Page 8 of King of Storms and Feathers

Through the window, I saw the slave jolt forward, her mouth opening as if she wished to give an opinion on the matter. I shook my head and held my finger to my lips, warning her to keep silent.

While everyone was busy looking at my face, I adjusted my leathers, willing my body’s urges into a comatose state, which was basically how they’d been since my family’s death three years’ ago, almost non-existent.

I connected to the energy of the smallest storm cloud above the mountains, drew its power within me, then blasted a lightning bolt into the metal panel above the human’s head.

“Next time, I’ll aim for your heart,” I said, turning to mount my horse.

Wisely, the girl clamped her lips shut. One more squeak and she’d be dead before she got to see the gates of Coridon rising up from the desert sand, like golden portals to another world.

I was sick of the grating tone of her accent. The sweet, cloying scent of her blood. And most of all, the flat planes of her aggravating human face.

But unfortunately, it seemed I was not yet tired of her reckless defiance.

Chapter 3

The Girl

A sickle moon hung in the sky as we pulled into a large stable complex within the walls of Coridon City.

Esen prodded my shoulder, then ushered me down the carriage steps. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and blinked at the room’s bright gold accents flashing in the light of the candelabras swaying under high bronze beams.

Rows of gleaming carriages were tucked into alcoves lining the walls, and grooms rushed from the shadows to tend to our sweat-glazed horses, issuing instructions to each other in hushed voices.

While I stared open-mouthed at my surroundings, Esen checked the chains on my wrists, creating new bruises in the process.

Despite the warm air, my whole body trembled, the shock of the past few hours, or possibly days or weeks, finally catching up with me. I longed to collapse in a boneless heap on the floor, but instead, forced one bare foot in front of the other and followed the fae out of the stables.

Thunder growled in the distance, and I shuddered, recalling the violent lightning that battered the carriage as we’d traveled through the mountain pass not far from the city.

I didn’t think I was afraid of storms, but the wild, unbridled energy that was connected to Arrow’s magic had unnerved me. And I was relieved when Coridon’s golden domes and turrets finally emerged from the darkness.

So far, the Kingdom of Storms and Feathers was living up to its name. How predictable.

I wrapped the fae prick’s cloak tightly around my chest as Esen bundled me along a series of covered causeways lined with tall palm trees, the vanilla scent of night jasmine thick in the air.

My new owner walked ahead with Raiden, his muscled torso and arms on display as he strode toward an unknown destination. Cloakless because of me, his burnished hair fell in loose waves over the plates of gold armor covering his shoulders.

My head pounded as I recalled his warm skin on mine at the river—his hand on my throat and the mercurial burn of his eyes after he’d torn my dress off and thrown me in the water.

I wished I could stop thinking about it… about him. But images of the curved feather glyphs that curled up his neck, decorated his left cheek, and the points of his ears, glowing gold as I defied him, assailed me.

He had wanted to kill me then. Probably still did—and would—if his commander allowed it.

A bell tolled somewhere in the darkness, and the screeches of unseen birds filled the air. Blinding pain struck my temples. Images exploded in my mind, ripping my consciousness from my march through the moonlit city with the fae and dropping me in the middle of a forest.

Torrential rain poured over me, and my blade hacked a path through pendulous leaves and thick tangled vines. Green eyes glanced back as I struggled to follow the boy, his crooked smirk urging me onward.

Memories of my life prior to the gilt market cage—they had to be.

“Hurry up,” said Esen with a hard shove to my shoulder blade, jolting me back to Coridon and the disturbing present.

Hatred filled me. Hate for her and for Arrow and his damned silver eyes that had fixed on me as I walked from the river earlier today, red-faced with shame and fury.

He was an asshole.

If I had the strength, I would wrestle a knife from Esen and embed it in Arrow’s unprotected neck, killing him without regret. Although I was thin and starved, my muscles held memories of strength and agility. And I wondered, not for the first time since I woke in that market cage, if I was a bad person—someone accustomed to anger and violence.

Perhaps in my past life I had been an assassin.

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