Tempest (18 page)

Chapter 21

Something woke me, and I opened my eyes to discover Oran sitting up in the bed, his hair standing on end.

“What’s wrong?” I hissed.

Oran didn’t move, and I followed his gaze to a window on the side of the room. It was dark, the candles that had been burning when I’d fallen asleep were long burnt out. However, the moon cast a faint glow through the beveled glass into the room, filling it with enough fragmented light to make out my surroundings. I sat up, reaching carefully for the gown at the end of the bed. Oran jumped to the floor.

That’s when I heard the voices, male voices that argued on the street below. I didn’t take the time to consider my actions. I jumped up, throwing the gown on before grabbing the surcoat and pushing my arms through. I laced the dress as I moved to the window, standing to the side of it, my gaze on the cobblestone road.

Two cloaked men stood just below my room.

“Who are they?” I asked, using my fingers to quietly unlatch the casement, cracking it open because I knew Oran would be able to detect their scent.

Oran calmed.

“Cadeyrn,” he said, his nose lifting, “and his man, Gryphon.”

I stiffened. “The man he sent to intercept the Gremallian ship,” I mumbled. The same man who’d stood with Cadeyrn when we’d been brought into the Sadeemian camp, the one who’d offered Kye relief when he’d been dying from wyver poison.
 

The two men started to walk away, and I pushed the window further open, gauging the distance from the window to the road.

“What are you doing?” Oran hissed.

I didn’t look back at him. I watched the men instead, my gaze following them as they moved down the street toward the sea. I gripped the windowsill, using it to propel myself through the opening. There was a ledge just outside the window, and I used my bare toes to find it.

“Stone!” Oran called out.

I looked into the room. “My boots,” I ordered.

The wolf growled as he took my shoes into his mouth before marching them sullenly to the window, jumping up so that his paws rested on the sill. I took the shoes from him and dropped them to the ground. It wasn’t a long fall, even from the second story. The road sloped upward and my room was next to its tallest point. I’d fallen further from a tree.

“Don’t ...” Oran warned.

I looked at him. “We are here for Medeisia. We came here to stop an assassination and to seek aid from the Sadeemian king. Midnight trysts are more than a tad bit suspicious. I think it wise we stay informed.”

Oran’s chest rumbled as I gripped the windowsill, turning slowly before jumping to the street below. The landing made my teeth clink together and my head hurt, the soles of my feet burning, but I barely registered this as I sunk my toes into my boots and took off after the cloaked figures. They had a substantial lead.

There was a groan behind my back, and I glanced over my shoulder to find Oran limping after me.

“I’m too old for this,” he grumbled.

I smiled as I loped after the prince and his man, keeping to the shadows as they moved from the town to a road I hadn’t seen when we’d entered the village earlier. It led down to a wharf. The water lapping around it looked inky in the dark, the moon’s reflection quivering over the waves. It wasn’t a full moon, but it was bright and there were lanterns swinging from wooden posts along the dock. Fire burned within them, but rather than candles, it looked like the flame sprang up from a murky liquid. I’d never seen anything like it.

“Another man,” Oran warned.

I fell back against a small, wooden building at the edge of the wharf, my back flat against the planks. The dock was too open for us to move onto it unnoticed, but the lanterns highlighted a trade-cog anchored in the water. It was a small ship, but large enough to hold a crew and passengers as well as cargo. A tall, broad-shouldered man exited the vessel, walking with loud, commanding steps onto the wooden wharf.

Gryphon and Cadeyrn met him, both of them pulling back the hoods of their cloaks.

“Uncle,” Cadeyrn greeted.

I froze.

“Nephew,” the tall man responded, “it is good to see you again.”

The man’s hair looked black in the night, his skin pale. A strong breeze blew in from the ocean, and the lanterns shook on their posts, but didn’t fall. The blazes remained strong.

Cadeyrn stared, his watchful eyes roaming over the man’s face. I knew without a doubt this was Blayne Dragern, the same man I’d written the missive to, the prince’s uncle. It is amazing how things come full circle. From a piece of parchment to a face.

“It’s been too long,” Cadeyrn said carefully, “but do I stand here now greeting my mother’s brother or a traitor?”

There was no reaction from Blayne; his face was impassive. It was a strong face, angular with high cheekbones. He was clean shaven—as most Sadeemians seemed to be—but his eyes were different, slanted in the corners. I wondered if all people from New Hope had eyes like that.

“A traitor?” Blayne asked.

Cadeyrn took a step forward. “What are you doing in the waters off Rolleen, Blayne? You’re supposed to be in Guarda inspecting the spice market.”

Blayne looked away, his gaze moving to Gryphon before landing once more on Cadeyrn.

“I returned home early. There was nothing of import in Guarda.”

Cadeyrn straightened. He was taller than Blayne by several inches, and he used the height to his advantage. His thick hair made him look like the pictures I’d seen of wild cats rather than a prince.

“You never went to Guarda,” the prince said. His voice was hard, and I shivered. “Never forget, Uncle, I always know when a man lies.”

I glanced down at Oran. That’s why Cadeyrn trusted us! He’d led us to believe he needed proof our king wanted war, but he’d never needed proof. Not really. Lochlen had known that. I thought back on the tent in Sadeemia when we’d met Cadeyrn for the first time. Gryphon had held me at sword point, but Cadeyrn had knelt, his eyes on mine.

“Stand back,” Cadeyrn had ordered. “Let them up. They tell the truth.”

Lochlen had stepped forward. “So that is one of your powers then, Prince?” the dragon asked.

Cadeyrn had never answered, but I now knew he could discern lie from truth. What an awful, yet wonderful, gift. Wonderful in politics, awful in life. I’m sure I’d been lied to more often than not, especially when it came to my appearance. Some lies are not meant to hurt, they are meant to encourage. It was a great ethical question. When, if ever, was it okay to lie?

Blayne had stood silent while I brooded from my hiding place, but he moved now, his eyes on Cadeyrn as he paced the wharf.

“You are a foolish man,” he sneered, one hand rising to gesture at the ship.

I started to step forward, my hand reaching for a bow that wasn’t there. Men rose from the trade-cog, their faces covered, and their eyes gleaming. All of them wore black. All of them held war scythes; wooden-handled weapons with wicked, curved blades at the end.
 

Cadeyrn merely glanced at them, a small smile forming on his lips.

“
Am
I foolish, Uncle?” he asked.

With a flick of Cadeyrn’s hand, Blayne was suddenly surrounded by his own men, their scythes resting inches from his face.

Blayne’s face drained of color, his eyes going wide as it swept the men surrounding him. Cadeyrn showed no pity.

“I’ve been fighting wars a long time, Uncle. A long, long time. Since I was old enough to hold a weapon, I was on the battlefield, first as a page and later as a warrior. Do you really think I’m foolish enough to meet you without first double-crossing you?” Cadeyrn glanced at the men. “Take him back to his boat and chain him there along with his men, and remove your row boats from beneath the wharf.”

Cadeyrn’s gaze moved to Gryphon. “I leave you with them. Tomorrow we take Blayne’s vessel up the coast to Majesta.”

Gryphon nodded as Cadeyrn turned and moved away, his eyes on the village. He didn’t glance back, but I watched as Gryphon directed the men. They chained Blayne and led him to the trade-cog, while some used rope to propel down the side of the vessel to the sea below.

Cadeyrn was passing the building where I hid when I stepped free of the shadows, Oran at my side.

“We never needed to stop the assassination.”

I spoke with an authority I didn’t feel. Cadeyrn froze, his back to me.

“You followed me here,” he accused.

I used his own words against him. “Do you really think I’m foolish enough to ignore two men I’m supposed to trust the lives of my people with while they head out on a midnight agenda right beneath my nose?”

Cadeyrn swiveled, his face unreadable, but there was something in his eyes ... respect maybe? It was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

He took a step toward me. “We leave for the capital tomorrow. It’s on the coast, a half day by boat down this beach. In Majesta, we will meet with the king.” Cadeyrn’s eyes moved from my messy, sleep-tousled hair to the gown I wore. I squirmed. “Your king’s plans may be foiled, but there is much for you and your people to learn about war, much you will need to learn about what you are and what you can be.”

I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Cadeyrn’s gaze came back to mine. “You are not the only country with a prophecy, not the only people who have read the page from your Kiarian Freesonalay.”

Oran brushed against my gown, but I ignored him.

“What do you know of the Book of Truth?” I asked.

The prince closed the gap between us. Oran growled, but Cadeyrn didn’t spare him a glance. His face looked down into mine, his eyes cold.

“Your lover talked about the prophecy and called you the Phoenix. A dragon prince follows you, and animals listen when you speak. Out of the ashes of devastation will arise a Phoenix, a child born under a Harvest Moon with forbidden magick. But do you remember the rest of the prophecy?” he asked.

It was chilly out, but I could still feel sweat beginning to bead up along my brow, my heart pounding. My eyes searched his.

“To the prosperous kingdom, there will be born a son to the ruler. His magick will be borne of steel, strong. His life will be cursed with hardships. His power will make others greedy, murderous. He will be plagued with death ...” I recited. My eyes widened. I had seen the prince holding his sword as if he often sought comfort from the metal, from the steel. “You,” I whispered. “The prophecy is about you.”

Cadeyrn didn’t blink. “It doesn’t take a scribe to figure that out.”

He was right. It’s not as if it hadn’t been obvious. The son of a prosperous ruler, his magic borne of steel. His life plagued with death. It had been under my nose the whole time, but I hadn’t given the prophecy much thought after leaving Medeisia. The wyvers, the desert, the Sadeemian camp, Brennus’ death, and then Kye ... I hadn’t cared much about the Book of Truth or who I was supposed to be. I hadn’t cared about an unknown prince. Until now.

I studied his face. It was a strong face, full of secrets and mysteries no one would ever be able to figure out. There was too much there, too many stories.

“Do you know what it means?” I asked.

Cadeyrn looked over my shoulder at the wharf. I could hear rowing in the water and knew Cadeyrn had sent men ahead to board the trade-cog in secrecy, to capture Blayne’s men and take the vessel as his own. Blayne never would have suspected it, not in the middle of the night when all but a few guards would be sleeping. Not in Rolleen, his home port. Maybe I hadn’t noticed that Cadeyrn was as much a part of the prophecy as I was, but I had plenty of common sense. His men had taken the trade-cog while his uncle slept and disguised themselves, and then Cadeyrn had sent someone to summon his uncle. I was impressed.