Stormbound

Katria

“No.”

The word came out sharper than I meant. Not brittle, just absolutely done. Final. A stone thrown into still water.

But the Empress, my sister, did not flinch. Of course, she did not. Aeryl would not. I could not believe that this was happening. Again. After everything. After the blood and the grief and the century of endless war that had hollowed us out like rotted trees.

After Andrick.

After what I did to him.

After what they let happen to me.

After what I survived just to keep a peace that did not, could not, last.

“You have been specifically requested for this, Katria.” Aeryl’s voice was ice. Smooth. Controlled. Sharp. She never raised it. Never needed to. She could carve a battlefield from six words and a flat stare.

I turned from the window, my cane biting into the floor with the motion, an echo I never intended to make. The room was silent. Familiar with its quiet. Sunlight streamed through the high latticework windows, catching on the motes of dust that always seemed to follow me like ghosts. Outside, the war dragged on. Border towns burning, wind-bound scouts falling from the skies bearing ill news on an ill wind.

Yet here we were.

Talking of marriage. Again.

“I don’t care, Aeryl.” My voice trembled, not with fear, but fury. “The last time I was married off, it ended in war.” I gripped my cane tighter, knuckles pale. The burn in my leg began to pulse again, more from memory than actual pain. “One hundred and thirteen years,” I said, quieter now. “That is how long this war has dragged on. I was barely 190 when I took the veil. 195 when this war began. 195 when I…” I stopped, and the Empress remained silent, watching me cooly. “There are no humans left who remember how this started.” My voice dropped to a whisper as I fought to control my emotions. “No humans left who remember what I looked like before the limp. Before the knives. Before him.” I swallowed hard. “To them, I am a legend. A warning. A bogeyman.”

Aeryl’s quiet struck me, but not with surprise. This was her tactic. I hated that I recognized it, as it was her preferred method when dealing with me. With my pain and my rage.

They wanted to bind me again. Not to another human. No. To something, someone other. Something we do not fully understand, as they are reclusive, but powerful. Creatures of wings and fire and unknown bloodlines.

“After everything, you expect me to do this again.” I spat out, meeting her eyes. “You wish to strap a gown to my corpse and send it flying into the arms of a stranger. And for what? Strategy?”

“You are being a child,” the Empress said smoothly, her voice dripping like a frozen waterfall. “The High Priestess Cykiranith requested you by name. She has chosen a Vovin of high standing for you. She is here to meet with you ahead of the rest of the procession. We need this alliance, princess. It is your duty.”

“Or you could end this the easy way.” I laughed bitterly. “Let me go to Eskel. Let me surrender. Let them parade me through their court in chains. I am but one elf. Let me end what I started!”

Her laughter rang out, but the silence that followed it had more weight than most screams. “Absolutely not.” Her tone did not rise, but it landed like a knife. “You are a princess, Katria. Second in line to the throne. You will marry the Vovin that the Priestess has selected. You will stop pretending that martyrdom is noble. You will stop pretending that you understand the weight of this war.” The empress approached me, her long fingers grasping my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. “That is your duty to your people. Your death would have no meaning to us.”

I pulled away from her, seething, teeth clenched. “I carry the weight in my bones.”

“You carry guilt, not strategy. You will never be allowed to throw yourself onto someone else’s blade and call it service.”

The words hit harder than I anticipated. “I am already thrown onto a blade in service,” I replied, softer now, but lethal. “You’re just dressing me in different silk this time.”

This made her pause.

Only a beat, but I saw it.

The way her jaw flexed. The way her fingers flexed around the arm of her chair as she moved to sit in it, an elegantly carved, gold-leafed throne, taller than necessary. She sat slowly, the motion unhurried, yet it filled the room like smoke. Her robes shifted around her, pale silver and high-necked, trimmed with the ice-blue sash that marked her rank as Empress of the Ilythil court.

I watched her as she raised her eyes to mine, her darker green meeting my own. A predator’s gaze and patience.

“You speak of sacrifice,” she murmured, her voice even. “But all I hear is self-pity.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but her hand lifted to stop me.

“You think that you are the only one who has suffered, Princess Katria?” Her gaze was piercing. “You were not the only one who wore a mourning veil after the human’s death. You are not the only one who has buried someone in this war.”

My hand curled around the cane at my side. “No, but I was the one who married him. I am the one who ended him. My actions started this war.”

Aeryl’s eyes narrowed. “You married him because you were chosen. You were young. Brilliant. Radiant. They listened to you.” Her voice cracked. “We believed in you.”

I blinked, because although I knew it, she knew it, I had not expected her to say it. She turned her head, looking out the windows, her hands clasping in her lap. “You had the love of the people, Katria,” she continued. “The ear of the High Counsel. The trust of our then allies.”

“So, you placed me in a cage like an errant kudgie. Sent me to him.”

“We all did. We had to. You came back alive.”

“Barely.” She looked like I had slapped her. As if it were the first time we had had this conversation over the last century. Her composure was fraying at the edges, her dark skin flushing deeper.

“What do you want from me, Ria?” she asked, the old nickname falling from her lips like a ghost. “Regret? I have it. Fury? I have lived with it. But I cannot undo what happened. I can only—”

“Do it again?”

The silence that followed that question was absolute. The wind and the light filtering through the windows seemed to still. Aeryl’s voice, when it returned to her, was almost too quiet. “No. I can only hope that it doesn’t obliterate you this time.” Her eyes moved back to mine. “I can only hope that you don’t turn out like the stories of the Decadent Queen.”

My breath caught in my chest because that… that was not the Empress speaking. That was Aeryl. My sister. The girl who used to brush my hair before court lessons. Who braided flowers into my locks. Who once held me through the fever that almost took my lungs. The girl who used to tell me romantic stories of the Decadent Queen, a woman who had the love of Aed, the God of Fire, but even that was not enough to stop her descent into madness. She had been sealed away in the mountains to the north, but her tomb had been lost to the ages. Only stories remained, and many of those were fabricated.

She looked older now. Not from time. Time did not touch us the way it did the other races of the world. No, the war had aged her, aged me.

“The Vovin will not be like the humans,” she said, the empirical façade falling over her once more. “They do not gild their cruelty. They will show you what they are.”

“And what am I meant to show them?” I asked, suddenly exhausted.

“That you are more than the myth of the Warrior Princess. That you can still fly, that you have wings, even if you can no longer see them.”

That silenced everything in me. For the first time in one hundred and thirteen years, she had acknowledged my wounds without bitterness. Without condescension.

Without shame.

I stood there, locked in something that was not forgiveness. Perhaps recognition tinged with resignation.

“What’s his name?” I finally asked.

Aeryl lifted a brow. “Now you care?”

“I’m going to marry him.” I turned away from her, looking out the window again. “Might as well learn what to call the fire into which I am flying. What is his name?”

The words felt strange coming out of my mouth. Not because I did not care, I did. Too much, and I hated that.

Aeryl did not respond right away. She watched me as I walked back to the window, my cane tapping softly as I moved. I touched the glass, feeling the coolness on my fingers. Outside, the wind rolled over the rooftops of the court, catching in the trees, pushing clouds across a morning that had no interest in our wars, our stories.

“Talthaankoth.” I turned and looked at the Empress as she finally spoke. “Son of Virmyth, heir to the western citadel of Krandir. Warlord and secondborn of the High Flame. Known as Taleth in the common tongue.”

The name hit me like a storm held in suspense. “Sounds dramatic,” I said dryly.

“He is,” she replied, almost too quickly. “But not in the way you expect.”

“Oh?”

“He’s dangerous.” Aeryl stood and crossed to the table that held a stack of diplomatic scrolls and, likely, the arrangement. Her fingers traced a seal I did not recognize, but it struck me as likely to be Vovin. “Not reckless, per se, as he is not a man of fire. But one of control, or so I have been led to believe.” Her words made me pause. She continued. “I am told he rarely speaks in council but instead watches. He waits. When he chooses to act, it is already too late to stop him.”

“Sounds charming.” My gut churned as Aeryl met my eyes.

“Sounds familiar to a certain elvish princess.” I stilled at her words. “What I have been told reminds me greatly of you before the war, Katria. Before you had to become something you never chose.”

My mouth felt dry as I uttered the following words. “Then perhaps I should run now.” My attempt at levity fell flat.

“It is far too late for that.”

Outside, the wind rose, brushing against the crystalline panes like breath. I closed my eyes. “Talthaankoth,” I muttered, the name rolling off my tongue like flint. Like oath. Like danger. I glanced over at my sister. “And he agreed to this?”

“I do not know. The High Priestess chose you and him. She demanded it.”

“What?”

“As I said before. She asked for you. Specifically.”

“Why?”

“I did not ask. I did not dare. When you are handed the key to end a war, you do not question the shape of the lock.”

We were back to the Empress and the Princess. I laughed bitterly. ’And you expect me to be grateful?”

“No, I expect you to survive.”

“Again.”

“Always.” She stepped closer to me. “I know you hate me, but I have never stopped trusting you to endure.” She paused, then continued delicately. “Do not go into this with your teeth already bared.”

I turned fully to the Empress. “Then we’d better hope he’ll know not to approach me with his claws out either.”

I stalked out of the throne room, knowing that the next person I was to meet with would be this High Priestess. I was not looking forward to it. My cane tapped at my side, a steady percussion that followed me every day. I took a deep breath, pausing my stride for a moment. It was past midday, so I decided to go to the kitchens first before meeting with the priestess. The kitchens were busy, as usual, but I was used to the flow. I wound my way through, snagging a few pastries and fruits as well as a bottle of mead, placing them in a basket to carry on my arm. The cooks and scullery maids either gave me a brief smile or ignored me entirely. I was known to do this day and night, so my presence was no longer much of a disturbance. Not since the early days of the war, at least.

I climbed the stairs, absent-mindedly snacking on some fruit, keeping my pace deliberate. I had to go into this meeting levelheaded, willing to listen to the priestess, no matter how foolish I believed this new arrangement to be. Perhaps she would be willing to listen to me as well.

I paused at the bottom of a staircase, mentally cursing the Ilythlian palace, not for the first time. I could call on the wind to fly up, to float everywhere like an ethereal ghost, but many healers had told me that if I did not use my leg as much as possible, I would lose what muscle I had retained from my injuries. Once I made it to the top of this flight, the walk to the guest parlour, where I was assuming the priestess to be, was only a short walk, at least. I started walking up, keeping my face schooled into neutrality as my leg protested the movement. I reached the top and continued, trying to keep my limp to a minimum.

Finally, I reached the parlour, and I knocked on the door before opening it. Inside, the priestess stood at a window. She was a vision in white gossamer silk. It complemented her deep-blue, iridescent, scaled skin. Her navy hair hung down between her furled wings to the base of her tail, and jewelry was woven through the strands. She was taller than I, by at least a foot, and had a lean, almost serpentine, build. Her horns, already very impressive, curved into a halo above her head. She turned at the opening of the door, her white eyes almost glowing as she appraised me. Her face was draconian, angular, fierce. Her snout tapered into a graceful point, and I could see a hint of her teeth as a smile spread across her lips. A smoky scent drifted through the room, and I realized that it was hers. Amber, salt, and jasmine with that smoky undercurrent wafted over me, the scent both calming and enlightening.

“You must be the Princess Katria, then?” she spoke, her voice resonant, arresting. It held a gravity that weighed me down.

“And you must be the High Priestess who has offered my sister this arrangement?” I replied, keeping my voice steady.

“I am. She requested allyship. I responded with an arrangement that suits both our peoples. I have seen you on the arm of my student.”

“Seen me?” I cocked an eyebrow.

“I am a priestess, girl. I see things of the future, the past, and all in between.”

“A seer then.”

“Mystic.” She chuckled, a low, throaty sound. Her tongue flicked from between her teeth, which I could now see had light serrations. The warrior in me was struck with sudden knowledge that I never wanted to meet this creature on the battlefield. Something told me that even Vovin priestesses were a force to be reckoned with.

I pulled myself back to the current moment. “Tell me of my intended, then, priestess.”

“Talthaankoth is his name, though I imagine your empress already told you his names and titles. She was quite determined to have them.”

“She would be,” I muttered. The priestess’s smile turned almost predatory.

“You do not care for such things?” She moved towards me, sleek and silent, as though she was not touching the floor.

“What is a title but a bunch of fancy words those who believe themselves above the rest call themselves?”

“Pretty words from a princess.”

I lowered my head, recognizing the chastising words as the humour she intended, but it still stung. I had not felt like much of a princess in years. Of course, I had enjoyed the freedoms of one. The empress usually left me to my own devices, and I had the run of the palace grounds. Still, the fact that I was standing here, being auctioned off to a new bidder, made the word turn bitter in my mouth.

The priestess lifted my chin. “Never lower your head when you come to Krandir, princess. You are not weak, nor docile. You are a fighter. If you lower your head, you show weakness to us.”

“I have not fought in years, priestess. I was called from the front lines over fifty years ago.”

“And yet, the Eskellion generals still fear you. We have heard tell of the Stormbird, the War Bitch.”

I barely held back the snarl at the old moniker I had been given by the Eskellion court, gripping my cane tight. The propaganda they spread about me as the War Bitch. As though killing Andrick had been a move of thoughtless rage, not a calculated defensive action against five years of his abuse. As though I had slowly ended him, instead of the quick, decisive stabbing it had been. I knew that killing him would spark something, but I had never believed that the Empress would have allowed it to continue for as long as she had. This war was bleeding our people dry, and I could only imagine that the Eskellion King felt the same way after all this time. He had been raised in this war, though. I remembered seeing him as a prince on the battlefield before I had been pulled from active duty. He looked terrified when I landed barely twenty feet from him, and he sent his personal guard to swarm me. I recalled how clean and shiny his armour had been.

Stormbird was the moniker the Eskellion army had given me. I fought with the storm within me. Lightning would precede my arrows, thunder in my sword. I flew above the elven armies, calling the winds and the rains to batter the opposing forces. Those days were the only ones I did not feel the pain in my leg, as I was focused on stopping the onslaught of men into Ilythil. Since being pulled from battle, the war had diminished slightly, with more skirmishes on the border. But we had lost more people in the last fifty years than in the first half, and elves did not breed half as quickly as men.

I schooled my face into a façade of calm, meeting the priestess’s eyes. “I no longer use those names.”

“You may use them again, though. A bitch always has a place in the wars of men and elves.”

“What of the wars of vovin?”

“We always need a bitch or two.” She chuckled. “And a few warlords and Stormbirds, too. War is chaotic. Someone needs to control the masses from themselves.” She swept away from me. “Talthaankoth is a good man, but a great leader for my people. He will not stray from you; he will not hurt you. We have laws in place for such things. He will give you all that he is. All I request is that you try to give at least some of yourself back to him, and to remind him of his duty to our people.”

“Will we be expected to have children?”

“We do not even know if that is possible for you, so no. This union has only been attempted once before centuries ago. I imagine that our anatomy is compatible with each other, but there is no requirement for any relations beyond the marriage itself.” A knowing smirk curled the priestess’s lip. “However, there is something to be said for trying anyway. We are a tactile, open people. I will not say we lack the same political scheming as the elvish or human courts, but we are more diplomatic. Touch is important to us.”

“I am adverse to touch.” I watched the priestess still. Then she turned to me, and I could see sorrow etched in the scales of her face.

“I have heard little of what you went through with your human… husband,” she admitted. “I am willing to hear it, if and when you are willing to speak of it.”

Shock flooded through me. Elves were a reserved people. We spoke of the past but glossed over the trauma inflicted. I had been taught to hold in the bitterness, the rage, the fear that had coursed through me, only to release it in fits of passion, whether that was sex or battle. I found my voice. “Perhaps one day, priestess.”

“Is there anything you need from this union? I am aware that it is not your choice.”

“I need my intended to understand that I will not be set upon a shelf to be viewed like a pretty bauble. I need assurances that my autonomy will be respected. I need to know that if I wish to return to Minarsil, that it will be permitted, even if only as a temporary reprieve from dragons.”

“You are not to be a prisoner, Princess. Once you are bound by oath and blood to Talthaankoth, you are vovin. You may not have the wings or the horns, and you may have softer skin than we do, but you will be free to do as you wish. Of course, that is once you have learned how to conduct yourself as such. We do not believe in the idleness you have been living in since coming home. You will have instructors, myself included, in our stories, our history, our battles. And something tells me that you will enjoy the lessons. You are wasted here.”

“You can be assured that I will conduct myself appropriately.”

“We shall see, Princess Katria.” The priestess nodded. “I will send word to Talthaankoth to come meet his bride. He should be here in the next two or three days. He did have a request, though, for you, princess.”

“Oh?”

“We understand that we must do the marriage rites here in Minarsil for the elves, but he has asked that the first time you meet, you wear vovin attire. I have taken the liberty of bringing a dress and jewelry with me.”

I drew my eyes down the gown the priestess wore. It was loose, flowy, pure white. The dress had a low cowl neck with layered straps going over her shoulders. None of it clung to her form, but I could see the appeal. I already knew that it would be utterly backless. The jewelry was something else, too. Silver arm bands clasped around her upper arms, and layered bracelets that dripped with gemstones rested on her wrists. The dress also had silver cuffs keeping the layered straps in place. It was elegant, simple. Stunning.

“I am amenable to that. Do I wear stays with it?”

“I don’t know what that is, so I’d assume not.”

“Oh, the empress is going to hate that.”