Chapter Five
Bounced
Bowing low, the Stormsman apologized profusely.
“The Lady Theresa De Mayo de Silvia de Regena is not known here,” he said, beads of sweat dotting his powdered forehead. His voice trembled as excuses rushed out. “We were not expecting either the Viscount or his lady for another three days. I’m afraid...”
Quite coolly, the weary noblewoman interrupted him.
I pitched my voice to be light and filled with whispers of feathers and delicate strands of pearls and silk. “I cannot go on,” I complained in the most exact manner, “There is too much danger in the Stormage See. You have brigands in the forests and pirates waiting just offshore. Stealing from the rich, kidnapping my husband—it’s all a clever plot. I won’t stand for it. We both know that once the knaves get him to a rowboat, I will have lost him forever.”
“You, sir,” I dropped the airy bit of lace that was my kerchief on the ground as the back of my hand rested on my forehead. “I am overcome. There is no help for the Viscount but your kindness. And you alone must answer before the Stormlords for your actions here today. I demand that you rescue my husband, or face the consequences.”
Byt the time I finished speaking, the servant’s eyeballs had grown so wide, they might as well have been salad plates.
The entire situation with the tired, recently-robbed Viscountess and her missing husband had clearly escalated far beyond the man’s authority. Tugging at the edge of his buttoned collar, the servant looked about uncomfortably. He choked, exactly like his life hung by a thread, which indeed it probably was.
“I remind you of the peril involved. He is the heir. There is no time,” I followed up. “We must save him now or lose him forever. What say your masters, sirrah?”
Hawk nose bowed over and over as the servant practically hopped backward, gesturing the Lady to follow his lead. Admittance for an emergency? Yes, that would be enough cause for her to shelter at Stormhaven. “I will call the Stormwarden and set out a search party at once.”
His keen eyes watched every detail of the strange lady’s appearance.
Once he reached the second wall, he leaned over to the nearest stormguard and asked like a petulant child, “Is this right? She says her husband, the Viscount of GildingMountains has been kidnapped just outside our See. Have you ever heard of her or this Viscount?” He whispered so badly that I didn’t have to imagine what the bobbing man said. I overheard every word.
Two of the storm guards looked at me, evaluating my story and design and fabric of my clothes. Each bit confirmed the other. Was she a lady?
Clearly, I was.
“And if her husband kidnapped by robbers? Hell, he well might be. And here is the key, son,” the guard spoke to the uncertain servant like there was something childish about the man’s hesitation, “She is here. Right now. Demanding entrance to the Stormlords. If she is a fake, that little fact will come out when she passes the portals of the main hall. No lie can do that. Not our problem. On the other hand… not helping a member of the nobles of the Gilded Seat?” Answering his own question, the stormguard shook his head at the sheer idiocy, “There will be war. Those bastards will always defend their own, in death and rights.” The storms man servant looked around nervously as the guard advised, “Protect your own skin. No tears will be shed for the likes of us.”
“I’ll do that,” the nervous man replied, looking at the rumpled lady who had appeared out of nowhere, demanding assistance.
My presence had to be a trap. I knew what he thought. I saw his suspicions. Remembering everything that Marcus had drilled into my head, I drawled, “I will need some haertstung tea, one cube, and a plate of sweet Xhan rolls at once. Oh, and a room fitting my stature.”
An eye for an eye, the motto of Gilding was certain, even if they were suspicious that the woman was not.
“Let her through. Solve what you can. The stormlords will not be easily fooled. And frankly, there is too much to lose if we—erm I mean—you are wrong.”
Shifting the blame to the expendable peasant, of course the servant set in place protections before he risked. I had seen just that kind of evasion over the last five years at the inn. I was no stranger to the kind of madness that demanded people manipulate idiots to bring down noble houses. Sow the seeds of lies and distrust. Start a bitter feud that can kill even the most powerful and wealthy of houses.
Surrounded by strangers, I could do nothing to stop the hands of time and the guiles of men from ripping my life to pieces. It had happened first when my father killed my mother. It had happened again when the house I had known as a child became nothing more than a series of unadorned walls, filled with cold-hearted distrust and a blind hatred of an innocent baby.
Home became an empty building when my stepmother had pushed aside Corinne and refused to listen to the tiniest amount of kindness.
There is only so much time under the sun to regret. The past has robbed us both. I had spent too many days wondering what my life would be like if Mother hadn’t died.
Escorted inside the thick, towering, imposing walls, I realized exactly how alone I really was. I could never escape this place without help. Would Marcus come? How would the Prince get the mission completed if I don’t lower the drawbridge? And how the hell am I going to do that when every eye is on me? My thoughts spun wildly. I showed no sign of my fear though. Calmly, I walked behind the household servant and into the maw of the forbidding fortress.
Watching the shadows, I gathered my courage in a cloak around my shoulders. Just like Momma always did. Courage in front of wolves.
I held my head high as I followed the coward of a servant.
He shoved great wooden doors wide and allow the stranger lady inside the defenses of the Stormrage See. I shivered.
A lot more than my mother died that night—my faith in others had shattered as well.
Heavy wooden doors closed behind our passage. Final. It all felt so dangerous. Anxiously, I watched the servant, the storm guards, the empty road that led to the drawbridge. I saw the lay of the land.
Doors locked behind me. Doors unlocked ahead of my steps. And that was when I realized the truth…
There was no escape.
The prince had never planned on completing this mission. This was not in fact what the prince was about, not at all. How would armed men reach me?
They wouldn’t.
I had risked my life and freedom to impersonate a noblewoman. And not only was I on my own—there was never going to be back up. Just the distraction of an unannounced guest at the gates. Enough of a break from the dull repetition of the guards, enough to lull them away from something else: the axe of Stormjen, hidden in the castle.
I am expendable. No one but a seven year old child would even miss me. Trapped.
On my own…
The thought of the deception moving around me all this time, the idea that Marcus had taught me all these details for nothing… only to send me into the pit of vipers and cut the only rope by which I could escape. I felt sick.
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.
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?