Page 9 of Storm Caller

“She looks like a Crust,” Cole grumbles at Safira.

“Stop that! I look cute.” Then her gaze falls on me, obviously cataloging my own purple hair hanging down my back in messy tangles. “Right, new girl?”

She is cute with a little nose, full lips, and big brown eyes.

“Sure,” I answer, and she preens before sticking her tongue out at Cole. “Can someone tell me what Crust means? Everyone keeps calling me that.”

Safira waves a hand as if it’s of no real importance. “Upper crust. It’s an old saying from the Warming Age that referred to rich people.”

“Oh,” I say.

“Not sure who started it,” she continues with a shrug.

“Do you call everyone from New Manhattan that?”

“Sure,” Safira replies.

“Not everyone in the city is rich.”

“Oh,” she says. “Well . . .”

“But you are,” Cole says, pointing at me. “You sound rich.”

“Yeah,” I say, huffing in exasperation as I sense Rook trying to rein in a laugh. “So I’ve been told.”

“Got yourself in a bit of trouble, I see,” Cole says to Rook. “What else is new?”

“Wouldn’t want to get bored,” Rook answers with a shrug and a grunt, stretching his injured side. “Can you get our bags?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Safira says. “We’ll see to it.”

Rook snorts out a laugh and winces.

This entire exchange is so incongruous with our surroundings that I just stare at him. He’s joking with the people holding us prisoner, and I have no idea if that should comfort me or terrify me.

We follow Cole and Safira through the encampment, passing more tents and buildings and dozens of people, including numerous children. They stare up at me with wide eyes and open mouths until their caregivers shoo them away, pinning me with mistrustful looks. I want to tell them I don’t mean anyone harm. That I’m lost and alone and I wish I could go home. But I don’t think anyone would care.

We’re brought to another area, where a few small tents stand in a circle. It’s quieter here, absent the same warm camaraderie of the clearing.

Cole leads us to a tent and lifts the flap. “In you go. Your castle for tonight, or however long the commander wants to wave his dick.”

Bunkhouse twelve turns out to be a round tent with three narrow beds in the center. The blankets look a little scratchy, but the mere sight of a pillow and a mattress reminds me that my limbs feel like they’re filled with rocks.

“Pick whichever you like,” Safira says, entering behind us. “It’ll just be you two in here. Truly the royal treatment.”

“Why is this empty?” Rook asks, scanning the tight space. There’s only about a foot between each bed, so I need to turn sideways to shuffle between them.

Cole tips his head. “A few months back . . .” He cuts off, looking at me before turning to Rook. “The usual.”

“Got it,” Rook says. “Sorry for your loss.”

Cole shrugs and lifts his hands in a what can you do sort of gesture, while my attention bounces between them and I wonder what they’re talking about. “We’ll find your bags and get some food sent in right away. Safira will be guarding you for the next few hours.” He tosses me a wink. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t bite. Much.”

With that ominous statement, they both duck out of the tent.

I hear them talking to someone on the other side before the flap opens again, revealing Vess carrying her med kit. She offers me a wary look before addressing Rook.

“Let me check your bandages.”