Page 3 of A Storm in Every Heart
“Not long at all,” Mercer lies.
Aunt Beatrix nods politely, then steps around Mercer. She pulls off her lavender gloves and bends down to my eye level. “You must be Odessa.”
I blink at her, a wave of discomfort washing over me. Now that she’s closer, I can see my aunt has the same blue eyes as my papa, and the sight of them makes my throat so tight I can’t speak. I squeeze the key in my hand until it hurts.
“I’m so sorry about your father,” Aunt Beatrix says kindly. “And I’m sorry that we’re meeting like this. I wrote to Gabriel so many times over the years, asking him to bring you for a visit.”
There’s a long silence where I can feel all eyes on me. I swallow the lump in my throat, willing myself not to cry.
I will not cry in front of these strangers who are going to take me away from my home and everyone I’ve ever known. The humiliation would be unbearable. And worse, I can already see the pity on my aunt’s face.
The only thing worse than humiliation is pity.
Aunt Beatrix sighs, her brow furrowing with concern. She glances at her son, who has been silent until now. “I need to go speak with Mr. Mercer. Wait here with Odessa.”
Her son nods, and Aunt Beatrix steps away, leaving me alone with my cousin in the middle of the dock.
“What have you got in your hand?” the boy asks as soon as his mother is out of earshot.
I glance at him, realizing that I don’t know his name. Aunt Beatrix didn’t introduce him, and although I’m sure Papa mentioned my cousin’s name at least once, it escapes me now. Not knowing what to say, I wrap my fingers tighter around the brass handle of the antique key.
My father gave me this key, promising to reveal the treasure it opened, but then he took his own life, leaving me forever uncertain of where the key fits.
“You’re very quiet,” my cousin observes. “Too bad. I’ve been looking forward to hearing about what it’s like to live on a ship…” He trails off, widening his bright green eyes in an invitation for me to join the conversation. When I don’t, he just shrugs. “…but I guess you’re going to turn out to be boring.”
I bristle, an immediate denial springing to my lips. “I’m not boring.”
My cousin grins. “Could’ve fooled me. I’m Daemon, by the way.”
My temperature rises as fast as my indignation. My papa always said I had a temper like a stormy sea. One moment it’s smooth sailing, and the next the tide is so rough it could swallow an entire ship in one gulp. “Perhaps I simply don’t want to talk to you.”
“Or perhaps you can’t carry on a normal conversation,” he says, in a tone of mock contemplation. “Don’t worry, I know it’s not your fault. Mother told me you’d never been to school.”
As quick as a blink, I almost forget my sadness as anger takes over. “How dare you? M-my father just died!”
Daemon’s grin widens, and he shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Mine too.”
I jerk back, startled. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.
Before I can think of how to respond, the sounds of commotion drift toward us from the adjacent street. Daemon grows distracted, craning his neck to watch, and I follow his gaze. At the far end of the cobblestone street that runs alongside the dock, a group of sailors has gathered in a circle. In the center, two men are beating each other until their faces and fists are bloody.
“Who do you suppose started it?” Daemon asks.
“Are you joking?”
“No. Why? Do you know them?”
I scoff, finding myself pleased to know something my cousin doesn’t. “They’re not fighting out of anger. Haven’t you ever seen boxing before?”
He shakes his head. “No. The only fighting allowed in the court of Vernallis is magical dueling.”
My eyebrows raise. My father was Fae, and all Fae have magic, but magic isn’t good for much unless you train to use it. I’ve never met anyone with training. “Do you use magic, then?” I ask. “That’s something I’d like to see.”
In answer, Daemon flicks a hand toward a nearby lamppost. It promptly explodes, and I duck, raising my arms to shield my head from the spray of glass. “What was that for? You could have just said ‘yes.’ You didn’t have to smash anything.”
Daemon swears under his breath, looking crestfallen. “Sorry. I meant to light the lamp.”
“I take it you’re not winning many duels?”
