Page 48 of A Storm in Every Heart
He coughs. “Yes, well, I was just hoping to find some breakfast, and…” he trails off, looking startled as I step closer.
I’ve already decided what I’m going to do if he doesn’t want to leave without saying a formal goodbye to the court, so I waste no time waiting for him to finish his sentence. “I want to leave right now,” I say with a persuasive note in my voice. “We don’t need to wait to say goodbye to anyone, and no one else is coming with us. You should go saddle the horses. Nothing would make you happier.”
The emissary blinks at me, and I swear I can see him fighting the compulsion. Gods, it would be just my luck that the emissary turns out to have a stronger will than nearly every other man on the continent.
“Please?” I add, a little desperate.
Elio’s eyes slide out of focus, and he blinks up at me with a vacant expression. “As you wish.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Go fetch the horses and my trunk. I’ll wait for you here.”
“As you wish,” he mumbles again, already shuffling off toward the stables.
I heave another sigh and settle onto a coarse wooden bench by the barracks entrance to wait.
I should probably follow the emissary to ensure the compulsion doesn’t wear off before we’ve left, but I don’t want it to become too strong. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. Hopefully, in an hour he’ll be back to normal and won’t remember why we left so abruptly.
Even so, I can’t shake the nagging sense of guilt.
Over the past hundred years, I’ve scarcely resorted to compulsion more than a handful of times, yet here I am, having used it twice just this week.
Even if it’s wrong to bewitch the Emissary into helping me, it’s not nearly as wrong as the harm I could cause if I stay here. The harm I could inadvertently cause to Kastian, and to myself.
The rational part of me insists that the end justifies the means. After all, it’s not like I’m causing any lasting damage…
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
ODESSA, AGE 16
“Ijust wanted you to know that I was right.”
Daemon turns to look at me, an expression of resignation already on his face. “Oh, here we go.”
I glare up at him. “I was!”
It’s the morning of the first full day of Vernallis’s visit to the court of Hydratta, and Daemon and I are standing beneath the arched entrance of the Hydrattan royal race track. Nearly every moment of the next three days includes some sort of event or activity, all culminating in a masked ball on the last night of the summit. This morning’s entertainment is horse racing. It’s not exactly my idea of fun.
Daemon jerks his head in the direction the crowd is moving. “We should find a spot to watch before it all fills up.”
“I don’t care about watching the race.”
“Well, I do. Come on, I’ll buy you a lemonade before we sit down.”
I roll my eyes, but trail behind Daemon down the small stone path that leads to the racetrack.
The track is an enormous oval, flanked on all sides by low fences, with spectators leaning against them, eagerly anticipating the race. Those avoiding the sun are seated on tall wooden bleachers. The highest seats, shaded by vibrant tents, are reserved for the most important guests. From here, I can see King Sebastian and Queen Marbella already settled in the most ornate box, positioned right behind the race’s starting point. At the starting line, a dozen or so Fae men are preparing their horses to begin the race.
Daemon and I make our way to the back of an enormous line of people all waiting to buy food and drinks from the shouting vendors beneath rainbow-striped tent awnings.
It’s clear who’s from Vernallis and who’s from Hydratta, because all the Hydrattan nobles are dressed perfectly for the humid weather in loose silks and thin, sleeveless garments. Both the men and the women seem to favor pants over skirts, and I even spot a few women in cropped shirts that clearly show they’re not wearing any corsets underneath. I burn with envy.
I’d almost forgotten how warm it can get in Hydratta, and I’m already sweating beneath my light cotton gown. Around me, many of the other Vernalli nobles are worse off than I am, and I can see them peeling off layers the longer we stand beneath the scorching sun.
I turn my head in every direction, distracted and fascinated by all the colorful clothing and glittering jewelry.
“I can’t stand the suspense,” Daemon says, nudging me with his shoulder.
“What?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from the shiny gold beading on a nearby woman’s skirt.
