Roar Page 8

  “It has to be me? Where’s Bait? Ransom? Sly?”

  “Bait attempted to woo the adjacent stall owner’s daughter and failed spectacularly, as per usual. Duke sent him off to prevent any potential trouble. Ransom is playing bully to make sure no one’s fingers get too sticky. And Sly disappeared. Like she does. The question is … what are you doing?”

  As if her words weren’t blatant enough, she followed them with a suggestive bounce of her eyebrows. Locke shifted uncomfortably. Uneasiness was such an odd look on his imposing figure that Rora wanted to spare him the scrutiny.

  “It’s my fault he disappeared,” she said.

  Jinx raised an eyebrow and snorted. “Clearly.”

  The insinuation made something flip low in Rora’s belly.

  “I’ve never been here before. I caused a bit of a scene, and Locke came to my rescue.”

  “He does that.” Jinx smiled—white teeth against almond skin. “A regular old prince charming.”

  “Jinx…” A look passed between them, and it held far more meaning than just his annoyed growl of her name.

  Jinx’s accent was similar to those Rora had heard from Odilar, but not quite the same. Visitors from across Caelira were rare because of the dangers of traveling through the wilds, so her interactions with foreigners were limited. The contingent from Locke traveled the farthest of any in her lifetime.

  “First timer, huh? I’m Jinx. In case you didn’t catch that from all his huffing and puffing.” She leaned back against the worktable, jars clinking behind her.

  “I’m … Roar.”

  “I like it. Strong. Bold.” She winked and continued: “Next time try saying it without looking like you want to disappear into the nearest wall.”

  That was exactly what Rora wished she could do. It was crazy that she was even still here. She needed to look for Cassius. If she didn’t learn what he was doing, this whole risky situation would be for naught.

  “I should go.”

  “Nonsense,” Jinx said. “If this is your first time at the Eye, you’ve got to get the full experience. If you can handle the chaos, it’s really quite beautiful.”

  The Eye. At least now Rora had something to go on. And beautiful didn’t even begin to describe this place. She couldn’t forget that first sight. Lightning frozen in a lantern. Blizzards in bottles. Storms that had terrified and fascinated her for her entire life shrunk down and small enough to hold in her hand. That alone would have been stunning, but the hidden location and the bustle of shoppers and haggling stall owners made her feel like she had entered a new world. And it was right here in her city. For years, she’d been a failure with her hand on the knob of a door that would forever be locked. She forced herself to accept it because she had no choice. There were two kinds of people in this world—Stormlings and everyone else. But this place … it changed everything. Those were regular people out there, the ungifted, buying up magic like loaves of bread.

  “And you all … you work here?”

  Jinx scoffed. “We’re what keeps places like this running.”

  Rora looked over to Locke, not following. He answered, “We’re hunters.”

  “Hunters?”

  Jinx cut in, “Who do you think conquers those storms so the wealthy and the wicked can have their dose of power? Scorch me, Locke. You’ve gotten really bad at flirting if you hadn’t even played the storm-hunter card yet. It’s pure gold.”

  “Jinx,” he warned again.

  “Wait … all that”—it was hard for Rora to even spit out the word—“that magic out there … you did that?”

  “Not all of it. But all the best stuff out there came from us.”

  “So you’re both Stormlings? But you’re not in the military?” All Stormlings not of noble blood were conscripted into the military. No exceptions. She turned to Locke. “Or did you forget to mention that you’re nobility?” Maybe he was related to Cassius after all.

  “Where did you find this girl?” Jinx asked. “Under a rock? If we relied on the precious Stormlings for magic, none of this would exist. We’d all be trapped in our grimy cities, bursting at the seams with overcrowding and poverty, too afraid to leave and face the storms outside.”

  Suddenly, Rora’s stomach dropped and her head spun. Sweat slicked over her skin. If she didn’t get some air, she was going to be sick. She listed to the side and stumbled slightly.

  “Roar?” Hands gripped her arms, and her feet took that as permission to be even less cooperative.

  “You can do storm magic?” The words came out in a slurred mess, barely more than a whisper. Dizziness swarmed her, and black spots filled her vision.

  “Roar, can you hear me? Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Her mouth watered, and her throat felt thick as she tried to swallow. “You—you can do storm magic, and you weren’t born with it?”

  Locke’s face filled her vision. “Did you eat anything? Touch anything strange in the market?” Rora couldn’t remember if she ate at all today beyond the tea she was given for the pain.

  “Can you—”

  “Yes,” he snapped, giving a slight shake of her shoulders. “I can, and I wasn’t. Now quit dodging every question and tell me what’s wrong!”

  Maybe everything. Or nothing. Maybe none of this was real, and she was back in her bed having an herb-induced dream. Or maybe everything she’d been taught, everything she thought she knew, was absolutely wrong.

  “Locke, your hand,” Jinx said.

  Rora struggled to focus her eyes as the world began to spin. Locke’s hand was large and rough, and something red was smeared across his palm. Now that she thought about it, a sharp ache had swallowed her injured arm.

  Rora closed her eyes to fight off the dizziness, and when she tried to open them again, the dark whispered for her to stay. So she did.

  The first tribes of Caelira lived where the desert met the sea in a land called Vyhodi. Blessed by the goddess with the ability to borrow magic from the natural world, they were her favored children. Over time, they desired more and more magic, nearly stripping the land entirely. Greed was their first sin. Pride would be their second.

  —The Origin Myths of Caelira

  6

  Locke caught Roar as she began to slump toward the floor. She was lighter than he had expected, her frame small beneath the billowing mass of the cloak she wore. Everything went silent as he looked at her slack face. He touched her cheek in an attempt to wake her, and blood smeared from his hand to her skin. For a few moments, he’d forgotten the blood.

  “Find Duke,” he barked at Jinx, before carrying Roar to the rug. He shoved up her oversize sleeves and found a bandage on her upper arm that had been soaked through. Skies, had she been bleeding this whole time? He thought back to when he’d grabbed her arm before Jinx’s arrival. She had flinched, but he assumed that was because of his overreaction to her attempts to leave. Had he reopened her wound? The man she was afraid of in the market … had he done this? Fury flashed hot and then cold in his gut.

  He leaned over her, listening for her breathing. The soft caress of warm air touched his ear, and he jerked back, swallowing. Bandages. He needed to stanch the bleeding. He searched for the pack of medical supplies they took on hunts. Duke had the most medical knowledge of anyone in the group, but Locke was more than capable himself. He returned to Roar’s side with a pile of supplies—bandages, a salve made from some of Jinx’s magically enhanced herbs, and a full canteen of water. He peeled back the bloodied strips of cloth, and his stomach turned. The wound was deep. One of her stitches was torn.

  He pressed a new bandage down, and in a few moments dots of red began to show through. He cursed. Digging through the supplies again he found a plant called battle moss that soaked up blood like a sponge. According to legend, it grew on the site of ancient battlefields where the blood of the old gods soaked into the soil. But this particular batch had been grown by Jinx in under an hour. The benefits of having an earth witch on the crew.

  H
e pressed the moss against the wound, and then wrapped a new bandage around it to hold the plant in place. He began checking the rest of her for injuries. He pulled up her cloak, intending to remove it, but hesitated when he found her legs bare and the lacy hem of what appeared to be a nightgown. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He couldn’t think about why she might be wearing only that beneath her cloak. Instead, he focused on the most pressing task. Pulling her cloak back down into place, he settled for a slow inventory of her body over her clothes. Starting at her feet, he patted his hands up her legs, searching for any more spots that might be wet with blood. He pushed up the sleeve on her other arm and found her skin pale and unmarked. She felt a little clammy, but otherwise he could find no other injuries.

  He stood to wait for Duke, and paced the small area of the tent.

  There was no keeping the memories of his sister at bay now. It was always harder when he was stressed, and seeing Roar lying there, pale and unconscious, had him more than a little on edge. They didn’t look alike. The girl lying on the rug was fair and lean and willowy, while his sister had been much younger and looked like him: dark olive skin, brown hair, brown eyes. It was not appearances that made him connect the two but … their spirits.

  He had precious few memories of his sister. The day she died remained fuzzy in his mind, and he was all too happy to let it stay that way. The grief had stolen bad and good memories alike. But he remembered the feel of his sister, the timbre of her soul, the bravado with which she had lived. Roar had that same strange mix of vulnerability and strength.

  He had not been able to help his sister. He had been too young, too weak. But he could help Roar. Whatever she was into, he would help her get out of it. And maybe helping Roar would let him find some measure of peace that he had been missing all these years.

  The flap of the tent opened, letting in the dull noise from the market. He saw gray hair and sighed in relief. Duke was his mentor. Locke might have considered Duke like a father if he let himself grow that attached to anyone. But he didn’t, never could. Life taught him early that to love something was to tempt fate to take it away. The old man moved closer and knelt with a grace that belied his age. His long gray hair was braided and tossed over his shoulder, and his hand tangled in his beard for a moment before he touched the bandage work Locke had done.

  “How’s the wound?” Duke asked. “Any sign of infection?”

  “No. It looked fresh. Had to use battle moss to soak up the blood.”

  The old man frowned. “Did it happen in the market?”

  He shook his head. “Doubtful. She bled through a previous bandage, so I think the wound reopened.” The old man’s knowing green eyes fixed on Locke now, and even though he kept his expression blank, he knew his mentor saw much more than Locke wanted.

  “You all right, son?”

  Locke had been eleven when Duke had taken him in. He had hit a growth spurt, and could no longer depend on childhood cuteness to gain him sympathy and coins when he begged in the markets. Instead of looking at him with compassion, people saw a gangly boy—dark skinned and dirty and undoubtedly trouble. When you live on the streets for five years without parents or authority figures, you’re bound to end up with some rough edges. But Duke saw past the attitude to a potential beneath that not even Locke had believed existed.

  “I’m fine,” Locke said. “Just make sure she’s okay.”

  “Tell me what happened before she fainted. Was she agitated? Did she seem ill?”

  Quickly, Locke recounted the last hour. “It was strange,” he said. “She was in the market, so she had to know of the storm trade, but she was shocked to find out that Jinx and I had magic.”

  Duke hummed and smoothed a hand over her forehead. “There is something familiar about her, but I can’t place it. She might have stumbled upon the market by accident. It does happen.” He touched both sides of her neck, then her wrist. “Clammy. But her pulse is normal.” He peeked beneath the bandage to study the skin around the wound. “I don’t see any swelling or bruising or rashes, nothing that could indicate an infection or poisoning. She likely fainted from the blood loss. And exhaustion by the looks of it. Some rest and food, and she’ll be fine.”

  “You think she’s hungry?” The thought sent another riot of agitation through him. “Is she on her own?”

  “I doubt it. She’s too well groomed and clean. She’s fatigued, to be certain. But there are no signs of prolonged malnourishment. Whoever she is, she takes decent care of herself. Or someone else does.”

  Duke meant his words to be reassuring, but it was not enough. It worried Locke that she hadn’t woken, and it bothered him more that he was torn up over a girl he did not know. He had not survived this long by being softhearted.

  She would wake. He would find her somewhere safe to stay. His status as a hunter meant plenty of people would jump at the chance to do him a favor. He could find her a job. Something that would pay well. There wasn’t much time to do it in, but he couldn’t leave Pavan with this still weighing on him.

  The crew came and went, bringing in merchandise from the booth as the market closed up. Each time they ducked into the tent, their eyes tracked to him, and then Roar.

  Bait, a sixteen-year-old novice hunter, was the first to do more than look. He squatted down beside Roar and reached out for the scarf wrapped around her head.

  “Bait, if you put a finger on her, I’m going to break it off.”

  A chuckle sounded behind him, and his friend Ransom clapped a hand on his shoulder. Ran had joined the crew two years after Locke. He had been sixteen to Locke’s thirteen, and they hated each other at first, both vying for Duke’s approval. Now he was the closest friend Locke had. And Ran was giving Locke a knowing look that only made him more agitated.

  “She’s pretty,” Ran said.

  Locke only grunted in response, and his crew rumbled with laughter around him, which only gave him the urge to pace again.

  “You’re awfully touchy about this one. What exactly were you doing with her before I came in?” That was Jinx, who sat at the table enchanting jars for their next hunt. She winked, and he scowled.

  “It’s not like that. She reminds me of my sister.”

  The tent fell silent. He didn’t talk about his sister, ever. But it was a poorly kept secret among the group. Everyone knew he had watched her die. He’d had nightmares when he was young that had given away that secret. Luckily these days, he didn’t dream at all.

  Ran was the first to speak, squeezing Locke’s shoulder. “Well, in that case, I look forward to meeting this girl.”

  Maybe it was disingenuous to let his team think that’s all it was. Locke would be lying if he said he looked at her like he might a sister. Ran was right … she was pretty. He’d have to be scorching blind not to think so. But he didn’t want them harping on this, not when he still hadn’t puzzled it out himself.

  His foul mood kept most of the others away as they waited for Roar to wake. Jinx was the only one brave enough to broach the territory he had staked out. She didn’t say anything—she just sat with him and waited. Jinx was more how he imagined a sister would be. She was loud and opinionated, and she made hurricanes look tame when she didn’t get her way. But she understood that being there was more important than saying the right words. He imagined that was the earth witch in her. She knew the importance of balance.

  Eventually, he started to doze and decided to catch a quick nap. He was a light sleeper, a necessity on the road, and he knew he’d wake as soon as Roar made a noise. So he pulled a pillow beneath his head, sprawled out on the ground beside her, and slept.

  * * *

  Rora’s head throbbed as she woke, and her neck and back joined the chorus. She had woken midroll when her face slid off a pillow onto a thick, rough carpet. Next to her was a mountain of a man stretched out on his stomach. He had both hands shoved beneath a pillow, and his shoulder-length hair was in wild disarray around his face, but the name came back to her quickly.<
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  Locke.

  She sat up sharply, her head spinning. Locke jerked awake next to her. He pushed up onto his side, eyes wild and body tense. Then his eyes fell on her, and he softened.

  “How do you feel?” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep.

  She heard shuffling from somewhere beyond him and noticed a group seated at the back of the tent, quietly playing cards. Jinx stood and made her way over.

  “Princess?” Locke asked, yanking all her attention back to him. Her hand flew to the scarf around her head, and she sighed when she found it still in place.

  Jinx knelt beside her. “Need some help with that? You’ll probably feel better without it.”

  Rora scrambled back. In an instant, Locke was up with a hand in front of Jinx to stop her approach.

  “Easy,” he said to Rora. “Calm down. You were bleeding and you fainted. Do you remember?”

  Rora nodded. She hadn’t known that was what fainting felt like—that awful, nauseating disorientation, like someone had stuck his hand in her head and stirred around.

  “When was the last time you ate something?” Locke said.

  She said, “This morning? Maybe. Or yesterday. I’m not sure.”

  Locke cursed and called out, “Ransom?” A beast of a man put down his cards and stood. His head was bare, but he wore a sizable beard and had shoulders wider than two normal people put together. Locke continued: “Can you get her something to eat?”

  The man nodded and strode out of the tent.

  Rora began crawling to her feet. “I have to go. I have to go right now.” How long could she stay here without them realizing who she was? It seemed they were nomads of a sort, so they might not recognize her, but she was tired and risked giving herself away if she wasn’t careful.

  A firm hand settled over her shoulder, wrenching her back onto the carpet. “No, you don’t,” Locke said. “Eat first.”

  Locke’s large hand stayed on her shoulder as his hard gaze raked over her face. He didn’t pin her down with any real force, but she felt too tired to put up much of a fight. And her empty belly did squeeze near to the point of pain.