Chapter 1 #2
I whip my head up to meet his gaze, narrowing my eyes, marking him as the man I will kill first. ‘Release her. If you want me as your champion, you’ll let her go.’
‘Why would we do that when it’s so clear how much she means to you?’ the man on the right remarks calmly.
‘Quite right, Otho,’ Tiberius agrees. ‘Allow her to kneel again. Come now, we’re not brutes.’
The guards haul me back up, keeping their hands on my shoulders, and I face the ruling council once more on my knees.
Every part of me is aware of Agnes, only a few feet away – a distance that right now seems insurmountable.
I cool the fire in my heart, thinking fast. ‘You have no need for her here. It’s me you want to control. ’
‘On the contrary, my dear. We need you both very much for the Trials to fall in our favour,’ the man on the left says.
I snap my gaze to the man in the middle as his features quirk into a vicious smile.
Out of the three of them, he seems to be the one in charge, the one to whom the others defer.
‘If you resist us, if you plot against us, Mira, if you do anything to erode our victory in the Trials, there will be consequences. For you, and for Agnes.’
He lifts his hand and a shadow lengthens across the room. It comes from his hand, crawling faster and faster, devouring the light in the hall, reaching out—
A scream rips from my throat as it lashes Agnes, and she begins to choke.
I struggle against the guards, desperate to save her, to stop those shadows from clawing down her throat, into her lungs.
She turns towards me, wide eyes brimming with fear, her throat constricting as she begins to thrash wildly.
‘Stop!’ I shout, my voice guttering into a sob. ‘Please! Please stop! Please …’
All at once, the shadow dissolves and Agnes collapses to the floor, panting.
‘You will find that the shadows your friend Elijah Tresillian commands are nothing compared to the ones at our fingertips,’ Tiberius says, his voice cold and cruel and, I suddenly realise … old.
I turn slowly towards him, to the ruling council and really look at them.
Their faces are as smooth as stone. Their eyes are cold, as though they’ve never known emotion or love or warmth …
as though they are almost eternal. They wield the same magic as Eli.
The same shadows curl around their fingertips.
It’s impossible, it can’t be real.
‘How?’ I manage.
‘Elijah’s father was not the first to discover this world.’
A roaring begins in my ears.
‘Consider this a friendly reminder, Mira Boscawen,’ Otho continues. ‘Agnes will remain at court as our guest for the duration of the Trials. And if you are unsuccessful in securing glory for Arnhem, or try something so reckless as an escape …’
‘We will not hesitate to crush all you love, beginning with her,’ Tiberius booms. ‘You and Kell will compete in the Trials as our champions. You will win and prove Arnhem’s dominance against the territories of the continent.
You will show that we are the superior nation, and they will bow before us.
There is no room for failure. We will be victorious.
’ His features relax into something almost akin to a smile.
‘Do you agree to our terms? Or shall we score them into your skin with a bargain mark?’
I bite my lip, even as my entire being trembles with barely contained rage.
There is no room for negotiation, not with Agnes as their captive.
Not without knowing what happened to the others aboard Phantom that day we were captured.
For all I know, those witches stole them away too and I cannot risk a single one of them.
But when I work out how to escape, how to free Agnes from their grasp, and I will, there will be a reckoning. They will pay for this.
‘Well?’
‘Agreed,’ I say, raising my chin, even as everything within me thrashes with defiance. ‘I will be your champion.’
‘Excellent,’ Tiberius says. ‘Now you must be thinking, why me? Why am I the fortunate chosen one?’
I remain silent, bracing myself.
‘A girl of your talent, half siren, half human, and just like your mother.’
‘A storm bringer,’ Otho says quietly.
The man on the left smiles ravenously, leaning forward. ‘The power to control and wield storms. Quite the ability.’
‘Indeed, Nero,’ Tiberius says, the smile dropping at once. ‘Show us now, Mira, and Agnes will not suffer.’
I swallow, thinking quickly. It’s no use denying it, not with Agnes here, an easy target for any form of punishment. ‘I’m weak from the witch magic. I have not eaten …’
‘Show us.’
‘You will have to unhand me.’
Tiberius nods to the guards and their hands drop away from my shoulders. I roll them back and get to my feet, tilting my head to one side, then the other, calculating how far I’d get if I ran at the brothers. Could I take out all three? Just one, or maybe two of them before the guards tackled me?
‘We’re waiting, Mira,’ Nero says softly.
I close my eyes and release a breath. It’s no use.
This isn’t the time. So, instead, I lean into my fury.
I curl around it, nurture it, then feel the trickle of magic as it suffuses me.
As I call upon it. There’s a dim rumble in the distance, but I cut it off.
I don’t want to reach that far. I cannot risk the people of Highborn, not when I’m so unsure of my strength and how much I can control.
‘It appears she is not quite as powerful as we believed,’ Otho says wearily.
I snap my eyes open, levelling them on him.
Then I unfurl my fingers and will all my rage towards the dais.
Lightning streaks from my palms, cutting grooves in the walls, in the marble floor, and I aim directly for Tiberius in the centre.
He chuckles and then a shadow opens like a gaping wound, my lightning pouring into it, diverted through the opening he’s made.
I gasp, instantly closing my hands to fists, pouring cool on my anger, snuffing out my siren side.
But it’s too late. Lightning cracks through the opening he’s formed with his magic, and I see a glimpse of a village beyond. Farmland. People working the fields, a barn, homes …
The fork of lightning strikes the tallest building.
I drop to my knees, the horror of what I’ve done, what I’ve destroyed, instantly consuming me.
The home begins to smoke, flames leaping and a woman rushes out, a child in her arms. Then the opening closes, the shadow disappears.
And I’m left staring at Tiberius. For a moment, there is only silence, thick and weighted, and all I can hear is the thrum of my pulse in my ears.
Then Tiberius clears his throat. ‘I believe, Otho, Nero, that she is exactly what we need. Our weapon to wield.’
I’m escorted back to my room in a daze. All I can see in my mind is Agnes sobbing and broken as she was shoved out of that lifeless marble hall, taken from me.
And what I did, those people, the smoking home I unleashed my lightning on through that portal …
I shudder. As the guards shove me over the threshold of this cell room, I find that Kell has left and I am alone.
I wait until I hear the click of the lock before collapsing to the floor, shaking as that roar of rage and defiance turns into a distant tinny ring.
I can’t save her. I can’t save her. It’s all I can think, all I know, as the shock of what I’ve witnessed sinks into my very bones.
A member of the ruling council of Arnhem …
used shadow magic. And, not only that, he made it clear where they’re from.
Another world. The very world Eli and Lowri crossed into in search of Eli’s father.
My breathing comes shallow, too fast and quick, as panic takes over once more.
What if they’re not safe in that other world?
What if, even now, they’re trapped there by people like Tiberius? What if they’re never able to return?
I get up off the floor, draw in a breath and scream.
I scream for all that the ruling council has done to us.
Done to me. And when there’s nothing left I curl up on the small bed, drawing my knees into my chest. For now, there is no escape.
All I can do is compete in the Trials as they bid me and just hope their attention doesn’t turn on the isles while I am gone.
With every fibre of my being, I hope that my people will stay safe.
Stay alive. I hope that everyone else aboard Phantom managed to escape.
Somehow, in the space of one night, we’ve come untethered, all of us. We’ve sunk beneath the waves, and with no hope of rescue, of safe harbour. We’re drowning.
But my heart is still beating, and if I’m still alive then I can still fight. I draw my hands into tight fists, relishing the huge mistake they’ve made in capturing me, in bending me to their will.
I may be a girl made of storms.
But I am no one’s weapon to wield.