Chapter One
First Meeting
Alanna – Age 8
I didn’t want to be here. The wind was brisk, and the air smelled of a storm. I should be in the fields behind the manor, waiting for the rain. Instead, I stood outside the heavy oak door that led to the library. Dim sunlight flickered through the windows that lined the hallway outside of the room that was to be my doom.
“Alanna,” my mother chastised. “Wipe that frown off your face. This isn’t the end of the world.”
“Yes, it is,” I said, the corners of my mouth turning down even further.
Her delicate hand rapped against the dark wood.
“I don’t see why I have to attend lessons.” The argument was weary, but I’d run out of ideas. Over the past week, I’d faked blindness, eaten spoiled food to cause vomiting, and even tried running away to avoid this moment. Mother had seen right through it all. “You tell me all the time I’m too smart for my own good.”
“My clever, clever girl,” she said, her tone dropping to a soothing timbre as she crouched in front of me. Gently, she tucked a blonde tendril behind my ear, her fingers stroking my cheek. “You are brilliant. So brilliant, your shine rivals the northern-most star in our sky. However, even stars must go to lessons.”
“But why? You can teach me anything I need to know. You’re smart like that, Mama.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she teased, pinching my cheek lightly. “I do not have the time to tutor you myself. Believe me, I would if I could. Master Westley has graciously offered to let you study alongside his youngest son, Draven. It is far better than the education you would receive at the school in town. You will thank me one day.”
Mother had worked as a maid at the Westley estate my entire life, and had made an effort to keep me away from most of the family. I’d seen them all in passing or from a distance, but never had the chance to interact with them. Orson Westley was the master of the house, the father. He has two sons—Ambrose and Draven. I had never met their mother. She was gone before I was old enough to remember.
“Doubtful,” I mumbled, my eyes dropping to my hands as I twisted them in my skirt.
Mother’s honey brown eyes found mine as she tipped my chin up. The sunlight peeking through the colored glass behind us cast vibrant hues on her silver-blonde locks. I’d never seen another soul with hair that color.
“Perhaps you and Draven will become friends,” she offered as if that was something I should be excited about. “You are the same age, after all.”
I’d overheard several servants calling him a spoiled brat. Which was strange, because Mama frequently called me a brat, but it was never with the word spoiled in front of it. And it was always said with love.
The door groaned open, the ancient hinges making my ears throb. Just inside stood a tall and severe woman. Her graying hair was pulled into a tight bun that sat on the nape of her neck. The dress she wore was a dull pewter that covered her from chin to toe, not a single glimpse of sickly-looking skin aside from her face and hands was visible. If the color gray were a person, it would be this woman.
“Good day, Naya,” she greeted Mother, tone flat. “You must be Alanna.”
I nodded stiffly.
“I am to be your tutor. You may call me Missus Ash.” She gestured to the boy next to her that I hadn’t noticed until now. “This is the young Master Draven.”
He had wavy black hair that fell in his strange-colored eyes. They were green, but not completely. Brown surrounded his pupil with a burst of gold near the top. If he were a girl, I’d think him pretty. But I didn’t know what to call a pretty boy.
“You’re a girl.” Draven’s nose wrinkled.
“How nice of you to notice.” My brow furrowed in annoyance.
He folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t like girls.”
Hurt flared in my chest. How ridiculous it is to be unliked simply for being a girl.
“Draven,” Missus Ash gasped. “That is not a kind thing to say. You will apologize.”
Before he could say something else cruel, I blurted out, “Yeah, well. This girl doesn’t like you either. It’s probably because of the smell.”
“Alanna,” Mother scolded. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
Pure horror flashed in his pretty eyes as his mouth dropped open wide. “I don’t smell.”
“Yes, you do,” I insisted, tapping my chin with my forefinger. “I thought someone had let in a horse when the door opened. Turns out it was just—”
“Enough.” Missus Ash’s voice pierced the air, the tone like a cracking whip. “I will deal with you both later. We have lessons to begin.”
I was ushered over the threshold as my mother wished Missus Ash good luck and closed the door.
I learned three things that day.
One, I hated arithmetic.
Two, boys—especially Draven Westley—were dumb.
And three, Missus Ash’s paddle hurt when it hit your backside.
***
Tears streamed down my face as I threw myself at my mother, wrapping my body around her leg.
“What’s wrong, tempest?” she asked, abandoning the soup she was stirring as she crouched down to comfort me. Her arms wrapped around my back, rubbing soothing circles.
“Draven,” was all I managed to get out through choked sobs.
She sighed. This scene was not new to us. I’d been attending lessons with him for six months, and we still didn’t get along.
“What did he do this time?”
“H-he pulled on my braids.” I hiccupped. “Then said my dress looked ratty.”
Her hand on my back stilled. “And what did Missus Ash have to say about this?”
“He did it while she was out of the room, so she didn’t punish him because there was no proof.”
Mother scooped me into her arms and sat us on the bed opposite the kitchen in the small house. Gently, she dabbed at my tears with the sleeve of her dress. Rocking me slowly, she asked, “Do you know why I call you tempest?”
I sniffled. “Because my temper is wild and dangerous.”
Her body shook with a suppressed laugh. “That’s part of it, yes. But there’s another reason.”
“What?”
“When you were born, it was in the midst of the worst storm I’ve ever seen. It brought down trees and flooded many homes. Nearly every ship that wasn’t safely moored in the harbor was lost that night.”
I wanted to ask if that’s what happened to my father, but anytime I brought him up, it made her sad. All I knew was that he was a sailor and had died before I was born.
“I remind you of a storm?”
She squeezed me tightly. “Alanna, you are the storm.”
“How am I the storm?”
“You are strong and formidable.” She placed a kiss on my hair. “You have the ability to water the flowers and make them grow, but you also have the power to drown foolish men who are deaf to your voice.”
My eyes flared wide as I straightened in her hold. “I should drown Draven?”
“Heavens, no.” Mother startled, her eyes full of concern as they stared me down. “Please don’t drown the boy.”
“But you just said…”
“It was a figure of speech, love.” She chuckled, then shifted me off her lap so I was sitting next to her.
“What are you saying?”
“You cannot fight a tempest and win, my love.” Her eyes held mine in an intense gaze. “Teasing is one thing. Oftentimes, boys tease girls because they cannot express their emotions properly.” Her tone grew hard, the words sounding dangerous. “But no one touches you in a way you do not wish. If he does it again, throw your fist in his throat.”
I gasped. “But I’ll be punished.”
“Yes, you will.” She pulled my hand into hers and stroked my knuckles. “But it won’t be by me. I will never punish you for defending yourself. In the end, he will learn a valuable lesson, and that alone will be worth it.”
“Alright.” I didn’t like the idea of getting a lashing to prove a point. “I don’t know how to punch.”
She smiled and lifted my hand. “Then, I’ll show you. Curl your fingers into a ball.”
I did as she asked. “Like this?”
“Almost.” She plucked my thumb out and folded it across my fingers. “But never put this one inside. It’ll break.”
I stared at her in wonder. “Mama, how do you know all this?”
Her lips curled in the faintest of smirks. “I wasn’t always a maid.”
“What were you before?”
“That’s a secret,” she whispered, winking, then held up her palms. “Now hit my hand as hard as you can.”
I threw my fist at her hand, a soft smack sounding from our skin meeting.
“Good.” She smiled. “Do it again with your left.”
On and on we went until we both dissolved into a fit of giggles on the bed.
***
“What are you doing?” Draven asked, his voice startling me.
I cracked my eyes open enough to see him standing next to me on the cliff. “Listening to the wind.”
As if the wind was listening to me, it picked up. A cool breeze whipped loose blonde curls around my face.
Draven pushed his black waves out of his eyes, using his hand as a shield from the harsh summer sun.
Sweat dripped down my back, and I wished I could wear the light cotton tunics and breeches that the boys did.
“What is the wind saying?” Draven asked, his tone thick with disbelief.
“That a storm is coming.”
He scoffed, his eyes shooting upward to the clear sky. “You can’t know that.”
“You wanna bet?” I whispered.
“What do you possibly have to wager?”
“If I’m right, you have to be nice to me for an entire week.” My dull gaze locked with his strange colored eyes. I had learned the color was called hazel. They reminded me of the caramel-covered apples that Cook would prepare in the fall. “But if I’m wrong, I’ll do whatever you say for an entire week.”
His dark brow raised. “Whatever I say?”
“That’s what I said. Are you daft?”
Ignoring my insult, he asked, “So if I demanded you lick my boot?”
“Ew, you’re gross.” I rolled my eyes. “But yes.”
“Fine,” he said with a smug grin. “I accept your deal.”
“Good, now leave me alone.” I inhaled deeply, taking another step closer to the edge.
“Why? What are you going to do?” Draven eyed me suspiciously.
I backed away from the cliff. “I’m going to swim before the rain comes in.”
I moved to start my dash for the edge when his hand caught my wrist.
“Do you even know how to swim?” he asked, eyeing where he was holding me before snapping his gaze to meet mine, an apologetic look on his face.
He had learned that lesson once, and that was all it had taken. Two days after Mother had taught me how to punch, he had grabbed my hair again. I hit him in the throat, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. I’d received a brutal lashing, but he never touched me again after that. The look on his face when I received the punishment was almost like he was remorseful.
Quickly, he dropped my hand.
“I was a fish in a previous life,” I replied flatly. “Do you know how to swim, Draven?”
“Of course, I know how to swim.” His tone was haughty, like I should have known the spoiled son of a merchant would be able to swim. “But father says the waters below the cliff aren’t safe.”
“How silly,” I replied. “The water is perfectly fine. It’s the rocks and sharks you need to watch out for.”
I grinned as the words sank in and then took a running leap, with Draven’s panicked voice trailing after me. Down, down, I fell, the wind whipping around me as I hurtled toward the placid waters below. The drop was maybe thirty feet, according to Mother, but it always felt like miles as I tumbled through the air. My body plunged deep into the blue sea, and I stayed under as I waited for the bubbles from my impact to clear. A school of brightly colored fish darted away, their forms blurry, and the salt water burned my eyes the longer I watched.
A second form hit the water, stirring up a new round of bubbles. I squinted to make out the shape next to me. Was that… Draven? Had he really followed me into the ocean? Shaking my head, I turned and kicked my feet. Except I didn’t rise. My legs tangled in the heavy folds of my dress, the fabric taut and unmoving as I tried to push myself toward the surface.
I leaned down, my hands reaching for the skirt, and found it caught on something. My eyes were having trouble making out the object, but it hardly mattered. I tugged and pulled, my small arms trying to work the fabric free. But it didn’t budge. Panic rose in my chest, my vision fading as my lungs burned. I was running out of air and trapped at the bottom of the sea.
Suddenly, Draven appeared in front of me, paddling lower to where I was caught. There was something in his hand, but I couldn’t quite make it out. He began working at the spot where the material was snagged. Just when I didn’t think I could hold my breath for much longer, the tension broke, and my legs were free. I kicked hard, my lungs seizing as I fought for my life. My head broke the surface, and I gasped. Chest heaving, I dragged in ragged breaths as my burning lungs remembered what it was to breathe. Draven surfaced next to me, sucking in deep breaths of his own. We paddled silently for the shore and dragged our exhausted bodies onto the sand before collapsing side-by-side.
“I thought,” Draven panted heavily, “you knew how to swim.”
“I do,” I replied as I pushed myself into a sitting position. “It’s these stupid skirts.”
He mirrored my movements. “Maybe you shouldn’t swim in dresses.”
“Fine, then lend me your breeches next time.”
It wasn’t a serious suggestion, but Draven’s eyes locked on mine as he softly said, “If it means you won’t drown, then sure.”
I gaped. “Why did you follow me in?”
“You didn’t come up and I got worried.”
“Why do you care, though?”
Draven shrugged, his eyes dropping to the sand. “I didn’t want to see you hurt.”
Silence stretched between us as I tried to figure out what I was supposed to say. Luckily, I didn’t have to. Thunder cracked overhead as the skies darkened. I grinned when his eyes met mine, and he groaned.
“Guess you have to be nice to me now,” I said smugly as we stood.
He mumbled something I couldn’t understand as the first raindrops hit our skin. We trekked back to the manor, and the satisfied grin never once left my lips.
