Roar (Stormheart #1)(65)

“But do I have what it takes to be a hunter?”

Duke tangled his fingers in his beard, his green eyes soft with knowing. “No one can decide that but you. Think about that book you love so much. Many called that expedition insane, impossible. But you can never know if something is, in fact, impossible until you have tried. And perhaps, not even then. Not until you’ve tried for an entire lifetime.”

“You were a sailor too, weren’t you?”

He looked at her, gray eyebrows raised high. She gestured to the tattoo, or what was still visible beneath his scars. He nodded. “Once upon a time. But I’ve not set foot on a boat in what feels like several lifetimes.”

“Navy? Or a trade ship? Or…” she trailed off, not wanting to accuse the man of piracy.

“I’ve done a bit of it all. Sometimes it feels like I’ve lived enough lives for ten men.”

He stared into the darkening night. His eyes went unfocused, and for a long while she sat there as Duke seemed wrapped up in something she could not see. Eventually, his eyes closed and he shook himself slightly before returning his gaze to her.

There was something invariably sad about the old man, and she wanted to fling her arms around him and hug him close. The only men she had ever had in her life were no-nonsense guards and stuffy officials. He was comforting but stern. It was how she imagined her father might have been, if he had lived. Though perhaps without the long beard and braided hair.

“Do you know how many apprentices I’ve taken on to teach about hunting?” he asked.

She shook her head, and he continued: “Somewhere around twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five!”

“Some couldn’t cut it or decided the life wasn’t for them. Some took to it well and were smart and talented. But even when you’re good at what you do, nature can catch you off guard. Ransom has had half a dozen. Sly was one of his originally. You already know Bait was brought on by Jinx. Even if they’re not ready to teach anyone themselves, they have brought people to me for help. Locke has been with me longer than any of them, and do you know how many times he’s brought in someone?”

She had a feeling where this was going. “No one?”

Duke nodded. “Not once. Don’t get me wrong: he gets it in his head that he needs to help people all the time, but he’s never once showed any interest in teaching anyone how to hunt.”

She snorted. “He didn’t want to teach me either.”

“Trust me, Roar. If he didn’t want to teach you, he would have pushed you on to Ransom or Jinx. Or more likely, found some way to leave you home in Pavan. I know how hard he’s pushing you in your training, and from what I’ve heard you’ve met every challenge he’s thrown at you. If you cannot hold on to confidence in yourself, be confident in him.”

She weighed his words. Could she do that? Trust Locke that much?

“And what you said earlier,” Duke continued, “about feeling like you were in the wrong life? I’ve felt that too. Felt it right up until the moment I decided to stop trying to run from storms and hunt them instead. I know what it looks like when someone finds the life they were meant to have.”

He clasped a firm hand on her shoulder and then left her alone with the campfire and her thoughts. She lost track of how long she sat there, but the night was deep when she finally left for bed. Weary, she trudged back to where she’d planned to make camp for the night, only to find that her tent had been mysteriously erected and all her belongings placed inside. She glanced around, wondering whom she had to thank for the kindness, but the camp was dark and quiet, and the call of her bed was stronger than her curiosity.





Embers do not fall

And fire does not burn

In the eye.



Rain does not pour,

Wind does not howl

In the eye.



Fear does not reign.

Death holds no pain.

In the eye.

—A Stormling Stands: Verses of Old





15

Cassius paced the length of Aurora’s sitting room, waiting for the guard who was supposed to bring him an update. He spent entirely too much time in Aurora’s rooms. He knew that. It was bad enough he had taken up residence in the empty rooms across from hers in the royal wing, but he could never seem to stop himself from wandering in here.

Nor had he been able to stop himself from searching through all her things. He had thumbed through every book on her shelves and read the ones that looked the most worn with use. They were books about daring adventures and dangerous storms. They weren’t particularly realistic, but he could admit they were entertaining. Others were filled to the brim with mushy romance that always made him want to throw the book across the room. He knew she was sweet, but if that was what she wanted … perhaps it was better that she had been taken before they wed.

He cursed himself for that thought, turning to pace the length of the room again. It seemed that she had been extremely sheltered by her mother, mostly because not a single person seemed to be able to tell him anything personal about Rora. He knew because he’d tried. He had questioned everyone who ever claimed to have come in contact with her. The queen had replaced her handmaidens constantly, so none of them knew anything except what herbs she liked to put in her bath and which hairstyles she hated the most, which was all of them to some degree.