Tempest (20 page)

Chapter 23

Where the Ardus had been desolate and forbidding, Majesta was an awe-inspiring, beautiful place full of hundreds and hundreds of people.

Lochlen had risen from the waves, his golden body almost godlike before he transformed a few inches from the ship’s deck, taking the shape of a man just as the capital city came into view. It was like nothing any of us had ever seen before. Maybe Lochlen had; we never knew with him. However, as citizens of Medeisia who’d rarely traveled beyond dark forests, the city was, simply put, breathtaking.

A large white palace made entirely of smooth stone rose up into the sky, at least twelve towers and turrets jutting like reaching fingers toward the clouds. Six of the towers had cone-like roofs with flags flying from the top. They were blue flags with the black, haunting shape of a bird, his wings spread.

“A falcon,” I murmured.

“Our crest,” Cadeyrn said from behind us.

It reminded me of Ari. I knew she was flying near, somewhere out of view. She was an independent creature and only came when she wanted to be seen.

“Incredible,” Maeve whispered.

My gaze moved to the city. Like Rolleen, Majesta was a clean place full of whitewashed homes and grey stone cottages built in a circular pattern along litter-free cobblestone roads leading toward the palace. There was a busy wharf with at least five ships docked at sea, smaller flat-bottomed cogs meeting them in the water. Cargo was being moved from the larger ships to the smaller vessels before sailing back to the large wharf and two smaller docks. Other boats, primarily fishing vessels, drifted back and forth along the shore while others headed to sea.

Men and women walked along the wharf, yelling in Sadeemian. Most of them were looking to barter and trade. Others were looking to sell foodstuff to travelers coming to shore.

“A hot pie for a decent laddie,” an old woman cried.

“Fine gowns to trade,” a man hollered. “Silk to suit a queen.”

Wealthy, velvet-clothed women and stern-faced men waited impatiently for incoming passengers or goods while fish mongers threw freshly wrapped seafood onto a flat wooden wagon for buyers to inspect. Svelte women in low cut bodices and revealing gowns whispered in men’s ears as they passed. It didn’t take a scribe to know they were bartering their bodies in return for goods or money. Some men turned them away, but others let themselves be led toward sturdy taverns just beyond the docks.

There were voices,
lots
of voices. There were smells, wonderful smells and vile ones. The worst odors came from gutted fish and unwashed travelers who’d had little time to bathe at sea.

And then ... I heard the trees. The beautiful, raspy voice of the trees! It sounded like wood being rubbed together. It was the most wonderful noise in the world!

“Lochlen,” I breathed, reaching out to grab his blue tunic, my fingers clutching him so hard, I knew my nails were leaving impressions in his skin.

The trade-cog we traveled on was anchoring, and I tugged hard on Lochlen, my excitement obvious.

“I know,” Lochlen said, his hand covering mine on his sleeve. “Look.”

He nodded his head at the shore, and I stood on my tiptoes, my eyes searching the skyline. Where were they? Where were the trees?

“Hello, Phoenix,”
a familiar voice called out, and I jumped up.

Several of the prince’s people looked my way, but I ignored them, my excitement making me giddy. The trees. I needed the trees.

“You sound so much like them,” I said, letting go of Lochlen so that I could run along the rail, my eyes searching the shore.

The trees laughed. “
Because we are them. Our kind need not be in the same place to be connected.”

 
I wanted to sob. My trees!
My
trees were here.

A hand descended on my shoulder, but I shook it loose. Rising once more onto my toes, my eyes searched the skyline. I saw nothing, but I heard them. I heard their whispering.

The hand rested on my shoulder again, and I looked up, my gaze meeting Prince Cadeyrn’s.

“Where are they?” I asked.

He looked at me, his brow furrowing. “Where are who?”

I rose up, my hands clutching the rail. “The trees,” I answered. “Where are the trees?”

Lochlen approached me, his reptilian eyes on the shore as he paused next to me at the railing. The prince watched us, and I knew he thought I was as crazy as his people did. I didn’t care.

“There,” Lochlen whispered. “They are there.”

Instantly I saw them, their green, leafy tops lifting from irrigated gardens not far from the palace. There were at least ten of them. It wasn’t like the thick multitude of trees in the forest, but they were still trees, and they were still mine.

I placed a hand over my heart, the same heart with the gaping hole left behind by Kye’s recent death.

“Hello, trees,” I murmured.

My face lifted to the wind, and I laughed when they answered.

“From the girl who once didn’t acknowledge us to the woman who now seeks us out.”

Oh, how good it felt to hear them and how comforting it was to know they were here!

“You’ve been through much, child,”
the trees said.
“The falcon has told us a great deal of news.”

I didn’t answer them. I simply let their voice surround me, enfolding me like a hug.

“Tell me you don’t find them better company than me,” Oran sniffed as he rose from the deck, his seasickness making him slow.

“She would be remiss not to,”
the trees replied.

Lochlen looked skyward, his head shaking. “Wolves and trees,” he muttered.

I reached down, my hand going to Oran’s fur as I stared at the gardens in the distance. The castle was surrounded by a thick, white stonewall with a group of affluent houses just beyond. These homes were finer than the ones furthest from the palace, and I knew they most likely belonged to nobles or rich merchants.

A cultivated garden with a crescent water fountain stood to the side of the palace in front of a large stone building with two towers. The facade was adorned with four, large white columns that held up a high roof over an arched wooden door.

“What is that?” I asked.

Cadeyrn moved to the railing, his eyes following mine.

“The mage academy,” he answered.

Daegan leaned over the side of the ship as men moved past us to lower a gangplank to the dock. Maeve stood, her hand still clutching her stomach.

“A school for mages,” Daegan breathed.

“It’s beautiful,” Maeve whispered.

I thought of the propaganda Raemon was spreading around Medeisia, and my gaze went to Cadeyrn’s profile.

“Do you train them to kill there?” I asked.

He looked at me. “No, we train them to use their magic, and we teach them self-defense.”

“And yet many of your mages are warriors,” I pointed out.

Cadeyrn didn’t contradict me. “In Medeisia, you are punished for having magic or knowledge. Here, we train people with magic, but we do not hinder them. What service they choose to enter after training is up to them. Some choose the army, while some choose mundane jobs, such as baking or fishing. Others choose to do something with their magic, healing or divination. It is the same for the scribes. There is a school for scribes in the city of Quills, but unlike mages, most who attend choose to go into teaching or advisory positions.”

I nodded, my eyes going back to the school. Sadeemia was such a different world than the one we came from. So very different.

“It’s time,” Gryphon called out.

Maeve took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank the gods!”
 

Cadeyrn nodded at the gangplank. “You will all ride in a covered carriage to the palace. The less eyes on you, the better. We have many foreigners in Majesta, and we encourage cultural diversity, but having a group of Medeisians travel with me is dangerous.”

“Because they fear us?” Daegan asked.

The prince’s expression was odd when it skimmed over us, pained even. “No. Here, I am a constant target for assassins. Traveling with me endangers you.”

With that, we were herded from the trade-cog and rushed down the wharf before being prodded into a waiting carriage. It was a fancy carriage but unmarked and unadorned. I managed only one glimpse of the Sadeemian prince before the door was slammed shut. He was standing with his hand on the hilt of his sword, his personal guard surrounding him. Reenah’s words from the desert came back to me.
Our prince has suffered much. His power is great, you see. Many want him dead. He has been an object of assassins since birth.

Something in my chest twisted. It wasn’t my heart, I wasn’t sure I had one of those anymore
.
It was pity, compassion. What must it be like to live your entire life sleeping with one eye open? I’d been a rebel for almost six months now, living in a forest with a group of people who were constantly having to glance over their shoulders. We were hunted criminals in our country. But I had not lived my entire life that way. I was accepted and even revered by the marked for my powers. I wasn’t shunned because of them.

“This is incredible,” Maeve said. She was rubbing her rear along the carriage seat. “I actually think these cushions are stuffed with feathers.”

“A joy to your rump, huh?” Daegan teased.

Maeve glared at him. “I meant, it’s awful decadent for a carriage.”

I bounced on the seat. It
was
soft, much softer than anything I’d ever ridden on back home.

Oran snickered from the carriage floor while Lochlen grinned.

“Is this a human trait?” Lochlen asked.

Daegan leaned back on the seat next to me, a smirk on his lips. “It’s a woman trait.”

Maeve and I both glared at him.

“It’s just different,” Maeve sniffed.

I nodded in agreement, leaning over so that I could crack open the small curtain over the window. The carriage rode smoothly over unbroken roads, and I caught a glimpse of people glancing curiously at our conveyance as we rolled past. We were in the market district. Smoke rose from the chimney of a bakery, and women peered with interest into an attractive dress shop. A blacksmith pounded diligently at his forge on the corner, and an apothecary was displaying potions and medicine behind a clean glass window.

I straightened, my fingers gripping the curtain.

“Wonder of wonders!” I breathed.

Maeve moved to the window opposite me. “What?” she asked.

I stared. Tucked just beyond the apothecary’s shop was a small building with a glass storefront. Behind it, hundreds and hundreds of leather-bound parchment were lined up, the spines on display.

“An Archive,” I said, my voice rising with excitement. “They have an Archive sitting right in the middle of town.”

Lochlen leaned forward, his russet hair falling over his shoulder. “I think they call them book shops here,” the dragon said.

I looked at him. “Book shops.”

I liked the sound of it, the way it moved over my tongue. I even said it in Sadeemian, and it sounded just as good. A shop where anyone could look at parchment and not be persecuted! I wanted that for Medeisia. I wanted it badly.