Alana Serra [Serra - Storm Lord’s Bride (Rite of the Raknari Book 1)

Storm Lords Bride Alana Serra 2019.

Amazon Kindle Edition.

Edited by Mystique Editing.

Cover design by Jacqueline Sweet.

A ll rights reserved . No part of this story may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical reviews and articles.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

The author has asserted his/her rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book.

This book contains sexually explicit content which is suitable only for mature readers.

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I maras arrow whizzed through the frigid air, whistling uselessly before it thunked into a log. A flash of white fur disappeared beneath, scrambling into a burrow she had no hope of reaching.

God damn this thing, she growled, her fingers wringing the wood of her bow. Though once it had been flexible, it no longer yielded to her. The colds made it all but useless.

She wasnt exactly surprised by that fact. Winter had lasted half a year. The winds howled through their village and the surrounding forests, clawing at their homes like ravenous wolves. The ground was so hard it was impossible for any spring shoots to poke through, and the larger game had long since run out of food.

All they had now were a few hares who hadnt yet realized there was nothing here for them to eat. Theyd been easy to kill at first. Now Imaras fingers were frozen in her gloves and her bow pulled against the string instead of working with it.

What would Master Willem say if he could hear you now?

Even without looking at her, Imara could hear the smile in her sisters voice. She could see her green eyes dancing with amusement, the rosiness in her cheeks that wasnt just from the brutal sting of the winds.

Probably the same thing he always says, Imara shrugged, a smirk cracking into her features as she looked at her sister. She lowered her voice, tucked in her chin, and tried to mimic the Master of Piety. You are the daughter of a chieftain, Imara. You must be gracious. You must not stray from the path of righteousness.

Elora giggled, the sound like clear, tinkling bells. Nothing like Imaras own laugh that the crueler boys in the village had once likened to that of a donkey braying. She knew it wasnt that bad, but it was bad enough that she tamped it down whenever it began to bubble up within her, like now.

Maybe a fire will make the wood more pliable, Elora suggested, ever practical.

Where Imara always got hung up on her emotions, always trifled with gut feelings and the directive of her heart, her younger sister was thoughtful and patient. All the things Imara should have been as the eldest daughter of the High Chieftain.

Shed tried. God knew shed tried. But even now, she was defiant. When faced with the prospect of eating a ration of boiled oats and hard, salted meat for the thirteenth week in a rowsomething she knew she should be grateful for, because even that was running perilously lowImara had chosen to scour the barren woods for live game.

Game which shed now lost.

Thats not a bad idea, she admitted with a sigh, hooking the bow over one shoulder. If nothing else, maybe we wont lose any fingers.

She could barely feel hers as she stripped off one thick, fur-ruffed glove, then the other. She flexed the digits, the pale skin a little off-colored. A tingle crept into her hands as the sensation returned. Imara gritted her teeth against it. Shed tried to endure without complaint. Given her place in the village, she had more than most. But she hated this bitter, relentless cold that sought out the bones directly and bit down.

As a daughter of the North, shed known the cold all her life. It wasnt especially comfortable, but it was home. This was something else. This was pure malevolence cast down from the mountains. Her gaze sought them now, her jaw squaring. The ice caps were barely visible in the blinding haze of white that surrounded her, but she knew where to find them. The northernmost peak of the Tempest Spine mountain range was home to Kiovas Chosen, the Storm Lord who was said to control the winter winds.

The Storm Lord her father had invited to parlay with them that afternoon, in hopes of appeasing the goddess he served.

The Four Tempestsof which the ice goddess Kiova was a parthad been abandoned by the humans ages before. Word of the One True God had spread among her people, through her ancestors and down to the current generation. If Willem was to be believed, their god had kept them safe. Shielded them from the temperamental goddesses.

Until now.

Now they were so desperate that even the Master of Piety hadnt raised an argument against her father. As far as Imara knew, she was the only one whod done so, and even shed backed down because what choice did she have? Her people would starve soon. They were too thin as it was, having existed on little but rations for half a year already. Imara did her part to bring in food and supply the tailors with fresh pelts, but it was all so scarce. The wildlife had abandoned them to their fate, and so too had their god.

The villages only hope lay in the Storm Lord now, and she could only guess at what he would demand for use of his powers.

I wont have to imagine soon, she thought bitterly. Kiovas Chosen was meant to arrive later that afternoon. No doubt he and the other Raknari were traveling the mountain pass now, the only creatures that could brave the sleet.

Youre distracted, Elora said, her voice as warm and kind as ever.

She looked down, finding shed gone through the motions of emptying her pouch of kindling despite not having any wood. Imara sighed, but a smile touched her lips as Elora handed her some dry logs shed scrounged.

What would I do without you?

Freeze, most likely. The words were said with Eloras usual sweetness, but there was a wicked glint in her eyes that made Imara laugh.

She stacked the logs against one another and used her fire-starter to catch a spark to the long-dried corn silk shed clumped in the center. It caught, burning quickly, the flames chewing greedily through the strands until they reached the logs. Imara stared at the orange and yellow glow, at the way it danced with unpredictable grace, bobbing and weaving as if to avoid the wind that might smother it.

Fire was a precious commodity when it was so blastedly cold, but shed always had a fondness for it. It reminded her of being curled up before the hearth with one of the many useless hounds her family had owned throughout the years, a blanket snug around her body, a cup of hot tea in her hands.

She let that feeling of comfort seep into her now, but it was swiftly snatched away as she caught sight of her sisters trembling hands. Elora was feeding sticks to the growing fire, and Imaras gaze traveled up her arm to her pale face, her lips more of a purple than the pink they should be.

God above, Elora! You shouldve said something! Panic gnawed at her, forcing her to her feet. She unclasped a heavy fur cloak from her shoulders and put it around her sisters, pulling it closed in front.

Im fine, she insisted, her teeth chattering. You needed it more.