Page 62 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I dig my nails into my palms, eyes screwed shut. “This place isn’t natural,” I say, breathless. “There’s something deep inside that trench— A power.”
I tighten the loose scarf around my neck and tuck the ends into my coat, as if it could protect me from a presence that tugs at the very threads of who I am.
Seth nods. “They say anyone who falls into the Uaithe screams for minutes before being crushed at the bottom. That any bird foolish enough to fly into its depths never comes back out. Sound bends in strange ways on the fringes of the chasm. Locals call it the Wind Eater—said to draw in our breaths, our memories, our very souls, and keep them, if we’re not careful.”
“Well, that cheered me up to no end,” I bark, not feeling better about thiscreepy-bridge-without-railssituation.
He licks his lips. “Here, take my hand.”
“Stop doing that.” I slap his offered hand. “I mean— I’m fine. It’s just a bout of vertigo.”
I will myself to walk toward the bridge, this time careful not to look down, keeping my gaze fixed on Seth as he strides ahead without hesitation.
“As soon as we’re on the other side, stand close to me,” he warns, his voice cutting through the eerie stillness of the Frozen Hills. “You wouldn’t want to be toppled over by the wind when it comes, and fall into the crack.” He spins around to witness my slow, painful progress.
“You’re freaking me out on purpose. And showing off, might I add.”
The hint of a smile touches his eyes. “Perhaps. Or maybe I’m distracting you from the lure of whatever power lies at the bottom.”
My steps are lighter, quicker than before, and I hate that his shenanigans are working.
On the far side of the bridge, hundreds of wind turbines spin slow and steady, their blades slicing through the gray sky. The gigantic Aeolians are scattered along the rugged cliffs, drawing power from the storms that crackle constantly overhead. At the base of the descending valley lies a city beside the sea. Deiltine is an industrial hub carved into the rock, its borders chiseled one violent storm at a time.
We finally reach solid ground, and a blinding sense of relief washes over me. The storm here, though fierce, is not as suffocating as the emptiness of the Uaithe, the fear of being sucked in relenting.
Rain beats at my face, the sudden change in weather blinding me for a moment, before Seth envelops us in a protective bubble, an umbrella of sorts, that keeps us from the fury of the elements.
Only Storm Fae can reach the heart of the valley, making it one of the most inhospitable regions of the continent, second only to the cold, barren peaks of Wintermere’s highest mountains.
Seth stands tall beside me, his face lit with happiness as he opens his arms to the violent beauty of the Stormlands. “Welcome to Deiltine.”
Heavy clouds make the late morning feel like a moonless night, the only light coming from the erratic bolts of lightning streaking across the sky. It’s beauty at its most primal, and my heart pounds in my chest. Whenever I read about this place, I imagined a bleak, gray hole— Nothing like this.
The black-and-purple clouds are alive, pulsing with an energy that makes my skin buzz and my pulse spike. These weather phenomena can destroy everything in their path, yet a part of me aches to step into the heart of the storm. To let it strip me down to whatever still stands after.
“It’s…magnificent,” I whisper.
“I’m glad you think so.” Seth smiles the way a proud mother smiles down at her baby. “The sun touches the city only a handful of hours each year. It’s the darkest place on the continent, darker still than the Shadowlands.”
“The wind turbines are massive. I can’t believe they’re still standing.”
“Aeolians are titans of industry,” Seth explains. “Their blades are forged from lyranthium, a conductive metal designed to harvest the power of the storm. The energy they collect is stored in their bases, then funneled to the city through a network of underground cables.”
Each turbine holds three blades, their surfaces absorbing the dim light. The long, sleek, and razor-sharp pieces of machinery are patched up, showcasing hundreds of mismatched repairs, like they’ve been broken and rebuilt too many times to count. Just like me. Resilient in the face of relentless destruction, despite the sea, the sky, and the very fabric of this world trying to tear them apart.
“The factory packages the energy into capacitors and ships them across the continent,” he adds, pointing to the port. “A cradle of rock shields the lowest part of Deiltine from the monstrous waves of the North Sea. The narrow channel forms a hidden bay where boats wait to carry the tech on the rare days the overhead storm calms.” Seth tilts his face toward the sky. “We shouldn’t stay here long. The storm’s picking up speed.”
A crash of thunder blares through my chest, shivering through my fingers and toes and raising goosebumps on my arms. Straight ahead, the road ends in a sharp drop, where stockpiles of uneven rocks mark the cliff’s edge. From there, the earth falls away into a steep, vertical descent—the cliffside a weather-beaten wall veined with rusted rope anchors and dilapidated ladders.
Before I can unpack my climbing gear, Seth tosses me a coil of rope and an annoying little smirk. “Think you can handle it, witch?”
“I’ve handled worse,” I shoot back, untangling my harness from the ropes, my bag not quite as neatly packed as his.
He shrugs off his winter coat, and I do the same, the heavy fur impending our movements. Next, I slip on the harness. The straps are damp and slippery, the cold metal biting my fingers. I force my hands to keep moving and fasten the loops around my thighs.
Seth is already strapped in, gloves on as he hammers the pitons into the rock with steady, efficient strikes. He clips his rope in and gives it a sharp yank to check the hold, then glances over to me. “Need help?”
