oh, my precious Rain.”
“It’s the high king’s,” I said. “Where’s Papa?”
“The high king’s? But—oh, Papa!”
I followed the trajectory of her eyes to see Papa standing there, one hand pressed against his mouth.
“I’m home, Papa,” I said.
“You … did not fight with the army, after all?”
“I did fight,” I said. “I will tell you everything.” I gestured to the carriage, where the driver was already unloading the first trunk. “Gifts for you and Mama.”
But he walked toward me with thunderous love in his eyes and caught me in the kind of hug I’d known since I was a tiny girl. “You are my gift, Rain L’nahn. I never expected to see you again.”
I nestled against his chest and pretended I didn’t feel the vibrations of his silent sobs. He kissed the top of my head and released me. His eyes were wet with tears.
“You look strong,” he said. “Hardened.”
“I am.”
“You have much to tell us.” Papa’s words were breathless.
“I do. Let’s get the trunks first, s’da?”
Together with the driver, we moved the three trunks into the house. Storm stumbled sleepy-eyed from his bedroom and stared at me with his mouth hanging open.
“You back, Rain?”
“I’m back.” I held out my arms for a hug.
He shuffled across the floor and wrapped me in his strong man-arms. “I kept waiting for you at the gate, but Mama and Papa told me to stop.”
“I’m glad you obeyed them.”
“No, Rain.” He withdrew his arms and looked at me with an expression that transcended his limitations. “I knew you’d come home.”
I glanced at Papa, whose eyes still glistened with tears. Then I rose on tiptoe and kissed Storm soundly on the cheek. “Thank you for believing.”
We sat together at the table. Mama bustled to prepare some t’gallah and hot tea, and I suddenly realized my sister wasn’t there.
“Where’s Willow?” I asked.
“Serving tea to her future mother-in-law,” Papa said.
My heart sank. Forest’s letter to his parents had apparently arrived. “I see.”
“We’re thankful for her sake that she had the chance of a second betrothal,” Mama said.
I stopped breathing. “A second betrothal?”
“Word came that the entire army had been decimated, with no hope of survivors,” Papa said. “When Willow heard the news, she consented to marry Bird Tanner.”
My mind scrambled. “The old widower?”
“Not old,” Mama said. “He’s barely forty.”
Ancient. “But her betrothed—” I stopped. How could I even begin to tell them about Forest?
Papa cocked his head. “What is it?”
“He’s not dead.”
“You know him?” Mama asked.
“Yes.”
Papa laced his fingers together. “Tell us everything.”
I started at the beginning and told them. But I felt separated from my own voice, my heart dancing and aching and somersaulting while I spoke.
She’s betrothed to someone else. He’s free.
I didn’t speak of my love for Forest. I had no idea what he would tell his parents about me—or even if he would tell them.
But he was all I could think of.
“Forest had every intention of honoring the betrothal,” I said, though the words felt bitter on my tongue.
“There was no way to know he would come home,” Papa said. “We will talk with your sister tonight and decide what should be done.”
My heart tangled into an unspeakable knot, and I didn’t have the courage to ask if she would be obligated to honor her former arrangement. I only nodded and offered the best smile I could muster.
Storm grabbed my hand. “Were you brave, Rain? Were you a good soldier?”
“I was brave,” I said.
“Braver than me?”
I squeezed his hand, thankful for its warmth and strength in mine. Thankful that he was there, safe and whole. “I thought of you every day, Storm,” I said. “You made me brave.”
His smile lit the room. “That’s what twins are for.”
Willow dropped her teapot when she walked in the door two hours later and saw me sitting there. I rose to greet her, and she threw her arms around my neck and buried her face in my shoulder, weeping.
I told her everything that had happened in the last three months, except about my love for Forest. She listened, wide-eyed, as Mama held her hand and Papa drank in my words all over again, as though he hadn’t heard them before.
“So his parents had to tell him he no longer had a bride waiting,” Willow said after I’d finished.
“I’m sure they didn’t word it like that.” Actually, I was sure that, in the joy of their reunion, it was the last thing on their minds.
Willow pulled her hand from Mama’s and wrung her own two together. “Papa, have we dishonored his family?”
“The betrothal was honorably broken,” Papa said. “But now that we know the truth, what is the honorable thing to do?”
I held my breath as I watched a flurry of emotion scuttle across Willow’s face. She had never wanted to marry the old widower, and I had come home and handed her the perfect excuse not to.
“Bird came home just before tea was over,” Willow said. “It was only the second time we’ve been in the same room together, and…” She lowered her eyes. “I like the way he looked at me.”
“Your betrothal is valid, daughter,” Papa said. “We need do nothing to change it, if you feel that’s where honor lies.”
“I…” Willow looked up, and her cheeks were rosy pink. “Is he handsome, Rain?”
I dug my nails into the palms of my hands. “He’s pleasant enough to look at. And he’s kind.” And a hundred other wonderful things, if she would dare to think beyond his appearance.
Willow chewed her bottom lip and sighed. “I’ve waited so long to be married. I don’t think I want to start over again with another betrothal.”
“That has nothing to do with honor,” Mama said.
“No, but…” Willow looked at me. “You know this boy. Would he feel dishonored to learn I hadn’t waited for him?”
I swallowed. “No, he wouldn’t.”
The room was silent as Willow weighed whatever was important to her. Even in a state of confusion, she was beautiful, and her desire to do the right thing made her even more so.
Forest might never love her, but she would certainly love him.
“I think I should honor my betrothal to Bird,” Willow said.
My heart burst from its cage with a jubilant song only I could hear. I hid my smile and said nothing.
“It’s settled, then,” Papa said.
Willow turned to me, her expression softened by relief. “He’s a good man, and not so very old, even if he does walk with a cane. I think you’ll like him.”
“I’m sure I will.”
She reached forward and squeezed my arm with both hands. “Everything’s turned out so well, sister!”
Oh, Willow. If only you knew.
For four days, with every breath, every heartbeat, I thought of him. At night, I hugged my pillow and ached for him. In my dreams, his name was on my lips. I couldn’t speak of him, couldn’t allow myself to hope. No one but Forest knew of my love for him—my agony was my own.
On the morning of the fifth day, Papa and I finished breakfast and prepared to go to our favorite sparring spot to begin my Neshu master training. I opened the front door, calling for Papa as I walked into the cold sunshine.
Forest stood at the gate.
The sky, the trees, the clucking of
the chickens—everything ceased to exist. I stared at Forest, my breaths coming in short white puffs in the morning air.
Papa emerged, his eyes on Forest. “Who’s this, coming so early?”
I ran to the gate, my gaze never falling from Forest. When I reached him, I stopped, gasping for breath, my hands curled around the top of the gate.
“Forest.”
“I woke up while it was still dark,” he said, “and got an early start.”
“Did you?”
“Are you going to let me in?”
“Oh.” I fumbled at the latch like a scattered child. “Yes.”
“Rain, is this a friend of yours?” Papa had reached us, Storm two steps behind him.
“Yes,” I said, stepping aside as the gate swung open and Forest walked through. “This is Forest, whom I told you about.”
Forest bowed, hand on his chest. “I’m honored to meet you.”
“And this is my brother Storm,” I said.
“Storm.” Forest smiled. “You look so like your sister.”
Storm grinned. “Except she’s a girl.”
“Rain has spoken highly of you,” Papa said. “Won’t you have some tea to warm you?”
“I—” Forest glanced at me. “Yes. Thank you.”
Something in Papa’s face changed—a knowing sort of look that made warmth rush through me. “I’ll go ask my wife to prepare it. Come with me, Storm.”
Forest waited until Papa and Storm had reached the house. Then he took my hands in his—they were as cold as my own.
“I had to come,” he said. “My parents told me they returned Willow’s dowry to your father, and that they’d help me find another suitable match. But I said I’d already found one.”
“You said that?”
“Yes.” He drew my hands to his chest. “I want to talk to your father. I’m not asking for a dowry. Only you.”
My smile was so wide that my cheeks ached. “Do you think maybe you should ask me first?”
He smiled back. “If you insist.” He wrapped his arms around me and pressed his forehead to mine. “Will you be my wife, Rain L’nahn Ylanda?”
I slipped my arms around his waist and brushed his lips with mine. “Yes.” Because he loved me for who I was. And because, in a million lifetimes, I would never find anyone to replace him.
We kissed until we were breathless, until everything except the taste and touch and warmth of him lost meaning. When we finally drew apart, I looked up to see my parents standing in the doorway, their arms around each other. They were smiling.
“Ready for some tea?” Mama called.
I smiled and waved. Then, hand in hand, Forest and I walked toward the warmth of Mama’s kitchen and the hope of Papa’s blessing.
Together. As we were meant to be.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The publication of this book was preceded by fourteen years of writing and growing and dreaming and writing some more. Throughout my journey, I’ve been blessed by encouragement and help and insight from countless people (on so many projects), and Stormrise is the end result. Each of you has touched this story without knowing it.
Endless thanks to my agent, Danielle Burby, whose enthusiasm and undying belief in me, coupled with her sharp editorial eye, have sustained me and pushed me to heights I wouldn’t have reached without her. Thanks also to my talented editor, Elayne Becker, whose incredible vision for Stormrise made it what it is today. And, of course, huge thanks to the entire Tor Teen team who have made this book a reality.
To those who read: Maggie Boehme, whose input I could never do without and whose reaction to this story made me believe like never before; Rain Czine, whose enthusiasm for an early draft lit a fire beneath me that never went out (and also whose name I stole for my own Rain); Adam Heine, whose world-building prowess I need almost as much as oxygen; Courtney Karmiller, whose top-notch editorial notes and in-person encouragement were invaluable; Constance Lopez, who read the draft twice in a row simply because she wanted to (love you!); Ellen Oden, who helped me discover Rain’s authenticity; Rena Rossner, with whom I’ve shared a long, twisty, writerly journey (congratulations, dear one!); Peter Salomon, who wasn’t afraid to admit my story made him cry; and Mónica Bustamante Wagner, who was the first person to tell me that Forest needed more fleshing out (I should have listened then)—thank you all so much!
To my personal cheerleaders: Rachel Boehme, who has been continual light and joy along the way; my parents, Janet and Mockie Schafer, whose never-ending chorus of YOU CAN DO THIS still rings in my ears; and Jamie Soranno, my sister and the best friend a gal could ask for, who makes me feel like I could do absolutely anything—your support and encouragement mean the world to me.
To Jake O’Brien, who came up with the original title for this novel. It may not have stuck, but you’re still my hero for it!
To my blog readers and the online writing community: Those of you who have known me as Authoress for more than a decade have been a constant source of encouragement, solidarity, and accountability. Thank you all for being part of my journey!
To Jonathan, Maggie, Rachel, Spencer, and Molly, who grew up watching me pursue an invisible dream: Thank you for who you are. I love you.
To my husband Eric: You’ve been there from the beginning. From my darkest low points to the giddy heights of dreams fulfilled, you have been my champion. That, and you taught me to laugh at my badly written, incredibly dorky dialogue—and never to write it that way again. You are, and always will be, the love of my life.
To Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior: The glory is yours.
I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.
—PHILIPPIANS 4:13
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JILLIAN BOEHME is known to the online writing community as Authoress, hostess of Miss Snark’s First Victim, a blog for aspiring authors. In real life, she holds a degree in music education, sings with the Nashville Symphony Chorus, and homeschools her remaining youngster-at-home. She’s still crazy in love with her husband of more than thirty years and is happy to be surrounded by family and friends amid the rolling knolls of Middle Tennessee. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
STORMRISE
Copyright © 2019 by Jill Schafer Boehme
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Adam S. Doyle
A Tor Teen Book
&
nbsp; Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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New York, NY 10271
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-29888-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-29889-8 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250298898
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First Edition: September 2019