“Mesmerized,” Jinx called from up ahead of him.
Locke cursed and called back, “Strengthen your mental shields. It has to be potent if it got all those soldiers. If any one of us gets mesmerized, grab whoever it is and retreat toward the inn. Better part of the town get destroyed than us.” As he spoke the words, the twister’s winds reached the first line of soldiers, and they were swept up like pebbles into the churning vortex.
Behind them, more soldiers were retreating; a few appeared to be trying their best to fight the storm, but whatever magic they had was not enough. Locke could feel the storm’s pull. Even this far away, it was trying to ensnare his mind. But he was prepared.
He could not say the same for the next group of soldiers who were picked up and swallowed into the maelstrom. There were fewer than ten soldiers remaining outside the walls, and realistically, he imagined most of those would be taken out too.
“Stop!” The others pulled up at his yell. “We make our stand here.”
They were fifty paces from the wall now. They didn’t have long before they would be in danger from flying debris. The ground trembled beneath their feet, rippling until sand drew up around the village wall, adding extra bracing.
“Good girl,” Ransom shouted to Jinx.
Locke felt a wave of cool air sweep up his calves. Jinx didn’t look at the others as she focused on pushing that air out toward the twister. But she called back to Ransom, “Talk to me like I’m a dog again, and I might just bite!”
Locke plucked the black Stormheart from his belt. A rush of wind blew past his face, Sly sucking air away from the storm. He used his magic to search out the edges of the twister. It was huge, and it roiled with magic so fierce that it bucked his hold.
With a twister affinity, he should have been able to take hold of the storm, surrounding it with his magic and forcing it into submission. He could suffocate it, force it back into the sky, or just break it apart. He didn’t have to break it apart from the inside like he did when they hunted. So it should have been easier.
But this was by far the fiercest twister he had ever faced. Each time he thought he got hold of it, a smaller funnel would push out from the larger one, challenging his grip.
He heard screams—the remaining soldiers, he guessed—but he could not spare even a flicker of concentration. The earth rumbled and a series of thunderous booms sounded. In his peripheral vision he saw roofs tearing from buildings and walls crumbling under the force of the outer winds.
Finally, he locked his magic around the lower half of the storm. The cool air coming off the earth had weakened the bottom of the storm, and it began to skip, lifting off the earth, only to touch down again a few moments later. He focused on pushing his magic up the column, surrounding it all. It had begun to narrow, no doubt due to a dwindling updraft thanks to Sly’s work.
It was weakening, and in one great lunge, his magic swallowed up the rest of the storm. He could sense Ransom’s magic layering over his, adding their strength together. Locke took a deep breath and pushed every bit of power he had at the storm, crushing it beneath his magic like a clod of dirt in his hands. Tension eased from his spine as he felt the storm give against his power. It thinned and wobbled, lifting off the ground and pulling back toward the sky—almost completely dissolved.
He eased off, but just before the twister disappeared completely, he felt one final lash of magic at his mind, crashing into his mental barriers. He fell to his knees, clutching his head, holding tight to his control. The assault lasted only for a moment, and then it was gone with the rest of the storm.
Calibah will not bend to tyranny, even if it comes from a storm rather than a king.
—The Tale of Lord Finneus Wolfram
20
Duke and Roar began righting the room in silence. They returned the mattress to the bed, and picked up overturned furniture. Roar knelt by her bags, folding her clothes and putting them back inside. She picked up her copy of The Tale of Lord Finneus Wolfram. The binding was loose and a few pages fluttered to the floor. She wanted to cry, but no tears came. Instead she just felt … tired.
And she could hardly worry about mere possessions when the winds were screaming outside, an ominous rumble shaking the walls. She was on edge, waiting for the storm to draw close enough that she felt its presence, waiting for the invasion of emotions that weren’t hers.
“They’ll be fine,” Duke told her, after she spent too long sitting still, her eyes fixed on the window. “I’m more concerned with how you are.”
“Me? I’m fine. I’m always fine.”
“Roar. I want you to know that you can talk to me.”
“I know I can.”
“The man who sold me Stormhearts in the market in Pavan, the man you know … he’s a Stormling, isn’t he?”
She stilled, then fled to the water basin to clean off the blood smeared over her skin. “I don’t know.”
“I assure you, Roar, that I am the last person who will judge you for wanting to leave behind that kind of life. If you have Stormling ancestry, it could help us understand the way you react to storms.”
“I am no Stormling,” she said truthfully.
“You are no girl from the streets either.”
She whirled back to face him. “What does it matter? All the hunters had lives before joining the crew. It’s in the past.”
“Is it truly in the past for you?”
She thought back to the soldiers. Would there be more? How many were searching for her? Could she possibly hope to go undetected by them all? “For now.”
“Just know you don’t have to keep carrying all those secrets alone, and the past has a way of holding on to us, even when we want to let it go.”
Duke helped bandage her cuts, the two of them silent through the long process. Eventually the winds died down outside, and the nervous tossing of her stomach eased. The others were safe. They had to be.
But how long would that remain true while she stayed with them?
“Perhaps we should turn our route back toward Taraanar,” she said, her voice tentative. “The Locke soldiers … they said they were searching the southern regions for their missing princess. It might be better to avoid them.”
Duke’s green eyes fixed on her, but she did not meet his gaze. She knew how perceptive the man was, and that she had just given him the key to her identity. But she did not know what else to do. She would rather risk herself than the other hunters.
He hummed and scratched at his beard and said, “I’m sure that could be arranged. We’ll have to talk to your Locke.”