Locke caught Roar as she began to slump toward the floor. She was lighter than he had expected, her frame small beneath the billowing mass of the cloak she wore. Everything went silent as he looked at her slack face. He touched her cheek in an attempt to wake her, and blood smeared from his hand to her skin. For a few moments, he’d forgotten the blood.
“Find Duke,” he barked at Jinx, before carrying Roar to the rug. He shoved up her oversize sleeves and found a bandage on her upper arm that had been soaked through. Skies, had she been bleeding this whole time? He thought back to when he’d grabbed her arm before Jinx’s arrival. She had flinched, but he assumed that was because of his overreaction to her attempts to leave. Had he reopened her wound? The man she was afraid of in the market … had he done this? Fury flashed hot and then cold in his gut.
He leaned over her, listening for her breathing. The soft caress of warm air touched his ear, and he jerked back, swallowing. Bandages. He needed to stanch the bleeding. He searched for the pack of medical supplies they took on hunts. Duke had the most medical knowledge of anyone in the group, but Locke was more than capable himself. He returned to Roar’s side with a pile of supplies—bandages, a salve made from some of Jinx’s magically enhanced herbs, and a full canteen of water. He peeled back the bloodied strips of cloth, and his stomach turned. The wound was deep. One of her stitches was torn.
He pressed a new bandage down, and in a few moments dots of red began to show through. He cursed. Digging through the supplies again he found a plant called battle moss that soaked up blood like a sponge. According to legend, it grew on the site of ancient battlefields where the blood of the old gods soaked into the soil. But this particular batch had been grown by Jinx in under an hour. The benefits of having an earth witch on the crew.
He pressed the moss against the wound, and then wrapped a new bandage around it to hold the plant in place. He began checking the rest of her for injuries. He pulled up her cloak, intending to remove it, but hesitated when he found her legs bare and the lacy hem of what appeared to be a nightgown. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He couldn’t think about why she might be wearing only that beneath her cloak. Instead, he focused on the most pressing task. Pulling her cloak back down into place, he settled for a slow inventory of her body over her clothes. Starting at her feet, he patted his hands up her legs, searching for any more spots that might be wet with blood. He pushed up the sleeve on her other arm and found her skin pale and unmarked. She felt a little clammy, but otherwise he could find no other injuries.
He stood to wait for Duke, and paced the small area of the tent.
There was no keeping the memories of his sister at bay now. It was always harder when he was stressed, and seeing Roar lying there, pale and unconscious, had him more than a little on edge. They didn’t look alike. The girl lying on the rug was fair and lean and willowy, while his sister had been much younger and looked like him: dark olive skin, brown hair, brown eyes. It was not appearances that made him connect the two but … their spirits.
He had precious few memories of his sister. The day she died remained fuzzy in his mind, and he was all too happy to let it stay that way. The grief had stolen bad and good memories alike. But he remembered the feel of his sister, the timbre of her soul, the bravado with which she had lived. Roar had that same strange mix of vulnerability and strength.
He had not been able to help his sister. He had been too young, too weak. But he could help Roar. Whatever she was into, he would help her get out of it. And maybe helping Roar would let him find some measure of peace that he had been missing all these years.
The flap of the tent opened, letting in the dull noise from the market. He saw gray hair and sighed in relief. Duke was his mentor. Locke might have considered Duke like a father if he let himself grow that attached to anyone. But he didn’t, never could. Life taught him early that to love something was to tempt fate to take it away. The old man moved closer and knelt with a grace that belied his age. His long gray hair was braided and tossed over his shoulder, and his hand tangled in his beard for a moment before he touched the bandage work Locke had done.
“How’s the wound?” Duke asked. “Any sign of infection?”
“No. It looked fresh. Had to use battle moss to soak up the blood.”
The old man frowned. “Did it happen in the market?”
He shook his head. “Doubtful. She bled through a previous bandage, so I think the wound reopened.” The old man’s knowing green eyes fixed on Locke now, and even though he kept his expression blank, he knew his mentor saw much more than Locke wanted.
“You all right, son?”
Locke had been eleven when Duke had taken him in. He had hit a growth spurt, and could no longer depend on childhood cuteness to gain him sympathy and coins when he begged in the markets. Instead of looking at him with compassion, people saw a gangly boy—dark skinned and dirty and undoubtedly trouble. When you live on the streets for five years without parents or authority figures, you’re bound to end up with some rough edges. But Duke saw past the attitude to a potential beneath that not even Locke had believed existed.
“I’m fine,” Locke said. “Just make sure she’s okay.”
“Tell me what happened before she fainted. Was she agitated? Did she seem ill?”
Quickly, Locke recounted the last hour. “It was strange,” he said. “She was in the market, so she had to know of the storm trade, but she was shocked to find out that Jinx and I had magic.”
Duke hummed and smoothed a hand over her forehead. “There is something familiar about her, but I can’t place it. She might have stumbled upon the market by accident. It does happen.” He touched both sides of her neck, then her wrist. “Clammy. But her pulse is normal.” He peeked beneath the bandage to study the skin around the wound. “I don’t see any swelling or bruising or rashes, nothing that could indicate an infection or poisoning. She likely fainted from the blood loss. And exhaustion by the looks of it. Some rest and food, and she’ll be fine.”
“You think she’s hungry?” The thought sent another riot of agitation through him. “Is she on her own?”
“I doubt it. She’s too well groomed and clean. She’s fatigued, to be certain. But there are no signs of prolonged malnourishment. Whoever she is, she takes decent care of herself. Or someone else does.”
Duke meant his words to be reassuring, but it was not enough. It worried Locke that she hadn’t woken, and it bothered him more that he was torn up over a girl he did not know. He had not survived this long by being softhearted.
She would wake. He would find her somewhere safe to stay. His status as a hunter meant plenty of people would jump at the chance to do him a favor. He could find her a job. Something that would pay well. There wasn’t much time to do it in, but he couldn’t leave Pavan with this still weighing on him.
The crew came and went, bringing in merchandise from the booth as the market closed up. Each time they ducked into the tent, their eyes tracked to him, and then Roar.
Bait, a sixteen-year-old novice hunter, was the first to do more than look. He squatted down beside Roar and reached out for the scarf wrapped around her head.
“Bait, if you put a finger on her, I’m going to break it off.”
A chuckle sounded behind him, and his friend Ransom clapped a hand on his shoulder. Ran had joined the crew two years after Locke. He had been sixteen to Locke’s thirteen, and they hated each other at first, both vying for Duke’s approval. Now he was the closest friend Locke had. And Ran was giving Locke a knowing look that only made him more agitated.
“She’s pretty,” Ran said.
Locke only grunted in response, and his crew rumbled with laughter around him, which only gave him the urge to pace again.
“You’re awfully touchy about this one. What exactly were you doing with her before I came in?” That was Jinx, who sat at the table enchanting jars for their next hunt. She winked, and he scowled.
“It’s not like that. She reminds me of my sister.”
The tent fell silent. He didn’t talk about his sister, ever. But it was a poorly kept secret among the group. Everyone knew he had watched her die. He’d had nightmares when he was young that had given away that secret. Luckily these days, he didn’t dream at all.
Ran was the first to speak, squeezing Locke’s shoulder. “Well, in that case, I look forward to meeting this girl.”
Maybe it was disingenuous to let his team think that’s all it was. Locke would be lying if he said he looked at her like he might a sister. Ran was right … she was pretty. He’d have to be scorching blind not to think so. But he didn’t want them harping on this, not when he still hadn’t puzzled it out himself.
His foul mood kept most of the others away as they waited for Roar to wake. Jinx was the only one brave enough to broach the territory he had staked out. She didn’t say anything—she just sat with him and waited. Jinx was more how he imagined a sister would be. She was loud and opinionated, and she made hurricanes look tame when she didn’t get her way. But she understood that being there was more important than saying the right words. He imagined that was the earth witch in her. She knew the importance of balance.
Eventually, he started to doze and decided to catch a quick nap. He was a light sleeper, a necessity on the road, and he knew he’d wake as soon as Roar made a noise. So he pulled a pillow beneath his head, sprawled out on the ground beside her, and slept.
* * *
Rora’s head throbbed as she woke, and her neck and back joined the chorus. She had woken midroll when her face slid off a pillow onto a thick, rough carpet. Next to her was a mountain of a man stretched out on his stomach. He had both hands shoved beneath a pillow, and his shoulder-length hair was in wild disarray around his face, but the name came back to her quickly.
Locke.
She sat up sharply, her head spinning. Locke jerked awake next to her. He pushed up onto his side, eyes wild and body tense. Then his eyes fell on her, and he softened.
“How do you feel?” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep.
She heard shuffling from somewhere beyond him and noticed a group seated at the back of the tent, quietly playing cards. Jinx stood and made her way over.
“Princess?” Locke asked, yanking all her attention back to him. Her hand flew to the scarf around her head, and she sighed when she found it still in place.
Jinx knelt beside her. “Need some help with that? You’ll probably feel better without it.”
Rora scrambled back. In an instant, Locke was up with a hand in front of Jinx to stop her approach.
“Easy,” he said to Rora. “Calm down. You were bleeding and you fainted. Do you remember?”
Rora nodded. She hadn’t known that was what fainting felt like—that awful, nauseating disorientation, like someone had stuck his hand in her head and stirred around.
“When was the last time you ate something?” Locke said.
She said, “This morning? Maybe. Or yesterday. I’m not sure.”
Locke cursed and called out, “Ransom?” A beast of a man put down his cards and stood. His head was bare, but he wore a sizable beard and had shoulders wider than two normal people put together. Locke continued: “Can you get her something to eat?”
The man nodded and strode out of the tent.
Rora began crawling to her feet. “I have to go. I have to go right now.” How long could she stay here without them realizing who she was? It seemed they were nomads of a sort, so they might not recognize her, but she was tired and risked giving herself away if she wasn’t careful.
A firm hand settled over her shoulder, wrenching her back onto the carpet. “No, you don’t,” Locke said. “Eat first.”
Locke’s large hand stayed on her shoulder as his hard gaze raked over her face. He didn’t pin her down with any real force, but she felt too tired to put up much of a fight. And her empty belly did squeeze near to the point of pain.
“Fine,” she whispered.
“What was that?” he asked.
Scowling, she shoved his hand off her shoulder and said, “You heard me. No need to humiliate me any further. My current situation covers that sufficiently, I think.”
A tall, skinny boy with startling red hair and a charming grin popped up beside them. He was all freckles and long limbs, probably near to her age. He held out a waterskin to Locke and said beneath his breath, “She might remind you of your sister, but I don’t think those fond feelings go both ways.”
His sister? Locke growled, “Bait, enough.”
Bait. The boy’s name was Bait. It appeared her haphazardly decided nickname was a good fit for this group after all.
Locke jerked the waterskin out of the boy’s hand and held it out to Rora. “Drink. Unless you’re too humiliated by us helping you.”
Jinx slapped the back of his head, but he barely budged, the waterskin still dangling in his outstretched hand. She took the water, mumbling a sorry and a thank-you. She hated feeling helpless. When her magic hadn’t manifested, she tried to make up for the shortcoming in every other possible way—whether it was through her studies or the physical training she did with the guards.
All eyes were on her as she took her first sip. The cool liquid was such a relief that she took a bigger gulp.
“Go easy,” Locke said. “Little sips or you might get sick.”
She wanted to gulp the whole thing down and pour a second container over her face, but she did as he said. He was trying to be kind, apparently because she reminded him of his sister. There was a sinking in her belly, and she returned to her water.
When she had nearly emptied the waterskin, the bearded man returned with food. Bread and berries and some kind of cooked brown meat on a stick. The bread was stale on the outside but soft and warm on the inside. The berries were familiar, and she picked at those next. As she lifted up the meat for her first bite, she lost the battle with the blush spreading over her cheeks. Everyone was watching, as if they didn’t trust her to feed herself. Gingerly, she took some of the meat between her teeth and pulled. It was a little greasy, but a strong savory flavor burst over her tongue, and before she could help it, she moaned in satisfaction.
Locke grinned, and she nearly moaned again in mortification.
“Ran is a good cook. The best,” Locke said, and the blush on her face burned hotter. Even though she immediately wanted to take another bite, she paused and said, “Thank you.” That was to Locke. Then she found Ransom. Despite his hulking size, he still looked relatively young. Somewhere north of twenty but shy of thirty. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
He smiled, teeth appearing amid the reddish-brown mass of facial hair, but didn’t say anything back.
“So … are you all hunters?” she asked.
Locke nodded. “More or less. We’ve all got different skills, but it takes all of us to make it happen. You’ve met Jinx, but this is Duke.” An old man she hadn’t noticed before stepped out of the corner. Her thoughts were scattered, but he seemed familiar. But certainly she would have remembered an old man with a long beard, braided hair, and leather armor. The extensive webbing of scars on his arms added to that image. This man had lived a warrior’s life. Locke continued: “Duke’s the one in charge. He brought us together and taught us to hunt. You met Ransom and Bait and Sly is—”
“Over here.” The voice came from the far corner of the tent, and Rora craned her head to see a slim girl with dark skin and curly hair cut close to her scalp. Quiet and unassuming, Sly had light, intense eyes that stood out starkly against her dark complexion.
“Everyone,” Locke said, “this is Roar.”
She watched his face for any hint that he knew her true identity but saw none. She cleared every bit of the food on her plate, and only then realized how cold she was. She laid the plate to the side, and shoved her fingers beneath her thighs to stop them from trembling.
“Here,” Locke said, reaching into one of the leather pouches that hung off his person. “Cold front settled in while we were sleeping.”
He handed her a small glass sphere and inside was a glowing red ember from a firestorm. Between her palms, the glass was deliciously warm. “It’s called an eternal ember. If you keep it away from the elements, a firestorm ember will burn forever.”
It was incredible. How had she missed so much of her own world? All of her life, she had been taught that there were the Stormlings and the ungifted. No in between. And now here were these people who hunted storms and somehow had gained magic of their own. She had thought that only the most extraordinary Stormlings could brave the danger of an unknown storm. People like Cassius who, with all those Stormhearts he wore along his spine, probably had more affinities than almost anyone else in the world. But before she fainted, Locke had said he was born without any magic at all.
She had come here for answers to Cassius’s secrets, and had uncovered far more than she had hoped. Rora stayed lost in thought for so long that when she looked up, all the hunters had moved away except Locke.
“You know,” he said, his voice low enough for only her to hear, “I was an orphan when Duke took me in. I was alone, getting by on the streets of Locke by doing whatever I could to survive. Duke changed that. Gave me a purpose, a way to build a life. If you need help, there are people who could help you. I could help you.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
His mouth settled in a tight line, but his eyes were kind.
“I mean it, Roar. We leave at sunrise tomorrow for our next hunt on the way to Taraanar. I don’t know when we’ll be back here. Could be months or a year. If there’s something I can do—money or food or protection—if there’s something you need, please ask.”
Rora slipped her hand over the tightly curled fist resting on his knee. She wanted to tell him that she was more than fine. She was better than she’d ever been because for the first time since she was twelve, she knew the taste of hope. If these people and this place existed, maybe she didn’t have to marry Cassius to keep her kingdom. Maybe there was another way. She opened her mouth to assure him, but a long, deep horn call cut through the peace of the tent before she could utter a word.
She knew that sound, and her skin prickled with dread. It was not the same signal as yesterday but a different horn they blew when they hung new warning flags on the turrets of the four storm towers, signaling a change of season. They had been yellow for the duration of the Slumber season—a color that told citizens that while storms were possible, they were unlikely. A red flag meant that storms were probable and people should be on alert for the emergency signals. A black flag meant that the Rage season had come, and large storms were both imminent and likely to be frequent.
Locke’s mouth formed a curse, but she could not hear it over the second sounding of the horn. She jumped to her feet and ran outside. Her jaw dropped. The Eye was empty. All the magic of the night before was gone, only the booths left behind like the skeleton of some majestic, mythical creature. The dark tarp still covered most of the opening overhead, but she could see bits of pink and purple sky peeking in at the corners and along the sides. Dawn.
Rora let out a string of curse words that would have gotten her disowned if her mother heard, and began to run. Locke yelled after her, but she could not wait. She had stayed out all night, and it would be a miracle if her absence had not been discovered.
Rora skidded to a stop in front of what she hoped was the entrance she’d used the night before. With the stalls empty, it was hard to be certain.
“One more day!” Locke yelled after her. “You know where to find me before we leave if you change your mind!”
She looked back a final time at the hunter who had changed everything. He looked tall and menacing from afar, but he had been kind to her. And his mere existence shattered everything she thought she knew about the world. She lifted her hand in a wave and then ducked into the tunnel.
As soon as she stepped out into the dilapidated neighborhood that hid the market, her eyes sought out the turrets. Her throat pinched when she saw the new flag. Black.
Slumber had officially ended, and the Rage season had arrived.