They ran through the trees, gnarled branches scraping at her arms. When she emerged into open air, her head whipped backward so fast she would likely be sore tomorrow. But the sky was … fine. A little dull for this soon after sunrise, and a smattering of clouds hung above them, but they didn’t appear dark, nor did Roar see any sign of rotation or skyfire. She spun around, searching for what the hunters called storms of tide. There was none of the fog Locke had quizzed her on. No dust storm or strong winds that she could detect. There was nothing at all.
Locke skidded to a stop behind her, and she turned to see the same confusion cross his face. But when the horn blew a second time, he took off toward camp again. They’d run far enough down the bending river that the crew was nowhere in sight. And it became clear within moments that the relentless, punishing pace Locke set in their workouts wasn’t even him at full speed. He’d been taking it easy on her, and now he was pushing himself so hard that Roar couldn’t keep up, not even when she urged her limbs to their limits. She chased after him, her lungs threatening to rebel and collapse.
When they rounded a bend and the camp came into sight, everyone was in motion. They’d already packed up. Ransom and Sly worked to calm the panicking horses. Duke and Bait were in the Rock, the top of the carriage still open as they fiddled with different instruments. Jinx was pacing, apparently waiting for them, and she ran to meet them halfway. Roar knew she should be afraid. She was about to face a storm for the very first time, but her earlier anger blocked out the fear.
The crystal tucked beneath Roar’s tunic went from warm to blisteringly hot. She sucked in a breath and tugged it up by the leather strap to keep it off her skin.
“What is it?” Locke asked Jinx as they covered the last of the distance to camp.
“No clue,” Jinx said. “We were all eating breakfast when the instruments went haywire. Temperature dropped so fast Bait thought the gauge was broken. Pressure is all over the place, rising and falling like nothing I’ve ever seen. The storm crystal is measuring at the hottest level. Whatever is coming, it’s packed with magic.”
They pulled to a halt and Locke nodded, his expression blank as the sky. “Roar, in the Rock. Now.”
“What? But there’s nothing even happening. I can—”
“I said now.”
She fisted her hands until her nails bit painfully into her palms.
“I can handle this. I know—”
He gripped both of her arms, pulling until Roar was on her tiptoes. “This is not a discussion. You get in there, or we drop you off the next time we’re near a town. Your choice.”
She batted his hands away, rage bubbling up so fast in her chest that she nearly attacked him. She wanted to … with a ferocity she had never felt, not even back in the water. Roar was not a violent person. Or perhaps she hadn’t been before. Before she’d left her whole life behind, abandoned her mother, and thrown herself on the mercy of this brutal world for the slimmest chance that something might change.
She looked at Locke, felt his fingers pinching her arms, and rage replaced her lungs. She screamed something halfway between words and a wail. Locke’s face went slack with surprise, and only his quick reflexes saved him from the claw of her fingernails. He cursed, and his arms banded around her middle, locking her elbows against her waist. Roar kicked and yelled and dug her fingers into his forearms. He picked her up, burying his head in her neck to protect his face. She wrenched her body in different directions as he barked out commands.
“RANSOM! JINX! SLY! It’s on you. Spread out. I don’t know what’s coming, but be ready! Be quick! Be smart!”
Then he hauled her, hissing like a wildcat, toward the Rock. She clawed and punched and kicked, and when her foot connected hard with his knee, he went down. She broke free, and for a moment her mind was filled only with thoughts of destruction—of crushing and dismantling Locke and everything that surrounded her. This rage … it was bottomless. A vast, empty nothing that would suck up every shred of happiness in her, bleed her dry until nothing was left but hurt and the desire to hurt in return. Punish, it whispered. Punish them all.
Locke stood to challenge her once more, and over his shoulder Roar saw the sky yawn night into the day, black pouring from blue like blood from a wound. A slim, spinning funnel reached for the ground, and she swore the dust from the earth leaped up to meet it. It punched downward, fast and fierce, and touched down less than two hundred paces in the direction Locke and she had come from. It landed near the tree line, ripping up roots that had probably spent centuries burrowing into the earth, as if they were little better than the weak, worn stitching on her clothes.
Roar’s heart was beating so fast, and between the rage and fear, she felt like she might split in two. Her body jerked and twisted with a desperation that she didn’t understand.
Locke cursed. “Everyone—anchors now!”
One by one, the storm hunters lifted what looked like small crossbows attached to their hips, shooting iron arrows into the earth with long ropes uncoiling from a leather pouch on their harnesses. Something thunked next to her, and she saw similar arrows being shot from each corner of the Rock, securing it to the earth.
Distracted, she didn’t notice Locke coming until he picked her up and hurled her over his shoulder. The fury pushed back to the forefront of her mind, swallowing up her panic, and she beat at his back as he climbed the ladder on the side of the Rock. He pitched her none too gently inside. Jumping in after her, he slammed the hatch at the top shut. For a moment, Roar was disoriented by the chaos inside the vehicle. Dials spun and something else rang with a shrill squeal. There were maps piled precariously on a small table in the center, and Duke sat in a chair bolted to the floor near the front, where most of the tools and apparatuses appeared to be. Another seat was placed near the back by a huge metal basin like the cauldron of some fairytale witch. Beneath her was a glass floor that revealed metal pipes and gears that sat motionless. The space felt too small, and she readied herself to fight harder, scream louder; but before she managed, a hard body slammed into hers, forcing her down on the floor. That set her screaming again, and the sound echoed painfully in her ears.
Roar fought, but Locke’s body lay fully atop hers, taller and broader and heavier. Her teeth found the round, muscled mass of Locke’s shoulder, and she bit down, screaming into the thick leather vest he wore. He grunted at the attack, but made no other sound.
“Calm your mind,” Locke growled.
Over Locke’s shoulder, her eyes fixed on the twister through the domed glass at the front of the Rock. She thought it had been terrifying before, but now it was as dark as she imagined death to be, filled to the brim with debris, like a gaping maw, shoveling itself full enough to burst. And the more that thing ate, the blacker her anger became, until she snapped her teeth at Locke like she was an animal instead of the Princess of Pavan.
This was … not right. This was not her. And even though she told herself to stop, even though she could feel tears tracking down her face and shame filling her belly, nothing changed.
She was a monster. And monsters had to be contained.