The Storm's Betrayal by Corry L. Lee

Author:Corry L. Lee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Gerrit let several of his tvoortsei imbue first, hoping their relatively minor combat imbuements would shift civilian unrest into appropriate awe without enflaming the discontent that resistance dogs clearly wished to exploit. But even as Masha succeeded in imbuing new weapons components before ceding the space beneath the storm tower to one of the tvoortse from Green Squad, Gerrit itched to call the storm.

He checked his sousednia. In his snowy mountain clearing, the sun had nearly disappeared over neighboring peaks, the snow at his feet blue with shadow, the valley in darkness. Behind him, a granite cliff rose high above the clearing, its stone regular, almost quarried—like a wall. The last of the day’s sun hit the granite, and it glowed, almost translucent. He turned quickly away, discomfited, preferring the familiarity of the cold breeze, its cry reminding him of his mother’s last breaths after resistance dogs had stabbed her.

The rain he’d coaxed from the evening sky to drown out the howl of his core nuzhda had slackened, which probably explained his impatience. But, rather than restart it, he nodded to Celka. “We’ll imbue next.”

True-life’s cold wind carried rain edging toward sleet, warning that winter would soon tighten its grip. Deep gutters funneled water past the feet of the crowd gathered at the edges of the square. The storm temple had not been large enough to contain the crowd that had turned out for their imbuements and, with Filip’s warning, Gerrit had worried that they would resist as bolt-hawks pressed them back from the storm tower, creating a safe buffer in case his people made mistakes. The precaution seemed largely unnecessary at this point; both Red and Green Squad’s tvoortsi had gained excellent control.

As if to prove his point, Gods’ Breath lashed down from the heavens, limning the tvoortse from Green Squad. The storm energy drained neatly into the rifle he aimed at an empty roof, the nuzhda crystalizing.

Catching Celka’s hand, Gerrit strode into the rain, the wind a brisk slap, refreshing after the temple’s humid stink of close-pressed bodies. Celka’s brows were drawn, shadowed beneath her storm helmet, her expression as tense as it had been since Gerrit had first demonstrated the paranoid violence nuzhda on the train. But whatever her concerns, Gerrit was confident they could imbue together. Gaining his father’s regard was critical. Failure was not an option.

Beneath the storm tower, two starburst storm-marks bleached the paving stones. After the platoon moved on, the lightning filigree would be a sign of pride for the town, a reminder of the State’s storm-blessing.

But Gerrit was not creating some minor imbuement, so he climbed up onto the dais, stepping with Celka onto a polished slab of wood that, once storm-marked, would go to one of his father’s supporters. Celka positioned herself across from him, Filip and Hedvika falling in at their backs.

“Together, we’re strong,” Gerrit told Celka as he drew his belt knife for them to imbue. He’d released her hand as they climbed onto the dais, and made no move yet to recapture it.

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