Tempest (8 page)

Cadeyrn nodded, his gaze falling to Kye’s wrists. “And yet you are no mage and no scribe.”

Brennus took a step forward, but Kye raised his hand, stopping him. Ryon and Madden raised their swords.

“Is it that obvious?” Kye asked, his voice light.

A corner of Cadeyrn’s mouth twitched. “Your skin would not be so scarred if you had magic in your blood, Prince. And yet, you bear marks.” His gaze slid to Brennus. “And your men are loyal to you. I can respect that, so tell me then why the girl next to you bears both marks, but the rest of your group bears only one.”

Cadeyrn didn’t look at me, but his interest made my blood run cold.

Kye’s hand went to the small of my back. “Because she is both scribe and mage.”

Cadeyrn’s gaze did move to me then, his eyes narrowed. “And she lives? Your king kills tattooed scribes and mages, but does not kill a rebel who bears both marks?”

I didn’t flinch, my gaze meeting his. “I took the first mark unwillingly, Your Majesty,” I answered. “The second, I asked for.”

Kye’s hand tightened on my back. Cadeyrn stared at me.

“She looks familiar, no?” Gryphon asked. He stepped up next to the prince. I didn’t look away.

Cadeyrn lifted a hand to his brow. “Tell me, Prince Kyenar, what does your king slaughtering marked rebels have to do with Sadeemia?”

Kye’s hand fell away from my back. “My father wants war with your country.”

Gryphon laughed. “And he believes he could defeat our army?”

Kye was not amused. “And you believe madness means he isn’t bright?” Kye asked in return, his tone callous. “If nothing else, madness has made him more dangerous. He will not attack Sadeemia outright. He will do it with subterfuge.”

Kye pointed to his pack, lying now in the sand just inside the tent. The guards had disposed of our belongings before they’d left us.

“Inside, you will discover papers proclaiming unrest between our countries, papers that accuse your father of blocking imports and training mages to kill.”

The prince looked unconcerned. “Propaganda is used by all kings.”

Kye laughed. “Yes, this is true, but Raemon has taken his to new extremes. Tell me, Your Majesty, do you trust the men within this tent?”

Cadeyrn’s gaze grew sharp. “I do.”

Ryon, Madden, and Gryphon all held weapons now. The threat was felt by all.

Kye glanced at me. “Then trust me when I tell you that King Raemon of Medeisia intends not to attack you directly, but to invoke an attack on you by the Greemallian king.”

Cadeyrn’s eyes swept our group. “Go on,” he ordered. His interest was piqued.

Kye took my hands, gently turning them in his until my wrists were obvious to all. “In Medeisia, the marked are slaughtered. I don’t know how things work in Sadeemia, but in Medeisia it is rare for a scribe to have the powers of a mage. So, when we discovered Drastona Consta-Mayria, daughter of Medeisia’s Sadeemian envoy ...”

I held my head high as Gryphon snapped his fingers. “I
knew
I knew her! Garod’s daughter! She was maybe eleven turns when I saw her last. I was in Medeisia to meet with Raemon’s council, but was turned away. Such a quiet child! Hidden mostly. There were rumors about her—”

“Gryphon,” Cadeyrn interrupted. The man looked up at the prince. “Cease talking.”

There was no bite in Cadeyrn’s command. Ryon and Madden fought to keep their expressions even. It seemed Gryphon was a known babbler.
 

“Yes, well ...” Gryphon mumbled, deflated.

Cadeyrn gestured at me, and Kye’s hands tightened on my wrists.

“Garod’s post as envoy was dissolved,” Kye continued. Cadeyrn didn’t look shocked at the news. “Following this, Garod was ordered to the capital, to Aireesi, to sit on my father’s council. On the journey, he and his family were overtaken by Medeisian soldiers and Drastona was accused of scribery. She was marked. It was a ploy. The king knew of Garod’s daughter and her interest in the Archives. She was to be an example ...”

Cadeyrn shook his head. “Get to the point, Prince. What does Garod’s daughter have to do with Sadeemia?”

I pulled my hands from Kye’s grasp. It was obvious the prince was an impatient man.

“Because,” I answered, my eyes lifting to Cadeyrn’s, “I wrote the missive that ordered one of your men to assassinate the Greemallian princess.”

The entire tent exploded in chaos. I was sent sprawling to the sand, a knee and sword in my back. There was a grunt and Kye was next to me; a stolen sword in his hand, the blade at the throat of whoever held me down. Another sword was pointed at Kye.

“Tell me,” Gryphon said dangerously from behind me, “why I shouldn’t kill her now?”

Cadeyrn watched us all, his gaze alert, his eyes on my face.

The tip of Ryon’s sword nicked Kye’s collarbone. I watched as a drop of blood welled up, dripping slowly into his tunic. Growling filled the tent, and I realized faintly that Oran was also standing over me, his jaw gaping, his teeth bared. Brennus was leaning over a prone Madden, who I assumed was the man Kye had taken the sword from. Maeve and Daegan stood poised, fists lifted while Lochlen watched, his gaze as calculating as Cadeyrn’s.

“You kill her, you die,” Kye warned Gryphon. “She wrote the missive under duress before being thrown into a dungeon to hang. I know, because I was scheduled to hang with her.”

No swords lowered, although Cadeyrn moved to my side and knelt. He seemed unconcerned by the massive display of testosterone being thrown around his quarters.

“Tell me, scribe,” he said. “Why do you come here now to warn us?”

I looked up at him. Oran’s jaw was uncomfortably close to Cadeyrn, but again, he looked unmoved. “The rebels need you,” I whispered. “Too many have died under Raemon’s hand.”

Cadeyrn stared a moment before nodding, standing so that he faced us all.

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

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

Cadeyrn’s mouth twitched again. It seemed he refused to smile or answer. “And you, Dragon? You seem remarkably disrespectful.”

Kye grunted. “You get used to it.”

I let myself smile for the first time. “The prince of dragons bows to no one but his father,” I said.

Everyone froze, even Cadeyrn. He turned until he was facing Lochlen.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Cadeyrn said, his words for Kye, but his stare on the dragon. “Start at the beginning.”

Kye complied.

Chapter 9

It was dark outside when Kye finished our story. He left nothing out. Gryphon stood with his arms crossed. Madden sat grumpily on the sand, a hand to a large goose egg on his forehead. Ryon leaned on his sword while Cadeyrn listened, his attention focused on Kye’s words. The rest of us wavered on our feet, the heat from the past couple of days catching up to us.

Occasionally, Cadeyrn’s gaze swept to me, his silence and attention disturbing, but it wasn’t until Kye mentioned the Kiarian Freesonalay and the prophecy that any reaction crossed the Sadeemian men’s faces. Cadeyrn’s shoulders tensed. Nausea swept over me.

“May I sit?” I whispered.

I was beyond caring if my question looked weak.

Kye glanced at us all. “Please,” he said, “my people are weak. We need water and rest.”

Cadeyrn nodded. “Take them,” he ordered. “Leave the girls with our women. Let them bathe and eat. The men are to have the same treatment. Afterwards, bring the prince, the dragon, and Garod’s daughter back to me.”

The soldiers didn’t hesitate. Ryon and Madden ushered us out of the enclosure, and into the dark desert night. Whatever magic had been inside Cadeyrn’s tent had cooled us, and sweat instantly beaded up on my brow once we were clear of it. The air was much nicer in the desert at night, but it was still warmer than it should be.

Kye grasped my hand tightly in the darkness before we were separated.

“It’ll all be okay,” he whispered next to my ear, and then he was gone.

Maeve and I clung to each other as we were led away, Oran on my heels. Ryon escorted us, none to gently, prodding us until we were outside a smaller tent than the one we’d left behind. He pushed us inside, and we landed on our knees.

Women shrieked.

“How dare you enter without announcing yourself!” a woman cried out.

My gaze lifted to find at least fifteen women in various states of dress.

Ryon snorted, switching to the Sadeemian language. “None of you have anything I have not seen before.” He paused, his eyes sliding over the room. Women pulled garments up over their chests. “Although,” Ryon admitted, “some of you display it better than others.”

“Out!” the woman from before bellowed. “Go, you imbecile!”

Ryon backed out of the tent, a smirk on his face. “The prince ordered these women bathed and fed. The shorter one is to be returned to his tent. I don’t care what you do with the dog,” he called out. Oran growled.

Instantly, Ryon was gone.

The bellowing female turned to us. She was clad in nothing more than a tunic, her pale leg shapely in the candlelight surrounding us. She avoided the wolf, but didn’t seem afraid of him. By the look in the woman’s eyes, she’d been warned of our arrival.

“So, you are the Medeisians everyone is whispering about?” she asked. Neither Maeve nor I answered, and she chuckled as she knelt before us. “You may stand, Medeisians. I am Reenah, the prince’s consort. Not that he calls on me much.”

I looked at Maeve. “She says we can stand.”

Reenah watched me as we rose. “Ah, so I see only one of you speaks our tongue. No worries, many of us speak your language. Those of us who travel with the prince are required to know many tongues. But I warn you, my Medeisian is bad and heavily accented.”

I nodded and Reenah turned to Maeve. “I am Reenah,” she repeated in Medeisian. “You bathe now, yes? We help.”

Maeve looked relieved, her gaze moving appreciatively to several wooden tubs full of steaming water.

“Go,” Reenah said with a laugh.

I wasn’t comfortable undressing in front of anyone, but the water looked as inviting to me as it did to Maeve.

I moved to the tub, untying the heavy brown cloak before letting it fall to the sand. Oran sat between the wooden washbasins as Maeve did the same. This tent was as cool as the prince’s.

I looked at Reenah. “How is this possible? It is very cool in here,” I touched the water in the tub next to me, “and the water is very hot.”

Reenah grinned. “You do not know this magic in Medeisia?”

Maeve and I shook our heads.

Reenah frowned. “How sad! It is such simple magic. All mages in Sadeemia can adjust temperature. Now, scoot!”

Maeve and I glanced at each other before untying our tunics, our faces going red. Mine went redder still when I noticed, as our clothes fell to the ground, how much more endowed Maeve was than I. Oran chuckled from the sand.

“Hush, wolf!” I hissed.

“Too skinny,” Reenah clucked. “Both of you.”

Maeve and I practically dove into the tubs to avoid further scrutiny.

“By the gods, it feels nice!” Maeve exclaimed.

I sighed in reply. Reenah pointed at our clothes in the sand, and then at the tent’s entrance. “Dispose of them,” she ordered before pinching her nose. “They reek!”

Maeve and I sat up, water sploshing over the sides of the tub.

“Our clothes!” we cried.

Reenah’s brows rose. “You will get replacements, but these must go.”

We watched in horror as our green tunics and brown trousers were thrown out into the night.

“Wash!” Reenah commanded, and we fell back into the water. Soap was thrust into our hands, and we scrubbed our hair and bodies, our eyes on the women in the room.

I tried to relax and couldn’t. “Are you all consorts of the prince?” I asked.

Maeve looked at me, her eyes wide with horror. “
Consort
?”

Reenah laughed. “Ah, you should see your face, maiden!” she said to Maeve before glancing at me. “No, we are not all consorts. Most of these women are warriors, some of them servants. I am the only consort here.”

“Oh,” I murmured.

“Lucky is what she is,” one of the other women said boldly in Medeisian.

Reenah smiled. “He is a fine specimen, no?”

Another woman giggled. “Fine indeed.” Her gaze moved to our bath. “But we all saw the men you traveled with. The scarred one is not a bad specimen himself.”

Maeve and I stiffened, and my skin flushed. Reenah noticed. Her gaze, when it met mine, was knowing. My head ducked.

“Forgive me for asking,” Maeve inquired, “but is a consort the same thing as a mistress?”

I gaped at Maeve, but no one berated her for her question.

Reenah approached us, towels folded over her arm. “Yes, young one. A consort is a mistress. The king invited me to the palace a year after Prince Cadeyrn’s wife died. He hoped, I think, that I could help the prince, but other than warming his bed, I have done nothing for his grief.”

I stared at her as I stood. The towel was wrapped around me, and I clutched it.

“The prince was married?” I asked.

Reenah nodded, her expression sad. “Our prince has suffered much. His power is great, you see. Many want him dead. He has been an object of assassins since birth. But there was nothing so devastating as his marriage. It was a love match, but a year after they took their vows, his wife was murdered in their bed. The prince was away on a mission for the king.”

Silence reigned in the tent. Someone handed me a loose white tunic, and a pair of brown leather breeches. I used one arm to pull the shirt over my head before letting the towel drop. The breeches that followed were much softer and cooler than I expected them to be even with the undergarments. It seemed these clothes were made for the desert, made to breathe where our Medeisian garments had not been.

“You should not tell the foreigners so much, Reenah,” one of the women groused in Sadeemian.

Reenah frowned. “The prince’s wife’s death is no secret, Greta.”

I watched them curiously.

One of the women handed Maeve a band to wrap around her hair. “It is hot in the desert,” she explained. “Keeping your hair up helps.”

The woman looked at my short hair helplessly, but I smiled to show her I was not insulted. In truth, I liked the way it felt, the always unruly curls framing my face but not overpowering it. And it reminded me of Kye.

“I like it,” Reenah murmured, lifting a hand so that it tweaked one of my curls. “Unusual, but it suits you.”

I nodded my thanks.

Winking, Reenah gestured at the tent’s opening. “Eat quickly. The prince is not a patient man.”

Ceramic bowls were thrust into our laps, and my mouth watered at the sight of fresh meat and vegetables floating in a savory dark broth.

“More magic?” I asked.

Reenah grinned. “To keep the produce and meat fresh, yes, but the cooking magic belongs to Huck. And goodness knows, don’t ever let him hear you call it magic!”

Maeve gasped, her spoon pausing halfway to her mouth. “The cook is a man?”

The women were closing in on us, staring at us in interest. Oran pushed his way through them, and they shrieked.

“It’s okay,” I soothed. “He’s just hungry. May he have some food?”

One of the unnamed women quickly complied.

“Men do not cook in Medeisia?” she asked as she laid a bowl of stew in the sand for Oran. The wolf ate greedily.

Maeve and I shook our heads as we ate. “No, only women cook there,” Maeve answered.

The women
tsked
as I drained my bowl. Reenah watched me, and I caught her gaze. She nodded at the tent’s entrance.

“Come,” she said. “The prince is waiting.”

I nodded, laying the bowl aside before following her out of the enclosure. Oran trailed me quietly. The night seemed less warm in the loose, thin white tunic, and I breathed it in, my gaze going to the moon, to the wyvers flying continuously in front of it.

“You and the scarred man are lovers?” Reenah asked.

The question surprised me, and I almost tripped in the sand. My gaze swung to her face, my eyes wide.

She chuckled. “I have never had the pleasure to marry, but I have seen love, young one. Your eyes were bright with the emotion when he was mentioned earlier.”

I looked away. “This is no time for love,” I said.

The woman snorted. It was such an indelicate sound that I looked at her.

“There is never a good time for love,” Reenah muttered.

Her words struck a chord within me, but we were at the prince’s tent before I could ask her what she meant.

Reenah winked at me before ducking through the flap.

Inside, Cadeyrn stood opposite a freshly bathed Kye and Lochlen. They were deep in discussion, but paused when we entered. Cadeyrn’s gaze moved from me to the wolf.

“He goes with me everywhere,” I said firmly before the prince could protest.

Cadeyrn’s eyes met mine. “So be it.” His gaze slid to the woman next to me. “Thank you, Reenah.”

She bowed. “You know where I can be found, Your Majesty.”

And with that, she left. Cadeyrn didn’t spare her a glance.

He motioned at me. “Come, daughter of Garod. Let’s talk about this prophecy of yours, this missive you wrote, and why you are followed by animals.”