Roar (Stormheart #1)(71)
“And that—why am I not surprised that you know what to do should you run into a bear, though you’ve said yourself you had never set foot outside of Pavan until now? I do not understand you, and it’s maddening.”
“You don’t need to understand me.” In fact, she would be in a great deal of trouble if he did.
“Ah, there we go disagreeing again. I think I do need to understand you.”
“No, you want to. There’s a difference.”
He reached into his pack for fresh bandages, but kept his eyes on her. He finished wrapping her second leg, taking his time before answering. With her feet still balanced on his hard thigh, and the sun overhead glancing off his long dark hair, he said, “Maybe it’s both. I need to know. And I want to.”
She did not know how to answer that, so she deflected her attention to him.
“You better have Duke take a look at your shoulder. It’s bleeding again.”
He looked like he wanted to say something else, like maybe he wanted to talk about what had happened before, but she turned away and shoved her feet back into her boots before he could.
Locke was the leader of this crew, and regardless of what happened between them, she knew he would not let her face a storm until he trusted her. But the things he spoke of—the two sides of her—she did not know how to explain them outside the context of her life. How could she explain that she had spent her life dreaming of adventure, while simultaneously hemmed in by fear? She could not explain that she had never wanted for any material thing—not clothes or money or food—but had lacked all the things that came free. Companionship. Truth. Choice. She could not tell him that she was so very good at pretending that she no longer knew exactly who she was.
Sometimes she was Aurora. Confident. Clever. Cultured.
Sometimes she was Rora. Afraid. Alone. Ashamed.
And more and more, she was Roar—bold, brash, and increasingly baffled by the situation in which she found herself. And sometimes she was none of them, lost and adrift somewhere in between, like the wildlands between Stormling cities.
Stormlings are not our saviors. They merely keep us weak. They keep their heels upon our necks and call it protection. The heavens rule all, and it is to them we owe allegiance.
—The Book of the Sacred Souls
16
Cassius heard a commotion stirring outside the room he had claimed for himself in the royal wing—the heavy thud of boots and shouting voices. He pushed open his door to see a small contingent of soldiers barreling their way down the hall, swords drawn.
He stepped out, his hands held palms up. “Gentlemen, there is no need for weapons, I assure you. What seems to be the issue?”
He recognized the soldier in the lead as part of Aurora’s guard, the one who had carried her after the knife incident. Taven, Cassius believed was his name. He fought a scowl.
“We demand to see the queen.”
Cassius sighed. Honestly, he was surprised it had taken this long.
“I understand your concern, but the queen is unwell. I assure you a maid is looking after her. But I hardly think a group of soldiers barging into her personal rooms is going to help her recovery.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Taven growled. “Does she know your father is cavorting about the throne room as if it were his?”
Cassius gritted his teeth. The old fool. Did he not realize that caution was imperative? “My father is used to being in charge, and might occasionally step over the line. It’s why my brother and I took over handling storm duty for Locke. I assure you, the king means no harm.” The lie slid like a razor off his tongue.
“Then perhaps it’s time for your family to return home.”
Cassius narrowed his eyes at Taven. “So you’ve already given up on your princess?”
The man’s nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched. “Never.”
“And yet you would have me give up on her and leave? Take all my soldiers with me?” Cassius’s eyes flicked to the bands on the soldier’s arm, signifying his affinities. Thunderstorm and skyfire. “Taven, is it?” He did not wait for confirmation before continuing: “I’m going to be quite blunt with you. Your queen won’t get out of bed. Your princess has been kidnapped. The Rage season is in full swing. The soldiers I have out searching for the princess have reported multiple destroyed villages, far more than is typical for this soon in the season. And yet you would have one of the strongest Stormling families in existence leave so that the city is protected only by … whom? You with your two affinities?” He glanced at the soldiers behind Taven; none had more than one band. “Them with only one? Do you know what happens to a kingdom with a power vacuum? It collapses while people fight over control like dogs. I can let that happen. Or … you can let us keep the ship sailing smoothly until either your queen or my wife is ready to take the helm.”
The soldiers shifted uneasily, and Taven replied, “Then you stay. Your family must want to return home. The king has been absent from his throne for weeks now. I’m sure he would be glad to return home and relieve his … brother, was it? He must trust him a great deal to leave the kingdom in his hands for all this time.”
Clearly, someone had been talking. The question was how much Taven knew. Cassius had a feeling the soldier was just stabbing in the dark. None of his soldiers would dare to speak any of their secrets. They were far too knowledgeable about his father’s penchant for cruel and painful punishments.