2
As we sweep along the wide corridor, Jordan keeps pace on one side of me and Elise strides on the other. They’re my constant companions and I count myself lucky that I can also call them my friends. To be chosen for their positions, they went through a set of protocols seven years ago—similar to the ones my future husband will go through over the next few weeks: tests of emotional and physical strength, intelligence and, most important of all, compatibility. But even if I wanted to tell them everything, there are some things that nobody can know.
Such as what really happened on the night I became the Storm Princess.
I can’t be alone with Baelen Rath.
“Jordan, it’s important that you remain with me at all times.” I try to soften my order with an attempted smile.
“I understand, Princess.”
I glance at her and the grim look she gives me tells me she really does understand. The rulebook setting out the champion protocols is inches thick. It starts with dictating how each House chooses their nominated champion and ends with orders about my wedding night. I struggle not to roll my eyes about that.
There are so many rules it makes my head spin. I remember the first time I laid eyes on the giant book and I’d asked, “What happened to falling in love?”
Back then, Elise gave me the only stern response she ever spoke to me: “A Princess does not love. She does what is right for her people.”
That was when I’d banished all thoughts of Baelen from my mind. Or, at least, I’d tried to.
I turn to Elise next, but I don’t have to say anything. Her expression tells me she’s way ahead of me. The way her eyes fill with worry, the slight frown creasing her forehead. She’s thinking hard about my situation right now. Baelen Rath is an added complication to what happened in the Vault—what I did with the storm.
“We need to talk about the weather,” she says and I know it’s code for: we need to talk about the storm, Baelen, and basically everything that seems to be going wrong today.
The biggest question for me is: did anyone else hear the rain? I don’t think they could have because the Vault is soundproof—it has to be to contain the thunder: the vibrations produced by the perfect storm can cause whole buildings to collapse.
Because of that, I don’t think Elise heard the rain’s warning. For a moment, I debate whether I should tell her. I need to talk to someone about it. As much as I love Jordan, she can’t know about any of it. The rules again—only Elise can know what goes on in the Vault.
As we emerge from the corridor into the light, I flip my head back and growl my frustration at the sky. There’s enough thunder inside me to rumble past my lips and scare the nearby civilian elves. They scatter away from me as the Storm Command—and me inside the circle—takes the paved path through the gardens.
Above us, the artificial sun shines high in the afternoon sky. A thousand years ago, when the elves were forced from the surface of the Earth, they used deep magic to create an entire ecosystem between layers of the Earth, complete with a sun and moon, forests and rivers. We were at peace with the gargoyles then, and we divided our new home into two parts: Erawind for the elves and Erador for the gargoyles. The humans don’t know we’re here. Far above us, on the Earth’s surface, there’s a city of skyscrapers—I think they call it Chicago.
The Storm Vault itself is contained inside a citadel in the middle of our highest place of learning—the heart of Erawind and home to priceless spell books. The elves would never have chosen to locate the Vault here, but the storm was deliberately sent to this place to destroy all of our most precious knowledge. The elves had no choice but to contain its fury in the closest building possible—which turned out to be the stone tower where young spellcasters used to take lessons.
It means I’m surrounded by both warriors and scholars at all times. It’s an uneasy cohabitation. The passing professors bow deeply to me, but I know they still mourn the loss of the sanctity of their school and resentment lies beneath the respect they show me. The perfect storm is a constant threat to their most precious belongings, as well as their lives.
I leave puddles in my wake. I’m dripping and my body temperature is dropping. As a spellcaster, Elise has the power to warm me, but magic doesn’t mix well with the storm’s fury. It won’t be safe for anyone to touch me for at least another hour.
My plight is my own.
I sigh. I’m desperate for that hot bath.
“Princess!” The shriek from the side of the gardens breaks through my thoughts.
Jordan and Elise immediately close ranks around me. The Storm Command forms an impenetrable circle. I sigh with frustration, because they’re all taller than me. At a little more than five feet three inches, I have no hope of seeing over the protective barrier they’ve formed to identify the source of the commotion.
“Princess! Princess!” As the crying female draws nearer, I recognize her voice.
“Let her through, but don’t let her touch me for her own sake.”
The Storm Command’s circle opens so suddenly that the running elf skids through it. Jordan catches her at the last moment before she slides into me.
The newcomer’s red hair flows around her. Elves come in all shapes, sizes, and skin colors, but only female elves in the House of Reverie have hair the color of blood. My own hair is auburn and a pale comparison.
I keep my distance as I address her. “Rebecca, what is it?”
“Princess, you must come at once. Mai is ill.”
Mai Reverie—the dancer who used to meditate inside the rain. She never told me, but I sensed that she had a similar connection with the rain that I have with the lightning.
