Riot of Storm and Smoke Read online

  I tighten the straps beneath the horse’s belly. “And why would I let you do that?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Well, for starters, you’re already taking my horse with you.”

  Caught, my hands still on the girth, but I recover and level a hard look at her. “So I should just put you in direct danger like that?”

  Lilia snorts derisively. “You’ll need to drop the big brother act. You didn’t have a problem asking us to pledge our men or our funds to your cause just a short moment ago. And if you need memory refreshing, I can take care of myself. I think you’ve forgotten which young prince got himself tied to a tree with his own belt in the royal orchard when he told a certain Masonstone sister that she couldn’t run drills with the boys.”

  My neck heats. I had not forgotten that particular lesson taught by Lilia’s hand, actually.

  “Elsbeth runs the estate,” she continues. “But who do the guards report to?”

  I pause. My hand hovering over the horse’s neck. I had forgotten. Or had I? Had I ever know this?

  It’s clear in the cocky jut of her hip, in the smirk she wears as she looks at me. She tosses her hair proudly. “Me. To get our soldiers, you don’t need Elsbeth. You need me.”

  “What is it exactly that you’re suggesting, Lilia?”

  “Precisely what you think I am, Caden. You need an army. I have one. The beginnings of one anyway. And with your father after your head—or at the very least, with him hell-bent on seeing you dragged back to the capital—it’d be pure recklessness on your part to turn down an armed escort.”

  “Perhaps Elsbeth has made me see reason. Maybe I’d prefer not to draw the attention to myself.”

  Her smile glints in the dark stables like a crescent moon in the sky. “Perhaps they’ll kill you that much quicker when they find you.”

  My dashed hopes rekindling, I shake my head to clear it. This plan could actually succeed. “Are your men ready now?”

  “My forces are, yes. A woman can wield a knife with just as deadly a force as a man—sometimes even more so. They can often sneak in where they’re not expected.”

  I hadn’t meant to intimate that I thought women were incapable of fighting or anything of the sort, but I sigh. I know what I meant. This argument can wait.

  “Good,” I say. “Meet me at the head of the road. I’ll be waiting near those stones at the entrance to the estate—the two smaller pairs and the gargantuan set.”

  “Ah, The Bestowing,” she says, naming the cluster, and tightens a cinch at her waist. “Good. Give me some time and stay on your guard there. You’ll know it’s us by my whistle.” She lets out a low trill that climbs to a piercing note.

  I mount the stallion, my thoughts in a whirlwind—unsettled, unable to rest. Even if Lilia only brings a few of her close guards, it’s something. It’s more than I supposed I’d get after speaking to Elsbeth.

  And if other estates will contribute the same, the cause is far from lost.

  Trepidatious hope lights a grin on my face. Seated in the saddle, I bend my head to the horse’s mane and nod to Lilia. She steps aside, opens the stall door, and I fly from the stables, opening the steed’s stride into a full gallop immediately. The horse hammers through the stables, and I hear a startled shout from the hostler, sleeping aloft.

  If this was my father’s stable, I’d worry for him. The poor man would be punished for my theft, but Elsbeth is not that cruel a mistress, so I urge the horse to faster speeds.

  We burst into open air, and one hand is fisted in the stallion’s mane while the other hovers near my sword and its sheath, alert for either the interference of guards or the assassins Elsbeth spoke of. Someone is after my head, after all. Someone is after my spirit.

  Someone is after my country.

  The guards on the road lift their hands in a silent farewell as I blaze past. Guilt twinges in my chest for a moment. I wonder if I’ll be taking them away with me before midday.

  No, I know Lilia. Loyal to the Egrian people she may be, but she wouldn’t leave her home defenseless. I’m certain she’ll be leaving some people behind in the event of an attack. In fact, the more I think on it, the more I’m certain that she’ll only bring a small contingent.

  Not enough. But better than nothing.

  I make it to The Bestowing as the stars watch, silent vigils to my journey. Breathing hard, I dismount, taking the horse’s reins in hand to guide him behind the structures.

  He’s barely winded and I rode him hard, which means I chose well. He’s been bred for combat at the very least. Riding with him, doing daily drills with him when we break for rest, should get him accustomed to me, so that he knows how to anticipate my moves in a battle. I’ll have to get Lilia to train with me.

  Hours pass. The morning sun peeks over the horizon, dotted with rocks and green hills. It lends them a pink tinge, like they’ve been dusted with strawberry powder. My gaze travels up the stones in silent awe. In the sunrise, I can truly see their beauty. They’d looked dank and dull in the fading afternoon light as I’d arrived. Gray stones. Nothing more. But touched by the light, crowned by it, they look like more. The sun catches glimmers in the tallest two. They look…almost holy.

  I shake my head, scoffing at the notion. Ridiculous.

  And yet... Lilia had said these were called The Bestowing, hadn’t she? I eye the two large stones contemplatively, unable to shake the idea that I’ve heard the name before, read it somewhere, but cannot place it. Sunrise’s light hasn’t touched the smaller stones yet. They still stand in the shadows of the larger ones.

  My hand goes to my pocket, worrying the Underground token I have squirreled away there.

  It grows hot in my hand.

  Withdrawing it, I examine the coin closely. It looks no different, but I’m sure I feel a heat in my palm.

  No. Clearly, I haven’t had enough sleep. I recline against the tallest of the stones, sternly commanding myself to dismiss the odd moment.

  My eyes snap open when a whistle climbs the scales into the piercing cry of a hawk. Peering cautiously around my stone, Lilia’s broad grin greets me.

  I blink. I’d expected her to bring twenty men with her. Maybe fifty. But if I’m not mistaken at least one hundred stand behind her, banners waving, arms at the ready. Plus a crew of what looks to be squires—though, they can’t be; they wouldn’t be of noble blood—young boys and girls in the Masonstone crest, carrying their guards’ armor.

  “Makers, Caden,” Lilia calls. She shifts her helmet to her other hip. She’s donned light chainmail, and her long hair flutters in the morning breeze. Her smile widens. “Sleeping on the job already?”

  Elsbeth,

  I’m sorry. My companion extends his apologies as well.

  Please know that I left for the good of Masonstone. For the estate to thrive, Egria has to survive. If you find yourself able to reconcile your annoyance with me for taking so many of our arms away, the rider I sent will know how to find me.

  Don’t bother asking her where I am. You can be disconcerting, but I don’t believe you’ll move to torture and trust me when I tell you that the young lady has had a punishment described to her in excruciating detail should she surrender our location.

  Forgive me.

  Lilia

  I escaped the king’s clutches. I escaped the capital right under his nose. I made it out of a hopeless situation alive.

  And none of that means a damn thing now.

  After Tofer’s declaration, two of the bandits seize my arms, thrusting them behind my back, making me much easier to subdue. All the better to end my life.

  My ears are ringing, my vision tunneling. It skitters around Katerine, leaning lackadaisically against a tree trunk, there to enjoy the show. Her musical laugh tinkles, an undercurrent to the scene playing out before her.

  “No, wait, please.” My voice is panicked, breaking, climbing the octaves in a plea. “I swear…” I breathe through my nose to steady myself, trying to make my voice even to rationa
lize with them. “I won’t interfere again. I promise.”

  Tofer tilts my chin so he can look into my eyes, and his lips wring themselves into a regretful smile. “We simply can’t have the trouble of you.”

  Behind him, Fi’s eyes glint and Roch crosses his arms in silent approval.

  Damn it. With the avenue of negotiation lost to me, I struggle against my captors. My hips lash out, my legs sweep before me, and my elbows dart forward, seeking a target, but I’m a worm wiggling on a hook. It’s no use.

  Damn my overly large mouth. Damn my actions for being what Da would have done instead of what I would do.

  I thought I’d finally learned when to keep my stupid mouth shut. If I’d just slipped away, gone back to the others and reported what I’d heard, maybe we could have found some way out of this. Maybe over time, we could have gently persuaded our captors to let us free. Shifted our route and their inclinations toward Clavins. Failing that, there was the possibility we could have gotten away, fleeing with none of the bandits in this camp the wiser.

  But I’d had to be brash instead, lumbering into the discussion like a bear at a tea party.

  Hands descend to my shoulders. Pressure forces me to my knees, and I close my eyes tight, sure that I’ll feel the cool kiss of steel drawn across my neck any minute now.

  I hope I see Da.

  But time clunks past and no blades press against my throat. I dare to open my eyes, peering up at the forms looming over me. “Something keeping you?” I ask wryly.

  Fi glares at me in response. “You’ll see.”

  Soon, I do.

  Something in me shrivels as my friends are marched into the throes of chaos. Meddie, Tregle, and Aleta stumble as they’re pushed into the throng. Tregle’s eyes widen at the sight of me, bound and helpless on the ground. Meddie’s gaze flicks around, like she’s taking a tally of our adversaries and weighing her chances. And Aleta…Aleta looks like she might like to kill me herself.

  I will not have doomed them, too. My heart—the one fated to stop beating shortly—picks up speed into a gallop. “No.” I address Tofer. “No, you said it would be just me. You said—”

  “I did.” He nods. “And I spoke true.” He looks sharply at my friends. “You lot will do well to remember that when we’ve left your friend behind. My threats are never empty. But what use is making an example of someone if no one sees the example?”

  “Behind.” Aleta’s voice is as flat as her eyes, as the emotions she’s quickly smothered there. “Where is Bree to remain when we move on?”

  “That depends on what you mean.” Tofer’s shoulders stiffen, and he looks off into the woods. “Her soul will be with the Makers, but her body... That will be in the river.”

  I close my eyes in defeat, and there’s an instant uproar. Even Aleta’s stoicism has broken. She and Tregle bend, back to back, straining at their bonds. Their arms jerk at their sides, trying to loosen their hands—trying to Torch.

  Meddie flings off her captor, teeth bared in a savage grin as she flies toward me. For a brief moment, it looks like she’ll reach me, but she’s whipped back, her hair flying out like scythe blades before it settles and she’s held against Roch’s chest, panting.

  The bandits contain Aleta and Tregle easily, though they continue to thrash about, trying to break free and reach me. It takes a blow to the skull to knock Meddie out of her fighting furor.

  Don’t, I want to tell them. It’s useless. Numbness and anger grapple within me. I should fight back—but what’s the point? I need to do something—but what could I do?

  “Enough,” Tofer booms when Aleta and Tregle refuse to be quelled. His voice ricochets into the sky, startling birds from their nests. He looks at them wearily. “Unless you want to join her.”

  But Aleta is made of stone, immune to pathetic threats like this. She spares only an instant to direct a withering glare in Tofer’s direction before turning her attention to me. “Lady Breena?”

  Lady. Something in me deflates, resigning.

  “I’m not a lady, Aleta,” I say. I smile wanly at her. “I tried.” She has no idea how hard I’ve tried to accept everything I’ve been told I am. The smile drops. “I really did try.”

  “I will not hear it,” she says, tossing her mane of hair. “Ladies fight back. They do not give up.”

  All of the fight has gone out of me. Beyond Aleta, Katerine’s specter twirls her hair between her fingers and grins. This is the moment she’s been waiting for, I suppose. Kat nods in agreement as I say my next words.

  “Then I guess I never should have been given the title to begin with.”

  Aleta ignores this, looking at her hands meaningfully. Her hands that are still bound over with wet cloths. “They fight back,” she repeats.

  She wants me to pull the water from the cloth. She wants me to Throw, and I can hardly breathe for wanting to laugh and cry all at the same time.

  “I can’t,” I say, finally admitting the truth. “I haven’t been able to ‘fight back’ since Da died.”

  Her expression crumples. “Did you even try?” she whispers.

  No. Somewhere along the way, I gave up trying. Half-heartedly, I tug at the water around their palms with my mind.

  Nothing.

  “I did,” I tell her as I’m pulled to my feet. “I tried.”

  The band of bandits marches me back through the woods, through the dappled sunlight, through the crunching leaves, back to the river that laid so close to our intended camping spot.

  Aleta brays behind me—angry, broken sobs. I hear Tregle making slight shushing noises of comfort, but they have little effect. His breath hitches and I know he’s crying, too. Meddie is quiet, still unconscious, though they bear her still form as a silent witness to the affair.

  “Who’d have supposed I’d get to attend my own funeral?” A distant part of me notes that I sound manic. Frenzied.

  There’s a cruel irony in the fact that they’re using the element that once bound me to it to kill me. I’m shoved into the water, and my breeches wash around my legs, the water flowing neatly past my ankles, embracing me instantly.

  It’s cool. Pleasantly so.

  Maybe dying like this won’t be so bad. Maybe, like Kat, I’ll even stick around. I swallow hard, throat tight. Somehow I haven’t managed to convince myself.

  “I’ll do it,” Tofer says, stepping forward and rolling up his sleeves. He nods at me, eyes like liquid. “Go on, lass. Kneel.”

  I release a quick breath and stand my ground. If he’s going to kill me, I’ll be damned if I’ll help him.

  Sighing, he forces me to my knees. “I thought to let you die with a little dignity.”

  I bare a savage grin up at him. “Dignity’s another thing that’s best left to ladies.”

  He doesn’t waste any more time, Tofer. I’m not given another moment to say goodbye or to enjoy that the river somehow feels like coming home. A strong hand pushes at the nape of my neck, and I gulp one last desperate breath of air before I’m face-first in the water.

  I buck against him, instinct taking hold, but he’s unrelenting. Wide-eyed, blood racing, I take in the world beneath the surface—one last look before I go. Everything is distorted. Rocks and pebbles look like giant brown bubbles. A school of tiny silver-scaled fish swim close, examining me. One sucks at my nose, investigating before it swims away.

  My lungs haven’t started to burn yet, but they will soon and I squeeze my eyes shut, reviling the bitter indignity of this moment. The injustice. I haven’t seen enough of this world yet.

  With my chest aching, I hold my breath for as long as I can, prolong my life for as long as I can, Tofer’s iron grip holding me in place. My body flails feebly—instinct. My arms and legs kick out with little effect.

  My vision darkens as the air I hold grows toxic in my body.

  Somewhere, I think I hear Da, shouting at me. “Breathe. Makers curse it, Breena Rose, breathe.”

  But breathing will kill me, I think dimly.


  Da must miss me.

  Still, I can’t hold out any longer. I take in a deep breath and wait for death’s embrace.

  But death stays at the Makers’ behest in the Great Beyond.

  To my amazement, the water flows into my lungs like air. Sustaining me. My eyes widen. Is this possible? Or is it only a kind delusion brought on by dying?

  It’s then that I remember something Aleta said: elements do no harm to the Elementals who wield them.

  Water won’t kill me. I’m still a Water Thrower.

  I’m still a Water Thrower.

  I’ve hardly had the time to think it when I hear Aleta scream in furious denial. I wince. The water mangles the sound, but it’s still terrible.

  Don’t, I think, trying not to tense my muscles in response. My heart seizes. Aleta’s sobs above twist my throat, but I don’t dare react.

  I can Throw again, I marvel, mind racing over possibilities of escape. Maybe I can Throw again, I correct myself. Or maybe water just won’t kill me. Either way, I’ll be of no effect against a camp full of bandits, some of them Elementals themselves.

  I need to die.

  Or at least…they need to think I’m dead.

  Bit by bit, I relax my body and Tofer’s grip finally loosens. Face-down and limp, I float to the surface, ears ringing as water drains from them.

  “Took her long enough,” he says and releases me entirely. Someone—Tregle, perhaps?—spits bitterly at the declaration.

  It’s the last I hear from my friends before the rushing river sweeps me away.

  I pray that Aleta and Tregle don’t give them a reason to kill them, too. As Elementals, they’re sure to fetch a higher price on any black market, but no price is worth the sort of trouble I know Aleta could cause. And Meddie…she’ll need to play it smart. If she gives them a reason to do away with her, there’s no sort of bounty on her that makes her valuable enough to keep alive.

  When I’ve drifted long enough that I’m sure I must be out of their line of sight, I flip over and gratefully gulp in genuine air, clean and pure. Not that I’m not wholly appreciative of the water keeping me around, but it was only a substitute. There’s nothing quite like the real thing.