Riot of Storm and Smoke Read online

  Copyright 2015 by Jennifer Ellision.

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously.

  All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  For the girls with heavy secrets.

  The world stands still; begins to choke

  When the sea turns riot of storm and smoke

  We leave the body in the tunnel, and I try not to imagine my father lying there, alone and rotting away.

  My hands skim the rough stone walls of the tunnel, and I dodge worried glances from Aleta and Tregle, flinching away from the flickering flames in their hands. Both of them Fire Torchers, they light our way through dust and dirt. I don’t go too near them. I can’t—not right now. The memory of fire consuming the room around me while trapped inside with a madwoman who wanted me dead is too fresh.

  The air is thick as we descend beneath the castle. We’re quiet, partly to avoid detection by the guards, who are surely still tearing the halls apart in their quest to find us. Our footsteps echo softly in the dark, scritch-scratching along the smooth stone ground. I’m silent for a different reason: I don’t trust that when my mouth opens, a sob won’t escape. Dragging myself away from Da—leaving him behind like yesterday’s trash, the knife wound in his chest caked with dried blood—it’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. My eyes sting with the salt left behind by tears, but I force my mouth to settle into an emotionless line.

  Da’s not all I left behind. Two sets of gray eyes haunt my thoughts.

  Prince Caden came back for us after the initial search died down, arms laden with clothes, sacks of food, a bit of coin, and jewels for trade. My eyes met his for the scantest of seconds before I had to look away.

  Come with us, a distant part of me implored. My hand was still warm from the knife he’d pressed into it when we took shelter in the hidden tunnel.

  Stay away from me, the other part of me—the louder part—snarled. My first instinct about Caden when I’d met him in a jail cell had been right. His sort courts trouble, whether or not they mean to.

  Maybe Caden saw some of that tumult in me because his voice was soft when he spoke. “Look for The Soused Turkey pub,” he instructed. I kept my eyes locked on a shadow that Aleta’s flames sent dancing against the wall. “It’s a bit of a hole-in-the-wall, but the barkeep there’s a good man. Clift. Tell him…” He hesitated. “Tell him Rick sent you.”

  Rick? He wants us to use his alias? My eyes snapped to his. I’d thought it was a joke, told to me in those first moments in the cell with Da to pretend away his problems as the crown prince. With my eyes on his, it was like he couldn’t help himself. He reached toward me until I shrank away.

  The small movement was enough. His hand fell back to his side, and he left with the facsimile of a smile, wishing us well.

  “Be safe, Bree.”

  I trudge on, the echo of his voice melding with the cacophony of flames in my memory.

  The other set of gray eyes that press into me belongs to Caden’s father, King Langdon of Egria. My fist clenches, nails digging into my palm. The king waits in his comfortable throne room as he sets to conquer any nations he can get his greedy hands on.

  My vengeance waits with him.

  I have one small comfort: that the king’s minion, Lady Katerine, is gone. She’d signed her own death warrant when she’d murdered Da in front of me. I’d funneled my rage into my new Water Throwing abilities, and liquid had filled Katerine’s lungs until she fell. She didn’t rise again.

  I feel no remorse for leaving her body behind. I only regret that I didn’t take the time to spit on it.

  Katerine may be removed from power, but the king is safely cocooned in his palace. Part of me—the raw, gaping wound that screams for retribution—wants to surge back inside, hurling waves at whoever dares to get in my way, but for now, I march on and build a dam against the emotions.

  “What next?” Tregle breaks the silence, turning toward me expectantly.

  My voice is hoarse. Hollow. “We pray the Makers look on us favorably.” In truth, I don’t really have a plan. I’d expected Da would be beside me when Aleta and I escaped—there to offer his expertise on the realm, there to fight with me. We have Tregle, but Makers, I wish that we had Da instead.

  Aleta’s eyes sharpen on me. “We’ve made it out—and alive. I expect they already are looking on us favorably.”

  I tamp down the biting denial that rises on my tongue because she’s wrong. Da’s dead. The Makers owe me now.

  Aleta’s warnings that the tunnel exit is just outside the guard’s barracks echo in my mind and I steel myself for a battle within the city walls, but it’s quiet when we ease the grate that covers it down to the ground and slip outside.

  It’s morning. Already hours have passed since we left Aleta and Caden’s premarital banquet. The sky had been inky then, dotted with the twinkling of stars. Now, it’s tinged an orange hue, just beginning to break through the black. The city’s barely roused itself. Not a soul passes as Aleta steps foot into the alley.

  “Where is everyone?” I worry aloud. Getting out while the guards are in an uproar over Kat’s death has been too easy. I know better now than to trust that anything will go smoothly. The notion will only lull me into a sense of calm security that we can’t afford.

  Aleta shrugs in a full-bodied movement, unconcerned with the lack of commotion, and strides toward the street. She moves just as she did in the palace—confident, unafraid, an in-born self-assurance that I can’t hope to emulate now, if ever.

  She’s halted by Tregle’s staying hand on her shoulder. “I’d imagine they’re still searching the castle grounds for you, Highness. But the search will expand quickly.”

  “All the more reason for us to make haste.” She moves out of his hold with a quick step forward. He frowns after her.

  This time, it’s my hand that stays her, and when she looks back at me, her green eyes are equal parts impatience and exasperation—emotions I can understand. She’s waited the better part of sixteen years to be beyond the king’s grasp. “Yes, Lady Breena?”

  My flinch at the title is instinctive. Aleta was unconscious when Katerine spilled the secrets of my lineage. She can’t know…

  No. Not the time.

  “We can’t just charge out there blindly.” I peer around the corner. When I’m not greeted with a sword at my throat, I motion them forward.

  I swallow as we step into the city, truly vulnerable now without a hiding place or the cover of a crowd. Shopkeepers are slowly opening their doors, and merchant carts wheel onto the rocky street, drawn by hobbling goats. A glassy-eyed carp stares at me from a nearby fisherman’s cart.

  “It might be best to forego titles for the time being so we don’t draw attention to ourselves,” Tregle suggests as we strive to look casual, parading through the market this early.

  Wanting nothing more than to cut all ties with nobility, I agree easily. “Just call me Bree, then.”

  He nods. “Bree is common enough, but…”

  Aleta lifts her nose suspiciously, a wolf scenting her prey. “What?”

  “Aleta is distinctive,” he says, obviously reluctant to displease her. “It’s a Nereid name.”

  It would have been my name. I banish the thought quickly.

  “A false name, then?” Her nose wrinkles, considering. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll think on it.”

  “No time. You’ll be Lettie for now.” I scan the shopfronts as she makes a sound of protest. “Cade
—” I catch myself, not wanting to be overheard. The prince’s name would catch someone’s notice, especially in the capital. “Rick told us to look for The Soused Turkey.” Caden’s alias is a careful enunciation, and I don’t miss the reversal of my situation. Once, I struggled to use his true name.

  Thank whatever deities we still have on our side, we find The Soused Turkey after searching two more streets. I’m all too aware of the amount of time that’s passed; the knowledge of it closes my throat. And I don’t miss the eyes around us either—just more witnesses to our presence. We can’t rush, can’t afford to draw that sort of attention to ourselves lest someone remember us. On the other hand, we must rush before the king’s search spreads to the city. The guards may very well be here already.

  Caden was right. “Hole-in-the-wall” is an apt description for the place. The impression all but tackles us to the ground as we step inside. The pub is dirtier even than the tavern I used to call home, with dingy walls and an ominous rust-colored stain decorating the wooden bar. The early morning sunlight seems to have mistook the single filthy window as a “keep out” warning, for none of it reaches inside; only two dim torches cast their glow about.

  The door creaks as it shuts behind us, thumping me softly in the back.

  “Do you see anyone?” Aleta asks. As a unit, we move deeper inside and jump when a thunderous noise surrounds us.

  “It’s a sad lot that needs a drink afore the sun’s finished rising!” The man’s deep bellow makes Aleta’s hand fly to her heart, and I sag against a nearby table, grateful that the sudden sound was only his shout. Tregle nods to the set of stairs leading to a cellar, where it came from.

  “Don’t break or steal anything,” the man continues, still not emerging. I hear the unmistakable tinkle of glassware from below. “I’ll be with you in a mo’!”

  Even if we’d been determined to loot the place, there isn’t much to steal. We share a look, silently conferring, and I shrug. We’ve got no other options, really. Nowhere else to go. By now, they’ll have sent guards to seal the city gates. I take a seat at the bar, and Tregle and Aleta join me. I push Tregle’s chair forward when he leans it back on two legs.

  “Stop fooling around,” I whisper. My throat clogs at a memory that resembles this a little too closely. Da, on his own barstool, brow wrinkled as he carefully balances during the dinner rush. Da, who now lies dead in a dark tunnel.

  A bear of a man clomps up the stairs, helpfully distracting, a heavy wooden crate shouldered against his head. His tunic is a dark olive green, and it doesn’t cover the coarse curls on his gargantuan arms. A crop of thick black hair sits above a tan complexion, wrinkles ironed onto his face by the sun’s firm hands.

  My fists clench in my lap as his eyes, like tiny beetles, settle on us. If Caden’s wrong about him…if we’ve let someone see us for no reason…

  There’s a clatter as he drops the crate filled with glass bottles onto a table. “You’re wanting a drink, I suppose. Bad night, lad?” He addresses Tregle. “Don’t see how it could have been with two such fetching ladies with you.” He tips an imaginary cap to us.

  Aleta doesn’t crack a smile, and the man’s grin fades, unsure.

  “Are you Clift?” she asks.

  A furry raised eyebrow is his first response. “I am. Though I should be inclined to say that it depends on who’s asking.”

  I hesitate, but I’ve no other option than to trust him. Caden seems to. “Rick sent us.”

  His eyebrow drops, and a broad grin spreads over his face again as he unleashes a clap of laughter. “Rick sent you? How is that lout? I’ve not seen him in months!”

  So Caden does know him. I allow myself a momentary breath of relief. But how well does he know him? Searching Clift’s face for any hint of subterfuge, I’m not sure whether or not he realizes that Rick and His Royal Highness Prince Caden, heir to the throne of Egria, are one and the same.

  I err on the side of caution. “He’s well. Sends his regards.”

  He snorts. “Bet he does. He owes me a report.”

  The three of us exchange a look, and I ask tentatively, “He’s…to report to you?”

  Clift’s smile drops. “Sorry. Thought when you said he sent you, you meant you were a part of the Underground.”

  The what?

  He chuckles nervously, a hand going to the back of his head. “But you obviously have no idea what I’m talking about.” He busies himself with emptying the crate, placing the mugs behind the counter. “Ignore me then! ‘Preciate it if you wouldn’t repeat that to anyone.”

  “Sure,” Tregle agrees immediately.

  “What underground?” Aleta demands.

  “Forget I said anything,” Clift says. He laughs. “I was joking before, but you lot certainly do look like you could use a stiff drink. What can I get for you?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “We need our wits about us. Listen, Clift, Rick seemed to think that we could trust you. We need a way out of the capital.”

  “Promptly,” Aleta adds.

  The jovial glimmer in Clift’s eyes disappears, and he straightens, serious. “A way out of the capital, is it? Why’s that?”

  None of us speak.

  “Could be you just want to start over,” he says. “Make a new life out of the capital. Maybe you want to avoid conscription. Maybe you’re Elementals.”

  I flinch, and his gaze darts to me. Damn. I’m sure he saw that. The bumbling barkeep looks to be rather sharper than first impressions would have had us think.

  “Of course,” he says. “There’s another reason you might want to escape. You’ve made an enemy. A right powerful one. Who is it? Some duke? A count?”

  I hold his gaze, remaining silent.

  “The king?” He whistles lowly. “You do need a way out, don’t you?”

  “There will be people looking for us,” I say, avoiding his questions.

  “We can get you out,” he assures me. “But I’ll need a day to get in touch with my contacts. You can stay here until then.”

  “In a pub?” Aleta’s voice is incredulous, and her expression matches. I elbow her in the side. She sighs and glares, put-out with me. “I mean to say that we are grateful for your hospitality, Sir Clift.”

  Tregle and I introduce ourselves, and Aleta manages to choke out her new moniker, Lettie, with a straight face as she shakes his hand.

  The silence in The Soused Turkey is awkward, broken by the steady tap of Aleta’s fingernail on the wooden tabletop while Clift moves to chores.

  “So. Clift. Is this your place, then?” Tregle asks.

  He nods. “It is. My mam and da bought the place off the last owner. When they passed, I took it over.” He dries the inside of a mug with a dishrag as he talks.

  I’m mesmerized by the circular motion of his hand as he presses the rag around the mug’s rim. For me, it’s practically hypnotizing; it brings me right back to the end of a long shift at The Bridge and Duchess, before the evening sweep-up began.

  “I used to be a barmaid,” I blurt. “In my da’s pub.”

  I curse myself instantly at the memories the mention of Da evokes. I flash back to the raging inferno in the palace, my knife at Katerine’s throat, Aleta unconscious.

  Bam. I’m choking, the air stolen from my lungs.

  Bam. My knife in Katerine’s hand. Da sprinting across the room, flying with the wind at his back. Katerine’s eyes hold mine, blue and glittering with malice.

  Then she whirls and Da is falling, falling, falling, never to get up again.

  The burning in my eyes means that tears aren’t far behind, and I turn around, tracing my fingernails along the wooden grooves of the bar, blinking them back. Tregle places a hand on my back to steady me, and Aleta coughs uncomfortably.

  “Yeah?” Clift, oblivious, sounds happy to hear of my former occupation. “That may make things easier if I can trouble you to man the bar mid-day. I won’t have an extra set of hands to help me out until supper, and I’m not sure how I’ll make c
ontact with someone that could help you out of the city without closing the pub.”

  “Sure.” My smile feels more like a grimace. “Least I could do.”

  Aleta disagrees. “Lad—” Tregle cuts her off with a quick shake of his head, which Clift takes in with a curious tilt of his. “Bree,” she corrects herself. “That’s not entirely wise.”

  Damn, she’s right. People will be looking for us. People who know what I— what we look like. People with our descriptions.

  Aleta rises, chin inclined. “It’s not that we aren’t extremely grateful, but Bree will be recognizable to those searching for us.”

  Clift nods, not having considered this. “I’ll come up with something else.”

  But he hasn’t the time. Breathless, a girl flies into The Soused Turkey, her short brown hair tousled. “Clift, the king’s men are coming. Hide it. Hide—”

  She stops. Seeing us, her brown eyes shoot wide. Strangers, I can practically hear her think. I’ve said too much. Her eyes flick uncertainly between us and Clift. He gives her a curt, permissive nod, and she continues without further hesitation. “Hide everything,” she breathes. “They’re at the end of the row now, at Boni’s, but they’ll be at your step before long. They’re turning the place over looking for something.”

  And I’m sure that I know what that something is. Us. “We should go.”

  Tregle nods. “We’re putting you all in danger. We can go into hiding elsewhere.”

  “You’ll stay here.” Clift’s tone brooks no argument. “The fact that the king wants you is enough for me to know he shouldn’t get his hands on you.”

  I open my mouth to thank him, but he holds up a hand. “Explanations later. Down into the cellar with all of you. There isn’t much time.”

  We thump downstairs. Tregle looks around, frowning. He’s thinking the same thing I am: it’s a poor hiding place. A cramped, damp room, poorly lit and populated sparsely by crates and barrels. They won’t provide decent cover in the slightest. The guards will come downstairs and see us instantly, even if we crouch behind the rubble.