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“Too much effort.”
Dalca’s thoughts play out on his body; first an irritated frown, then a settling of his shoulders as he gives in. “Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, before dawn, we make our way into the fifth, into the Storm.”
The Storm rumbles with thunder so faint it almost sounds like laughter. We’ve avoided drawing attention, save for a girl sleeping on a patch of moss. She pulls herself upright. I press my finger to my lips.
In her eyes shine the beginnings of the story she’ll one day tell about this moment. I’ve just got to hope that it won’t end withand then they were never seen again.
If Pa were here, he’d turn to me with a disapproving frown and ask,You’re going into the Storm? Even though you’ve lived amongst the stormtouched and know what they most regret is touching the Storm? You don’t think you’ve lost enough to it? You’re really sure this is a smart idea?
I shut Pa out from my mind. The golden road leads straight into the black wall of the Storm. I’m as ready as I’ll ever get. Every second makes me less ready.
“Did you see the Regia?” I ask Dalca as he contemplates the writhing dark not ten feet before us.
He shakes his head, taking his time putting the words together. “I didn’t want to give myself an opportunity to be a coward.”
Izamal steps up beside me, absently touching a blue charm tied to his wrist. He catches me looking. “My mother gave it to me.”
Dalca stills, the muscles of his neck moving as he swallows.
Izamal rolls his eyes. “If you tell me one more time—”
“I can’t ask your family to give up two children—”
Iz groans. “There it is. Twenty-seven times, he’s—”
“Iz. I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Iz meets his gaze, all traces of teasing gone. “I love every corner of this place. The mossy ones especially, sure, but even the absurd places you and Cas call home. Don’t tell me I can’t defend it.”
Dalca exhales, nods. “I understand. I’m sorry for asking—”
“—Twenty-seven times—”
“I don’t think it was that many, but I’m sorry. It’s your choice. And I respect that. You too, Cas.”
“Wait,” says Cas. “You’re not going to ask me? I’ve got a whole speech prepared—it’s better than his—” He pauses as Iz raises an eyebrow. “Though yours was very nice, Izamal.”
Dalca rolls his eyes, catching my gaze.
“I’m going,” I say.
Dalca cracks a smile, and something unclenches in me. “Good. Because I’m pretty sure we’re all following you.” There’s a warmth under his words, one that reminds me of last night.
We all match in our Wardana reds. Every time I glimpse my own blood-red uniform out of the corner of my eye, I get a little thrill. Even if our uniforms are designed to protect against casual brushes with the Storm, and not its full might, the gentle weight of the leather is reassuring.
Each of us carries a pack containing food, an ikonlight, and a bedroll. Ikonomancer’s tools poke out of Casvian’s.
Dalca’s gaze meets mine, asking a question.
I take a step toward the Storm and glance back, reaching a hand to him. “You coming?”
His lips stay set in a grim line, but he takes my hand.
Casvian shifts his pack higher on his back. Izamal nods at me, jaw clenched.
I step closer. The taste of copper and spun sugar coats my teeth and my tongue. I swallow it down.
I am small in the face of the Storm’s fearsome wrath. In me, the Storm sparks a fear so deep it sinks through my skin, into my blood, through my bones, deep into my marrow. The fear changes me, becomes me. But it’s not just fear of being torn apart by the beasts within. I fear the abyss. I fear how the Storm calls to me. This is the Storm that ate Ma. She must have listened to the same siren song that says,Step into me, and you shall see.
Everything you want will be yours, if only you dare.
I won’t lose myself in it. I pull myself together. I have a purpose.
The Storm watches me.
I take a deep breath and walk in.
