Roar (Stormheart #1)(15)
*
Blue-white light struck the ground in the distance like a whip forged by the gods. Cassius stood on a terrace atop the famous golden dome of the palace. He had heard that in the mornings, sunlight reflected off this dome, making it appear as if two suns hung in the sky, but now dark had fallen hours before it was due, and the clouds pulsed with light.
He sought out the skyfire crystal at the base of his spine, pulling it from the holster in his armor. The hair on his arms rose as energy crackled over his skin. He focused on his connection with the stone, drawing its magic into him, stoking it into something greater, stronger. In the distance, he felt an echo of power bounce back to him.
“There you are,” he murmured. “Come and play.”
As if the storm could hear him, the sky blazed with light—dozens upon dozens of skyfire bolts streaking between clouds, lighting up the expanse of the churning black that had claimed the heavens. It was a show of strength from one storm to another.
Tempests were sentient enough to seek out destruction, to chase victims, or strategize like a commander during battle. But they could not see as a man could. So when he breathed life and magic into the Stormheart in his fist, that skyfire beast could not tell the difference between Cassius and a competing storm; and with a roar of thunder it began to approach Pavan at a quicker pace.
Cassius knew how most Stormlings would fight this battle. From a distance. It was the reason for the terrace upon which he stood, and the four watchtowers facing the cardinal directions. The Queen of Pavan likely would have produced a barrier in front of the city, and waged war against the skyfire there. But casting one’s energy that far took a toll. It took longer to subdue the storm, and the fields surrounding the palace would be scorched beyond use as the skyfire struck again and again in the same area.
There was no challenge, no enjoyment in that kind of fight. He would not stand back and watch the storm flounder and weaken against his magic from afar. He craved victory, battle. Those beasts of the sky—where nature and the unnatural met and merged—centuries of myths and religions and scholars had tried to understand them, to know their origins, their purpose. But the only way to truly know a storm was to flay it open, to wring out its magic, to gorge on it until all that remained was desperation and hunger and fear. That was when the moment came, when the beast stopped fighting and surrendered its proverbial neck to the greater foe.
He lived for that moment. But it could only happen if the storm came close.
He gathered his magic, pulling from the well inside himself and ripping more from the Stormheart. The magic blended together, burning beneath his skin. For a moment, Cassius simply relished the power, then he flung it out far and wide, in all directions, not just toward the storm. He envisioned his magic like a woven textile, as millions upon millions of threads—crossing and knotting until it became a flexible but durable barrier that covered the city from wall to wall.
Then he waited.
The city below was still and quiet—the people hidden away in their homes or shelters as another warning horn sounded, louder and longer than all the rest. Nearer and nearer the storm drew. A few bolts streaked down, but the storm seemed to be biding its time, saving its destruction for where it would do the most damage.
When it had almost reached the city wall, the door behind Cassius slammed open. He scowled when he saw a few of the soldiers who stood between him and Aurora before.
“Why have you not stopped it?” one demanded. “Do it now, before it hits the city.”
He held up a hand, not bothering to answer, and kept his focus trained on the city wall. Every time lightning flashed, he could see the faint shimmer of his barrier. He was confident it would hold, but he would not know how much effort it would take until he felt the first bolt.
He clenched his fist around the Stormheart as the first wall of clouds touched the edge of the city. Power surged in the air moments before five bolts of skyfire rent open the sky.
They struck simultaneously, like five cobras sinking their teeth into their would-be charmer. The blue-white light fragmented against the barrier, filling the night with a bright blaze. His magic rippled under the blows, but stretched taut and whole immediately after. The soldiers behind him went silent.
And then … oh, then came one of his favorite parts.
A high, furious screech carried on the wind. Thunder rumbled, and the heavens rained down wrath upon the land. More skyfire bolts than a dozen men could count struck with a shattering boom, and the night exploded with light as they were repelled.
Cassius grinned despite the effort and held firm, baiting the storm to come closer.
Close enough that he could reach its heart.
Against darkened skies
And darker souls,
A Stormling stands.
Amidst thunderous cries
And raining coals,
Raise Stormling hands.
—A Stormling Stands: Verses of Old
4
Aurora had not realized an arm could bleed so much. The first few hours had been … alarming. Feeling woozy and fatigued, she still couldn’t quite believe that she’d purposely taken a knife to the arm. When the physician treated her, Rora’s tongue had been loosened by pain, and she told her mother in no uncertain terms that she loathed Cassius. Her mother made her drink a tea steeped with herbs that dulled the pain and clouded her thoughts. She slept some, but woke from a nightmare about storms and knives and blood that could not be staunched, and weddings that could not be stopped.