by L. P. Dover
Kye gripped the blade and held the extra sword out to me, hilt first. I stared at it a moment before finally wrapping my hands around it. It felt funny in my grip, foreign. The way Maeve scowled at me, I was fairly certain I was holding it wrong.
“I leave it to you,” Kye said before nodding.
As he walked past, he paused a moment, his eyes on my face, my hair. I avoided his gaze, but I couldn't stop the flush I knew was creeping up my neck. My eyes went to Maeve instead, to the way her gaze followed Kye as he finally moved on. She wore a wistful expression.
There were no words between us, and when she finally spoke, her tone was short, clipped.
“You're holding it wrong,” Maeve said as she stepped in front of me, repositioning the sword in my hand.
I nodded, but I still didn't speak. She took it as an excuse to teach, steering clear of any intimate conversations.
“In battle, the sword needs to become an extension of your body, as if the metal were forged to your skin. We rebels own no horses, and we fight by foot. This means we train harder, running every day, working a post we have set up with wooden swords, using our bows, and learning how to camouflage ourselves among the forest.”
“Do you fight often then?” I asked.
Maeve lifted her sword. I noticed it was metal like mine. No wooden swords for either of us. This made me uneasy.
“It's fight or die here,” Maeve answered, pushing my feet apart none to gently with her own.
I was still sore from the three days of walking I'd done before coming to the rebels' camp, and I grunted without meaning to. Maeve paused, and I knew by the flash of fear on her face that Oran had moved closer. I barely knew the wolf, but he watched me as if I were a wolf pup. I glanced over my shoulder. Oran had approached the log and was standing, paws apart, the skin around his teeth pulled back.
“Hold,” I ordered, and the wolf sat on his haunches, his teeth still bared as he stared between us. I looked to Maeve. “He won't harm you.”
The girl didn't look entirely convinced, but she turned back to our swords.
“The weapons are good, and being skilled with them can often mean the difference between life and death. But sword play is also about wrestling and grappling, gripping the blade to use it at half sword so you can disarm your opponent. I'll show you how to do this after I've showed you how to hold and use the sword.”
Maeve moved closer to me, her eyes on the wolf. She lifted her sword, talking to me in low, easy tones as she showed me how to attack and how to deflect a blow. My arms hurt from pulling on the war bow, but I grit my teeth and worked through it. Maeve saw the pain in my gaze, but she didn't comment on it, and I didn't make her stop. A new respect formed in her eyes, and we fought. She corrected my foot work, my grip, and the way I moved often, but it wasn't long before I caught on.
Once I'd mastered the basic things she thought I needed to know, Maeve moved away from me and lowered her sword. I had sweat dripping down my temples.
“You're a fast learner,” she admitted.
I smiled, leaning over to place one hand against my knee, my chest heaving.
“I'm not sure I'll be able to walk tomorrow,” I gasped.
Maeve laughed. “Then I've done my job.” She paused, her gaze on me, the wolf, and then on a figure in the distance. It was Kye. “Are you interested in him?” Maeve asked quietly.
I looked up, surprised, my eyes moving from her to Kye and back again.
“In Kye?” I asked. I stood a moment, maybe too long, before I shook my head. “No. I am interested in no man.”
My life had just been turned upside down, Kye one of the spectators and players of the worst moment of my life. Maeve heaved a sigh. I wasn't sure if it was of relief, but she smiled more readily now. Her eyes moved back to Kye's stooped form as he spoke with a group of men. They were drawing figures into the soil, and I found myself more curious of the things they were discussing than I was of the men themselves. Maeve noticed.
“You bear the mark of the scribe. Are you a scholar then?”
I didn't take my eyes off of the men. “I'd like to think I am. Do you know what they are talking about?”
Maeve shook her head. “Raemon. His laws. Weak spots in the palace. Sadeemia. It could be anything.”
One of the men looked up, his eyes catching mine, but I didn't avert my gaze. His eyes narrowed. I recognized him as Warwick, the middle-aged man who'd wanted me gone just yesterday. I didn't belong here, he'd said. But if I didn't belong here then I didn't belong anywhere.
Kye's head came up, and he followed Warwick's gaze. Once again, I didn't look away. Instead, I nodded before I turned and moved to my log. Oran had retreated back into the foliage. Maeve followed me, her breathing quick and heavy. I got some satisfaction out of knowing she was breathing hard, although she wasn't breathing near as hard as I was.
“How did you come here?” I asked Maeve.
I knew I was being nosy, but I was beyond caring. Unlike Ena, Maeve didn't seem to mind my question. She held up her wrist; the burning star.
“I was sixteen when I suddenly lit a market on fire in Drannon. Neither one of my parents had magic in their veins, but my grandmother did.” She shrugged. “The fire burned down several shops and caught the attention of the king's men. One of his sorcerers traced the power to me. I was dragged to the main square, branded publicly, and sentenced to death. A rebel spy was among the crowd, and she helped me escape.”
I sat and Maeve followed, digging the tip of her sword into the dirt and grass in front of us. Drannon was a small village not far from the capital. The town was well known in Medeisia for its blacksmiths.
“And your parents?” I asked.
Maeve stared at her sword. “They live. Per orders, they have disowned me. To them, I never existed.”
Sympathy for her plight overwhelmed me, but I also felt envy. She'd been marked, outlawed, but no one she loved had died for her. She fought for herself now. No one else. I shut my eyes and shuddered at the scenes that flitted in the darkness behind my lids. I fought for ghosts.
“You're tired,” Maeve said. “You should rest. Ena will be lighting the fires soon for the evening meal. Soup tonight, I hear.”
I nodded.
“Keep practicing,” Maeve added.
I opened my eyes. “Thank you, Maeve.”
She smiled, standing quietly before moving away.
A kek, kek filtered down through the trees, and I glanced upward. Ari was circling in the skies above. She lowered when she noticed me watching, her wings beating as she alighted on a limb far enough up she wouldn't be seen by those in the camp.
“Your father and stepmother have made it into court,” Ari said suddenly. I almost stood but didn't.
“My father is okay?” I asked.
Ari made a low kek sound I took to mean yes.
“The king has been in meetings with him since he arrived at the palace. Your sister and Taran are enjoying the balls while the king gathers a council.”
This caught my attention.
“A council?” I asked, but I was afraid I already knew what she meant.
The falcon danced on the limb.
“A war council,” she said.
Lochlen had been right. It had begun. I couldn't help but wonder how long the rebels had lived among Medeisia's forests preparing for war.
Chapter 19
Aside from the mumbling trees, Ari, and Oran, I ate my soup alone. I had been too keyed up to rest after Ari informed me of the war council. And so I sat for hours on the same log, observing as the sun set, watching the crackling flames from three different lit fires. Rebels surrounded the small pyres. It was that time of year when it remained warm, even muggy during the day, but cooled considerably at night. Crickets chirped and frogs warbled. Lightning bugs blinked in the darkness, and the full moon was just noticeable through the trees' canopy. I had attempted twice to speak to Kye and Lochlen following Ari's revelation, but they had been deep in discussion wi
th other rebels.
“You worry,” Oran said, and I looked over to find the wolf sitting next to me. I enjoyed his company, even though I barely knew him, but he brought attention to me. Even now, rebels were glancing in my direction, whispering behind their hands.
“I'm in the middle of a war that was only hinted at while I was living at Forticry. Even our Archives do not mention the depth of turmoil in this country. Yes, I am worried.”
I didn't hide my moving lips from the rebels still watching me. They knew I could speak with the forest, even if they were disturbed by it. Oran made a low growling noise in his throat as he suddenly laid his head in my lap. It startled me, and I brought my hands up, gaping down at him.
“Wolves are affectionate with their pack. You need comfort. Take it now.”
Oran's voice snuck its way into my heart, and I fought against the melting sensation in my chest. I was afraid if I let myself feel anything for anyone, I would kill them.
“Fear not,” the wolf repeated.
I lowered my hands slowly, carefully sinking my fingers into the soft fur on Oran's neck. Oran didn't move. I think he knew I was more skittish than the animals. If he'd even so much as flinched, I would have pushed him away.
“You have a plan in your head,” the wolf said, and I looked down at him.
“It's nothing.”
A wordless rumble moved up through my hand and along my knees where the wolf rested.
“What runs through your mind, Stone?”
I looked up, meeting the occasional stares from the fires beyond. Children ran among the groups, laughing, tripping often. A few of the adults danced even though there was no music. Ena had not been exaggerating. The forest was the rebels' sanctuary. What I had in mind would threaten that.
I dug my fingers farther into the wolf's fur. I didn't answer him, and he didn't pursue it. I just stared, my eyes moving over the groups in the night until the fires began to burn low. The running children had grown tired, some of them leaning now against each other, their eyes drooping. The rebels were beginning to thin, many of them moving to tents along the side of the clearing while others set out bedrolls near the fire. One tent was nearer the flames than the others, the flap facing away from the fires. By the figure stooping near it, I knew the tent was mine.
“Do you need anything, miss?” a voice asked, and I shook my head, my gaze moving to Ena in the darkness.
“No,” I said, smiling gently. “Thank you. You need not call me miss, Ena. Aside from my father, I was more a servant than I was a highborn lady.”
Ena returned my smile, but didn't reply. I gestured at the tent. “Is that where I will sleep?” I asked.
The woman nodded. “Those assigned on watch have already moved into the trees. One fire will be left burning low, although we usually douse them except in winter. You may find your bed when you are ready.”
I nodded at her, and she moved away, her eyes darting to the wolf in my lap even as she backed up into the darkness just outside the fires' light.
Oran lifted his head. “Sleep now,” he said as he stood. “The forest never sleeps. Where your human protection may occasionally fail, ours never will.”
I watched him as he slunk toward the trees.
“Mighty words,” I teased.
The wolf's eyes caught the low firelight, causing his pupils to become an orange-yellow mix, eerie in the darkness.
“Mighty indeed,” he said before turning, his silver fur disappearing into the foliage. I shivered, listening as the trees whispered. Ari spread her wings, lifting into the sky, her flight taking her across the moon.
I stood, my legs instantly full of pins and needles where I'd sat in one position too long as I moved across the camp. Kye was near the tent, and I considered speaking to him, but Warwick approached him, and I slid into the tent instead.
The tent was bare with the exception of a bedroll, and I climbed beneath it, turning to my side. The braid and pins Ena had put in my hair earlier made it impossible to lay on my back, but I was loathe to remove it. And so I turned, my gaze on the crack between the tent flap and the camp outside. My eyes found Kye again, deep in conversation with Warwick, his green-clad tunic pulling tight against his back as he gestured while he spoke. Eventually, his tunic took on a darker hue, growing duller and duller until I saw nothing. I gave in to the darkness.
***
Maybe it was the trees that woke me next or maybe it was the odd, disoriented feeling in the pit of my stomach that still wouldn't let me feel comfortable in a place I did not feel at home. But either way, I awoke, the trees' murmuring both reassuring and annoying. Had I really lived my life until now never noticing the way the trees spoke, almost continuously?
A movement outside made me freeze, my heart beating rapidly as I peered out into the night, my hands fisted against my stomach. There was no bright, burning fire now, although I could hear the occasional crackle from the dimly glowing timbers in the pyre behind my tent. But the darkness was offset by the full moon in the sky, the glowing orb shedding enough light to fill the clearing.
There, beyond my tent, Kye stood shirtless, his trousers the only clothes he wore. His feet were bare, his hands slack where they hung by his sides. There was another scar on his back, silver in the moonlight where it ran from his left side down to the waistline of his pants. He was full of scars, Kye.
I edged closer to the tent flap, noticing the way Kye stood, motionless, his eyes on the sky. My gaze followed his. A black shape moved across the moon. A dragon.
My head was outside the tent now. I pushed myself upward, standing awkwardly, flinching when Kye's gaze moved from the moon to me. I may speak to the forest, but I had yet to learn how to move as soundlessly as the rebels surrounding me.
“Feras?” I asked, my hands motioning at the sky. I didn't really know what else to say.
Kye's dark eyes seemed to glint, the moon's reflection in his gaze.
“He flies often at night,” Kye explained as I moved closer to him, keeping just enough distance so that I wouldn't feel uncomfortable.
“And you watch him often?” I asked.
Kye shook his head. “No. It is my time on watch.”
He didn't say anything more, although he looked at the space I left between us before scanning the forest.
“All is well,” the trees' voice said, and I shivered.
“The forest is clear,” I muttered, and Kye's gaze moved back to me.
I gestured at the trees. He understood and nodded, his shoulders relaxing. Without his shirt, the hard planes of his arms stood out in the white light, the scars a stark picture of his history. I fidgeted under his gaze.
“The king has gathered a war council,” I blurted out.
The words broke the tension.
Kye stepped toward me, his eyes narrowed, his hands coming up to take me by the arms. I didn't move.
“What? Where did you hear this?” Kye asked.
I looked down at his hands, and he released me.
“Ari. The falcon,” I answered warily. Kye no longer touched me, but he hadn't lowered his arms either. “She says Raemon meets with a council that includes my father.”
“By Raheet,” Kye swore, one of his hands clenching as he cursed the God of War.
My gaze moved back up, and I realized Kye's eyes were watching my face. I didn't look away.
“Why don't you seek out help from Sadeemia?” I asked.
It was the one thing that had been invading my thoughts since Ari's arrival into camp. If Raemon wanted to attack Sadeemia so badly, why didn't the rebels seek their aid?
Kye's eyes moved over my face. “Because we have no proof, nothing to show them that Raemon intends to invade.”
“Then we get it,” I said.
Kye laughed, the sound harsh, finally releasing my arms and running his hands through his hair. “I've been trying. Raemon's inner circle is impossible to infiltrate.”
I swallowed hard. “Maybe not. How long would it take him
to invade Sadeemia, you think?”
Kye's eyes had narrowed again. “Not as long as we'd like. Less than a year, maybe. Once he has a war council, he'll need to gather troops, train spies—”
“He'll need plans, supplies. He may even need to make alliances with outside countries,” I cut in. “That will all take time. Maybe just enough.”
Kye nodded. “I forget you bear the mark of the scribe.”
I scowled. “It does not mean I am one. But I have lost many friends who were.”
Kye grew silent. “We've all lost people.”
I didn't argue with him. I knew I wasn't the only one who had suffered, but my loss was new. Fresh. Unbearable. He ought to know that. He'd been in the forest with me, in the employ of the king's army, a rebel spy. But I didn't say these things aloud. I may be having a moment of self-pity, but I was not a selfish person. I knew everyone here had lost something or someone in their lives. It was our right to pity ourselves only in private.
“Raemon will need to create weaknesses in Sadeemia's alliances, find ways to damage their imports, to create need there,” I said, steering away from any more intimate conversation. Kye's gaze stayed on my face. “We need proof of Raemon's plans or there will be no way to stop him, to alert Sadeemia.”
Kye must have seen something in my eyes because he leaned down, his face too close to mine. Pine and wood smoke invaded my senses.
“What have you in mind, Drastona?” he asked.
I swallowed. “I'll train. Give me one month to learn to use the sword, for my arms to get used to the bow. And then let Raemon's men take me prisoner.”
Kye's eyes widened, his cheek jutting where he clenched his jaw.
“No!” he said. “You have no idea what he would do to you. I've seen what he does to the marked. You grieve your maid, I even dare say you are haunted by her death, but her death is nothing compared to the torture I have seen. Nothing.”