Mistral Hearts (Valley of Sylveren #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Stifling a yawn, Nocren Lowe made his way into the Sentinels’ headquarters, nodding absently to the pair of clerks at the front desk.

It had been three long days since the Storage Shed Debacle, as his fellow rangers and colleagues had taken to calling the newest kink in his current, disastrous mission.

He started toward the back room, thinking he’d grab one of the open desks and finish his report for the captain, when one of the clerks called out, “Hey, Lowe!”

Nocren slowed, turning his head to look back.

The clerk jerked her thumb toward the other side of the building. “Captain said to meet in the Big Room.”

Confusion narrowed Nocren’s eyes. “Did he say why?”

The so-called Big Room was the Sentinels’ name for the conference room in the headquarters. It was rarely used aside from special occasions. Meetings took place in the captain’s office, or sometimes one of the side areas if his office wasn’t appropriate. But not the Big Room.

The clerk shrugged. “The Graelynd woman’s already in there.”

Before Nocren could ask more, a group of civilians came in, demanding every clerk’s attention.

Exasperation audible only to himself, Nocren detoured toward the Big Room.

The Graelynd woman. Not terribly descriptive, but two faces immediately came to mind, though why either would be here for a meeting was unclear.

Could it be Bioon Song, the Scourge of the Coalition, aiming for one last stab at clemency before they shipped her back south to Graelynd?

He wouldn’t mind seeing the captain deny her once again.

It was the only bright spot for Nocren to come out of the Storage Shed Debacle.

Eternal Wind suffocate him—the ridiculous name had stuck.

Sure, the Debacle, or rather its result, was great for the community.

A win for the Valley of Sylveren in general, and its university.

Gods all break, it was especially fortunate for the neighboring kingdom of Rhell.

The Storage Shed Debacle had exposed the treachery of Graelynd’s Coalition of Trade.

Without such an event, no one would know that an agent of the Coalition had nearly succeeded in stealing the plants required for the healing remedy needed in Rhell.

But gods all fucking break, why did it have to involve him?

It could be her, the other possibility in his mind for whom “the Graelynd woman” fit.

Calya Helm. He struggled to think of her as just a woman from Graelynd.

Just a name, about which he could remain objective.

No, Nocren heard “Calya Helm” and could only picture the sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued brunette holding a rock.

Leaning through the broken storage shed window and unlocking the door.

Seizing a handful of desiccated leaves and waving at a crate bearing the logo of Sylveren University, her face lit up with smug triumph.

And Nocren? He’d been well and truly fucked with his trousers still on.

Sentinels protected the Valley’s interests, and the contents of the shed demanded an answer.

Nocren hadn’t had a choice but to act, and Calya had known it.

Taken full advantage. She’d gotten what she wanted in disrupting the Coalition—to the detriment of Nocren and his mission—and kept them from sailing to the Song woman’s aid.

But that had been important three days ago. It should’ve meant nothing to her now, so what reason would she have for coming here? As Nocren strode down the hall, the wind picked up, a soft whistle filtering through the glass windows. A breath of magic raced along his fingertips in response.

Nocren’s mouth twisted. “Where were you when it mattered?” he asked the wind.

When he wasn’t feeling so annoyed about the Debacle, Nocren knew he was being unfair.

The wind carried as many truths as it did lies.

Diviners learned quickly not to give the medium unconditional trust. Nocren knew of the risks inherent in his magic.

Had fallen afoul of them as well, before he’d learned to read the wind with more care.

Before he’d learned to keep his internal biases at bay.

As much as one could, at least. The wind brought a flurry of vague impressions, wispy threads that blew through the mind one way and, depending on the diviner’s intuition, came out differently the other.

Every time he gave trust to the wind was like entering a bargain.

An opportunity for insight, and for misconception.

But Calya. The wind had teased him with impressions of her, and he’d been a fool to listen.

To indulge. How convenient that, in the glimpse of impressions he’d gleaned, the wind hadn’t bothered to show her picking up the rock.

He might’ve averted the Storage Shed Debacle if he’d seen how things would go.

That the feeling of Change the magic had brought to him was exciting only for the wind because it didn’t have to face any of the consequences.

When Nocren reached the conference room, the wind rose again as he grasped the doorknob. A thin current seeped through the window to twine around his fingers.

Brown eyes regarded him from a solemn face. “I’ll never—”

Nocren blinked. He recognized those features.

Remembered her voice. Rarely did the wind react so strongly without arcane encouragement from Nocren.

It did so now. Made the words “I’ll never” echo in his mind.

Magic tickled at his fingertips, eager to be used.

To call upon the wind and tease apart all the possibilities it offered.

He clenched his hand into a fist, his fingernails biting into his palm until the sensation of magic receded and the wind dissipated, the hallway’s air becoming still once more. He had already been fooled by the wind once when it came to that woman; he wouldn’t give into it again.

He knocked once on the door, then pushed it open without waiting for a response.

Calya Helm sat alone at the long table inside, a teacup set before her.

For a moment, Nocren contemplated leaving. A trickle of wind brushed the side of his face, a hint of both its apology and reproach flitting through his head.

His mouth opened, an inane excuse frozen, half-formed, on the tip of his tongue. Calya’s brown eyes were regarding him from her solemn face.

But then she tilted her head ever so slightly to the side, a ghost of a smirk upon her lips.

“Mr. Lowe,” she said. “Cutting it rather close, don’t you think?”

Never before had he met someone whose voice was so perfectly suited to them. The low register and coolness with which she spoke, the neutrality in her tone. None of the bright, upbeat nature he associated with Graelynd speech patterns.

“I—” He hesitated. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard that the Sentinels were looking to charter a ship with clearance to sail Graelynd’s waters.

Helm Naval Engineering has some flexibility in its schedule.

” Calya spread her hands in front of her as she spoke.

“Given what happened the other day, I thought Captain Malek’ko might be interested. ”

Nocren’s gaze darted to the longcase clock at the front of the room. Its hands indicated there were still five minutes until the designated hour. “The meeting wasn’t slated until—”

“In my world, you’re already ten minutes late.” Calya took a sip of her tea. “Is this the sort of professionalism I should expect of the Sentinels?”

Her world. Brash, entitled Graelynders. And she hailed from the capital, Grae Port.

The heart of its Central District, a busy hub of politics and government and trade.

Crowded, elitist; a place that believed worth and success were best measured in coin.

He barely knew the woman and already Nocren could see how she was a product of an environment that grated on him at his very core.

He should have been repelled by her. As it was, he could barely look away.

His traitorous feet carried him into the room. “Says she who put a rock through the window of a storage shed.”

Calya’s smirk widened as he took a seat across from her. “The Coalition’s storage shed, wherein we found evidence of their crimes at Sylveren University. Give me some credit. You can’t make up more deserving parties—for or against.”

If only she’d waited a few minutes before smashing it.

Or explained anything with even a modicum of detail.

If only she’d given him a godsdamned moment to find another Sentinel to secure the storage shed and let his business relationship with the Coalition remain intact.

But no, she’d taken it upon herself to stop the Coalition delegates, and Nocren couldn’t have let Renstown’s constabulary take control if the stolen plants might have pertained to the Sentinels’ case of possibly distressed researchers.

Unfortunately, in the end, the plants had had nothing to do with his case, because of course that would be his luck.

Nocren scowled at her across the table. He saw a blend of nationalities in her features: brown eyes that tapered at the outer corner, and softness to her nose that suggested ancestry in the eastern Radiant Isles; a squared jaw framed by medium brown hair, not to mention her frank demeanor, spoke of her Graelynd roots.

She looked around a decade his junior, somewhere in her late twenties, with skin still clear and smooth despite a ruddy complexion.

That, paired with her hair, styled in a way that curled well clear of her slim shoulders, might’ve painted a picture of youthful sweetness. On a different person.

Not Calya Helm, with her sharp gaze and the imperious lift of her chin—the way she seemed to be assessing whatever she deigned to grant her attention. In her, there was nothing sweet to be found. Only a cold beauty and an air of thinly veiled impatience.

None of it should have appealed, yet Nocren found himself wondering what it would take for her to show patience.