Novaya woke to hands on her person, and her magic screaming in revolt. She shoved blindly, and ended up slammed against the rough stone wall for her troubles. Her bones clashed painfully with the stone, and liquid fire churned in every joint.
It was a soldier who held her against the wall—his palm planted on her chest to keep her pressed backward.
In her mind’s eye, she saw that hand burst into flame, and she knew she could do that with the raw magic inside her, was tempted to simply let it out, to pour all her frustration and fear and fatigue into the fire, and burn it all away.
But then the man spoke. “The prince wants to see you.”
Her eyes flicked to the door, expecting to find the dark, sinister form of her only visitor in the doorway. But it was empty. And … open.
She raised her hands in a show of supplication, and the man stepped back, taking away the hand that had felt like a brand on her chest.
Metal clanked, and the soldier held up a pair of iron manacles. “Put these on.”
He shoved them toward her, and she took the irons with shaking hands. They were heavy, so heavy it sapped all her strength just to hold them. She was not sure she could put them on herself, but she forced herself to try, knowing she would prefer her own touch to that of the soldier.
Her wrists were so thin, she thought she might be able to slip them off later when no one was looking, but then the soldier invaded her space, moving a bar to make the manacle openings smaller, trapping her skin right up against the iron. Then he tightened it with a small tool just to be certain.
The soldier used a length of chain attached to the manacles to pull her toward the door. She stumbled, her feet dragging clumsily against the stone. The man was impatient as she regained her balance, but made no move to touch her again, for which she was grateful. She shuffled behind him as they stepped out of the cell, and her heart pumped with manic hope as her bare feet cleared the threshold. “Where are you taking me?”
“Wherever Prince Cassius wants you.”
They shuffled past a few more dark stone cells. She tried to discern if there was anyone else being held down here with her, but if there were other prisoners she saw no trace of them. Nor had she ever heard anyone in the dungeons but the guards who brought her food on occasion.
She stared at the back of the guard’s head and wondered at how callous human hearts could be. How easy it was for a man just to avert his eyes in the face of someone else’s pain or fear. What had the prince told everyone about her? Did they all truly believe her to be the criminal mastermind behind the princess’s kidnapping? Her best friend? Or did it matter to them if she was guilty or innocent? She was not a Stormling, so perhaps in their eyes she had little worth at all.
They came to a set of stairs, and Nova was surprised to find that she was beyond exhausted already. Her legs quaked with weakness as she took the first step.
The soldier jerked on her chains. “Come on. It will be nightfall again before we get there if you move this slow.”
She felt some of her fire leech from her skin into the manacles, and quickly pulled it back. As satisfying as it might be to see him scalded by the chain he held, it was too reckless. There was too much she didn’t know. Even if she incapacitated this guard, she had no idea what waited on the floors above, or if she could even reach them on her own.
She might only get one chance to escape. And she knew timing would be everything.
By the time the soldier jerked her up the last step to the landing, she was near tears from fatigue, and the weakness made her heart swell with fury. At the prince, at this world, at herself. And yes, at Aurora too.
They entered the main floor of the palace, and the familiar sounds of her former workplace and home slowly came back to her. They were near the entrance to the kitchens, and she could hear the clang of pots and the murmur of voices. The smell of fresh baked bread made her stomach clench painfully. When had she last eaten more than a few scraps? She could not recall.
A gasp stopped her escort in his tracks, and with far too much effort, Nova tipped her head up to survey the scene.
She saw the familiar face first, and it took several long moments for her mind to recall just how she knew the young serving girl who stood slack-jawed in front of them.
Renia. They’d shared a room together. Nova used to lie in bed listening to Renia prattle on about the details of her romantic life. It had always been a grand distraction for Nova, who had no desire for romance of her own. Not with her secrets. But listening to Renia had been a glimpse into another, simpler life.
Those days felt so far away now, like they existed in another world.
“What are you looking at?” the soldier sneered.
Renia quickly concealed her horrified expression and ducked her head. “My apologies.”
The soldier tugged on Nova’s chains, and she stumbled forward. Her eyes met Renia’s as they passed, and the girl quickly averted her eyes.
Nova could not blame her. If the situation were reversed, she would have done the same, desperate to stay safe and keep her secrets unknown.
She kept her chin up on the rest of their trek through the palace halls, refusing to cower. The world, it seemed, kept moving as it always had despite her absence. It was alarming to know that her life could be upended so completely, and yet all the people she had once known continued on in the same day-to-day drudge.
Finally, after another set of brutal stairs, the soldier led Nova to a part of the palace she knew all too well—the royal wing. Nova eyed the soldier with confusion and distrust as she was led down the hall to the rooms that had once belonged to the Princess of Pavan. The soldier opened the door and shoved her through.
The first thing Nova noticed was the plush carpet beneath her feet, so soft against her calloused, broken skin. She almost wanted to give in to the urge to collapse, just so she could feel that kind of softness all over her skin. Then there was the smell—the scent of ink and old books and fresh air teased her senses and brought tears to her eyes.
For a moment, Nova could see this room as it used to be. The windows had always been open, the room washed in sunlight and teased by a breeze. Aurora used to leave books on every surface, piles of stories she had read and read again. The memories stole what little breath she had, and pulled painfully at her heart.
Now the room seemed stale, as closed off and cold as the man who had apparently claimed it as his own. The quaint writing desk Aurora had used had been replaced by a large desk of gleaming, dark wood. Behind it the prince sat, his back to her, facing one of the many bookshelves that held the princess’s books.
He turned, his dark hair disheveled and his eyes sunken and dark.
“Sit,” he ordered, his voice a whisper, but filled with command.
The prince waved a hand at the soldier, who stepped from the room and closed the door.
They were alone, and Nova had no idea what was happening. The prince’s visits to her cell had slowed of late. Based on the number of storm sirens she had heard, she assumed he was busy with the Rage season.
The prince stared at her through the silence, his mouth a slash of frustration. They sat so long that Nova’s fatigue began to pull at her attention. The chair she sat in felt so soft in comparison to stone. She thought she could slump there and sleep for days. Not even her fear was a strong enough opponent to overcome her exhaustion.
“Do you think she’s still alive?”
Nova blinked. They’d been through this before, when the queen had broken down over her fears that Aurora had been killed by her kidnappers. Nova had never been able to get word to her of Aurora’s true intentions.
“Is this about the queen? Is she well?”
Cassius’s frown grew flatter, his gaze hard.
“That’s none of your concern. I want to know if the princess is alive. Am I wasting my time searching for her?”
Nova shook her head. “I do not know.”
His jaw worked, teeth clenching, and he took a deep breath.
“The circumstances of Pavan have changed dramatically over recent weeks. I have put as much time and attention toward the search as I am able, but a time is approaching … the time is here when my priorities have been forced elsewhere. If you know anything, if you care at all to see your friend again, you will tell me what you know now before it is too late.”
The last was said in an exasperated growl. It was clear the prince was obsessed, and that obsession had worn down his regal facade, letting the darkness inside him show through.
She observed him carefully—the clench of his fists hinted at how close he was to the edge. She did not care to know the depths of this man’s depravity. Nor did she want that for Aurora.
Nova had had much time to wonder over the days and nights whether she had done the right thing in assisting Aurora’s escape. Goddess knew she’d sat too often in the dark, grappling with the possibility that she might have helped her truest friend into an early grave. For what could the wildlands be for a girl without storm magic except for a death sentence? She hoped—hoped with every spark of fire that burned beneath her skin—that her friend was somewhere happy and whole.
Her own weariness had her counting the days, wondering when Aurora might return, and if she could undo all the damage that had befallen Pavan in her absence. But as someone who had walked beneath the crushing weight of a dangerous secret, she wanted Aurora to have a life free of lies, free of peril, free of the Locke prince. Forever.
And so she told him one part of her truth. “I do not know for certain, but in the dark of night, when worries press too close to ignore, I fear the queen is right. Aurora Pavan is gone. For good.”
The first few moments after the declaration of Aurora’s true identity were like the calm before the storm, and then the silence broke with a cacophony of voices and a flurry of movements that only made Aurora more dizzy. She felt like she was dying—as if everything inside her was shriveling up like old fruit. And her thoughts were a jumble—some not even her own—as she tried and failed to rebuild her mental walls.
Taven’s deep booming voice shouted above all the rest. “Zephyr, please! Have I ever done anything to make you mistrust me?”
Aurora could not see the woman’s response; she could see nothing except a very small tunnel in the center of her vision that showed Taven kneeling over her.
Zephyr answered, “You pledged your life to our cause—if you are lying, I’ll not hesitate to take it as penance.”
“I pledged my life to her protection long before your cause. She is who I say she is.”
The woman did not reply, but almost immediately Aurora felt the rush of something cool on her skin. It wrapped around her like silk and then sank beneath her skin. She could feel it spreading inside her—like ice melting the burning pain. Her vision began to clear and her chest stopped aching and slowly she felt herself come alive again, as if she’d hung over the abyss of death by only her fingertips. She was able to swallow, her throat burning at first, but easing as the strange power worked through her.
By the time she sat up and looked at the woman called Zephyr, she felt as if she’d been born all over again. Her words were raspy when she asked, “Who are you?”
Zephyr stepped out of the shadows, emerging into the sunlight.
“I am the one who has been fighting for your people in your absence.” She held up her arms and waved at the shelter around them. “Welcome to the rebellion.”
Aurora looked to Taven, and then down at the blue uniform he wore. Now she understood. She wanted to demand he tell her everything, but there was something else she had to know first.
“What are you?” she asked Zephyr.
Jinx, whom Aurora had forgotten in the chaos, dropped down then from her place at the top of the ladder. Dust rose at her landing, swirling around her feet in a way too perfect to be natural. Her eyes were on Zephyr as she said, “Water witch.”
Zephyr crossed her arms over her chest in response, cocking her hip casually. “Earth witch.”
They studied each other for a few moments—Jinx with narrowed eyes and Zephyr with a purse of her full lips. Then one after the other, they turned to face Aurora.
It was Jinx who said, “And a princess too. Who knew?”
Jinx’s tone was even, but it was missing the warmth and effervescence with which she always spoke.
“I can explain,” Aurora croaked, her throat still parched from what she was only now realizing had been a dangerous case of rapid dehydration, courtesy of Zephyr’s magic.
But when she opened her mouth to continue, the words dried in her throat. A tingle of foreboding skipped up her spine, and she tilted her head back to look up through the open shelter door at clear sky. She took one breath, then two, then another soul’s consciousness slammed into hers.
Malice curled around her like the tentacles of some monster from the deep. She pushed at the soul’s presence, but the day’s events had weakened her, and by the time she’d shored up her defenses against one intrusion, another was already coming. She gritted her teeth as fury—hot and thick as tar—clogged in her veins. A thirst for vengeance stole across her tongue, and she only had time to say, “Someone close that door!” before the sky ruptured and bled out fire.
There were no sirens, nor Stormling barriers. Beneath her clothes, her crystal necklace burned in warning, but the first flaming embers were already scorching through the sky. At least a dozen slipped through the opening overhead, which no one had been quick enough to close.
All of Aurora’s focus was on enforcing the boundaries around her mind, and she only avoided getting burned because Taven took hold of her elbows and dragged her back into a corner.
Aurora heard screaming, and was horrified to realize that it was not coming from anyone inside the shelter, but from the city above. The screams built and grew into an agonized chorus, and the scent of char rapidly tainted the air. Zephyr used her magic to douse a pile of burning debris, and Jinx resurrected one of her vines to make the perilous journey up to the surface where it wound around the handle to the shelter door. Jinx pulled with all the strength of her small form, and the door crashed down, immersing them in darkness.
The only sounds were the sizzle of dying flames. The pale blue glow of the skyfire lantern cast them all in ghostly shadows. Aurora shoved her fist against her mouth to keep from sobbing. She could still feel the storm—though her barriers were strong enough to keep her thoughts her own. But now it was the other souls that fed her agony. She could feel them dying—by the dozens.
A siren sounded. Too late. Far, far too late.
Desperate to do something, anything, to stop the horror and pain that bombarded her with the arrival of each newly departed soul, Aurora jerked up the leather necklace that held her tiny bottle of firestorm powder.
Locke had told her to use it in the event of a firestorm. It would not protect her completely, but it would temporarily make her impervious to flame.
She yanked out the cork with her teeth.
“Don’t!” Jinx yelled, throwing out a hand to stop her.
“Why not?”
“That powder is rare. Firestorm hearts aren’t exactly easy to capture. Don’t waste it when you’re already safe.”
Aurora cringed. “Waste it? Do you know what is happening out there?”
Jinx held her ground. “I do. And I also know that you cannot do anything out there that you could not do in here.”
She meant for Aurora to soothe the storm. While much of her newly realized power was still a mystery, she had spent their journey back to Pavan quietly soothing unsettled souls and preventing them from becoming storms. But those souls were relatively normal—lost and wandering from their inability to disconnect from their former lives. The soul that seethed above them now had been twisted and marred into something foul and unrecognizable. There was no soothing that kind of rage, not without a Stormheart to bring the storm to heel.
“I can’t,” Aurora whispered. “It’s beyond my skill.”
“What do you mean, beyond your skill? I thought you were the most powerful Stormling to grace the Pavan line in generations?” This question came from Zephyr.
Aurora grimaced and shook her head. “I’m not.”
“You’re not the most powerful?”
She was not a Stormling. At least, that’s what she had always believed. Now, she was not sure what she was.
“It’s … complicated.”
Brax, the overgrown guard who set this all in motion when he caught Jinx, plopped down onto the ground and said, “I have time.”
“Well, I don’t,” Aurora replied. “I cannot sit in here while people are dying out there.”
She pushed Jinx’s hand away and raised the bottle to her lips. Then a familiar haze emerged between Aurora and the storm’s consciousness. This time she knew for certain that the power she felt in the air belonged to Cassius. It had the same cold, menacing potency as his presence the first time she met him. It filled the air like his deep voice filled a room. And while she loathed the Locke prince, the presence of his magic over the city eased the pressure she felt against her own barriers.
She returned the cork to the bottle and the necklace to its home against her sternum. “Never mind. It’s no longer necessary.”
She didn’t bother explaining further before she crossed to the ladder and scaled to the top. She shoved back the door, and the sound of screams came back with a vengeance. High above, a near-translucent barrier quaked from the impact of falling embers. Flames licked at the magic, and it looked to Aurora as if the sun had fallen from the sky and stopped mere moments away from crashing into the city.
Smoke filled up the space beneath the barrier, and even though the embers were no longer razing the city, that did not stop the current fires from spreading out of control.
She turned, intending to call for Jinx, and was surprised to find all the inhabitants of the shelter standing just behind her, gazing out at a blackened, burning city.
Zephyr was the first to jump into motion. “I’ll do what I can, but I cannot create water from nothing. There’s only so much I can pull from the air.”
“I can help with that,” Jinx replied, peeling back one side of her jacket to retrieve a jar of storm magic from a holster near her ribs. She held out the jar, the inside of which was swirling with torrential rain.
“A hunter?” Zephyr shared a knowing look with a tall, dark-skinned man whom Aurora could not recall speaking a single word since his appearance.
“Two hunters,” Jinx replied, glancing at Aurora.
A rush of gratitude filled Aurora’s chest. Jinx had every right to be furious with Aurora’s lies, but she still included her as one of them. For now.
Zephyr’s smile was filled with satisfaction as she jumped into action. She turned to the dark-skinned man first. “Raquim, you and Brax focus on search and rescue as I work on dousing what I can.” She cocked her arm and threw the glass jar of storm magic against the building in front of them. Wind and rain surged in every direction, whipping at their clothes and hair. Zephyr gave a shout of triumph. But before she focused on her magic, her gaze trailed to Taven. “I suppose you will be reporting for duty.”
He nodded, his eyes straying first to the tempest still fighting overhead, then to Aurora. He hesitated.
Zephyr did not, setting out at a run toward the city center, where the blaze loomed the largest.
Selfishly, Aurora wanted to keep Taven here to tell her everything she needed to know. But she knew he was needed elsewhere.
“Go,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes were torn. She knew his sense of duty was telling him to stay with her.
“Will you meet me here tomorrow at first light?” he asked.
She nodded. “I will. I promise.”
He waited another beat, staring at her as if she still might be a dream, then he turned sharply and began to run.
“Wait!” she called, sprinting after him.
He slowed, but did not stop. “I’ve already been missing too long. My unit is likely searching for me. If any of them survived. But if you want me to stay, you only need to ask, Your Highness.”
“Please don’t call me that.” He slowed to a walk, and she avoided his serious gaze by looking at the palace instead. It was hard to see between the smoke and the rain, but she could see the shape of the large golden dome. “I’ll let you go, but first, please, what of my mother?”
Taven stiffened, and his long strides stopped abruptly. Horror knifed through Aurora’s middle. “Is she—did they…”
He gave a sharp shake of his head. “She’s very ill. But she lives. Though she does not believe the same is true of you.”