Page 22

TWENTY-TWO

Tempest

Tempest spent several days largely keeping to herself. Mostly, she slept; the last few weeks had been physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting. Not to mention all the injuries she’d sustained. Her arm had now completely healed, though the snake-like pattern from Mal’s whip on her arm had not faded. It looked as if it was going to scar—something that bothered her. Life involved scars—serving as a Hound ensured it. But a visual reminder of Pyre on her skin wasn’t something she wanted. It was bad enough she had the memory of it, let alone having to look at it.

Tempest snuck across the icy roofs of the slums, her feet slipping here and there. Thoughts of her engagement and of the Jester had driven her from the barracks. The announcement hadn’t been made yet, but she could already feel the noose tightening around her neck. While thoughts of Pyre inspired rage and hurt, she needed his allies—the good ones—which meant she could not cut all her ties with the Jester just yet. She had to hold out a little longer, and then she could pretend she had never met the twisted man, forever.

She dropped to the street and ghosted around the corners, looking out for anyone causing mischief. Maybe a good old-fashioned fist fight would calm her. Something snagged her cloak, and she paused, spotting a small child no older than eight years old.

She bent low and cocked her head. “What is it, sweetheart?” she asked the boy, a gentle smile on her face. Children knew her in this area.

The young one eyed her and then lifted Tempest’s hood. His eyes examined her hair. “I have a message for you.”

Tempest stilled. “Oh?”

“A dance with masks on the eve of the next full moon,” the boy said, a frown of concentration creasing his brow. “Your presence is required.”

It was difficult, but the smile on her face remained firmly in place, though she no longer meant it. She ruffled the boy’s hair. “Who told you to say that to me?”

“Jeb did. He hangs around the docks. Someone else told him, though, and someone else before them.” The wee one shrugged.

Disgust filled her. Of course, that’s how Pyre had decided to contact her. Even after how she’d left everything, he still had the gall to command her back to the Dark Court, to expect her to play his good little Hound while he paraded her among his followers.

The little boy shifted on his feet, his boots a little too worn to be warm. Riffling through her pockets, she pulled out two silver coins and handed them to the boy. His eyes grew wide, and his mouth gaped, revealing his missing front two teeth .

“For… me?” he asked, entirely uncertain, his gaze flicking from her to the coins and back again.

“Of course!” she replied, ruffling his hair again. “You delivered the message perfectly. Now, put those away, and don’t brag about them. That’s a sure way to lose them.”

“Promise!”

“You have somewhere warm to sleep tonight?” she asked, standing.

He nodded. “Yeah. Old Harry lets me sleep in the back of his bakery.”

“Then off with you. It’s too late to be out.”

“Of course,” the boy called as he scampered off, clearly delighted with the coins. “Thank you, pretty lady!”

“I’m not a—” Tempest began, but then stopped. Of all the people who considered her a lady when she was not one, the children were the only ones she could tolerate doing so. After all, technically she was a lady to them—she was an adult. They did not say it to make fun or demean her. It was genuine. It was rare that she met anyone who was genuine these days.

She kicked at an empty glass bottle before turning tail and heading back to the barracks. The next full moon was in under a week. It had taken her and Brine and Swiftly four days—that she was actually conscious for—to reach the mountain palace. It would take less time if she went there directly, although the snow would slow her down somewhat.

In truth, she did not want to go to the masquerade, especially not after the message she had just received. It was a summons through and through. Another order from Pyre that he obviously expected Tempest to follow. Her jaw flexed. It was painfully clear that he never meant for her to be his equal.

You have no choice but to attend .

For her plan to succeed, she had to gain his allies. The masquerade was the right place to convince as many of them as possible to follow her instead. It was her best shot.

She reached the barracks and entered. Immediately, she frowned. The energy in the room was off. Some of the Hounds were sleeping, but the others weren’t speaking or looking in her direction. On edge, she slowly moved through the silent room. Her lips thinned as her gaze rested on her bed.

A gilded box sat atop her pillow, an elaborately handwritten note lying beside it. The Jester? But he wouldn’t be so bold, would he? Then again, she wouldn’t put anything past him.

Tempest picked up the note and read it, intrigued.

To my future queen,

May these tokens of my regard for you find you well.

Yours, Destin

Her shoulders stiffened. The Hounds were known as gossips, and she was sure they’d already seen the note. Her fingers tightened on the card. Destin had done this on purpose. She’d wanted the announcement postponed. He was already playing games.

“I suppose I should have known,” she muttered, putting down the note to open the golden box. Inside were a wide array of heavy, glittering gems and beautifully crafted necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. A small fortune. Although, she had never been one for feminine decorations, they did have their appeal. How many families could she feed with this?

She smiled, blatantly ignoring her nosy fellow Hounds as they eyed the loot in her palms. What they saw was a woman happy with the gift she’d received. Satisfaction wormed its way into her belly. Unwittingly, Destin had given her exactly what she needed. Those she couldn’t woo to her cause at the masquerade, she could bribe, and the king had given her the means to do it.

“So, are you going to explain that note?” Dima asked, casually sitting at the end of her bed.

She ignored her uncle and carefully packed away the box of jewels in her bag and then retrieved several sets of clothing from her trunk, along with a few weapons.

“Lass, this is serious,” Maxim rumbled.

She shoved her clothes into the bag and paused, lifting her head to meet his serious gaze. “I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” Dima muttered. “You’re playing a game you know nothing about.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“Your best is going to get you killed,” Dima said.

Tempest glared at Dima. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Never said you did, lass,” Maxim cut in. “But why have you not come to us?”

She scrubbed away the frown on her face and tried to keep her voice level. “And you think you could help me? He’s the king, and we are his Hounds. We are bound . We made an oath.”

“Not in this,” Dima said lowly. “You do not have to accept him. This is your choice.”

“There’s no choice.”

“There is,” Dima whispered. “All you have to do is say the word.”

She glanced incredulously between her two uncles. “And what? You’ll spirit me away?”

“If that is what you wish,” Maxim answered gravely.

“Enough. I would never put either of you in danger.” She swallowed. “I love you, but it is already done.”

Dima hissed and stood, his expression going eerily blank .

Tempest reached for him, her hand grasping his fingers.

“I will need you in the times ahead.”

He nodded curtly, squeezing her fingers once, before exiting the barracks. She stared after him and then moved her attention back to Maxim.

He crossed his arms and eyed her bag. “Going somewhere?”

“Orders.” Not exactly truthful. She strapped on her weapons and placed the rest in her bag. She moved around her bed and hugged Maxim. “If anyone asks, I’m on an assignment.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, lass.”

She pulled back and smiled weakly at him. “Yes, the one you all taught me. Trust my training. I’ll be back soon.” Tempest stooped to collect her bow and quiver from beneath the bed, then strode from the barracks, very aware of all the eyes on her. The king would have news of her departure within half an hour. She needed to move.

Leaving Dotae through the slums was a simple matter. No one liked to travel at night, especially with a storm brewing. Flurries fluttered around her, but not so heavily that she couldn’t make her way north. She managed to borrow a horse from a village just outside of Dotae, but her journey wasn’t as quick as she would have liked it to be. Nonetheless, she pressed onward.

The weather held for several days, just snowing enough to be annoying, but not cumbersome. But her luck eventually ran out. By the time Tempest made it to a tiny village at the base of the Dread Mountains, the small winter storms had grown into a blizzard. Passing through the mountains themselves was an impossible feat until the squalls cleared.

She slipped from her exhausted horse and handed the reins to a stable boy wrapped in layer upon layer of wool. Her butt was numb and needlelike pain ran up and down her legs. Tempest stumbled toward the brightly-lit inn and pushed open the door, wind blasting over her and snow pelting her. Warmth surrounded Tempest immediately, and she slammed the door closed. Her bag slipped from her shoulder, and she sagged against the wooden door.

“That cold, huh?” a female voice asked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tempest groaned. She brushed snow from her cloak before joining the only other patron at the bar and was met with a pale face and the long, braided brown hair of a girl around the same age as herself—perhaps younger. Her eyes were as brown as her hair, and there were no defining features that set her apart from any other average girl from Heimserya.

Plain. Just a normal girl.

She smiled at the stranger and nodded at the innkeeper. “Some spiced cider and a room, please.” That would heat up her insides. Whiskey would be better, but every time she caught a whiff of the stuff all she could think of was the king.

“I didn’t think it would be so bad,” Tempest admitted. The girl motioned for her to sit by her, so she obliged, her butt complaining at the continued abuse. “I didn’t expect my journey to be so difficult.”

“You should always expect snow by the mountains,” the girl replied. “The weather here is nobody’s friend.”

That was the truth. “Noted.” Tempest held her hand out. “I’m Juniper.”

The girl smiled, the corners of her small mouth just barely lifting up. “Thorn. I’m a treasure hunter… of sorts.”

A treasure hunter. Fascinating.

The innkeeper bustled into the kitchen, shouting at someone. Thorn eyed her and then tugged Tempest’s hood lower. “I’d keep your hair covered, Juniper , if I were you.”

Tempest held the girl’s gaze and tucked a stray lock of hair beneath her hat completely before lowering her hood. “Thank you.”

“We females must stick together.” Thorn grinned.

Tempest studied her new acquaintance. Although plain, there was something about Thorn’s face that was captivating. A softness was present alongside a sharpness. A life borne of difficult times and perseverance. That was something she was more than familiar with—the kind of sharpness borne through years of needing to defend oneself.

Perhaps I have found a spirit sister.

She grimaced when the roar of a dragon blew through the tavern upon the wind. “You’re in the right place for treasure,” Tempest said. The noise had followed her for the last half a day through the snow; clearly, the creatures lived in the mountains.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” Thorn replied. She finished the goblet of wine in front of her in a few, large gulps, then jumped from her stool. “I am afraid I must retire for the evening, Juniper. It has been a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer, I fear. I hope you rest well tonight… though the dragons may have something to say about that.”

The two of them shared a knowing smile before Thorn headed upstairs to the rooms above the tavern. The innkeeper returned with Tempest’s cider and a key to her room. She paid and then slogged up the stairs to her chamber. It was small, but nicely furnished, and warm, most importantly. She locked the door and moved the dresser in front of it. One could never be too careful.

Tempest shook out her cloak and placed it near the fire to dry before kicking off her boots and crawling into bed. Exhaustion rode her hard, but the roaring outside kept her from falling asleep. Did they never stop?

She tossed and turned beneath the thick blankets she had piled on top of her. As the night wore on, the roaring of the dragons grew more insistent, the wind and snow swirling and merging with the sound until it was all she could hear.

“How in the blazes am I supposed to sleep when dragons are screaming in my ear?” she groaned, after several fruitless attempts at burying her head beneath her pillow. She glanced at the shuttered window, making out the snow plastered against the warped glass through the cracks. How was she supposed to make it back to the den of deceit? While she hadn’t wanted to initially be there, now being there was tantamount to her plan. Her lips twitched and delirious laughter spilled from them. She’d even started to look forward to showing up at the masquerade with nothing appropriate to wear, just to needle the Jester.

But, at this rate, she was never going to get there in time. The masquerade was in three days; with all the snow around and no Brine to help her navigate the unfamiliar terrain, there was a slim-to-none chance of reaching the palace of the Dark Court in time.

Another dragon cried.

“Oh, shut up,” she hissed, flinging her pillow at the window as another scream cut through the air. Tempest froze, an idea striking her. A bizarre idea.

An insane idea.

She slid from the bed and shoved her feet into her boots before striding over to the far wall. Tempest shoved open the window and unbolted the shutters. The wind whipped them open, and she was greeted with a face-full of snow.

Here goes nothing.

Tempest began to sing at the top of her lungs. Her voice wasn’t the best, though she was sure that didn’t matter. Either way, she could at least carry a tune. A fairy tale filled her head—one of the stories she remembered her mother telling her as she tucked her into bed.

Sing a song to lure a dragon, her mum had said. They will come without fail.

Nothing. Maybe she needed to get on the roof.

Quickly, she gathered her possessions and struggled along the slippery sill until she could gain enough purchase to climb onto the roof. This was crazy . Pulling the hood of her cloak tightly around her face, and blinking back flurries of snow, she began singing again, the wind snatching away her song.

Her eyes stung as she desperately searched the dark for a dragon. Nothing. She took one step forward and belted out another verse. Midsentence, she choked, taken aback when a dragon did appear in front of her—sapphire blue and about half the size of the dragon she’d met before. It beat its heavy wings, watching her with deep-blue, crystal-clear eyes.

Tempest thrust out her arm, pulling off her glove to reveal the spot on her wrist where the dragon shifter had kissed her, hoping the beast could smell the other dragon on her skin. Then she pulled down her hood and pointed to where he’d taken a lock of her hair. Not the best form of communication, but it would do. Hopefully. Shifters were all about scent, surely the dragon would scent its brethren upon her.

The beast didn’t blink or move or acknowledge in any way that it had understood her .

Perhaps not all dragons can change shape.

Fear tried to creep forward, but she battled it back. She’d be no one’s dinner tonight. Abruptly, the dragon screeched and then whirled, flying away. Sweet poison. Her temper flared.

“Thanks for nothing, you oversized snake!” she screamed, collecting her bag and preparing to climb back down to her room. “Maybe we’ll all get some bloody sleep if you’d shut up!”

“That’s a pretty powerful curse to throw at a dragon,” a cultured, powerful voice murmured. She flinched, both daggers in her hands, as she turned to face the newcomer.

And there he was—the dragon she’d met weeks ago.

“Have you decided to take me up on my offer, lovely?” he asked. His voice did not shiver in the cold, nor did his body, though his chest and arms were bare to the inhospitable weather.

Tempest shook her head. “I am here for something else.”

“Oh?” A flash of interest crossed his reptilian eyes. “And what would that be, exactly?”

“I need to get to the Dark Court in the mountains. I imagine a dragon as powerful as yourself knows exactly where that is,” she simpered. Honeyed words went a long way with males in general.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, lass,” he replied, sounding put-out. “I am not some common beast of burden.”

“I never said I considered you as such,” she soothed, before pulling out a huge sapphire pendant from the box King Destin had gifted her. She proffered it to him. “You said you like treasures.”

A slow, greedy grin crossed the man’s face. “That I do, girl with the lovely hair. Very well. I shall take you to the Dark Court. Have you ever flown before?”

Tempest’s lips quirked into a smile. “I can’t say I have.”

“Then prepare yourself for a thrilling ride.” He drew closer, a wicked grin on his face. “Be careful. I’m told that once you get a taste for dragons, it’s hard to give up.”

She placed the necklace in his hand and cocked her head. “I’m sure I will be just fine.”

“We shall see,” he murmured.