Roar (Stormheart #1)(27)

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.”