by R. K. Ryals
Gabriella gasped. “You witch!”
Catriona stiffened, her gaze finding the king’s. “We’ve gotten wind of your troubles in Henderonia. You can ill afford a dispute with our kingdom.”
Maeve gasped from beneath her hood, but other than quick, astonished glances, there was no reaction from the royals. This was politics. What a mighty web had been woven. Sadeemia’s power was well known, its strength and army notorious. It helped that the king’s son was the most powerful mage ever born. It also made him the most dangerous.
Freemont massaged his temple, his ensuing headache obvious. “It seems we have much to discuss, Princess.”
Princess Catriona curtsied, the move graceful and fluid, before motioning to her party. The king waved them all from the room, his dismissal curt.
“See them well placed,” he told the guards. “As for the princess, have her put up in her sister’s old rooms.”
Feet scurried to obey, silent women and men eyeing each other before ducking from the hall. Catriona backed delicately from the dais before giving her back to the king. It put her face to face with Cadeyrn.
The prince inclined his head. “It’s been too long,” he said.
Catriona’s gaze was hard. “Not long enough, Your Highness. You look remarkably well for a murderer.”
With that, she nodded and left. Her words hung in the air, unheard by the royals on the dais, but Maeve and Daegan stiffened. Oran’s fur lifted against my palm. Only I noticed the quick flash of pain in Cadeyrn’s gaze.
For long moments, there was silence. Our group fanned out around Prince Cadeyrn, our gaze on the royals. Like it or not, Cadeyrn was our leader while we resided in Sadeemia. We depended on him for support in the war, depended on him to get us back into Medeisia to overthrow the king.
The sound of Catriona’s echoing steps faded before King Freemont dared speak next, his sharp gaze moving to his son’s face.
“Your wife’s family is voracious,” he muttered.
Cadeyrn resheathed his sword. “And you’re not, Father? King Gregor is no fool. His country is in a vulnerable position. He only retains his power now because he holds trade alliances with Guarda and New Hope. And we all know how trustworthy New Hope is after Blayne’s betrayal.”
The queen winced, her lips pinched. She was in a hard position. The wife of a king, and the sister of a traitor. Arien reached for his mother, but Cadeyrn remained unmoved. This was war. Even politics was war, fragile threads in a much bigger game, and this is where Cadeyrn thrived.
Gabriella fumed, “You can’t marry her. Our countries have an agreement. A signed agreement.”
Cadeyrn glanced at her. “And yet Henderonia’s agreement predates yours. You can’t fault a king for the mistake of his scribes.”
Gabriella scowled. “We can, and we will. The scribe who penned the agreement should be executed for his oversight. Loopholes do not belong in contracts.”
Her talk of execution turned my heart cold, and I stiffened. As rebels of Medeisia, we had no right to interfere with foreign politics, but I’d seen enough scribes die.
“You would execute a scribe for penning the dictation of a king?” I asked suddenly, my voice echoing. “It makes you no better than our mad ruler.”
Gabriella’s hard stare found mine, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Do you blame the king? Tread lightly, rebel, you aren’t hiding in a forest anymore. Words have consequences here.”
I pulled back my hood, my eyes flashing, before raising my arm. The robe fell away, revealing the busted inkwell on my wrist. “I know all about the consequences of words, Your Majesty.”
Silence reigned, Gabriella’s gaze pinned to mine. I refused to look away.
A hand fell on my shoulder, and I knew without looking it was Lochlen’s.
“Where does this leave Medeisia and the dragons?” Lochlen asked. “Your country is being threatened by Raemon, a king who wears the other half of a very powerful amulet. Marriage alliances or no, you’ve signed a declaration of war. These shaky alliances you’ve drawn up with Henderonia and Greemallia stalls the inevitable and gives Raemon more time to make his own alliances.”
Lord Conall stepped from the shadows of the dais, his hands behind his back, his blue eyes sliding from Lochlen to me. I hadn’t noticed the Minister of Government before, and seeing him now disconcerted me. He was, after all, my birth father.
“We must tread lightly. Both Greemallia and Henderonia have legitimate claims—” Conall began.
Gabriella took another step down the dais. “Our country more than theirs. Do you really want to anger my father? Sadeemia is a powerful nation. We are well aware of that, but do not be hasty. Do not think yourselves invincible. Princess Catriona is right about one thing. You cannot afford a dispute with other kingdoms. Greemallia is a larger nation than Henderonia. Our military is mightier.”
“A threat?” King Freemont asked, his lips twitching. “Well played, Princess. You do your father proud.”
Conall’s voice rose again, protests that mingled with Lochlen’s sudden frustrations. The dragon expressed his disdain of human weakness and petty contracts. Conall stressed the importance of not angering the Henderonian king while attempting to placate Gabriella. Somewhere behind me, Daegan mumbled his dislike of politics.
I stared, my eyes roaming the room, my mind sorting through the documents I’d once studied in the Archives, both political and otherwise. Gabriella was right. Words have consequences, but she was also wrong to threaten me. Words are power. To fear them was to be destroyed by them. I didn’t fear words. I respected them.
My gaze went to Cadeyrn, to his calm face as he eyed the chaos in the Hall of Light. He watched, his shoulders relaxed, his shirt splayed open. It was his chest that brought understanding. The sight of his Henderonian tattoo etched into his skin, the story of the Sadeemian god and goddess that gave me pause. Cadeyrn’s first marriage to a Henderonian princess had been a love match, and in the end, a tragedy.
I felt the sudden awareness when his gaze found me, but I didn’t look away. My eyes stayed locked on his chest, the embarrassment I should have felt in being caught staring lost in my chaotic thoughts.
Voices circled us, the echoing sound of arguments made and discarded threatening to overwhelm me. Oran pushed up against my hand, and I curled my fingers into his fur.
“You know something,” the wolf said.
I didn’t answer him. I simply continued to stare at the prince’s tattoo.
My voice rose above the others, the sound loud and firm. “There may be another option.” Silence met my words, and I tore my eyes away from Cadeyrn, my gaze sliding to the dais. “The prince’s first wife was Henderonian, and now King Gregor wants that marriage contract upheld despite the princess’ death.”
“Is there a point to repeating facts?” Gabriella asked.
My gaze moved to hers. “Have you ever considered Henderonia’s customs?”
King Freemont’s eyes narrowed. “Their customs?”
My gaze flew to Cadeyrn’s. His chin rose, a knowing glint entering his eyes. He knew the Henderonians, had undoubtedly spent time in their court with his first wife.
The words weren’t easy when they came. Why they were so hard, I didn’t know, but it hurt me to say them.
“He could marry them both.”
Chapter 3
“That’s preposterous!” Gabriella cried, her wild eyes roaming our faces. “It’s also against the law.”
I knew when the king grasped my logic. He scratched at his beard again, his gaze moving to Conall. “Do you think it would work?”
The queen gasped. “You’d have our son convert to those barbaric customs?”
Her gaze cut to mine, and I looked away. To the queen, I was nothing but trouble. I’d ousted her brother as a traitor. Even if it was warranted, it didn’t lessen the sting.
“Gabriella is right. It’s preposterous,” she added. The queen had a sweet, soft voice. Her name was Isabella. It s
uited her. Both my name and my nickname were anything but soft.
Arien reached for his mother, but she pulled away. “You’d all listen to a peasant rebel?” she asked.
Cadeyrn stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “She’s the daughter of our Minister of Government, and it’s a logical plan.”
“A bastard daughter,” Gabriella hissed.
I didn’t flinch. I’d always been a bastard daughter.
My voice rose. “A bastard maybe, Your Majesty, but I was once the bastard child of an ambassador, a child who preferred the dusty Archives of my father’s estate. Ambassadors diffuse foreign disputes. The Henderonians have many gods, as does my nation. But their male gods also have many wives. To have many wives is a sign of power. The Henderonian king has four wives—”
“Five now,” Cadeyrn inserted.
My gaze cut to his where he stood beside me, and for the first time since we met almost six months before, I caught a glimpse of amusement in his quirked lips.
“Your Archives were a bit outdated,” he added.
I bowed my head before returning my gaze to the dais. “Prince Cadeyrn’s wife was Henderonian. Had she survived, he would have been expected to stand with his wife, to rule upon King Gregor’s death while providing an heir to assume the throne when he came of age. It stands to reason Cadeyrn would choose to convert to his late wife’s religion.”
“It’s barbaric,” Queen Isabella repeated, her cold, dark eyes full of animosity.
I met her gaze, my own eyes frosty. The rebels were a group without a ruler. With Kye’s death, they depended on me, and I refused to let him or them down. “Then you must feel the same about Medeisia, about our Mana Deea, the mother goddess and her many children. I am a child of many gods and goddesses, the daughter of the forest, of Silveet. Am I barbaric? Are my people barbaric?”
Gabriella stepped from the dais. She was taller than me, her violet dress lined in gold and silver designs that flashed in the Hall of Light. It was blinding, and she knew it.
“You take a lot of liberty, rebel. Do you not fear persecution?” Her hand rose, violet jewels twinkling from her fingers. “You insult royalty.”
I was walking a fine line, but I didn’t fear politics. I feared the battlefield. I feared the dreams war had given me, feared the lives my not standing up now could cost me later.
I stared up at her. “I don’t fear death, Your Majesty. I fear the cost of death. Death has stolen a prince from its country. It has stolen power from the people of Medeisia. It has stolen from our forests. I don’t speak for myself. I speak for the common folk …” I glanced at Lochlen, and he nodded. “I speak for the king of dragons …” My gaze went to Oran, to his silver fur. “And I speak for Silveet, for the Goddess of the Forest.”
Gabriella laughed. “And yet you interfere in foreign politics that have nothing to do with Medeisia?”
Cadeyrn stepped toward her. “Enough! The girl is right. It would not be unreasonable for me to choose to convert to … Beatrice’s religion.” He’d paused before he said his wife’s name, but the smolder on his face didn’t lessen. “I had once considered the conversion in the past. It would have been expected.”
Conall nodded, the lines in his forehead deepening. His blue tunic made his blond hair appear white, aging him. “It would be a matter of getting the king of Greemallia to agree to this, to agree to his daughter marrying a man who already had a wife.” His gaze met Cadeyrn’s. “You cannot sit at the right hand of two women rulers in two different countries.”
My chest hurt, my heart heavy as I looked up. “No, but his sons could.”
Again, silence. I took advantage of it. “Should each wife be blessed with a son, that son would be required to be raised in his prospective country, raised to take over that throne. The only thing that will matter to the king of either country is a male heir.”
Cadeyrn’s knuckles whitened on the hilt of his sword. It sounded cold, my words. I was promising to send away his first born sons with Gabriella and Catriona to be raised by foreign kings. Nevertheless, Lochlen was right, animosity between Sadeemia, Gremallia, and Henderonia would only hurt our fight with Raemon. Medeisia was my first priority.
“You learn fast, Aean Brirg,” Cadeyrn mumbled. “Checkmate.”
My lips twitched. I’d been playing a lot of chess with the prince over the past three months. Since he’d tattooed my back, I’d often found myself at his bedroom door at night. Neither of us ever spoke. He simply held his door open, his hand gesturing at a chess board set up in the room. Every night we played. Every night he won. Every night we remained silent. No words, no conversation. Nothing except the crackling sound of fire, our breathing, occasional glances, and the slide of chess pieces against wood. My eyes often strayed to his bare chest, to the Henderonian tattoo and the silver pendant he wore around his neck. Something about it drew me, made me feel connected to him in an odd way.
“My father would never agree to it!” Gabriella hissed. “I won’t share a husband with that Henderonian bitch!”
“Watch it, Gabriella,” Cadeyrn warned. “You are insulting my future wife.”
The irony of it was too amusing, and Maeve snickered from behind me. “Oh, my! It’s brilliantly crazy,” she murmured.
King Freemont looked at his son. “It could work.”
Conall was animated now, his hands waving excitedly. “And if we could get the Henderonians to promise trade between themselves and Gremallia—”
“No!” The queen’s yell was loud, her dazzling voice cracking. Her blue skirts swished as she moved to the front of the throne, her strength giving out. She fell delicately to the seat. “Our son cannot marry two women.”
Isabella was from New Hope. It was a monotheistic country with one god and little tolerance, but it was rich in silk and gold. Its resources made it an important nation despite its size.
Freemont looked back at his wife. “Politics win on this one, my Queen. You know as well as I that beliefs do not belong in government.”
Isabella glanced at him. “Don’t they?” Her gaze moved to my face. “Beliefs do not belong in government, and yet this one claims she speaks not only for her country’s people, but for a goddess?”
I stiffened, my wary gaze watching the way the queen’s eyes sharpened, the lines around her mouth tightening. “Do you not wonder why a rebel girl from a war torn country comes here and causes nothing but turmoil? Have you ever considered the idea that she may be in league with Medeisia’s king, that she is Raemon’s tool? He could be using her to cause chaos among us, to make us weaker so that he can attempt to usurp power.”
Cadeyrn sighed. “She doesn’t lie, Mother. I would know if she did.”
Isabella glared. “Would you? Do you trust your magic that much, son? It has failed to keep those you love safe. Could it not fail you now?”
Cadeyrn tensed, his light blue eyes going grey. “Do you question me?”
The king moved between them. “You are both right to question the other, and the girl. We are making hasty decisions that need to be brought before the council, the mages, and the scribes.”
The queen would not be placated. “Show us, daughter of Silveet! If you speak for a goddess, let us hear her. Speak!”
Oran growled, his teeth bared, and I gripped his fur.
Lochlen stepped up next to me. “She speaks for nature, Queen.” There was a bite to his words, his flat tone lacking respect. As a prince of dragons, he showed none. “You don’t do well to threaten her. She is, at all times, surrounded by friends.”
As if on cue, a loud kek,kek could be heard through the giant, glass ceiling, the shadow of a falcon thrown onto the floor below.
The queen stood. “Show us!”
Her yell echoed, traveling along the marble until it reached crescendo and slowly faded.
Power surged through me, the whispering sound of the trees beyond the castle becoming yells that made me cover my ears with the palms of my hands. Oran’s fur brist
led. The hum from the distant ocean suddenly circled the walls, rising and falling in watery screams. The capital used the ocean, channeling its waters into the city. They didn’t drink it, but they displayed its power in complicated, beautiful sculptures and fountains. I felt the water now, its power building.
“Stop,” I whispered.
But the queen had threatened me, had threatened nature’s envoy.
“By the gods,” Daegan breathed, and I looked down to find the marble floors covered in vines, their leafy fingers crawling along the walls, wrapping themselves around the necks of the guards before crawling back down to the floor. I felt them when they moved, felt their energy as they sprouted from potted plants around the castle before traveling down into the Hall of Light.
Vines circled my ankles before climbing my legs and encircling me. Unlike the red-faced guards, the vines didn’t threaten me, they hugged me, growing so that they enfolded me like the brown robe I wore around my shoulders.
“Speak,” they hissed into my ears. “Speak for us.”
I stared at the astonished faces surrounding me, watching the fear that filled their gazes. I noted the pained look on my birth father’s face. There was disgust there. He tried to hide it, but he couldn’t. Even Maeve and Daegan cowered in awe. They knew my connection with the forest, but this was new.
The vines hugged me tighter, their reassurance filling my veins. Only Lochlen and Cadeyrn remained unfazed. They flanked me. Lochlen looked prepared to shift, his eyes dilating. Cadeyrn gripped his sword.
“Speak,” the leaves hissed again. Whispered words filled my brain, overwhelming me, and I knew when I looked at the queen my eyes were different, the turquoise color obliterating my black pupils. I knew it because I could almost see myself in her eyes.
“You dare question us?” It was my voice, and yet it wasn’t. There was something more confident about this voice, all innocence gone. “We watch you daily. We stand as sentinels, our oceans carrying your ships, our trees giving you cover from harsh sunlight, our winds blowing past your faces, and our animals sacrificed to feed you.” The vines climbed up my neck, circling it, creating a complex green necklace that closed in on itself before climbing up my face to the top of my head. There it grew, twisting and building.