Freed by Flame and Storm Read online

  Books by Becky Allen

  Bound by Blood and Sand

  Freed by Flame and Storm

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2017 by Becky Allen

  Cover title typography © 2017 by Pomme Chan

  Cover photo of girl © 2017 by Morgan Norman-Gallery Stock

  Excerpt from Bound by Blood and Sand copyright © 2016 by Becky Allen.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

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  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Allen, Becky, author.

  Title: Freed by flame and storm / Becky Allen.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Delacorte Press, [2017]

  Summary: “Jae, a sixteen-year-old former slave girl, has found magic and broken out of the curse imposed by the ruling class. To free the rest of her people, she may have to lead a violent revolution” — Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016049841 (print) | LCCN 2017023187 (ebook) | ISBN 978-1-101-93220-9 (el) | ISBN 978-1-101-93218-6 (hc) | ISBN 978-1-101-93219-3 (glb)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Slavery—Fiction. | Magic—Fiction. | Social classes—Fiction. | Fantasy.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.A438 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.A438 Fre 2017 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  Ebook ISBN 9781101932209

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

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  Contents

  Cover

  Books by Becky Allen

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Bound by Blood and Sand

  About the Author

  For Dad

  Thanks for always letting me steal your books. (You’re not getting them back, but you can have this one.)

  Erra stepped into the small meeting chamber with her mind already racing. The room was lantern-lit, with latticework over the flames casting strange shadows and making the faces of the four Highest look even more serious. She took a breath and tried to match them, grim for grim, and waited to be told what this was about. Two other Highest heirs had already been in, one at a time, and then dismissed just as quickly. Their expressions had betrayed nothing but bafflement, given no sign at all of why they’d been called here, in front of their parents, or what had happened inside.

  Now it was her turn.

  The four current Highest were waiting for her, seated on cushions around the low table. Her father, Elthis Danardae, was among them. He wore the same dead-eyed expression he’d had since returning home from one of their remote estates weeks ago with the news that her younger brother, Elan, had died. He hadn’t spoken about it much, but she’d learned from others that Elan had had an affair with the lady of the estate, even after Elthis had forbidden it, and the two of them had fled into the desert together. There had been an enormous sandstorm, and there was no way anyone could have survived it.

  Elthis hadn’t mourned outwardly, given Elan’s history of defiance, so Erra hadn’t been allowed to, either. But the other three members of the Highest had been celebratory—not over Elan’s death, but over the rain that had coincided with Elthis’s return, ending the drought that had stretched on for years. As the reservoirs overflowed and people danced in the streets, only the Danardaes hadn’t celebrated. Now, though, the other three Highest’s faces were just as serious as her father’s.

  “Don’t sit,” said Gesra Caenn, the oldest of the four. So Erra didn’t, just waited, as Gesra nodded at Tarrir Pallara.

  Tarrir stood and made his way to the small fireplace at the back of the room. A flame was burning, but it was so low it was barely more than embers, a soft glow in the small room. “Come here.”

  Erra stepped forward. All four of them watched her—her father, Gesra, Tarrir, and Callad Kavann, the fourth member of the Highest. It was Callad’s heir who’d been in here last, though he wouldn’t have that title officially until he took his vows in a matter of only a couple of weeks.

  Tarrir reached for the handle of a fire iron, which had been left with its tip pressed into the coals, but as he lifted it out, Erra realized it wasn’t a fire iron. It was a brand, one she’d seen plenty of times before. The heated end was shaped into a circle, cut into quarters. Every member of the Highest and the Avowed who followed them had had it pressed to their skin when they’d said their vows—Erra included.

  “Take this,” Tarrir said, shifting to give her the handle. “And shut your eyes.”

  Baffled, Erra did as he said. He released it into her hand and she tightened her grip and closed her eyes.

  “What do you see?” Gesra asked.

  “What?” Erra said, but before anyone could answer, she saw. Flames appeared behind her eyelids, as if she were staring into an endless fire that flickered and changed colors. The flames were green one moment, then purple and blue, throwing up sparks that seemed to envelop her. The scent of smoke and blood seeped into the world around her, so thick she had to cough, her eyes flying open.

  The vision faded, the smell with it. Everything was exactly as it had been, the four Highest watching her expectantly. Gesra even had a smile on her lined face, a sight Erra had almost never witnessed before.

  “Flames,” Erra said, staring around wildly. “I saw flames.”

  “Good. That’s what I see, too. Put that back, and have a seat,” Gesra said.

  Erra did as she was told, her hand trembling, the choking feeling of the smoke still in her throat. She folded down onto the cushion between her father and Lady Callad and tried to catch her breath. Callad gave her an approving nod, but her father’s expression was blank. It was as if it had gotten stuck that way. He’d rarely smiled or laughed to begin with, but he’d done neither at all since he’d come home without Elan.

  Finally, when no one said anything, Erra said, “I don’t understand what just happened.”

  “It’s…hard to explain,” Tarrir said. “And we normally wouldn’t tell you any of it until you were ready to inherit, but our hands have been forced.” He paused, glancing at Elthis, who only looked back, wordless and expressionless.

  “Is this somehow about Elan?” Erra guessed.

  Tarrir nodded. “Your brother broke his vows—a fact that we’ve gone to great pains to conceal. The world doesn’t n
eed to know that one of our own betrayed us.”

  “He…Elan…” Erra couldn’t even form the question. But…“He’s alive?”

  “He did something none of us would have thought possible,” Tarrir said, not quite answering her question. “He awoke magic—real magic, the kind they used in the War. But it’s not in his control. The mage is a slave girl. We think the two of them together ended the drought.”

  “But that’s good,” Erra said, struggling to understand. The drought had been growing worse for years; even though the mighty Well that sustained their world was fueled by magic, it hadn’t been able to fight the depth of this drought. The rain, when it came, had been desperately needed. “If Elan did that and survived, then he’s a hero. And a Closest slave with magic? We can do great things with her.”

  “No,” Gesra said, voice sharp. “There’s no way to control her. Because the girl—the Closest girl—she used the magic to free herself. Not one of us has power over her or her magic. Think of the disaster she could bring if she strikes against us.”

  Oh.

  Erra reeled, the implications of that almost too much to take in. The Closest were their slaves, held in bondage by a generations-old Curse that forced them to obey any order they were given. If one of the Closest had escaped the Curse, and had real magic, magic strong enough to end a drought…

  “She can’t be allowed to live,” Elthis said, finally speaking. “Elan may be alive, but she took him from us. And she’ll take more.”

  Erra sucked in a breath, trying to hold herself steady under the deluge of information. Elan might be alive. She wanted to sag with relief but didn’t dare show so much emotion in front of the Highest. They’d see it as a weakness, but her brother might be alive.

  But if he lived, he’d committed a crime that couldn’t be allowed to stand. The last time Closest had freedom and magic, they’d nearly destroyed the world with it—and they’d nearly succeeded in seizing control of the Well. The Highest had vowed to do anything, including give their lives, if needed, to keep the world at peace. Loyalty to a brother or a son was nothing compared to those vows. If Elan lived, he was a vow-breaker.

  “I don’t understand,” Erra said again. Her brother was so good-natured, eternally smiling, always eager to do his duty. He was occasionally foolish, but he was never malicious. She couldn’t imagine him breaking his vows.

  “We can stop this mage—and Elan, if he lives. We have to,” Gesra said. “And we need you to do it.”

  “Me?” Erra asked. She looked around the room, her gaze finally settling on her father. For just a moment, she thought she could make out a hint of sorrow in his expression, but then he blinked and it was gone.

  Maybe Erra could find and reach out to Elan. The Highest all knew she’d practically raised him. No matter what had happened during his banishment, if she could find Elan, she could make him listen to her, and if he’d broken his vows, she’d find a way to make it right. But instead of suggesting that, Gesra continued, “There’s much to explain. And it begins with the brand.”

  Someone was following them.

  Jae fell into other-vision even as she continued forward, seeing the world half as it was physically and half from above, lit up with the magical energy of all the elements. It was dizzying, though not actually difficult. The muddy ground still squelched under her feet, clouds still blotted out the late-afternoon sun above, it was just all brighter with magic illumination.

  By looking at the magical world, she could see that, yes, several people were following her and Elan, their energies bright and swirling, and getting closer. That couldn’t be a coincidence anymore, not since she and Elan had ditched the main road and slipped away to the far side of the nearest farm. This wasn’t even a real path, just a muddy track that no one but the Closest used. No one else would be out here without reason, so whoever was behind them, they weren’t the benevolent traders they were dressed as.

  She grabbed Elan’s elbow and he jumped a little, then stumbled as he continued forward.

  “They’re still following,” Jae said, voice barely audible even to herself. “We need to get out of sight.”

  Elan nodded, but their choices were limited. Though the land had been growing greener and more cultivated over the last few days of travel, their attempt to lose their pursuers had already taken them out to the edge of the fields. Beyond them on one side was a muddy wasteland, and beyond that, the world gave way to dunes. If they got that far without being caught, it would provide some cover, but not much.

  On the other side was the fields. The one they were hurrying past now was flax, with its pale blue flowers and delicate stalks. They weren’t the tallest crop in the world, but it would have to do. She jerked around toward it.

  “All right—but stay low. There will be an Avowed overseer somewhere, and we can’t afford any questions,” Elan agreed.

  Jae nodded and split from the path, pushing her way into the flax stalks. They were slender and gave way easily, and once she was past the first few, she dropped to her hands and knees. The ground was muddy and within moments she was fully coated in it. It pulled her robe down and squished under her hands as she crawled. Elan grumbled faintly, but even he didn’t bother to complain too much anymore.

  She shifted her pack a little to make moving forward easier and kept going. There were paths beaten out here, too, where the Closest who tended the fields walked. When she finally tumbled onto one, she stayed low, just as Elan had said, and followed it away from the road.

  It wouldn’t be hard for pursuers to guess where they’d gone. In their haste, they’d left quite a trail. She glanced back at it and winced. But it was fixable.

  Elan caught up to her, gave her a questioning look. She didn’t speak out loud, though, just fixed her other-vision gaze on the field they’d trampled. She focused and reached for the energy of the water within the plants, and reshaped it, straightening what they’d knocked askew. Then she reached for the earth within the mud where they’d left hand and knee prints. That was even easier to fix. Earth was the easiest element for Jae to work with, and it only took a moment before the signs of their passing were erased.

  “Smart,” Elan said.

  In other-vision, she saw that their pursuers hadn’t left the dirt path. Even though that was a relief, she still held her finger to her lips—there were Closest in the field who might hear, and at least one Avowed watching them. He gave a tense nod. He wasn’t as good at communicating silently as she was—after all, she’d been raised one of the quiet Closest, and he hadn’t—but he could manage it when he needed to.

  Once again, they stayed low as they continued down the muddy path. It was only a few minutes later that they reached the first of the Closest. He was short, with white hair and brown skin that was much lighter than Jae’s own, and he did a double take as he saw them—but didn’t miss a single stroke with his sickle, cutting down the handful of flax he’d gathered.

  He kept working but also kept glancing at them. Jae held up one hand for him to see, then closed her open fingers into a fist. It was one of the most basic Closest signs: the Avowed were too near for them to speak. In other words, danger.

  He nodded, and jerked his head just slightly in the direction they were heading. Jae looked up but couldn’t see anything. Daring, she mouthed, “Avowed?”

  The man gave a terse nod.

  Elan inclined his head toward the next section of uncut stalks. With the Avowed supervisor somewhere nearby, they couldn’t risk staying on the path. Now they moved more slowly, damaging as few of the plants as possible. Jae tried to right them even as they moved, and finally fell into the rhythm of it: crawl several body-lengths forward, pause to check that they were safe, repair the damage they’d done to the plants, and then move forward again.

  Elan hissed a warning and grabbed her ankle. She jerked away, surprised, then went statue-still. Another Closest loomed nearby, not having noticed them yet—and beyond him, just at the edge of their vision, was the Avow
ed supervisor. He wore a bright blue robe and a sneer of disdain, visible as he gazed around.

  Slowly, so slowly they barely moved at all, she and Elan flattened against the mud and crept backward. The stalks around them rippled, so Jae summoned a breeze to make it look more natural. The energy of the air didn’t come as easily as water and earth did, and it buzzed in a way that made her feel like she’d swallowed a bee, but it was worth it for the tiny amount of cover the gusts provided.

  They hadn’t made it far yet when the Closest man saw them. He did a double take, eyes wide, but was midmotion with his sickle. He must have lost focus, because a moment later his lips parted in a silent, pained gasp. Blood soaked his robe, his sickle’s blade having caught his thigh. But he didn’t cry out—he couldn’t. The Curse didn’t allow Closest to speak, let alone shout, in front of the Avowed. He couldn’t reveal their existence to the Avowed man, even if he wanted to.

  But as he limped forward, still working, he also still bled, and that was their fault.

  Elan wormed his way up until he was even with Jae, a thin line of stalks separating them. He shot her a questioning look—and then his features contorted with anger as he understood what Jae had immediately. The man couldn’t stop working any more than he could shout. With as much rain and flooding as there had been in the last few weeks, crops had begun to rot and spoil. He’d probably been ordered to keep going until the Avowed supervisor said he was done for the day, and it didn’t matter how much pain he was in.

  Sure enough, he kept at it, though he limped as he made progress, and the bloody spot on his robe and pant leg beneath grew darker and larger. He stole glances at them, and Jae again made the sign for danger. He didn’t respond, and his movements grew slower. He dragged his leg with every step, leaving bloody footprints between cut stalks. Jae only knew a little about injuries, but with as much blood as he was losing, the cut had to be deep. She could only imagine how much it hurt. She clenched her jaw against her anger—at the Avowed, for not realizing or caring that their orders would force an injured man to keep working; at their pursuers, for driving them into hiding like this; and at herself, for startling the man she now didn’t dare help.