Page 21 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

“Emara Clearwater is not to be touched, do I make myself clear?” his father spat.

Emara Clearwater.

Gideon said her name a few times over in his head. He inhaled deeply and flashed a look at Torin who had gone rigid in his chair. Torin feared nothing—no man or beast—but he wouldn’t dare cross his father’s orders even if he really wanted to. It had been part of his training to obey the commander at all costs. Even if it wasn’t in his personality to obey anything or anyone at all, he had to obey his commander. He’d taken the oath.

“Do I make myself clear?” his father’s voice was rugged with masculinity as he raised it again. “That goes out to you all!” His dark green eyes pinned them all to their seats.

Torin held his father’s gaze, his strong jaw pushing out defiantly, challenging him the only way he could. It was always a fight to see who could out-alpha whom. His mother had always been pulling them apart as Torin grew older and stronger.

But Viktir Blacksteel was getting older, too, and the more Gideon thought about it, Torin would probably have a good chance at winning should they go head-to-head without weaponry. But it would be a direct insult to the clan and the oath if he did.

“Understood.” Torin dragged out every letter in the word. He shot to his feet, his strong legs holding the weight of his broad stance. Gideon, too, was on his feet, pulling him back by the shirt as he passed him.

Torin turned. “Get your hand off me!” he seethed, squaring up with Gideon.

Gideon didn’t back down as Torin’s head pushed down atop his. He had never backed down and he wasn’t about to start. Torin was older by a year but looked about three or four years older than Gideon due to sheer width and height.

“What did you do to her?” Gideon growled, looking his brother directly in the eye.

Torin pushed his shoulder back with no clear intent of hurting him, but to eject him from his peripheral space. He clearly wasn’t in the mood for a fight this morning, which was very un-Torin-like. He would normally throw a punch first and ask questions later.

“Gideon, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not in the mood. Stand down.” He paused as he let a snarl curl in his lip. “Brother!”

Gideon looked at Kellen who had turned to stone, watching in trepidation. Kellen didn’t have the same relationship as Gideon and Torin had. He hadn’t grown up fighting with them, sparring together, fishing, or learning the art of the hunt like they had. He was the baby; his mother mollycoddled the life out of him. Something that frustrated all three other men and brought the “steel” in the name Blacksteel.

Tough, loyal, relentless.

The Blacksteel moto.

Gideon’s fear was that Kellen was too soft for the hunt; not in the way of strength or power, but mentally.

He knew his father often wondered that too.

“Enough,” Viktir ordered. “If you are going to fight, don’t stand around here bitching like the wives of the elite. I’m sure the sparring room would like a visit since you both missed this morning’s session.” He rolled his tongue up to comb his front teeth. “Once you are done bitching, Gideon, you are needed in the infirmary. Rhea has instructions. I think it’s best if you sit this one out, Torin.” The commander dragged his sharp eyes from his eldest son.

“Follow me, Kellen. We have work to do.” Viktir stalked out of the room with Kellen at his heels.

“What did you do in the infirmary, Torin?” Gideon asked again.

“Honestly, Gideon, if it were any other day, I would be happy to answer your stupid questions and then smash your face right into the mats of the sparring room to wipe that dazed look off your face. Lucky for you, I am not in the mood.” Torin sneered.

Gideon blinked; he wasn’t expecting him to say that. He didn’t think anyone had noticed that he couldn’t shake the daze he had been in. But he wasn’t about to let his brother best him. “What’s wrong, Torin? Did Father ruffle a few of your feathers and now you’re not in the mood for a good spar? Have you gone soft?” he taunted.

Torin turned, his eyes blazing with that icy fire of his. “Oh, I am going to enjoy every moment of this,” he said coolly as he rolled up his sleeves.

Gideon wasn’t quick enough to even rustle up a response before Torin was gone. And he knew exactly where he was headed.

Before he headed to the sparring room to throw a few punches, he let her name float through his mind one last time.

Emara Clearwater.

The water was warm on her skin, her lengthy hair lay like a tangled rope on her bruised back. She still hadn’t spoken a word, unable to. Cally assisted Rhea in the bathing chamber, heating towels, preparing bandages, and warming a collection of oils. Mint, sage, jasmine, and rose perfumed the air, burning in small bowls around the bathtub. Emara clasped her arms around her legs.

“Pass me the second oil from the left; it should say eucalyptus,” requested Rhea, nodding her head in thanks as she received it. The warm oil trickled onto Emara’s scalp and ran down her hair like a thick honey. The lilac perfume from another oil that she had dropped into the warm water met the other aromas in the room and she inhaled it all into her lungs.

Between the steam and the aromatic oils, she could breathe clearer than before. The horrible tightening in her chest, easing a little. She pressed out her breath loudly, allowing the air to fall from her mouth like Rhea had instructed.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Rhea encouraged. “Breathe them in; take them into your lungs and slowly breathe out. Imagine the air of your breath hugging your lungs. Hugging your muscles. Relaxing them.” Her soft voice filtered through the room, echoing as she lifted the jug of warm water over Emara’s head and poured it gently onto her hair. She did as she was told, following the instructions from the healer. The fog and pain in her mind started to dissolve. Even the terrorizing images from the night before evaporated with the steam, leaving room for calm in her mind.

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