Only not for the same reason.
“You ...The magic sees you.” The piercing cold of his stare made me uncomfortable. It felt threatening, like snowfall at the beginning of a blizzard. Not deadly at that exact moment, but sinister as it accumulated. This man… I shivered. He would be a formidable enemy.
Finally, he finished his examination of the air around my head and he concluded, “Only Magic knows the answer.” The other storm lords nodded at the simple fact.
And abruptly, I could see that it was true. The stormwarden didn’t control the storm magic. In fact, the spell was bound into the stones of the room itself, and amplified by the instrument of war he held in his hands. Knowing that truth guided the power in this room, I gathered my courage again, adjusting the mask of finery I wore.
“My husband requires your help, lords. I demand you act on behalf of Gilding-” my voice caught before I finished, “the Gilded Seat.” Magic filled the Stormrage See. It guided me as I tested which words could in fact be spoken.
“The Gilded Seat will fall if Prince Benjamin is not found and rescued. I require your assistance and your pledge.”
I put out my hand, “And your axe.”
The Stormwarden could see that I spoke the truth. They all could.
In my hands, somehow, I firmly grasped the power of the magic that filled the room. He wanted to refuse. But all the lords knew: I could not lie. Not in the throne room of the Stormrage See.
“My name, sir, is my own. And I will not share my identity until I see my husband well and free.”
That was true.
But I am not married.
And the magic insisted that in fact I was.
I am?
Who did I marry? When, in fact did that happen?
Chapter Six
Axes for Promises
With a crash, the robber leapt forward, murder in his eyes.
I saw the knife before he touched me, but too late to stop the attack. I could only scream as the magic in my body dramatically stopped, undone by iron. Gasping for air, stunned by the searing pain, my thoughts tumbled about.
My will fell to tatters with the blade in my side.
Another robber knocked me from the horse’s back.
Falling off the saddle, the ground was unforgiving—just like the men who swarmed the troops of the Stormrage See.
All around me crimson blood ran from severed necks. A royal purple cloak lay on the ground, blood seeping through the thick fabric. The prince’s hand twitched and then went still.
My escort had fallen to ambush.
“T-the prince is dead,” I heard someone announce, as a bandit leaned over my fallen body, sneering down at me as my eyes pleaded for mercy. Without a second of hesitation, he plunged his iron knife blade into my chest.
Awareness spiralled down into the finite point of that sharpened bite—of death.
***
Sitting straight up in the soft lounge chair, fright jolted me awake.
Sweat and tears mixed on my cheeks as I tried to shake off the horror dream.
The Prince, Marcus, and… all those men, they had it all planned out. They just wanted the Axe of Stormjen. Reclaiming the Gilded Seat, their only goal. That’s it.
So why did I imagine this horrible scene? That was vicious slaughter. Only one other word described what magic had just shown me: Murder. My heart still pounded loud in my ears as I tried to recover from dying in my dreams.
Stormsmen stood at the door of the waiting room.
“Are you alright, milady?”one of the younger ones asked. Not so hardened as the rest, not so cruel. Was it pride or mistrust that layered the way everyone here treated me?
Hard to say.
One of the stormguards walked closer to where had sat and rested my head. Holding out his own kerchief, he offered it to me, “You’re frightened,” he spoke low and blocked the other storms guards’ view of my face with his own body.
“Can you move? Do you need help?” The man asked. I could read the sincerity on his face. But lately, I seemed to have misjudged quite a few people. I thought I knew Marcus and could read his face. And he sent me to the Stormrage See like a rabbit to the hounds.
Look at how well that turned out.
Something about this stormsman feels odd. I could almost put my finger on exactly what about him didn’t settle. But when I tried to concentrate on that feeling, magic interfered.
I was so shaken by the terror in my dream, I shooed away that feeling of being watched.
“There will be a betrayal.” As soon as I whispered the words, I knew they were true. Even before the magic confirmed it. Blood will be spilt. And I-I will die.
Two stormlords strode forward through the gilded doors. “We are almost ready to send out the search teams. How far away was your carriage?”
I described the place where the bastards had abandoned me. Even as I spoke of the hills, the bushes, the forest, I kept seeing the purple cloak smeared in blood. And the rivers of dead, lying arms broken, empty eyed. I kept feeling the iron knife plunge into my fallen body.
“I need a few more things before we go,” I mentioned my list to the men casually. As if I, Briarrose of the Thorns Berwyn had some right to even speak to men of such high birth.
“A suit of armor, a chest plate of silver and leather. And a bag of the finest blue mountain flowers, ground to a dust... I made a list of everything.”
I don’t know why I asked for that last bit. Something in a dream? Something in one of Momma’s fairytales., more likely.
The stormlords looked at each other nodded, and left in search of the five items I requested. A woman in armor? Who had ever heard of anything more ridiculous? The only thing even more outlandish was a scullery girl in silks and silver, leading lords off to rescue a man she didn’t even know.
Frankly, it was amazing how quickly the stormlords returned, their arms full of the items I requested: a black crow feather, the finely-ground flower petals, two gold gemstones, one lock of hair from a newborn child, and the most beautiful breast plate I had ever seen.
I didn’t feel safe. I’m not sure I ever would again.
Still, the dream’s power did not recede into the distance until I had lifted my arms and allowed the men to strap the plates of metal to by body, encasing my ribcage, protecting my heart from the daggers of men and the lies of the once-trusted Prince.
Each of the other ingredients I asked for were spell items from the story of Georgina and the Watermelon Rind, one of the odder fairytales Momma used to tell us. But all of a sudden, it occurred to me that those were very exact ingredients.
Very specific.
And if in fact, there was a code, or some kind of magic-harnessing ability in my mind, I preferred to have the odd list of ingredients ready. Georgina had used such ingredients to cloak herself in the guise of night and secure her family’s freedom from pirates under its thick fog.
Next to the door, the two stormguards watched me, standing at attention, ready to protect the Stormrage See. From … me? I ignored them and their casually-placed hands that just touched the hilts of their very fine silver swords.
As I gathered the supplies and was pompously escorted out of the waiting room by storm lords and soldiers, I swear one of the stormguards winked at me. I stared at him for a second as we passed.
Then he fell into step behind the rescue party.
***
Once again, I stood before the Stormrage See, and the council of the stormwardens, rulers of Stormhaven and Farthingdale. The First Stormwarden, the leader of the vast country walked down each finely carved step, until he finally reached my side.
Standing one step above, the Stormwarden held out the exquisite weapon that he had held in his hands.
“In many ways, this is my own scepter. My right to rule. You need it, milady, this one weapon to restore honor and life to the Gilded Seat, our ancient brethren. For this purpose, I am entrusting this artifact into your care. I pray you use it well.”