As Gray’s and Rowan’s pleas continued, Perry arched his back, feeling his poor night of sleep. Had he become Blood Lord for this? To trudge through sopping fields so he could listen to bickering? Nearby, Brooke gave Gray’s boys, seven and nine years old, their archery lesson. Far more entertaining than listening to squabbling.
He had never wanted this part of being Blood Lord. He’d never thought about how to feed nearly four hundred people when the winter stores were gone, before the spring yield arrived. He’d never imagined warranting the marriage of a couple older than he was. Or having the eyes of a mother with a feverish child on him, searching for the answer. When Molly’s cures failed, they turned to him. They always turned to him when things went wrong.
Bear’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “What do you say, Perry?”
“You both need help. I know that. But you’re going to have to wait.”
“I’m a farmer, Perry. I need to do what I know,” said Rowan. He waved a hand toward Brooke. “I got no business shooting a bow when I have this to deal with.”
“Learn it anyway,” Perry said. “It could save your life, and more.”
“Vale never had us do that, and we were fine.”
Perry shook his head. He couldn’t believe his ears. “Things are different now, Rowan.”
Gray stepped forward. “We’ll starve next winter if we don’t seed soon.”
The tone in his voice—sure and demanding—streaked Perry. “We may not be here next winter.”
Rowan balked, his eyebrows drawing together. “Where will we be?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. He and Gray exchanged a look.
“You’re not really serious about moving us to the Still Blue?” said Gray.
“We may not have a choice,” Perry said. He remembered his brother ordering these same men, with no arguments. No convincing. When Vale had spoken, they had obeyed.
Brooke walked over, brushing sweat from her brow. “Perry, what’s wrong?” she asked.
He realized he’d been pinching the bridge of his nose. A burning sensation spiked deep in his sinuses. He looked up, a curse slipping through his lips.
The clouds had broken apart at last. High above, he saw the Aether. It didn’t run in lazy, glowing currents, as was normal for this time of year. Instead, thick rivers flowed above him, glaring and bright. In some places the Aether coiled like snakes, forming funnels, which would strike at the earth and unleash fire.
“That’s a winter sky,” Rowan said, his voice filled with confusion.
“Dad, what’s going on?” asked one of Gray’s sons.
Perry knew exactly what was going on. He couldn’t deny what he saw—or the burn in the back of his nose.
“Get home now!” he told them, then sprinted to the compound. Where would the storm hit? West, over the sea? Or directly on them? He heard the blast of a signal horn, and then others farther away, alerting farmers to take shelter. He had to reach the fishermen, who’d be harder to alert and bring in safely.
He shot through the main gate of the compound, into the clearing. People rushed to their homes, shouting at one another in panic. He scanned their faces.
Roar ran up. “What do you need?”
“Find Aria.”
6
ARIA
The rain began suddenly, carrying on a gust that hit Aria like a cold slap. She sprinted back to the compound on the trail she’d been wandering all morning, lost in thoughts of Realms that suddenly glitched and froze. Her knives drummed a reassuring rhythm against her thighs as she followed the path through the woods, the wind whipping around her.
At the sound of a horn, she skidded to a halt and looked up. Through the gaps in the rain clouds she saw thick flows of Aether. Seconds later she heard the distinctive shriek of a funnel—a ripping, high-pitched peal that sent ice through her veins. A storm now? The storms should’ve already ended for the year.
She ran again, picking up her pace. Months ago, she’d been right under a storm with Perry. She’d never forget the burn across her skin when the funnels struck close, or how her body had seized.
“River!” called a far-off voice. “Where are you?”
She froze and listened for sounds through the hissing rain. More voices. Everyone yelling the same thing, their shouts of distress sharp to her ears. She squeezed her numb hands into fists. Who was she to help? The Tides hated her. But then another voice called out—closer this time—the sound so desperate and fearful that she moved without thinking. She knew how it felt to search for someone who was gone. They might not accept her help, but she had to try.
She jogged off the trail onto thick, slippery mud, sounds guiding her to a dozen people scanning the woods. Her knees locked when she recognized Brooke.
“What are you doing here, Mole?” Soaked, Brooke looked crueler than usual. Her blond hair lay dark and slick against her skull, her eyes cold as marbles. “You took him, didn’t you, child snatcher?”
Aria shook her head. “No! Why would I do that?” Her eyes moved to the weapon over Brooke’s shoulder.
Molly, the older woman Aria had met in the cookhouse, rushed over. “You’re wasting time, Brooke. Keep looking!” She waited until Brooke moved on. Then she took Aria by the arm and spoke low and close, as rain rolled down her full cheeks. “We didn’t see this coming. None of us expected a storm.”
“Who’s missing?” Aria asked.
“My grandson. He’s barely two years old. His name is River.”
Aria nodded. “I’ll find him.”
The others were working away from the trail, heading deeper into the woods, but Aria’s gut told her to search nearby. Moving slowly, she kept close to the path. She didn’t call out. Instead she strained to hear the slightest sounds through the wind and the rain. Time passed with nothing but the slosh of her footsteps and the rush of water pouring downhill. The shrieks of the Aether grew louder, and her head began to pound, the noise of the storm overwhelming her ears. A humming sound stopped her in her tracks.
She moved toward it, slipping as she crept down the slope. Aria crouched before a leafy shrub. Slowly she pushed the branches aside and saw nothing but leaves. The skin on the back of her neck prickled. Whirling, she drew her knives. She found herself alone with the swaying trees.
“Relax,” she muttered to herself, sheathing her blades.
She heard the humming again, faint but unmistakable. She rounded the shrub and peered inside.
A pair of eyes blinked at her less than a foot away. The boy looked so small, sitting on his knees. He had his hands pressed over his ears, and he hummed a melody, lost in his own world. She noticed he had his grandmother’s round cheeks and honey-colored eyes. She looked over her shoulder. From where she knelt, Aria could see the trail back to the compound, no more than twenty paces off. He wasn’t lost—he was terrified.
“Hi, River,” she said, smiling. “I’m Aria. I bet you’re an Aud, like me. Singing helps keep out the sound of the Aether, doesn’t it?”
He stared right at her and kept humming.
“That’s a good song. It’s the Hunter’s Song, right?” she asked, though she’d recognized it immediately as Perry’s favorite. He’d sung it to her once in the fall, after much convincing, his face red with embarrassment.
River went silent. His lower lip wobbled like he was about to cry.
“My ears hurt too when it’s this loud.” Aria remembered her Aud cap and reached into her satchel. “Do you want to wear this?”
River’s hands curled into pudgy fists. He slowly drew them away from his ears and nodded. She pulled the cap over his head and tugged the earflaps down, tying them under his chin. It was far too big for him, but it would buffer the noise of the storm.
“We need to get inside, all right? I’m going to get you home safe.”
She held out her hand to help him out. He took it, and then sprang into her arms, wrapping around her ribs as snug as a vest. Holding his shaking little body close, Aria hurried, looking for Molly and the others along the trail. They came on her in a mob—soaked and enraged.
“Don’t touch him!” hissed Brooke, tearing River away. Cold rushed over Aria’s chest, and her balance faltered at the sudden absence of his weight. Brooke snatched the cap off his head and tossed it in the mud.