Page 3 of A Storm Rises

Silverhoof stayed close for several long seconds before she nudged Leaf goodbye. She scooted back and raised herself upright. She stomped her hooves and circled Leaf.

“Go!” Leaf pleaded in a weak voice. “Do not disobey—not now.”

His horse huffed and whinnied before slowly trotting away.

“I will miss you too, my beloved friend.”

Leaf lay firmly planted on the ground. His black trousers, long-sleeved green tunic, and black cape provided no protection from the cold rushing within his body. He could not even feel his feet inside his boots anymore. Death had come for him.

The retreating sun rays stained the sky in a collage of red and orange. A trail of puffy white clouds floated by. He watched the tufts pull apart as his heart slowed and his breathing grew shallow.

He closed his eyes and pictured Gabriela’s soft tan skin and her big brown eyes. He hated that he was not there for her during her time of need. As her one true love, that was his duty. He hoped she would not suffer at her end. He prayed their child was not meeting their end, too. He would find out soon enough in the Passing Place.

“I am coming, my love.” His vision tunneled, and a soft light led the way. “I…am…”

Mateo Vela perched atop Spirit Butte. He sat at the edge of the wide plateau and watched as the setting sun cast a sea of red, pink, and orange across the horizon. The colorful glow resembled flames—the kind that soothed, not burned, and made the cold desert nights more comfortable.

“Everything is on fire.” He scooped up a handful of pebbly red dirt and tossed it into the gentle breeze. “And so am I.”

He visited this spot almost every evening to escape the bustle and noise of Sandhaven Village. On Spirit Butte, he wasn’t a lowborn part fae, part human. Here, his bloodline didn’t matter. He could be whoever he wanted.

Sometimes he imagined himself coming from a royal family with the power to make Faevenly a better place. Uniting the bloodlines would be his first order of business. He would elevate the Sublands to a place worthy of respect and position, and everyone would know his name. Other times, his restlessness and anger left him wanting to be a villain. He would own the heads of every member of ruling House Stromm—shove them on spikes so everyone would see.

Faevenly would be a better place without them.

A rustle sounded from behind, and he turned to find his best friends, Lirien and Gareth, approaching. Like him, they wore their usual black pants and long-sleeved green tunics with tall brown boots. Lirien’s silver hair draped down his back while Gareth’s red hair was tied back in a thick, long braid. They were like his brothers, and lowborn too.

“Sandhaven is busy today.” Lirien adjusted the dagger at his waist and sat next to Mateo on a sheared-off but unyielding rock. Daggers were Lirien’s favorite. When traveling, he kept several sheathed at his waist, one in each boot, and a few tucked in his tunic. But at home in the Sublands he carried little, if any.

“Too busy,” Mateo grumbled.

Gareth did not sit. Like a sentry, he stayed upright and crossed his thick arms.

Lirien scooped up a rock and tossed it in Mateo’s direction. “You nervous about the hunt?”

Mateo kept his gaze on the horizon. The Summit Range Hunt. High King Sylrik Stromm had established the hunt years ago after eliminating every member of House Strong. It was his way of celebrating his new rule—a demonstration of ultimate control. Since the hunt’s inception, the Sublands had been denied participation because of their close ties with the Strongs and their sympathetic views toward lowborns and human blooded. So, to be included this time around was huge. Mateo outsmarted and outlasted the other Sublanders and earned the coveted spot.

He blew out a labored breath. If he finished first, he would receive favor and the coveted rewards. The losing competitors would receive nothing. They would be waiting five years for another hunt.

The internal pressure to perform mounted in Mateo. Anger followed. He would show the treacherous Stromms and everyone else what he and the Sublands were made of. He would come home with the rewards. Gold. Precious stones. Rich fabrics. Healing seeds for his father and little sister, Floriana. The Sublands might even regain a seat on the Faevenly Council when Mateo won the hunt.

The Summit Range Hunt meant…everything.

Frenetic nerves fluttered in his stomach like a swarm of lightning bugs. He scooped up a small pebble and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “Nervous?” He chuckled. “What a joke. I’m not nervous. I’m ready.”

He had been preparing for the hunt his entire life, somehow knowing it would happen one day. Day and night, he had sprinted the vast canyons and dry riverbeds of the Sublands and neighboring provinces. He built his stamina and planned his hydration and nutrition. Under the velvety night sky and the light of the glowing moon, he tracked, hunted, and killed elk and boar. Now, at eighteen, his desire to compete in the hunt had come true. But could he win against highborns? That would be tougher than it sounded.

“You will show them all.” Lirien patted Mateo on the back. “They have no clue about your speed.”

Gareth grunted. Born mute, he communicated with the occasional guttural sound, but mostly with his hands. He pointed both index fingers at Mateo, letting Mateo know he agreed with Lirien.

Lirien took out his dagger and poked the dirt. He flashed Mateo a teasing grin. “Think you’ll see the ice princess?” All of Faevenly knew that name.

Mateo drew in his chin and balked. “Avalynn Stromm?” The ice princess with a heart so cold she couldn’t even bother to look lowborns in the eye. “I certainly hope not.”

“Yeah, she’ll probably be in a high tower somewhere ordering people around.” Lirien laughed. “Counting her piles of silver and gold coins.”

Gareth poked Mateo’s back, then held out his fingers near his face, touched his thumb to his chin, and swiped his fingers across his face until his hand closed.

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