Page 1 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

The air was crisp enough for the hairs to stand up on the back of Emara’s neck. She brushed her hand over them as a command to stand down. They reappeared within a second. The air was changing. Rolling her neck, she turned her gaze to the burnt orange moon that lit the night’s sky. The Blood Moon was entering the waxing gibbous stage of its cycle, coming close to its fullest strength. A full moon happened twelve times a year, but the Blood Moon—a celestial event that took place once every year—was one that her grandmother was always uneasy about. For whatever sacred reason she had that linked to the ancient Gods of Caledorna.

A feeling of unease spread over Emara’s skin and she folded her arms in efforts to calm the growing unrest that had been brewing in her stomach all day. Nothing in particular had happened today that could have stirred up the strange sensation igniting in the pits of Emara’s belly, but regardless, it swirled.

“Emara!” her name vibrated through the glass doors to where she stood on the balcony facing the surrounding forest of fir trees. “Emara Clearwater, come inside at once.”

She threw a glance over her shoulder to spy her grandmother standing in her room. Her slender finger pointed at her and then motioned to come inside.

A bitter shiver snaked up Emara’s spine as she turned her back on the moon and ventured into her room. Tugging at her white nightgown, she wrapped the loose material around her body as if it would defend her from the chilling night air and tiptoed from the humble wooden terrace. She slid open the glass door that gave entrance to her room and rubbed her feet on the thick, woven rug that offered instant heat. Feeling the warmth niggle into her toes again, she inhaled deeply.

“What on earth are you doing outside, child?” her grandmother asked, her unsmiling eyes meeting hers at last. “By the Gods, you must be freezing standing out there.”

“Grandmother, I am not a child. There is no need to lecture me on what temperature I should keep my body.” She smiled warmly. “I was just fine.”

A small corner of her grandmother’s lips turned up. “Regardless of your age, one can still catch a chill.”

Emara wanted to roll her eyes, but thought better of it and just smiled. “Were there any interesting clientele at the gallery today?” she asked as she rubbed her arms to gather heat.

Her grandmother swept a paint-stained hand over her brow and raised her chin. “My darling, when you work with art, your clientele is always interesting,” Theodora Clearwater declared as she looked around the room. Emara knew exactly who she was scanning the space for. “Speaking of interesting individuals, where is Miss Greymore?” Her grandmother’s lips pursed together in the way that one’s did before a poised person lost their temper.

Emara’s nose wrinkled. “She still appears to be out at the moment.”

Theodora Clearwater’s dark blue eyes narrowed in on Emara’s face. “I can see that. Does Callyn Greymore believe that she lives above the rules of my household?” Her structured face straightened, but a glimmer of amusement rang through in her voice. “She knows that curfew is before dusk in the lead up to a full moon, yet she always seems to think she can bend the rules.”

Dusk had fallen onto the earth an hour ago and that meant Callyn had missed curfew—again. It was a condition that her grandmother was unfaltering on, even as they matured into young women.

Emara sighed internally and cursed at whatever quarrels her grandmother had with the full moon before hearing a noise from downstairs. “Ah, I think I can hear her now,” she announced, her heart beating a little faster. “That must be her.” She gathered from the creaking wood that moved on the staircase.

Theodora Clearwater turned towards the door slowly, awaiting the arrival of Emara’s best friend.

Emara let out a nervous exhale. Just as her swirling breath disappeared, she heard a clicking of familiar shoes as footsteps made their way through the hallway. Before she could move towards the door to warn her that her grandmother was in the room, Callyn Greymore burst through the threshold of the bedroom, looking glamorous.

As always.

“Sorry, I am late. I have wine—” Callyn halted, her fashionable footwear skidding on the wooden floor. “Mrs. Clearwater!” Callyn’s eyes widened, and her spine straightened as she observed Theodora, standing cross-armed before her. She drew a dazzling smile across her face to hide the fact she knew she had been busted. “I thought you might still have been working,” she gulped. “You know…late.”

Emara stifled a laugh at how, even after living with them for most of her life, Callyn still called her grandmother “Mrs Clearwater.”

Theodora pulled in her cheeks tight and took a step towards her before saying, “Callyn, in case you haven’t noticed, it is dark outside.” Her hand broke through the regal, cerulean cloak she had gathered around her shoulders and gestured to the night outside.

Callyn nodded, her light-as-sand hair lay curling around her shoulders, immediately brightening up the room with its golden shine.

“And it is rather cold,” Theodora said, taking in Callyn’s attire. “You should be wearing a lot more than what you have on.”

Her ensemble certainly wasn’t made to keep out the cold, as the soft fabric of her cerise pink dress hugged her thin curves, exposing her bare arms and most of her long legs.

Immediately, Emara knew Callyn had made the garment. Probably in the last day or two. The village of Mossgrave only had one seamstress and she certainly wasn’t the one responsible for making that dress. Not in a million moons.

Since having ambitions in women’s fashion, Callyn had been pushing every boundary there was in hem height, tight fabrics, and suggestive cuts, and the sleepy, traditional village of Mossgrave had never seen anything as scandalous as Callyn Greymore’s style since they day the Gods put life on the world. She, of course, had picked up the newest fashion trends from the elite she styled, who often had travelled to cities or more exotic places outside Mossgrave.

“I am terribly sorry, Mrs. Clearwater,” Callyn announced with an angelic smile. “But I had a job to finish up. You know what clients can be like.” She flicked a look in Emara’s direction.

“That I do.” Theodora said before turning to Emara. “Very well. Have a good night, girls.”

Relief filled Cally’s face as Theodora moved towards the door to exit the room, but halted midway.

She peeked over her shoulder and said, “And just before I leave,” she turned back to Callyn, who had gone rigid again. “Whatever is clinking away in that bag of yours”— her suspicious eyes trailed over the leather haversack that was completely out of place on Callyn’s shoulder—“please do not drink it all in one go.”

Theodora eyed both girls in warning and then left the room, her cloak sweeping behind her graciously like a soft, blue wave.

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