The storm king, p.50
The Storm King, page 50
part #3 of The Lost God Series
Terrible recognition stole through Evan—the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place. Sylvie was speaking from personal experience. This was why she’d taken the violence against the refugees sheltered at the Temple of Aurelia so personally. That was why she spent hours volunteering to help the women there. Some man—some dead man, if Evan had his way—had hurt her and he could do nothing to make it better. Rage climbed up from his stomach like vines that threatened to choke him.
“When that happens—” She cleared her throat. “If that happens, the wounds are more than just physical. It can take years to come back. Evan, the damage—”
“When?” he asked. “Who did that to you?”
Sylvie shook her head and swallowed hard. “It’s not important. It was a long time ago, and Cal took care of it. It wasn’t what it could have been, but it still affected me for years. It’s part of the reason why Cal and I—”
She didn’t finish, but suddenly something Evan never understood clicked into place. Someone had hurt her and it affected her so profoundly that she’d ended her relationship with Cal. Evan had only ever seen from the outside the way that assault affected relationships. He’d watched peers struggle to understand and support friends and lovers who had been through it.
Now it felt impossibly personal. Evan wanted to burn down the two kingdoms just to be certain he’d wiped whatever fucker hurt Sylvie from the map. Instead, he shoved the anger away and struggled for some clarity.
He refused to admit that it could be a possibility because the thought of that happening to Cecilia now was unbearable. It was yet another failure that he couldn’t accept as fact until he had to.
Evan tried to sound reassuring. “She’ll be okay. Xander wouldn’t let her be hurt like that, and neither would Rainer. We have to have some faith in them…even if it’s hard. I wanted to charge in there as much as you did. But we are of much more use to them on the outside with Jess’s army than we are captured along with them. We have to keep our heads.”
She looked up at him with tears in her pale blue eyes.
“I know,” he whispered. “I feel the same way, but we have to keep it together so Jess stays calm. We can figure this out. I have ways of communicating with Xander. We’ll know soon what’s going on in there, but I need to sneak away and check our drop-off spots, okay? Can you and Cal distract the girls while I’m gone?”
She nodded. “You’ll be careful?”
“Of course.” He pulled her into a quick kiss, and she tried to hide her surprise. He made a point of only showing affection in private, but he could tell she needed it. She smiled faintly as she waved to him, and he sneaked out the door.
As he made his way into the frozen night, his breath pushing out in front of him, he prayed to any god that would listen that things inside the castle weren’t as bad as he feared. He hoped there would be a note waiting at one of their checkpoints.
Evan crept through the quiet city of Ardenis, ducking into shadows whenever guard patrols marched through the streets. A hush had fallen over the town as if they, too, were trapped under a blanket of grief and loss. The lack of bustling even around popular pubs was unnerving.
He checked the first drop point on the old hunter training grounds, poking at loose stones in the wall. He found nothing. Anxiety pounded through him, his heart racing as he moved on to the second drop point. As he rounded the corner to the royal stables and ducked into the pen at the far end, he saw it.
Tucked into an old worn-down saddlebag was a tiny bird-shaped note. He let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Hope was a fragile thing, but Evan clung to it.
52
CECILIA
Cecilia lay in a bed in the healer’s suite. She hadn’t moved since Vincent’s guards dragged her out of Rainer’s arms and tossed her there.
He wasn’t waking up. It was her worst fear. Worse even than Rainer forgetting her was Rainer never waking up because he didn’t have enough of his mind left to resurface.
Cecilia was wrecked. She’d ruined the love of her life. Even trying to lead him out of the dark by telling familiar fairy tales hadn’t roused him.
Now Xander and the healer were hovering around her, waiting for her to let them help, but she didn’t want to talk or be touched or comforted.
“Cece, I’m sorry,” Xander said.
He reached for her hand, but she shrunk away.
She couldn’t stand to be touched, nor could she stand the pity on his face. If she thought about what might have happened—what still could happen—she would break. She shuddered at the thought of it. Her stomach heaved.
Magdalena cleared her throat, crossing the room to sit next to the bed.
“Dear, you have to let me examine you,” she said softly. “You have to let me heal you. The king has insisted.”
“The king is not the king,” Cecilia mumbled.
Magdalena smiled sadly. “That may be true, but we are still at his mercy.”
Days had passed but Cecilia still couldn’t stop shaking.
“Your Grace, please leave so I can speak with her alone,” Magdalena said.
Xander hesitated but nodded and left them. Even with his presence gone from the room, Cecilia knew he was just pacing outside, likely hearing everything she said and feeling guilty for something that was in no way his fault.
Mika appeared in the doorway. “Lady Reznik, may I come in?”
Cecilia nodded. “Please make Xander leave. I’ll find him later. I just can’t have him there. I can’t have him hear everything. Please?”
Mika nodded and disappeared, returning a few moments later. “He’s very devoted to you. He didn’t want to leave. He feels terribly guilty.”
Cecilia shook her head. “He thinks I blame him, but he made the right choice.”
Mika nodded. “He’ll be fine.”
“And Rainer?” Cecilia asked.
Magdalena and Mika locked eyes.
“He’s still sleeping,” Magdalena said. “I promise we will tell you as soon as we know more.”
Cecilia swallowed hard. “I don’t know what that much memory loss will do to a person. It could change his entire personality. What if—”
Mika held up a hand. “Let’s not go there. That’s not a burden you need to carry yet. Right now, you need to worry about yourself.”
Cecilia wanted to lash out at the woman for her pity, but when she met the healer’s eyes, she saw stark recognition.
“What would Rainer do if he were here?” Mika asked.
Cecilia wanted to hoard the memory from these strangers as much as she wanted to speak it to comfort herself. “He’d lay in bed beside me, hold my hand, and ask how heavy it is. Then he’d let me pass my feelings across to him. It’s like our own language. If I send grief, he’d take it and send love back. If I sent anxiety, he’d send calm. It’s like what he feels makes room for what I feel, and vice versa. We’ve always done that when one of us is struggling.”
Mika and Magdalena stared at her.
“What?” Cecilia asked.
“That just sounds so wonderful,” Mika said softly.
Grief was a boulder in her chest. “It is. It’s second nature at this point. I can just feel what he needs and make room for whatever is weighing on him. I take it for granted. I miss it.”
“Is the connection gone?” Magdalena asked.
Cecilia felt into her heart space. The anxious baseline of Rainer still buzzed there, warm and familiar, like a soft blanket around her heart. “No, it’s still there, but he’s going to be confused enough as it is with none of his memories.”
She would try to close it off to keep from confusing him, but she had no doubt that the more stress she was under, the less she’d be able to control it. The bond was meant to protect her, and if she was in peril, which she would be daily now, Rainer would feel it.
She tried to imagine feeling the bond with no understanding of what it was. It would be like getting hit with a flood of emotions with no context or reason.
The women fell into a heavy silence.
“Do you want to talk about what exactly happened? Mags says you haven’t said anything about what Vincent did,” Mika said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Cecilia looked down at her hands in her lap and said nothing.
“Xander said you were bleeding. You must be in pain. Will you let Mags heal you?” Mika’s voice was soothing, gentle, inviting.
“I’m okay,” Cecilia said, finally meeting her eyes.
Mika’s face softened. “You don’t have to be.”
“I don’t even know you.” Tears sprung to Cecilia’s eyes, but she blinked them back. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop if she started, so she refused to cry. “Nothing happened. He didn’t—it’s a cut on my leg. It’s not what it looked like.”
Mika’s face went steely. “It’s not nothing. Any time a man puts his hands on you unwelcome is not nothing. Any time a man makes you feel afraid of what might happen and you would be powerless to stop him is not nothing.”
Cecilia met her eyes and knew that Mika was speaking from personal experience. She reached out her hand and Mika took it.
“It’s not nothing,” Mika repeated. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
She and Magdalena exchanged a look.
“It’s a club that no one wants to be a part of, and no one talks about membership to, but far too many have been subjected to that violence,” Mika continued. “I’m here to tell you that you will handle it however you want to. You might have a reputation for being brave, but you don’t need to be in this room. In here, it’s just the three of us.”
Magdalena finally spoke. “And all three of us are part of that club or have lost someone to it.”
Cecilia squeezed Mika’s hand.
Finally, the tears came. She sobbed. She let herself fully feel the terror she’d felt when Vincent bent her over that table. When the guards held her pinned there when he sliced his dagger into her inner thigh. Her body shook with the sobs.
“Can we hug you?” Mika asked.
Cecilia nodded, and the two women—two strangers who were bonded to her by horror alone—wrapped her in a cocoon of their arms.
When she finally settled, she let Magdalena lift her dress and look at Vincent’s initials sliced into her thigh. Magdalena and Mika looked ill at the sight of it.
“Is it bad?” Cecilia asked.
Mika swallowed hard. “No, but it needs to be cleaned. And unfortunately it’s familiar. We’ve worked with many of the women sheltered at the Temple of Aurelia, but we also recognize it for a more personal reason.”
Sadness swelled in the air around Mika and Magdalena.
“I’ve been instructed to leave his ‘brand,’ as he calls it, but I’m not going to do that,” Magdalena said.
While it made Cecilia feel sick to think about Vincent leaving a permanent mark on her body tied to the memory of that horrifying day, she worried if it was healed, he’d simply do it again.
“I’m afraid it will get both of us in trouble if you do that,” Cecilia said. “I have a better idea. Can you heal it, and then maybe we can cast a glamour of it being there? Do you know someone…someone you trust enough to do it?”
Magdalena winced. “The only person I know who could is—”
The realization struck Cecilia like an arrow. “Cato.”
Magdalena nodded. “He’s still here. I will summon him.”
She hurried from the room before Cecilia could stop her. She didn’t want to see Cato again and she definitely didn’t want Cato glamouring her inner thigh, but she also didn’t want to get Magdalena in trouble, especially after she’d done such a meticulous job healing Rainer.
A few moments later, Magdalena returned with Cato.
Mercifully, he said nothing, perhaps because Cecilia wouldn’t even look at him, or perhaps because he had run out of ways to taunt her.
Magdalena sat on the edge of the bed. She wiped the wound clean with alcohol before placing her palm over it. Tingling warmth spread down Cecilia’s thigh and the relief was instant. The healer drew away and Cato took her place.
Cecilia held his gaze as his warm hand brushed her thigh, but she refused to flinch and give him another victory.
“Little Dove, I—”
“Are you finished?” Cecilia snapped.
Cato nodded.
“Then get out.”
Cato didn’t argue. He stood and left the room without another word.
She expected Magdalena and Mika to leave as well, but they hovered.
“You both don’t need to babysit. It’s not a big deal. Vincent didn’t do anything more than touch me and cut me,” Cecilia said.
“That’s enough,” Mika said. The hard line of her jaw silenced any argument from Cecilia.
“Why are you both helping me? It could get you killed,” Cecilia said.
A look passed between the two women. Magdalena nodded at Mika.
“Vincent Savero took something from me,” Mika said.
Cecilia swallowed hard. Her anger was swift and vicious. “This same something?”
“No. The love of my life, Ivy. He hurt her. He left the same wounds as well as some I couldn’t see,” Mika whispered.
Cecilia’s stomach dropped. “I am so sorry.”
“So am I, but that’s why I’m here,” Mika said. “It’s why I’ve been working with Evan and why I’ve been waiting four years for this. Four years to get my revenge. We both have.”
“Mika loved my daughter,” Magdalena said. “My Ivy was going to serve as healer to Davide when he became king. She was helping tend to a village on the outskirts that was dealing with winter fever when Vincent’s men attacked. When she returned, she was not the same and we could not bring her back to herself and because of his violence—” Magdalena’s voice broke. “We lost her.”
“I am so sorry for your loss,” Cecilia said.
“Thank you. I’m sorry for yours.”
“It cannot compare,” Cecilia said, shaking her head.
“Nor should it be compared,” Magdalena corrected her. “Take it from a healer. Comparing wounds is pointless. Our attention needs to be focused on those who afflicted that damage.”
“I have trained and fought and fucked for this,” Mika said, her voice full of venom. “I will kill Vincent Savero. I promise you that. We just wanted you to know that what happened to you—what happened to our Ivy won’t happen to anyone else ever again. We are going to end this.”
Magdalena nodded. “What we want to know is—will you help us?”
Cecilia smiled faintly. An army of women, young and old, taking down a tyrannical usurper. She thought nothing would drag her from that bed, but the two of them might have found the one thing that could.
“What can I do?” Cecilia asked.
Magdalena and Mika nodded their approval and sat down with her to scheme.
Revenge wasn’t the best motivator, but Cecilia would help them take down Vincent Savero, and then she was going to get her Rainer back, no matter how long it took. She’d promised him the rest of her days by his side, and that was a promise she intended to keep.
AFTER
RAINER
Rainer felt like he was swimming through dark water. Each time he thought he’d rise to the surface, he was sucked back under.
He was aware of so little. He drifted in and out of memory or dream. It was impossible to tell.
Other times he stirred restlessly, becoming more aware of the sheets tucked tightly around him.
Grief, loss, and fury swelled in his chest until he thought he might explode. Each time he felt on the verge of combustion, a small, warm hand slid into his and a soft voice whispered in his ear. He couldn’t make out the words, but he always found it comforting. When the whisper stopped, he was desperate to hear it again—to open his impossibly heavy eyelids and gaze upon the only thing that felt real.
At times, it was a comfort. Other times he became even more agitated, and the whispering began again in earnest. On rare occasions when panic, rage, and fury burned through him like a fever, he’d be grounded immediately by the feeling of a warm body pressed into his side, a soft hand resting on his bare chest. Those times, a tingling warmth spread through him like sunlight on a bright spring day. The whisper would become louder, pleading, lovely. Still, he couldn’t make sense of it, but he was grateful for the anchor when he felt completely unmoored in his own mind.
He was most aware of his body when the whisper—no, not a whisper—a woman was pressed against him. When she was there, he tried to pull her closer. He could sometimes tip his head and smell the sweetness of her skin. She smelled like summer in Olney. She smelled like the holes punched in his swirling memories.
Something was desperately wrong, and if he could just wake up, if he could finally kick hard enough to break the surface of his own mind, he knew he’d figure out what to do.
But he was so incredibly tired. So incredibly lost. So unbearably empty.
“Rain—”
A moment passed. He wanted desperately to respond.
“Rainer, I need you to try to wake up. Please, I—”
The whisper was clearer than ever, and there was sadness in the woman’s voice that echoed through the hollowness inside him.
“I need you.”
He swore a jolt went through him. A cord in his chest was attached to the voice and he experienced a deep need to comfort her. He needed to wake up and make sure she was okay. She was hurt. He could tell. He needed to fix it.
There was another whisper from the other side of the room that he couldn’t make out.
“I’m going to tell you a story. Follow the fairy tale. You’ll remember it. It will lead you back. I know you’re tired and confused, but you can do it. Follow my voice back.”
She was quiet for a moment, and he felt fingers in his hair.
