Roar (Stormheart #1)(105)



A Locke prince had been in Pavan to marry their princess, so at least part of the royal line survived. He wished they’d all been destroyed. Perhaps he should have felt guilty for that, but he could not bring himself to do that either. That kingdom was tainted, and the world was better off with it gone.

“What about this Stormlord?” he asked. “Tell me it’s superstitious nonsense.”

“I cannot tell you that.”

“But you cannot tell me if he is real?”

“I can only tell you that every spirit I send to search for him never returns. Your inferences here are as good as mine.”

He met the witch’s gaze again. Her eyes were a blue so light that they almost looked illuminated, and he felt that tickle on the back of his neck. This time he could not stop himself from reaching back with a hand and rubbing at the spot that felt colder than the rest of his skin.

“You should go,” the woman said, settling back into the worn, cushioned chair on which she sat.

Jinx stood, crossing toward her. “Avira, please. Grant us a little more time. There’s so much we don’t know. About Roar’s abilities, whether or not she truly did call that storm.”

“She can tell you herself.”

Locke lost his patience then. He had let his guard down, and his anger slipped past the tight leash he had kept it on for days. “No, she can’t. Something is wrong with her. She’s sleeping, but I can tell she’s in pain. I know it. That thing in her chest lights up, and she whimpers, and—and—” He fisted his hands in his hair and squeezed his eyes shut tight. “I don’t know how to help her. Tell me how to help her.”

The old woman stood, unfazed by his loss of control. She drifted toward the curtains and pulled them open in a not so subtle suggestion.

“My final advice to you is this: listen. Listen when she speaks and when she doesn’t. Listen when you understand and when you don’t. Listen with an open heart, for a closed heart becomes a cold one if left for too long. That is how you can help her, Kiran Thorne.”

He jerked back, stumbling over his feet as his heart roared within his chest. “What did you call me?”

She waved a hand in front of his eyes, as if she were clearing cobwebs from between them.

“Your head may have forgotten, but your heart has not. Remember that in the future. Now go. She will wake soon.”

*

Roar sat on the bank of a small tributary in the Rani Delta. She looked over the unfamiliar land around her—swaying palm trees, tall grasses, and in the distance, sand as far as the eye could see. It was easier to focus on what was around her rather than within her. She was supposed to be washing up, like she had begged to do only a while ago. But her body ached, and her mind was muddled, and inside …

Inside she felt … untethered. As if the strings tying her soul to her body had been cut, and if she did not concentrate, the two might separate completely. As soon as she had woken, there had been so many faces and voices around her, but none was the one she wanted.

Carefully, she removed the only article of clothing she wore—a large tunic that went to her knees and smelled like Locke. Duke had given her a linen towel and a smaller cloth with which to wash. She pulled the larger towel around her shoulders to ward off the chilly winds that came in from the sea and edged forward to the river. She dunked the cloth into the water and scrubbed her skin clean as best she could while sitting on the bank.

She heard something crashing through the copse of palm trees behind her. Branches parted, and Locke stepped into view. His face had darkened with exertion, and the hair over his forehead stuck to his skin with sweat. He looked like he’d just run half the world to get to her, and yet from the moment he’d seen her, he hadn’t taken another step. He stood frozen in the shadows of the swaying palms. His eyes dipped down, taking in the towel that covered her. Her skin warmed as his eyes traced over the length of her uncovered legs. Abruptly, he turned away.

“I should have announced myself.” His voice was low, but it carried on the wind, and the familiar cadence of his speech was like an embrace that she had not realized she needed.

She smiled. “Your crashing through the trees was announcement enough.”

His head lowered, and she could see the beginning of a smile. She took a moment to study him while he was turned profile. His harness was missing, but he wore his Stormheart belt. Over his linen shirt was a thick hooded leather jacket in the same style as the one she had bought in Toleme, made to allow easy access to his weapons and supplies. He looked … weary.

“I’ll go. Let you finish, uh … finish.”

He turned back the way he came and she said, “Wait!”

He did. She didn’t know how to put into words the clawing feeling she got in her chest at the thought of him leaving. Duke hadn’t told her where Locke was when she woke, only that he would be back, and that he had barely left her side the previous two days.

Two days. The thought still boggled her mind.

“Roar?” Locke asked, his voice strangled.

“Just give me a moment. I’m almost done, and then we can talk. Stay there, just as you are.”

He swallowed, and then nodded his assent.

Trusting that she was strong enough to endure a moment or two in the water, she shed the towel and waded in. The water was so cold it stung her skin. She crossed her arms over her chest to block the wind, and shuffled a little farther in. The current was swift, so she bent down where she was rather than risk getting any deeper. She scooped up water in her hand, splashing it over her upper body. She gritted her teeth against the shock, and tried to move as quickly as she could.

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