Prologue
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Myshinybootsthudagainst the stone floors as I race through the hallways, arms pumping at my sides. I’ve been waiting for this day formonths, ever since Faramir’s earthwielding master arrived at the palace.
Officially, I’m not supposed to begin training for another two years, but Father said I’m ready now—my stormwielding abilities are very advanced for my age. Faramir didn’t look pleased about it, but he’s rarely ever pleased with me. A dull ache radiates through my chest at the thought of my brother’s cold eyes, but I shove them from my mind. I won’t let him ruin my day.
Not today.
A sharp turn around a corner, and I nearly collide with a servant coming the other way. The tall lady gasps, clutching a stack of linens to her chest.
“Sorry!” I shout over my shoulder, grinning. Two more hallways, and I’m here. The door flies open with abangagainst the wall, and I wince. Mother has lectured me about that more than once. My hands are careful as I close the door with a softclick.
“Mother!” I call, glancing around. No sign of her in the large chambers. “You won’t believe it. Father said I—”
The washroom door swings open, and Mother emerges. The words catch in my throat. An angry red bruise mars her cheek, just below her eye. In seconds, I’ve crossed the room—I nearly reach Mother’s shoulder now, and she says by next summer, I’ll tower over her.
“What happened to your face?” I demand, brows furrowed.
Mother swallows, not quite meeting my eyes. Her lips curve into a smile, but it’s not herrealsmile, not the one she shares with me when we’re playing chess or when I’ve done well in my studies or when I make a good joke—it’s the smile she wears around Father or his boring advisers and even Faramir. The smile where her lips curve in the imitation of happiness, but her eyes refuse to go along with it.
“Mother.” I force sternness into my voice, drawing my brows together, and thatdoespull a real smile from her.
“My sweet Vayru,” she murmurs, running her hand over my hair, smoothing the wild strands. “It’s nothing. I fell in the washroom.”
Sharp, needling pinpricks erupt along the back of my neck. My shoulders tense, and I try to scratch them away, but the sensation doesn’t disappear. If anything, it grows worse. I scratch my neck harder, and Mother eyes me with concern.
“What’s wrong, Vayru?”
“My neck. It’s itching.” I keep scratching, even when the prickling finally stops. When I glance back at Mother, her face is deathly pale, the red bruise stark against her skin.
“Vayru,” she whispers, eyes wide. Why is she so afraid? “I’m going to say something, and I need you to tell me if the itching comes back, all right?” When I don’t immediately respond, she clutches my shoulders and shakes me. “All right?” she repeats. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and she seems panicked. I nod slowly, and she releases me.
“My name is Vera.”
My brows furrow for half a second before my neck prickles again, like someone keeps pinching my skin in different places. When I scratch my neck again, Mother looses a pained sound that hurts my heart. I’ve upset her, but I don’t understand why.
Her soft hands cradle my face, tears welling in her dark eyes. “Vayru, listen to me very carefully,” she says, her voice wavering. “You must tellno oneof this.”
Chapter One
I’msofuckingtired.
I drag my hand through my hair, attempting to listen to the adviser droning on about the Tundrayni battalion stationed near the border. Scouts reported that more enemy warriors arrived under the cover of night, nearly doubling their numbers—the majority of them are waterwielders.
“See this, sire?” The adviser traces a line on the map with a meaty finger. He reeks of sweat, though I doubt I smell much better. “If they advance any farther, they’ll be well-positioned to attack our base here.”
With narrowed eyes, I study the map.
Skies, he’s right.
There’s a large lake by the base—the Tundraynis could easily flood the entire camp and drown all my soldiers.
Cold, stiff skin beneath my palms. A pained, garbled moan. Unseeing eyes, frosted over with ice. He can’t blink, can’t speak.
I’ll kill them all.
My hand rakes through my hair again, tugging at the strands until the pain grounds me.
