Page 92 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

A snaking sensation dipped into her stomach, causing her gut to twist. She had felt the same feeling the night of the attack at her home, but never understood why she had those feelings. This time, at least she knew why she felt anxious, knowing what lurked out there and who was fighting them. Lifting a hand to her hair, she felt the texture of the braid between her index finger and thumb. She dragged her finger down, pulling the braid apart, allowing her hair to spill out, untamed, onto her shoulders.

Tonight, everything she did felt wrong. Anything she wore felt heavy. Anywhere she sat, she squirmed impatiently. Anything she ate made its way back up her throat. Every breath she took felt tight in her chest.

Maybe, it was partly because Cally hadn’t returned from the Markets yet and Gideon hadn’t returned from the hunt, which made her feel all levels of uncomfortable.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because she had an urge to fight. She wanted to fight—and sitting in this room, waiting, was killing her. She deemed herself no better than the wealth of Mossgrave as they sat in their protected manors the night her grandmother was murdered, the night the village was ransacked. As the Elite sat back and let the creatures from the underworld burn their village, they had watched ignorantly. They had let the people of the village fight a battle they were inescapably going to lose.

Most of them had lost.

And Emara had a sickening feeling that the Elite had known of the evil that lurked and had done nothing to warn the village. That’s why there wasn’t a single Elite name on the list of the dead. She had checked a document in the library.

If Taymir, of all people, knew about this world, then the most powerful of the Elite definitely knew. How else had so many of them survived? Why else hadn’t she heard of any damage to their homes? How else would she explain Taymir’s men keeping an eye out for her coming back? Or them having guards who just so happened to be Clan members?

He had known. They all had. As they sat in their affluent homes, they had turned a blind eye to the horror.

Her pulse raced in anger at the thought, and she kicked off from the windowsill to pace around the room. She had always thought the Elite protected her village—when really, they were just the barrier between them and the evil, willing to step aside to protect themselves. All those rooms in their snobby manors and not one of them had offered a member of the village sanctuary. All the food and the wealth, no one offered even a loaf of bread. She grabbed the pillow from the bed and screamed into it. One Elite manor could have taken in everyone from her village, even if it was just for a night.

One night.

With every thought, she grew more enraged. Everything around her angered her. She kicked over a wooden chair and it hit the ground, then splintered.

“Calm,” a familiar voice entered her mind. “Keep calm. Do something that you would do daily.”

It was her grandmother’s voice. She knew it instantly. She closed her eyes and listened. She had always kept Emara to a strict routine—one that was quite different from her training schedule now, but it was a routine, nonetheless.

But her old routine was gone. Now she didn’t know what was going to happen from one minute to the next. She appreciated the routine of training and mealtimes within the Tower, but the uncertainty of what could happen next dug into the roots of who she was. But then again, the question of who she really was hung heavy in the air.

Maybe she could be someone completely new in this life. Maybe, through all this turmoil, it would allow her to find exhilaration in the uncertainty. She could be whoever she wanted to be. She felt a sudden rush of empowerment coursing through her heart at that thought. She could have the confidence to be anyone she wanted to be in Huntswood City.

Emara’s heart leaped into the air as the infirmary door opened. Her chest eased a little as she saw bouncing blonde hair swish through.

“Aw, Em, you didn’t have to wait up. It’s late.” Callyn smiled and scurried into the room holding three brown paper bags and two large, white boxes.

“You would have woken me anyway with all that you are carrying.”

Although she would have waited until Cally came home to sleep, Emara had made a promise to see someone else…

Callyn spread all her purchases out on the bed and Emara’s first thought was that she had bought more lacey underwear from the markets. But then a horrible notion reminded her that there could be worse things to purchase from the Huntswood markets.

She had seen it firsthand.

“What could you possibly have purchased that requires boxing?” she said, hoping that there was no weaponry involved. That’s all Callyn Greymore needed—a weapon in one of her temper tantrums.

“Well, I promised my best friend an amazing dress for the uplift.” She smiled, causing her eyes to soften. “Even if she was being a big bore and didn’t come with me to the Markets. One box is for you and one is for me.”

Cally hadn’t had much as a child. Growing up she’d promised herself that she would make as much coin as she possibly could. And so, she did.

Taking her passion for fashion and turning it into a career, she had styled the wealthiest Elite wives of Mossgrave, allowing her to earn a good amount of coin. Cally wasn’t shy in spending that coin either and, that also included, on Emara.

A sting pinched its way into her chest.

She didn’t deserve a friend like Cally. Loyal to the bone, kind-hearted and truthful – even when the truth of her words did hurt.

“Callyn, you better not have spent a lot of coin on this… you know I don’t like it when you do that” She made her way over to the box, running a hand over the lid.

“Emara, stop. I have lived with you for almost thirteen years and your grandmother didn’t ask for a single thing from me. She fed me, put clothes on my back, and allowed me to share every moment with you. The least I can do is repay you in amazing fashion. It’s my treat and I won’t hear another word about it.” Cally’s nose flared the way it always did when she was being bossy. “Okay?”

“Okay, alright,” Emara agreed, not wanting another fight on her hands tonight. “But I am a little scared to look inside the box.” Emara pretended to peek through her fingers “It better be…suitable.”

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