I’m a fool. And he must have seen me that way… a stupid girl who blindly follows the orders I’m given on the return of an empty promise. I trusted him.
Ahead of me, the servant of the Stormwarden walked. There was only the path forward. And whatever awaited at the end of the long walk...
All the rooms became finer as we journeyed deeper into the keep. The rough stone walls merged into polished marble. Simple brass fixtures holding tall hurricane glass soon became ornate silver lamps. The smell of beeswax filled the air.
Finally, I stepped into the last room. As if I really was a noblewoman born and bred, I did not hurry. Walking slowly, measuring my step, careful to maintain the guise of a lady for as absolutely long as possible, I emerged into the great hall of Stormage See.
My eyes widened at the warm, shining gold that covered nearly every surface. At the astonishing quality of the silks, at the vibrant fabrics on the windows, at the full bearskin rug in front of the roaring fireplace behind the marble fireplace.
I took it all in, awestruck.
“Heaven…,” I breathed the word, as I spun around looking at wonderful paintings and accents of finery in every part of the vast room.
There was a shimmer as I stepped past the last two white columns, Towering above my head, the white columns stood floor to ceiling, almost like guardians in front of the throne. And that shiver … that was something. Two final white columns… what had the stormguard said? “No lie could pass...”
The guards had warned me. But it was too late.
***
There were thirteen men surrounding the throne in a row across the bottom stair. And a leader who could only be the Stormwarden sat in the high seat, far above them all.
I walked forward, past the columns.
The crushing weight of my presence killed all conversation. As one, they turned and looked my way. Two men dropped the ornate trays they were holding. The metal clanged and spun when the heavy silver hit the polished marble floor.
The echo of that jarring sound was all that I could hear. Not another living thing moved.
“Good lord,” one of the men said, breaking the silence.
“Is she…?” another started to say and then stopped mouth hanging open.
“Where has she come from?”
Another of the storm nobles asked, his voice cracking with rage or excitement, I couldn’t tell.
“Stop!” someone demanded. “Come no further! Reveal yourself. We brook no liars in the Stormage See.”
Commanded to obedience, I stopped.
Shaking. Afraid to look at the floor, afraid to look the strange nobles in the eye, I knew I wore a lie, but I also knew, the simplest of facts: I am my only hope.
With great effect, the Stormwarden stood, holding in his hands an elaborate silver axe, easily as tall as the man himself. Clothed head to toe in blue silk and silver armor, his visor was the roaring head of a lion, fangs around his forehead and coming up under his chiseled jaw. The scowl on his hawk-like face was terrifying. It was as if the man could see every thought I’d ever had. Lies and hiding facts were of no use. None at all. There was only pure truth. I felt that expectation, shining from the room, from the man himself.
If the Stormwarden asked me, I would tell him everything I knew. My tongue was not my own. My shoulders crackled from the spell that filled the air of the room.
An unnerving demand to speak only truth in front of the Stormthrone seized me.
I waited, afraid to look away.
What would a noble woman of GildingMountain do? I could only wonder, thinking of the orange trees that Marcus had told me about. Was that a lie, too? Is everything just a trick?
Why were the Prince and his men really here? What did they actually want?
I wanted only one thing: to live.
“Your name?” The Stormwarden’s voice was thick as honey and full of bees, stinging my mind painfully. His eyes glowed blue and the axe in his hand started humming with an eerie yellow light.
“Tell us your name, milady,” the stormwarden spoke again, his voice a zigging-zagging saw right through the middle of my will.
“The Lady Th-,” I stopped abruptly. My teeth almost cut my tongue.
I couldn’t say more. Not about my fake dogs, or my fake sisters. Or their fake gowns, parties, childhood. I couldn’t actually speak.
Obstinately, I tried again. “The lady Ther-” and my words halted again, stuck as a horse and carriage in deep mud.
Stepping down one stair, the Stormwarden asked for a third time, “Milady, What is your name?”
I opened my mouth but could not utter even one single word. His piercing eyes bore through my shields, through the carefully woven lies.
Through every deceit.
“Please,” I spoke again, as long as I wasn’t actively trying to lie, I managed to find my tongue as a puppy finds a chew toy. I must do my best to hide the truth. Not to lie… but to swerve.
“Please,” I asked, “Why are you treating me like this? I have not offended any of you. It is my husband whose life is in danger. I have come to y0u, the Stormseers Council of Farthingdale, in hopes that you would aid in his rescue.” Remarkably, those words tumbled off my tongue like butter.
They were apparently true.
Except that I have no husband?
“He was taken…” my voice trailed off, “ ...while I slept,” That much was true. The men had gone hunting and left Briar early that morning. “He is among the most treacherous and unkind of men.”
Magic allowed only the truth to be spoken: I had a husband. Not to mention that according to the storm magic, he was surrounded by traitors.
I remembered again, the wound that introduced me to the prince. The stabbing that blade that had knocked him into me and swallowed my life.
“I need your help, milords,” I implored each of them. And those words flew freely out off of my tongue… like waltzing to a perfect tune.
“I have to help him. And I am going to need your axe.”
I clamped my hands over my mouth, too late to stop the impertinent words from tumbling over my teeth.
“The axe? The Axe of Stormjen?” Someone gathered at the bottom stair spoke, clearly taken aback. “What would a lady of GildingMountain need with the Axe of Stormjen?
“I aim to take back the Gilded Seat.” The words tumbled out of my mouth, true as the sun rising in the morning.
I didn’t know that. That wasn’t me, I wanted to tell the men: I am just a stupid servant girl, kidnapped, a pawn in the game between thrones and houses.
I am no threat.
None of those sentences came out of my mouth. Every time I tried to say: I am no threat to the Stormrage See, I could not. My mouth froze open, stuck like a fish on land. Unable to speak, caught on the lie.
“I mean no harm.” That. That I could say.
I tried again. Looking at the thirteen lords and their silver and blue clad ruler, I gathered the air in my lungs and repeated, louder. “I mean no harm.” The magic let me say that. I will not harm you.
No, the magic denied those words.
Trying again, I spoke with a confidence I did not feel. “I have come for the Axe of Stormjen.” That. I could tell them that truth.
Man or woman, each of the thirteen lords looked appalled that a stranger would even mention the name of that specific weapon.But when I did, the magic spun between my mouth, my lungs, my ribcage and the mighty axe that the Stormwarden held like a scepter, ruling all who stepped into their hallowed hall.
“What is your name, milady?” the Stormwarden asked for the fourth time. His voice as final and cutting as the blade of the woodsman axe. He demanded an answer, menace marked his words.
I disobeyed.
I refused his command. I would not answer him.
“You will not get my name, warden.” I spoke the words clearly. The whole chamber echoed with my rebuff. “I will not give you that power.”
“My husband is lost among thieves and assassins.” That, apparently, was true? “But I do not owe you more than that.”
Sharply, the Stormwarden nodded.
His cold, calculating eyes saw something I did not witness. Above my head, he gazed, watching something I could not guess... past the tip of the pheasant feather in my cap. He looked around my shoulders, not at me. Just like the prince.