Richelle Mead - Storm Born

“Oh, shut up.” I rubbed my eyes. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to sleep forever and forget all this. But I had miles to go before I slept, just like in the Robert Frost poem. “If everyone thought Storm King was so great, then why are they all coming after me? Shouldn’t I be some kind of hero? Instead they want to kill me.”

“Most aren’t trying to kill you, unfortunately. They’re trying to bed you, mistress.”

“Why?”

“Probably because of the prophecy,” said Nandi.

“Prophecy,” I said dryly. “Wonderful. Now there’s a prophecy.”

“Mistress,” she said hastily, “had you asked us if there was a prophecy-”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. What’s this one say? That I’m a good lay?”

Finn hesitated. “Well…it says Storm King’s vision will be carried out through his daughter’s first son. That the human world will be reconquered.”

“You’re kidding.” Oh, God, I wanted to sleep.

“When they found out you didn’t have kids yet, everyone-well, every guy-wanted to get in on the action. Being the one to father Storm King’s heir would be a pretty big deal.”

“Likewise,” added Volusian, “the prophecy says Storm King’s daughter will clear the way for her son. Being your consort would carry great prestige.”

“Hey, I’m not clearing the way for any invasion. Not that I believe in prophecies. Not that I believe in any of this! In fact, that prophecy proves how stupid this all is. I wouldn’t turn against my own kind.”

I swear Volusian smiled. “Yes, but which people truly are your own kind? Your loyalties are now divided.”

My anger flared. “No. Even if this is true and I am the daughter of the biggest gentry badass ever, I know where my loyalties are. I’m human. I act human. I have no gentry powers.”

“As you say, mistress.”

“Get out of here. All of you. None of this is true. I’ll talk to my parents and clear this up.”

Volusian bowed. “A wise idea, mistress.”

I said the words to send them away and then lay on my bed. The storm had quieted outside, but one of my own raged inside me. I wanted to shut down my feelings. I wanted to forget all of this, because it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. I wanted to take one of the prescription sleeping pills, but I didn’t need Roland’s warnings to know how stupid that would be. If every gentry was suddenly hot to get me pregnant, I couldn’t let my guard down.

I shouldn’t have been able to sleep. Not after fighting gentry and seeing a girl run back to them. Not after learning my one-night stand was a kitsune. Not after discovering that I could very well be something I hated. Something that made me question everything I’d ever believed in.

No, I shouldn’t have been able to sleep at all, but my body knew better as tiredness flowed over me. My body knew I’d been up all night, that I’d fought and been injured. And most important, it knew my fight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

I finally worked up the courage to see my mom and Roland a few days later. Tim had left for the day, but he’d apparently baked this morning. A plate of almond poppy seed muffins sat on the kitchen table, and I grabbed two for the road.

My ability to think clearly had improved with some rest, but my anger and pain hadn’t really faded. I still felt betrayed and not just by Wil. If anything, I could forgive him more easily than anyone else. He had not fostered a years-long secret. His actions had been open and desperate. They had not been so insidious as Kiyo’s, my mom’s, and Roland’s.

When I arrived at the house, I didn’t bother knocking. The front door was open, and I pushed inside, slamming it loudly behind me.

“Genie?” I heard my mom call. “Is that you?”

I walked across the wood floor, my shoes echoing in the foyer. Mom and Roland sat at the kitchen table, eating lunch. Bread and cold cuts were laid out, along with assorted condiments. It looked so normal. So peaceful and innocent. My mom half-rose when she saw me.

“Thank God you’re back safe. I’ve been so-what’s the matter?”

I loved these people so much, but seeing them increased my fury, maybe because I did love them so much. For a moment, I couldn’t get the words out. I just stared at them, looking from face to face.

“Eugenie?” she asked tentatively.

“Who’s my father?” I demanded of her. “Was I born in the Otherworld?”

I saw her go pale, her dark eyes widening in fear. In an instant, Roland was up beside her.

“Eugenie, listen-” The look on his face spoke legions.

“Jesus. It really is true.”

I saw him open his mouth to protest, but then he thought better of it. “How did you find out?”

Honesty, at least. “It’s all over the Otherworld. Everyone knows. I’m apparently next in line for world domination.”

“That’s not true,” he said. “Forget about it. You aren’t like them.”

“But I am one of them, right? At least half?”

“By blood only. Everything else…well, for all intents and purposes, you’re human. You have nothing to do with them.”

“Except killing and banishing them. How could you set me up for that…if I’m…?” One of them, I wanted to finish. But I couldn’t get the words out.

“Because you have a talent for it. One we need. You know what they can do.”

“Yes. And you’ve made sure I do, telling me all the horror stories growing up. But there’s a hell of a lot more than that. They’re weird, yes, but not all evil.”

My mother suddenly joined the conversation, eyes wild and frantic. “Yes! They are! You don’t know what you’re talking about. When did you have this revelation? A day ago? A week ago? I lived with them for three years, Eugenie. Three years.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Three years, and I never once encountered a decent one. No one who would help me. No one who would keep me from Tirigan.”

“Who?”

“Storm King,” said Roland. “That’s his name. Was his name.”

“They say you saved her from him.”

He nodded. “I was there chasing down a kelpie when I heard rumors of a captured human woman. I went to investigate and found her and you. You were a baby. I slipped you both out of there and hid you.”

“But Dorian…someone I met…said Storm King came looking for us.”

“He did. And he found you.”

I frowned. From what Dorian had said, I should have been a young teenager then. “I don’t remember that.”

Roland nodded again. “Once close enough, he could reach out and call to you. He summoned you to him. By the time I tracked you down, you were out in the desert, very near a crossroads. You’d walked miles to get to him.”

“I don’t remember that,” I repeated. In some ways, what Roland told me now was crazier than what I’d learned at Aeson’s.

“His magic spoke to yours. He wanted to take you back with him, and you fought against him. You were struck by lightning in the process.”

“Wait, I know I’d remember that.”

“No. I hypnotized you and repressed it. I killed him, but your magic had still been awakened. After seeing what I’d seen, I was afraid you couldn’t control it-that it would control you instead.”

“I don’t have any magic. Not gentry magic anyway.”

“Not that you know of. It’s hidden away. I made you forget. After that, I started teaching you the craft in the hope of protecting you. I didn’t know if others would follow him or if someone else could reawaken you or summon you. I needed to give you the tools you’d need for defense.” He suddenly looked tired. “I never realized how well you’d take to them.”

I felt as tired as he looked, despite all the sleep. I pulled up one of the chairs and sat; they continued to stand. So I had met Storm King. I had answered his summons. And I had been struck by lightning? That was interesting, because in a lot of cultures, shamans are called to their art through some traumatic event. Lightning strikes are actually common ones. Many of the local Indian shamans-already skeptical of the plethora of New Age white shamans-did not consider me authentic since I’d had no such profound initiation. Turns out I had. Score one for me.