Richelle Mead - Storm Born

Weapons readied, I opened the first one. It led to a bedroom almost bigger than Dorian’s, but no one was inside. All was dark and still. A smoldering fire provided the only source of movement. Pausing a moment, I admired the wall tapestries and canopied bed. It had a nice layout, almost circular, complete with adjacent rooms and high ceilings. It made my bedroom at home look like a closet.

“One left,” I muttered, slipping back out.

We turned down the hall and approached the only other closed doorway. Unless Jasmine was locked in a dungeon, we should find her here, according to what we’d heard. I reached for the handle, then hesitated.

“You open it, Volusian.”

Some of the mist coalesced into physical form. Once solid, Volusian slowly opened the door and peered in. It looked dark. I started to move forward, but he held up a warning hand.

“No, there’s something-”

Light flared on, and suddenly we were under attack. I tried to back out of the room, but someone grabbed me, pulling me inside. With me at risk, the other minions poured into the room. They had no choice, their preemptive orders always demanding they look to my safety.

This was a bedroom, like the other one, but seven men stood here, armed with weapons and magic. I fired at the one who had grabbed me, aiming for the face and neck now that I knew what little effect I’d had on Dorian’s people. It was bloody and messy, but I felt pretty sure even the best healing magic would have a tough time fixing that guy up.

Once free of him, I turned on the next one who came at me. He was smart enough to strike out at my gun hand, attempting to neutralize that threat. I slashed at him with the other hand, the one holding the athame. He flinched at the feel of iron, and I used that momentary weakness to grab him and shove him into the wall with my elbow. He collapsed to the floor, and a sharp kick to the gut made sure he stayed down.

I saw the spirits engaged in battle nearby, shoving and fighting with a strength that was literally inhuman. Two other men had been subdued or killed by them, and they now fought a third. That left two. One lunged at me, and I shot him, the gun’s report loud in the small room. He fell backward, and I fired again, still not trusting gentry healing on their own turf.

I started to look for the last guy when I heard a small whimper on the far side of the room. I turned, pausing. It was her. Jasmine Delaney.

She was smaller and slighter than I’d thought she’d be. A long white gown covered her body, and she wrapped its voluminous folds around herself as she huddled in the corner. Lank, reddish blond hair nearly covered her face, but it couldn’t hide her eyes. They were enormous and gray, filled with fear. They stood out sharply against her pale, gaunt face. Seeing my gaze upon her, she cringed further.

Anger boiled within me. And pity. I knew she was fifteen, but in that moment, she looked about ten. She was a child. And she was trapped here, taken against her will. Hotter and fiercer my rage grew. I needed to make her captor pay, to let him know he couldn’t just My moment of emotion cost me. In those seconds I’d spent staring at her, I’d lost the last man. I felt a blade at my throat and realized I’d let him sneak up behind me.

“If you want to live,” he said, “drop your weapons and call off your servants.”

I didn’t really think I’d live if I did that, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t if I didn’t. So I did as he asked.

Yet, it wasn’t entirely clear to me what this one guy could really do alone. A moment later, I had my answer as another man entered. Immediately, I knew he was Aeson. For one thing, the others had been dressed in a sort of uniform. He was not. He wore deep burgundy pants tucked into thigh-high boots made of black leather. A shirt of black silk clothed his upper body, billowing and gleaming. His gray-streaked brown hair was pulled back in a short ponytail, and a circlet of gold sat on his head. His face was long and narrow, with a mouth destined for good sneers. Arrogant or not, Dorian had never worn a crown in his own keep, I realized. There had been no need. His kingship was obvious to all.

Two guards followed Aeson, and upon seeing the situation, he sent one for backup. And here we’d been doing so well in evening the odds.

“If I’d realized you would decimate my men in minutes, I would have had the whole garrison up here,” Aeson remarked. He leaned toward me, touching my cheek. “It really is you. Eugenie Markham. I can’t believe I finally have you.”

I tried to squirm from that touch, but I had nowhere to go, not with a blade at my throat. My minions waited, tense, willing to do whatever I asked. Yet, I feared unleashing them might put Jasmine at risk-and my own throat.

“You have her,” said a shaking voice from the hall. “I did what I said. Now give me Jasmine.”

Moving my eyes, I stared in astonishment. Wil floated in the doorway. He must have followed us after all. He looked at Aeson expectantly. An uneasy feeling built up within me, and everything clicked into place.

“You traitorous son of a bitch!”

Ignoring my outrage, Wil turned pleading eyes to Aeson. “Please. I brought you Eugenie. I kept my part of the deal.”

“Yes,” said Aeson without even looking at the other man. “You did. And I will keep my word-momentarily.”

He kept studying me like I was some kind of treasure or artifact. Like I was the eighth wonder of the world. I appreciated the boost to my ego, but the look in his eyes was actually kind of creeping me out.

“Aeson-” tried Wil again.

“Shut up,” snapped the king, still staring at me. The hand on my cheek slipped down and cupped my chin. He smiled, but it was a cold smile, one that didn’t meet his eyes. In the corner, I heard Jasmine make a distraught sound. “After all this time, after so much waiting, I can finally beget the heir.”

The statement was so ludicrous as to simply bounce off of me without comprehension. “Either kill me or let me go. I hate these idiotic soliloquies.”

The entranced look on his face suddenly sharpened, and he blinked. “You…you have no idea, do you?” When I didn’t answer, he started laughing so hard, I thought tears would form in his eyes. “I’ve tried so hard to get you, and you never even knew. You really don’t know.”

“Know what?” I asked impatiently.

“Who your father is.”

I didn’t really appreciate the Star Wars-esque routine. “Roland Markham is my father. And the next time I see him, we’re going to come back and kick your ass together. If I don’t do it now.”

“The next time you see him, you should ask him for the truth about you and Storm King.”

“I don’t have anything to do with Storm King.”

“He’s your father, girl. Roland Markham is a murderer and a thief. How could you not have known?”

He might as well have been speaking a foreign language. “Maybe because you’re insane. And because I’m human.”

“Are you? Funny. You function in this world as easily as one of the shining ones. I’ve never met a human who could.”

“Maybe I’m gifted.”

I had on my bitch-bravado face, but his words were sneaking into me. I’ve heard that the soul often recognizes truth when it hears it, even if the mind does not. Maybe that was what was happening. My logical self was still being stubborn, but something…something in his words tickled the back of my mind. It was like some image lay there, covered in a black veil, waiting for me to lift it.

“You are gifted. More than you know.” He brushed my hair out of my face. “Soon I will give you the greatest gift of your life. I’ll redeem you for being a blood traitor.”

“Shut up.” The keres had called me a blood traitor too. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”