Tempest (23 page)

I flung my feet over the side of the bed. They were bare, and even though it was such a little thing, I hid them with the bottom of my dressing gown. It was obvious Gabriella of Greemallia was taller than me, her bosom fuller. The gown dragged the floor and sagged where my chest was supposed to be.

I padded to the panel, my gaze moving to the room beyond. Cadeyrn also was barefoot, his chest still bare, and I watched as he leaned next to the hearth, his gaze on the fire as his hand rested on the wall.

“Is it ghosts that keep you awake?” I asked.

I was becoming more comfortable with the prince. He hadn’t attempted to force me into his bed, and he had proven himself a good man on more than one occasion, if not a little surly and entirely too stubborn.

Cadeyrn didn’t move. His gaze remained on the flame.

“Ghosts and other things,” he answered.

I left the protection of the screen, moving carefully to the living area before perching on the edge of a settee, checking to make sure I dropped the gown over my toes.

This seemed to amuse the prince. “You act more like a maiden than the lover of a prince.”

I flushed. “You mock me,” I said.

He shook his head. “I don’t mock.”

His bluntness was hard to figure out at times, leaving me without words when normally I would speak. I pulled at the hem of the dressing gown.

“My relationship with Kye doesn’t make me worldly,” I said finally.

The prince’s gaze swept over me. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

I wrapped my arms around my waist and stared at the fire. “Your wife, was she Henderonian?” I asked.

“Yes.”

It was a simple answer for a simple question. I’d often heard of Henderonian women. They were supposedly great beauties, tall and slender with dark eyes. Like every country, they didn’t all look alike, but most of them shared similar features customary to their region. Many of the Henderonian women tended to have red or auburn hair.

“I had a Henderonian dresser back home,” I said. It was such a silly thing to say, but it filled the silence.

“Most people do,” Cadeyrn responded, his voice tinged with amusement. “They are famous for their woodwork.”

I cleared my throat before rubbing my palms on my gown. “It had a crack down one of the doors,” I continued, ignoring his jibe. “My half-sister was always throwing fits. It was hers before mine. It was stored in my room after it was damaged. I learned to write under that dresser.”

I looked down at my fingers. They used to be stained with ink and full of calluses. I had been ashamed of them once, even after Kye had taken them in his, holding them as if they were the most beautiful fingers in the world. They were still calloused, the nails bitten to the quick, but there were no ink stains. I imagined there was more blood than ink these days.

“Mareth,” Cadeyrn said suddenly. My gaze flew to his. “Your sister is Mareth.”

I nodded. “How did you know?”

“I met her once when visiting with your father. You were maybe twelve turns at the time. I don’t remember you, but I remember your sister. Her fits are quite memorable.”

I choked on a laugh.

“Do you aspire to be a scribe?” Cadeyrn asked.

I looked up at him. “I did once. I liked the quiet and the solitude, and the smell. I loved the smell. Ink, parchment, and leather.” I paused. “And the stories. I like facts and legends.”

“It still calls to you then?” the prince asked.

The potted plants near the desk stirred, and I glanced over my shoulder. “Other things call louder now,” I responded.

The prince’s gaze followed mine.

“What can you do?” he asked.

I looked at him. “What do you mean?”

Cadeyrn moved away from the hearth, sitting carefully on a settee across from me. The furniture seemed too feminine for a man’s room, and I wondered if his wife had selected it all.

“Other than healing and speaking to trees and animals, what can you do?” he asked.

I stared at him. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I made it rain once.”

His eyes searched my face. “There is something more there, I can feel it. I’m betting you can, too.”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know how to access it.” My eyes moved down to the pendant around his neck before shifting to his sword, which now leaned against the hearth. He had hung it on his bedpost before. Had he paced with it in his hands? “And you?” I asked. “What is it you do other than detect lies and fight with a sword?”

Cadeyrn lifted his hand, and his sword came to him, the metal gleaming.

“I kill,” he answered, “and I do it well. Sometimes I can manipulate things, mostly metal, and I am physically stronger than most men.”

My eyes widened. This surprised me. “Stronger?” I asked.

The amused glint I’d seen earlier returned to his eyes. “I don’t display it often unless necessary, but yes, I was born stronger than most.”

My gaze moved along his arms. I couldn’t help but wonder if he meant he could lift incredibly heavy things, or if he just had more stamina.

“It has nothing to do with my size,” he said. He held his sword out to me. “Take it,” he ordered.

I placed my palms under the hilt and the blade. Cadeyrn rested the sword on my hands, continuing to hold it slightly above my palms with one hand while placing his other hand under mine on the blade.

“You’ll need the help,” he warned.

With that, he let go, and I yelped as he placed his other hand under the one I had on the hilt.

“By the gods!” I breathed. “No man could carry that.”

It was heavier than any sword I had ever held. If his hands didn’t rest under mine, I wouldn’t have been able to hold it at all.

“It’s why I carry it,” Cadeyrn revealed.

He carefully removed one large hand from beneath mine before quickly transferring it to the blade. After he lifted it from my palms, I rubbed my hands together.

“Incredible,” I breathed.

Cadeyrn’s gaze moved to the panel, and I glanced over my shoulder to find Oran sitting guard just beyond it. “No more incredible than your own gifts,” he said.

Neither one of us spoke after that. We just sat there, staring at the flame. Cadeyrn gripped his blade, the tension in his shoulders easing. I relaxed when Oran suddenly rested his head in my lap, my fingers digging into his fur. I think I may have dozed, my back sliding to the back of the settee, but mostly I stared. There were ghosts in the flame, and they beckoned.

Cadeyrn sat with his arms on his knees, balancing his sword. I watched the pendant that swung back and forth from around his neck, the fire making it look more gold than silver. Family. Such a simple design that meant so much.

I reached out and caught the necklace. I’d done it once before, and the prince had stopped me. This time, he did nothing.

“Family,” I murmured, my finger rubbing the knots in the pendant.
 

Cadeyrn’s fingers closed over mine. It wasn’t an intimate touch. It was a friendly one, two people seeking comfort in shared grief.

“My son was an infant when he died,” Cadeyrn said.

The words seemed hard for him, and I wondered if it was the first time he’d ever said it aloud. His grip tightened on my hand, and I looked up at his face. His gaze was far away, in another time and place.

I was about to tug on my hand when he let go. Standing, he moved toward the bed.

“Go to sleep, Aean Brirg. There isn’t much night left.”

I rose, moving to the panel, my hands gripping it as I looked over my shoulder at Cadeyrn.

“Why do you call me Aean Brirg?” I asked him.

He looked at me one final time before blowing out the candles next to his bed, his words floating through the darkness.

“Because your eyes remind me of the falcon, always searching the world for something no one else can see.”

Chapter 26

There was whistling when I woke, female whistling. I quickly sat up, my covers pulled to my chest and my heart pounding.

“Who goes there?” I demanded.

The panel between my bed and Cadeyrn’s slid open to reveal Reenah’s smiling countenance.

“It’s only I, Medeisian. You scare easily.”

I took deep, soothing breaths before glaring down at Oran.

He didn’t even lift his head. “There was no danger,” the wolf said defensively.

I exhaled, my gaze moving to the room beyond. The fire was gone, the only light coming from candles Reenah had lit along the wall. Cadeyrn’s bed was empty.

“He’s expected downstairs to meet with his bride,” Reenah said before moving to the wardrobe at the end of my bed. She pulled out a scarlet gown with a deep red surcoat.

“I can’t wear that,” I protested.

Reenah
tsked
. “Of course you can. I happen to know it’s way too tight on the Greemallian princess, which may have been the point since she simply
adores
her bosom. It should fit you nicely. I can pin up the skirt.”

I stared at her in horror. “I’m expected to go down?” I asked.

There was entirely too much amusement in Reenah’s gaze when she looked at me. “It is the law, part of the female slave act. His majesty enacted the law by taking you as his captive. Per the edict, any female slave considered dangerous must remain in the watchful eye of her captor. Ryon waits to escort you down as soon as you are dressed.”

I stared. “Won’t his fiancée object?” I protested.

Reenah shrugged. “It is not her right to object. It is her duty as Cadeyrn’s betrothed to follow orders.”

I pushed myself to the edge of the bed, my gaze searching the consort’s face. “And you?” I asked. “How do you feel about it?”

Reenah sat down next to me, her hand going to my hair. The consort was at least seven turns older than I, and her eyes crinkled a little when she smiled, her golden hair glowing in the candlelight. “I am his majesty’s consort. I have enjoyed his company, but I am by no means in love with him.”

Something about her voice caught my attention, and as I watched her face, a new realization dawned on me. “You’re in love with someone else,” I gasped.

Reenah looked away. “The prince and I have made a good pair. Lonely and lost. One of us grieves while the other pines for another.”

I wondered who Reenah pined for, but I didn’t dare ask.

Her gaze slid back to mine. “Now up, little bird! You have a meeting to attend. Even if you have no desire to meet the princess, you certainly won’t want to miss the war council.”

I moved from the bed, taking a brief moment to use a chamber pot tucked into the corner of the wardrobe before rinsing from a washbasin nearby.

For the first time, I let Reenah help me dress, enjoying her comforting hands as she brushed my short hair. She tamed the dark curls the best she could before placing a silver circlet on the crown of my head, pinning it in place before motioning at the door.

“It won’t do to miss breakfast, although a meal with the princess is enough to turn anyone’s stomach.”

I glanced back at Reenah as she pushed Oran and I toward the exit. “Is she that bad?” I asked.

The door opened, making Ryon privy to the question, and the guard perused my figure before raising a brow at the consort.

“You are asking for trouble, you know,” Ryon said.

I glanced between them, my eyes wide.

Reenah grinned. “Go, you oaf! You leave the trouble to me.”

“Gladly,” the guard muttered before stepping behind me as Oran and I moved into the hall.

With each step down the marble staircase, I felt my stomach drop, filling my gut with heavy, burdensome stones.

“She must be a witch,” Oran grumbled.

I shrugged.

My slippered feet touched the landing, and voices infiltrated the silence as we moved past the stairs into a part of the castle we hadn’t entered the day before. It was another hall; a fancy, high-ceilinged ballroom attached to an enormous dining room. The slippers I wore made no sound on the marble.

“It’s completely out of the question!” a pretty female voice exclaimed, the sound rising, her words echoing into the empty ballroom.

“It’s only temporary,” another female voice soothed.

“I won’t stand for it!” the woman continued unabated.

A male voice rose above the din. This one I knew. “Then you may leave,” Cadeyrn stated coldly, his voice as hard as the blade he always carried.
  

Despite Ryon’s uneasy glare, I paused outside the dining room and glanced into the space. A large, polished mahogany table covered in sparkling crystal dominated the room, sitting under a chandelier filled with the same murky liquid I’d seen in the lamps along the dock in Rolleen. A huge, stained glass window cast a colorful, cheerful hue across the table, highlighting the faces that occupied it. The king sat at its head, a scrawny, but tall blond-haired man at his right hand. A tiny, ethereal female with dark skin and hair sat at his elbow, her large eyes on the irate female standing at the table opposite her.

“You can’t mean that,” the furious woman gasped, her small hand flying to her bosom. Her eyes were on Cadeyrn, who sat calmly next to a tall woman with dark hair and slanted eyes. She sat on the king’s left side, and I knew immediately this was Cadeyrn’s mother.

The queen reached up, her hand patting the girl’s arm. “Of course he doesn’t mean it, dear. Sit and enjoy the meal.”

The girl didn’t move, her pale cheeks flushed with rage. Gabriella of Greemallia. She was a young, beautiful woman, maybe eighteen turns at the most, with midnight hair, stained lips, and flawless skin. Her angry gaze shifted from Cadeyrn to the group sitting awkwardly at the other end of the dining table.

Maeve and Daegan sat separated from the royals; their backs rigid, their hands in their laps. In Medeisia, it was customary to let people of higher rank take the first bite at a meal. By the full plates resting in front of them, it was obvious the food had yet to be touched. Lochlen reclined next to them, his casual disregard for etiquette evident in his posture, in the way his eyes danced and his mouth turned up at the corners.

I shuddered. “Do I have to go in?” I hissed.

Ryon answered by prodding me in the back, causing me to stumble none too delicately into the chamber beyond.

Maeve and Daegan looked up, relief lighting up their features.

“Thank the gods,” Daegan mumbled.

It would have been endearing if Gabriella had not shrieked.

“This is her?” she asked, her voice shrill. Her gaze moved over me, her cheeks scarlet. “Is that my gown?”

It didn’t help that Oran chose that moment to move beyond my skirts, his silver fur gleaming in the morning light. Gabriella froze, her mouth open, her rant forgotten by the need to scream. A hand closed over her lips.

“That’s enough,” Cadeyrn commanded. “You knew when your father signed the marriage contract that I was as much a warrior as I am a prince. It often demands strange things of me.”

Gabriella shook her head against Cadeyrn’s palm, her gaze locked on Lochlen.

“Strange things,” Gabriella managed when Cadeyrn removed his hand. Her voice was weak, her face having drained of color when she spotted Oran. “Do strange things always involve wild animals, reptiles, and harlots?” she asked.

Oran preened at being referred to as a wild animal. Lochlen scowled. I wasn’t exactly sure what a harlot was, but by the sharp intake of breath I was fairly positive it meant the same thing as a mistress or consort. The description was a harsh one, but it didn’t bother me. I’d done nothing to deserve it. If anything, it rankled more that the princess’ conceit clouded her judgment, that it caused her to form opinions based merely on hearsay.

King Freemont stood. “We will all sit now, and we will eat like the civilized people we are. The council will convene soon. Until then, we will focus on this meal.”

“Thank the gods,” Daegan murmured again.

I took my place at the end of the table, waiting as the other rebels did for the king and his queen to take the first bite before lifting my fork.

 
“Did I miss the introductions?” I asked once the meal was in full swing.

“If by introductions, you mean a tirade, then you certainly missed a nice one,” Daegan grumbled. He was hastily stuffing his mouth as if he were afraid we’d be forced to stop eating at any moment.

“She’s manageable,” I said. Both Maeve and Daegan raised their brows. I gave them a weak half smile. “Compared to my sister, the princess’ fit was tame,” I explained.

Maeve stared at me over her cup. “Did the night go well?” she asked.

I didn’t blush because there was no reason to.

“It passed quietly,” was all I said.

Lochlen nibbled cooked meat, grumbling under his breath about needing to find a way to hunt before glancing down the table.

“The prince is a strong one,” the dragon said, “and honorable. He will be a great military leader. His army is strong and well trained.”

I looked at him. “His people believe I will kill him,” I murmured.

Daegan snorted. “You? Not that I’m calling you weak, but the man looks fairly capable of handling himself.”

Maeve’s eyes were narrowed on my face. “She means the war, Daegan,” Maeve said, her tone laced with exasperation. “They believe he will die in our war.”

Daegan shrugged. “Well, that can’t be helped. We’ve all lost great men.”

His words brought silence, a long silence filled with clattering utensils and murmured conversation from the other end of the table.

My eyes slid down the mahogany as I fed Oran meat discreetly under the table, my gaze lifting to settle on Cadeyrn. The prince ate quietly, his strong jaw and high cheekbones tense, his eyes unseeing. I couldn’t hear his thoughts, but there was no doubt he was lost in them.

I studied him, seeing him differently today than I had before. Before, I’d seen him as nothing more than a formidable and terrifying leader of the Sadeemian army; a cold, heartless warrior. Today, I saw an emotionally scarred man who’d known nothing except death and killing his entire life, who’d led men to their death, but who still wore a pendant around his neck that represented family. Today, he was a friend and a comrade.

My gaze moved to the slender man and delicate-looking woman across from Cadeyrn.

“Arien,” Lochlen said into my ear.

I jumped, my eyes flying to his. He didn’t look the least bit apologetic for startling me.

“Arien?” I asked. “The king’s heir?”

Because of my father’s former position, I knew enough about the Sadeemian royal family to be considered passable. I hadn’t known about Cadeyrn’s wife, but I knew the names of the king and queen, their heir and the spare.

Lochlen nodded.

“And the woman?” I asked.

“Tara Venè Grènville, princess of Yorbrook. She is Arien’s wife and the future queen of Sadeemia.”

I stared. The couple looked too weak to rule a country.

“Remember,” Lochlen breathed into my ear, “appearances can be deceiving.”