Every instinct in Tempest’s small, fragile body begged her to run away. She would die in here if she stayed, but she couldn’t leave Mama. Tempest forced her streaming eyes open and took trembling step after step into her rapidly deteriorating home.
The cottage groaned as if it was in pain and she shrieked when a beam crashed from the ceiling, blocking her path. Tempest darted to the left and scurried toward her mother’s bedroom.
A figure slumped in the doorway, blackened by soot, and dangerously close to being burned by the cruel touch of a flame.
“Mum—Mama!” Tempest sobbed, closing the distance between her and her mum without thinking about the encroaching fire. “Mama, wake up.” She struggled to turn her unconscious mum onto her back, willing for her to be awake. She shook her mum’s arm. “Please get up.”
But she didn’t. Tempest laid her chapped cheek against her mum’s chest. It was too still. Understanding dawned and she pulled back, shaking. Her mum wasn’t breathing.
“Please wake up,” Tempest begged. “Please. Please. Pl—ah!”
She flinched away when a searing pain crawled through the bottom of her feet and up her legs. The flames surrounding them burnt away her leather slippers, reaching her skin even as she watched it happen, helpless.
Tempest’s gaze swung from her mother to the front door and back again. She wasn’t strong enough to get the two of them out of the cottage—her mum was just too big, and she was so tired. Sobs racked her chest and she hugged her mama, barely able to stand the heat any longer.
Her mum’s voice floated into her mind: If I’m not here, you must take care of yourself, Tempest. If there is danger, flee. I will come for you.
“I love you, Mama,” she wept.
She kissed her mum’s cheek, and, with one final tear-filled glance, Tempest stumbled toward the entrance of the cottage. She blinked at her mum’s bow laying abandoned on the floor somehow untouched by the flames. Kneeling, her little fingers curled around the heated wood of the bow and she dragged it out of the only home she’d known.
Numbness seeped into her bones. Tempest didn’t feel the glass cut her feet, nor the burns on her hands and legs as she wandered to the edge of the trees that bordered their land, dragging her mum’s bow. She turned and stared blankly as everything she loved was consumed by the fiery beast. The cottage released one last protesting groan right before the entire building collapsed. The earth rumbled beneath her abused feet as if acknowledging the end of a life.
Her breath came in wheezing pants and Tempest’s legs crumpled. Time ceased to matter as she watched the flames rapidly consume what was left of her home and flicker out of existence. It was all gone. She tipped her chin up when her belly growled, realizing the sun had moved across the sky.
Slowly, she stood on shaking legs and began walking into the forest. The sun said its final farewell and the stars came out to play, but she kept walking. Her mama said the forest wasn’t safe at night, and even though her feet ached, her throat parched and scratchy, and her brain numb, she knew her mama was right. Tempest huddled deeper into the remains of her tattered cloak as the blanket of a bitterly cold night set in.
Tempest tripped when she stumbled across a cottage. One second she was in the woods, and the next surrounded by homes. Her eyes rounded as she counted the cottages. Two, three, four. No, five, then ten. It was the largest number of houses she’d ever seen before.
A village. She’d always dreamed of visiting the village, but now it seemed to lack the excitement. All she wanted was her mum or… her papa.
“Papa,” Tempest whispered, the word a puffy little cloud upon the air.
He’d not visited her in a long time, but her mama said that he loved her even if he couldn’t come. Her face screwed up as she tried to remember what else her mama had said about Papa. He lived in a city. She eyed the houses around her. Maybe he lived here.
“Hello, there!” a stranger called. He lifted a lantern high in the air.
His smile fell when he shuffled closer, his eyes widening behind his spectacles. Tempest held her hands up and stared at her pale arms streaked with soot. Her clothing was blackened and burned. So dirty.
“Can I get some help over here? Quick!” he yelled, closing the gap between himself and Tempest as he spoke.
Her mouth watered and her belly growled. He smelled of bread. “Papa?” Tempest said again. “Where is my papa?” Someone had to know where he was.
The man who smelled of bread knelt in front of her and smiled kindly, his eyes reminding her of a snowy owl. He stroked her matted hair.
“Who is your papa, child? What happened to you? Where did you—”
He paused, bringing a lock of her hair closer to the lantern light. He fingered a patch of her ash-covered, periwinkle blue hair. The man gulped, then glanced behind him as several other villagers reached the two of them.
“The Hounds,” he said. “Get the Hounds. Now.”
Hounds? She’d always like puppies. She gaped as more and more people joined them, forming a loose circle. There were so many people. Too many voices. Too many faces. So many colors. Tempest trembled and her skin crawled as too many pairs of eyes watched her. Why was everyone staring at her?
Her stomach cramped as she inhaled, the scent of burnt flesh clinging to her. It was too much. Tempest bent over and vomited all over the nice man’s shoes. A large hand settled on her back and rubbed in circles.
“It’s all right, dear. Everything will be all right,” the bread man crooned.
She began to cry in earnest. He was lying. Nothing would be okay. Her mama was gone. And where was her papa?
“Somebody clean her up, for Dotae’s sake!” somebody insisted.
“But she—”
Thundering hooves against stone rang sharply behind her. Tempest lifted her head weakly. She watched as the crowd parted and a regal man swung down from the biggest horse she’d ever seen. He looked like something out of a fairytale.
And he had hair like hers.
Blue hair.
Special hair.
“She’s a child,” the blue-haired man announced. His voice was low and booming. He pushed past the crowd with his grey horse in tow and knelt next to her. “Just a scared, hungry child, nothing more. What is your name, lass?” he asked softly.
Tempest blinked wide eyed at the man before her. His hair was so blue it was almost black in the moonlight, as were his eyes. Though his face was impassive, there was something innately kind about him. She clung to his arm as if her life depended on it—because it did.
“T-Tempest,” she stuttered.
“Hello Tempest, I’m Dima,” the man replied.
“Are you my papa?” she asked, trembling. He had hair like hers. He had to be.
“No, lass,” he said gently and gestured behind him at several men on horseback who had completely parted the crowd. Each and every one of them had variable shades of blue hair, like Tempest’s. “I’m one of the King’s Hounds, as are these men.” He slowly tugged on one of her dirty blue locks. “We’re your family. Aren’t you lucky we were staying here this evening?” He held his hand out to her. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You must be thirsty. And starving, no doubt. Baker, bring along some bread, if you will?”