Page 8 of A Storm Rises

“Not at all. We want you to win.” Lady Verona leaned forward and pointed her finger at him. “And show everyone who you really are.”

Mateo backed away from Lady Verona as much as he could. Who he really is? He narrowed his stare. “What do you mean?”

Lady Verona motioned to the witch, and Rhyka took over. She lowered her voice as if sharing an ancient secret. “I see many things, and I have seen that you are destined to rise as a savior of the Sublands. Like a powerful storm. Not only to save our people, but to restore peace in Faevenly.”

A chill swooped through Mateo. It sent his spine tingling and his stomach tumbling. “A savior?”

The witch’s voice grew even softer. “Yes, a savior. The hunt is only the first step.”

He had no doubt in his abilities to win the hunt, but Rhyka was claiming something more. Something he did not exactly believe. “Why me? I am only a lowborn.”

“Because”—she held out the word like a hissing insect—“Strong blood runs in your veins.”

Strong as in Strong Haven? He gripped his knees. His knuckles turned white. He made eye contact with Lady Verona and used a steady yet forceful tone. Fae could not lie, but somehow Rhyka’s witchery was allowing her to spew untruths like a fountain. “Lies. I am not a Strong. That bloodline does not even exist today.”

Rhyka sat back. She flashed Lady Verona a side glance. “He is not ready to hear the truth.”

His pulse thrummed like the mighty blow of a blacksmith’s hammer. He did not believe her deceiving tongue. Not for a minute. “There is only one truth here. I am Mateo Vela of the Sublands, son of human Manny Vela and fae Faeryn Vela. And I am going to win that hunt.”

Finally, everything he wanted was coming true. The Sublands being included in the hunt. Him being selected. But now everything was spinning out of control. The death penalty for last place. Some so-called premonition about him being a Strong and some sort of savior. None of it made sense. Or maybe Lady Verona and the witch were manipulating him for their own gain somehow. His father did say to trust no one. Did that include Lady Verona? Everyone meant all people, including these two.

“We are on your side, Mateo,” Lady Verona said. “I assure you.”

His mind scrambled for a response. His ultimate plan was to take first, avoid last, get those seeds, and then go home. When he got back, he would tell Father and let him deal with Lady Verona and the witch.

His breathing steadied. He cleared his throat. “Lady Verona, I am grateful to have you as an escort, but I do not want to hear any more of this. All I want to do is win the hunt.”

Rhyka sat back in the seat, angling away from Mateo. “You will come to me when you are ready.” She fixed her gaze on the desolate terrain as they passed by towering spires of eroded red and orange rock formations.

No way. He would not be going to her for anything. He almost told her so but held his tongue lest he end up a toad…or worse.

Lady Verona huffed. “Your only worry should be Lord Engrendorn. He represents House Stromm and is highly skilled. We recommend you stay on his tail. You should strike hard and fast if you aim to beat him.”

Now they were getting somewhere. Perhaps these ladies had more to offer than a ride filled with deception. “Good. And the other hunters?”

“No other hunter matters,” Rhyka said, her eyes remaining on the desert scenery.

He cocked his head sideways. “What does that mean?”

Rhyka turned from the window and glared at Mateo. “I have foreseen that you and the hunter from House Stromm will be linked in the hunt.” She threaded her fingers and folded them into a joined fist. “Two destinies tied, making one future.”

The witch’s premonition landed like a venomous kiss. His scalp prickled, followed by a slight shiver. Mateo’s destiny tied to House Stromm? No way. His skin crawled like a thousand tiny spiders scurried beneath the surface. He’d rather be executed.

His logical brain screamed, but he bit his tongue. Rhyka’s premonition was yet another change in plans, another surprise for Mateo and the hunt, and clearly a deception because he would never associate himself with a Stromm for any reason. He tossed the witch’s words aside and took away her power. No one decided his fate but himself—not a witch, and certainly not a Stromm.

“Let him rest,” Lady Verona said at last, diffusing the uncomfortable tension in the carriage.

Relieved, he muttered a thanks and angled himself away from the ladies. He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. Even though he tried to push away Rhyka’s words, they were all he thought about as he struggled to find sleep.

Something else was at work here, something larger than himself, and he had no idea what.

Avalynn Stromm hiked up the silk skirt of her green nightgown. She jammed her boot through the vines that covered the lattice to her second-story bedchamber. Her sharp eyes peered up through the dark night as she considered the path to her open window. “I should have worn pants.” She grabbed the lattice, and the spindly thorns scraped her skin. “And gloves.”

Despite the barbed woodwork, she climbed swiftly and with purpose. She needed to reach her bedchamber before anyone discovered her missing and reported her absence to her father, the High King. His strict rules against roaming the palace grounds at night were legendary, and he made exceptions for no one. A year ago, her cousin from Sand Bluff left his room during the night to see the newly installed selkie fountain. He was never seen again.

Her excursion did not honor a fountain, though. She was not that foolish. She had snuck out to ride a magical creature. For months, beyond the landscaped gardens and expansive lawns of Stromm Palace, she had watched the white Enbarr horse. It appeared when the moon shone bright in the sky, and it pranced and played alone. She had never seen one up close, and it soon became her heart’s desire, so much so that she felt a kindred spirit with the Enbarr.

And tonight was her chance. She would’ve never passed on the opportunity.

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