Roar (Stormheart #1)(29)
She sighed, knowing that she could wait no longer. Perhaps she would only face banishment. The thought was still terrifying but easier to accept than death. She had no influence over storms, but her … gift gave her a better chance to survive the wilds than most. As she turned to go, a commotion down the hall drew her attention. Amid a group of women leaving their rooms was someone tall, completely covered by a large brown cloak.
Thank the skies. The women surrounding the princess had begun to whisper; a few brave ones voiced their suspicions louder. Nova saw a plump older woman, who worked as a laundress, square her shoulders and head Aurora’s way.
Bolting down the hall, Nova called out, “There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Late on the first day. Mistress Carrovain is furious.”
The crowd of women parted for Nova, and no one interfered when she began to lead Aurora away. Nova might have been just a servant, but her mother was one of the queen’s favored cooks. And her father, though too ill to work now, had been Prince Alaric’s valet. Her own newly acquired position as an assistant to the royal seamstress came with a touch of respect too.
Aurora did not fight her pull. This too had always been easier with Aurora. Nova avoided touch as much as possible, afraid that she would slip and hurt someone again. But she would never hurt Rora. She trusted herself that much at least.
The two did not speak until they were in the royal wing. The princess slowed to a stop, slipping back the hood of her cloak. She pulled at the scarf around her head, freeing that famous skyfire-bright hair, and said, “Skies, Nova. You saved me.”
Anger, swift and potent, kicked wide the door she tried to keep closed. And Nova’s fisted palms grew painfully hot. She hissed, “The prince returned hours ago. Where have you been? I was about to hand myself over to the authorities for getting the Stormling heir killed.”
Aurora’s eyes widened, and Nova clenched her teeth, knowing her outburst was not only inappropriate but out of character. Nova had always been the calm and cautious one when they’d been friends as children, while Rora had been as wild as a storm in a little girl’s dress. Nova had been all too aware of the consequences of revealing herself. She might have been born with magic same as Aurora, but long ago, her kind of magic had been deemed dirty, evil even. After all, it was people like her that caused the Time of Tempests.
“I did not mean to stay out so long. I lost the prince last night,” Aurora answered. “But I met someone who hunts storms. A whole crew of them in fact. That place was … spectacular.”
Nova knew the crown’s stance on the forbidden magics—they pretended they no longer existed, that the first tempests had wiped out all who wielded elemental magic in the first tribes, and only the Stormling ancestors had been blessed by the goddess to carry magic now. When proof arose to the contrary, it disappeared. They applied the same logic and solutions to the mercenary crews who harvested raw storm magic in the wildlands. But everyone knew other magics existed, even if they pretended otherwise. Nova had assumed that type of information would have been discussed between the queen and her daughter.
“I don’t understand why you were so afraid,” Rora said. “I’m going back. Tonight. There’s so much more I want to know.”
Nova swallowed the aggravated curse that threatened at the tip of her tongue. As Aurora pushed opened the door to her rooms, Nova followed and insisted, “You can’t! It’s too dangerous.”
The princess eyed Nova over her shoulder, and Nova knew an inquisition was coming. Even as a child, Princess Aurora had never asked a question without five more following the first.
“What is too dangerous?”
The question did not come from Aurora; the voice was decidedly deeper. On the far side of the room, lounging casually on a settee, was the Prince of Locke. His suspicious gaze roamed over the princess first and then wandered to Nova, his eyes narrowing. Rora, impetuous as always, did not even attempt a diplomatic response. She squared her shoulders, as Nova had seen her do when she threw knives with the soldiers, and asked, “What are you doing in my rooms?”
Prince Cassius reminded Nova of the poisonous snakes that would lie in wait in her desert homeland—deceptively calm but ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Even his movements were slow and deliberate, as if trying not to alert prey to his presence.
“I have news.” He let those words settle for a moment, and Aurora stiffened. “I asked your mother’s permission to be the one to give it to you. But when I knocked on your door, no one answered.”
“So you decided to enter my rooms without permission?”
The prince didn’t appear at all fazed by the venom clinging to Aurora’s words. In fact, he grinned. “One of your maids let me in when she came to start a fire. I assure you, I intended no harm.”
“Good intentions do not negate harm.”
His smile faded then, and Nova’s mind filled in the hiss of a poisonous snake about to attack.
He asked, “What’s wrong? Where were you? And what is dangerous?” The last question was said in a demanding growl. The words weren’t even directed at Nova, but even so nerves jumped in her belly and a flare of blazing heat followed before she tamped it down. It had been a difficult morning, and already her skin was dotted with perspiration from the flashes of fire that she’d been unable to rein in.
Aurora turned away from the prince, brows flat with agitation. “Nova, can you help me?”