Page 16 of Winds of Destiny

The priest, to his credit, goes with it. He heads off to torment the king instead, leaving the three of us together: me, Camrael, and Turo. Camrael looks at me with grim acceptance— No. None of that. We both deserve better.

“How did you move those beasts?” I ask.

The prince blinks. “I… I’m sorry, what?”

“The whelvers. That’s what you call them, right?”

He nods slowly.

“We never used them in the mountains before the everwinds stopped—our rams were strong and stable enough to get by—but I’ve heard of them before. I’veneverheard of them uprooting themselves like that.” I raise one eyebrow and try a little smile. “It’s not your magic, is it?”

Camrael smiles back, genuinely, and…Oh. He’s beautiful when he’s somber, but he’s astonishing when he’s smiling. “No, definitely not. They were responding to sound.”

I’m confused. “I…didn’t hear you calling to them.”

“Not that sort of sound.” He’s getting more animated now, his hands going from limp at his sides to active as he begins to sketch out his thoughts. “Sound is a— Do you know anything about the science of waves?”

“Next to nothing,” I admit.

“Oh, then let me…hmm.” He taps his chin for a moment. “Have you ever been to a very high place and shouted really, really loudly?”

“I’ve definitely done that.” It’s a form of competition in Huridell, seeing how many times you can make your own voice shout back at you. “The shout echoes.”

“Yes! Have you ever wonderedwhy, though?”

“I… No.” I shrug. “It’s just what happens.”

“But why?”

I feel like I’m failing some sort of test. I’d be worried if Lord Turo, standing just behind his prince, didn’t look equally baffled. “I don’t know,” I say.

Luckily, Camrael doesn’t seem bothered by that.

“It’s not something that many people have studied, but the easiest way to think about it is to imagine the energy of your voice as a wave. It flows out from you”—he uses his hand to mime a wavy form in the air—“and when it impacts something in the distance, it bounces back at you.” He taps my chest with his hand. “That’s what the echo is, the hard surfaces of the mountains reflecting your own voice.”

“That’s fascinating.” I’m not being false—I’ve never heard of this sort of thing before, but it makes sense. All the more proof that Huridell needs someone like Camrael in it. “But what does it have to do with how you called the whelvers to you?”

“Oh, well, that’s a little different, but it works off the same principle of sound as waves. We’re going to have to dip into a discussion of physiology for a moment, though, so let me know if I confuse you.”

I’m then treated to a description of the various ways animals have of hearing sounds based on their anatomy, then high tones versus low, then a discussion of the little flute he used to affect the whelvers. It’s a lot, but I do my best to follow it. This is the most the prince has spoken to me yet without including an insult, and the subject is intriguing.

“So they can hear a sound when you blow that flute that we can’t,” I summarize when he’s done.

“Precisely!” Camrael beams at me, looking pleased that I’ve managed to follow his undoubtedly simplified explanation. “Well done. It’s not a new technique, you understand—our people used this right up until the everwinds died. I just needed to revisit it. The oldest whelvers remembered the commands their handlers used and responded to hearing themfrom me, that’s all.”

“Far from ‘all’,” I protest. I can see from the approving look on his face that Lord Turo agrees with me. “How many other people would think to use forgotten techniques to move creatures that look as mobile as boulders and come to the aid of a group of strangers? You’re not just exceptionally brave, but exceptionally talented as well.”

“Oh, well.” Is he blushing? I can’t quite tell in the light of the setting sun, but I wish I could. I wish I could press my hands to his cheeks and feel the heat of their flush. Perhaps complimenting his looks would do it.

Before I can, a servant walks over with a tray of crystal flutes. Sweet-smelling wine rests inside of them—the wine for the prince’s salute. Directly after that is the marriage ceremony.

Camrael’s face falls, then firms back to resignation as he takes a glass. Lord Turo hands one to me as well before taking one for himself.

All around us, people are quieting as the wine is passed, and even though I’ve been waiting for this moment, I also curse it. Things were going so well—he was so genuinely interested in talking to me—and now…

King Perael hoists his glass in the air. “A salute to my son, Prince Camrael,” he calls out, voice clear and deep. “And to his betrothed, Prince Eleas Megethos! May they share a long and prosperous life together.”

No mention of love, but why would there be? As far as the Zephythans are concerned, this marriage is a transaction. That won’t be enough for me, I know it already—I want more from Camrael. I want to earn his affection and, eventually, his trust. I want to make him happy.

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