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“I will. I promise.”
The lightning flashed in Kaes’s eyes again, and suddenly the old man was gone.
Caelan dropped the fishing pole he’d been clinging to and twisted around. He was completely alone in the tiny rowboat as it bobbed in what appeared to be in the middle of the ocean. There was no sight of land in any direction.
The bright clear blue sky was also gone. While they’d talked, the storm had rolled in, swallowing up the sky so that there was only the mass of dark clouds overhead. Waves grew larger, breaking and crashing. The rowboat swayed in the waves, forcing him to grip the sides.
Caelan’s heart pounded in his chest and his breath came in short, broken pants. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It all had to be happening in his head. He was still standing in the room with Shey, his hand on the stone while the God of Storms created this illusion in his head. It was pure fantasy. He was safe.
He’d even started to believe that. Right up until a wave crashed over the side of the boat, covering him in icy water. He spat and choked, tasting the salt on his tongue and the sharp bite of cold as his wet clothes clung to him.
This was real.
Lightning flashed, briefly brightening the black sky, and thunder crashed loud enough to rattle his teeth in his head. Wind whipped the water, stirring up the waves and chilling him to the bone.
“Kaes!” Caelan shouted as panic gripped him. “God of Storms?”
What the hell was he supposed to do? He’d thought receiving the god’s power was going to be some kind of blessing or prayer or even a complicated spell. Not drowning in the ocean as a storm broke on his head.
The clouds opened up in a torrent of rain, and Caelan cursed. He reached for one of the oars resting in the bottom of the boat that was starting to fill with water. There was no land in sight, but he couldn’t just sit there. He had to get out of the storm and at least to the safety of land. From there, he could try to figure out how to get to Sirelis.
His fingers had barely wrapped around the wood when another large wave slammed into the boat, capsizing it. Caelan managed one last gasp of air before he plunged into the dark water. He flipped, sinking deeper as the water churned. He righted himself and gazed up to find only darkness. He looked down and the darkness was the same. Where was the sky? The land?
Had this all been a trick? Was the God of Storms only playing with him? Teasing him with the promise of power while always planning to kill him?
No! No, it couldn’t end this way. He had to get to his friends. He had to get to Erya. The Empire needed to be stopped. His people needed him. He would not fail them. He wouldn’t fail his mother who’d sacrificed her own life so he could be safe, so he could fight on in her place.
He couldn’t fail.
Embrace the storm or be swallowed by it.
Lungs burning, head pounding, limbs heavy with fatigue and cold, Caelan didn’t know where to go. There was no one there to guide him. No friends to help him to his feet again. He wasn’t even sure if the voice that had whispered about embracing the storm had been real.
Closing his eyes against the darkness. Caelan stopped trying to tread water.
That was when he could finally feel it. The crackling power of the Wind Stone hidden beneath the fury of the storm. It was Kaes. Endless force and rage. Raw power like the boom of thunder and the slam of lightning to the ground. It was wind tearing the world apart. All of it surrounded him at once.
All he had to do was give himself over, to trust that the storm would not tear him apart.
For Erya, he would be the storm. He would be power and justice for his people. He would be a cleansing force to wash away the evil of the Empire.
He was the storm.
22
Drayce Ladon
Drayce slumped in the fancy high-back chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. The index finger on his left hand was idly running through the carved grooves in the arm of the chair, leaving him wondering if he’d been rubbing it long enough to wear the grooves even deeper.
Probably not. But soon.
Loud chirping drew his gaze over to the window to find the dark sky starting to lighten from deep blue to hints of gray and yellow. An emerald-green finch had perched on the balcony railing to sing a song before darting away for breakfast.
Gods, it’s morning already.
He blinked sore, bleary eyes to Caelan’s unconscious form in the middle of his bed. Still no movement beyond the shallow rise and fall of his chest for each breath. His prince—er, king—looked pale to him. Caelan was always a little pale. His naturally fair skin didn’t tan well, but right now, he was paler than normal. There were circles under his eyes, and his cheeks had taken on a slightly hollow cast. Yes, he needed his rest, but this wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking if he’d just wake up for a minute.
