by R. K. Ryals
A Henderonian official stepped forward. The man was dressed in a formal silk shirt that wrapped his body, the scarlet material fastened by silver buttons with engraved circular designs. He approached Cadeyrn, his fingers going to a clay bowl he held firmly in his hand, his lips pressed together. There was defiance in his gaze as he lifted fingers soaked in purplish juice. I knew from my studies it was crushed grapes, meant to represent fertility.
The man coated Cadeyrn’s forehead in dripping circular designs. It was the symbol of acceptance. Kneeling, the prince lifted his hands and allowed his wrists to be bound by twine. It was a vulnerable position for him, but not deadly. I, more than anyone, knew Cadeyrn’s strength. It would take nothing for him to break the twine, but he remained kneeling, his head down in supplication. The Henderonian man spoke words I couldn’t hear from the back of the room, but I knew when Cadeyrn stood, his hands free once more, that he’d been accepted by the Henderonian gods, the practice making him acceptable to Catriona’s people. On each side of the ballroom stood the princesses.
Catriona was the first to approach. Avoiding Cadeyrn’s gaze, she used a red cloth with a strange circular design in its center to wipe the purple juice from Cadeyrn’s forehead. Pressing it quickly against her own forehead, she closed her eyes, spoke two quiet words, and then offered the cloth to Gabriella of Greemallia.
Stormy eyes met Catriona’s as Gabriella approached, stunning in a sparkling silver gown that offset her ebony black hair and pale skin. She accepted the cloth, her knuckles white as she kissed its circular center before offering it to Cadeyrn. His acceptance ended the ceremony.
“May their unions be fruitful and prosper!” King Freemont shouted. He took a deep swallow of his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The guests followed suit.
“And so it is done,” a voice murmured beside me.
It was a familiar voice. From the long, grey beard, I knew the words came from Mothelamew, the royal mage who had trained Cadeyrn. The mage was a shadow in the palace, often seen but only heard when he deemed it necessary. He spoke mostly to Cadeyrn. I spared him no glance.
“You do not sound overjoyed,” I responded.
The mage’s blue cloak swirled around him as he stepped closer. “It has begun. The beginning to a spectacular story that will one day rest amongst the stars with the stories of the gods.”
My gaze found his hood. “A magnificent story? You put a lot of stock in marriage.”
Mothelamew’s head lifted, his grey-blue eyes finding mine. “Sometimes what seems like a brilliant idea is often one of folly.”
There was accusation in his gaze, but there was also a grudging admiration that blunted the sharpness.
“I’m sure I don’t follow,” I whispered.
Mothelamew sighed. “I’m sure you don’t, Aean Brirg. I’ve heard what the prince calls you. He is right. You are a little bird. Often you appear small and weak, but when you rise up, you will be mighty. Listen well. You are the daughter of more than one god, your blood the blood of more than one nation.” He nodded at the prince where he stood between Catriona and Gabriella, his steely blue gaze on Mothelamew and me. “For some it takes marriage to bind nations.” His wrinkled hand suddenly found my shoulder, and I flinched. “For others, it takes simply being born.”
With that, he vanished into the crowd, his words ringing through my head. You are the daughter of more than one god, your blood the blood of more than one nation.
“The mage must have had foul words for you,” Daegan’s voice spoke abruptly, and I jumped, my gaze flying to his blue cloaked frame. The bowmen grinned from beneath his hood. “There isn’t much that shakes you these days, Phoenix. Most of us take notice when you tremble.”
I fingered a dagger I kept hidden in a sheath beneath my cloak. It was my preferred weapon when it was inappropriate for me to wear a bow to a function. It wasn’t as useful as my bow, but I was much better with a dagger than I was with a sword.
“I am ready to return to the forest,” I told Daegan.
He snorted. “Aye. As am I. I feel useless here, as if we are making no headway. My body yearns for a fight. I have dreams about Raemon’s men, about being branded. I worry.”
I glanced at him. “We all do.”
“I know how to fight in a forest,” Daegan added. “Here, I feel like a target.”
“Aye,” Maeve’s voice echoed from behind me. “Like an uneducated, obvious target.”
I kept my gaze on the prince. His blue eyes locked with mine, even though I knew he couldn’t see my face, shrouded as it was by the hood. “Never uneducated, Maeve. Sometimes it doesn’t take books to make a scholar.”
“Ha!” She laughed. “Words uttered by a scribe.”
Gabriella’s gaze followed Cadeyrn’s, and her eyes narrowed. My gaze slid away.
I turned toward Maeve. “Books are often a great start, but words need experience. They need trial and error. Never fear words. Use them.”
Maeve nodded, her lips tight. She was so much brighter than she gave herself credit for. I’d been teaching her to read while we were in Sadeemia, and she was a fast learner. She was strong, witty, and capable.
“The forest never judges,” Maeve breathed. “I’m ready to return to it.”
A squeak startled me, and I glanced down to find Thomas the mouse hiding beneath my cloak. Maeve’s gaze followed mine, and though she inhaled sharply, she didn’t shriek.
“By the gods,” Daegan swore. “Is that what I think it is?”
Maeve harrumphed. “At least it isn’t snakes.”
Daegan’s eyes widened. “I miss all of the good stuff.”
The image of Cadeyrn in his chamber came to mind, and I couldn’t help but agree.
“There is danger,” Thomas called up to me.
I nodded at Maeve and Daegan, and we moved slowly along the walls of the reception hall. The mouse climbed on top of my boot, squeezing his body between the top of my shoe and my leg. I shuddered at his unusual warmth, my jaw clenching.
Pausing just outside the ballroom, I glanced down at my foot. “What do you mean danger?” I asked.
The mouse’s head popped out of my boot. “I’m not sure, my Queen. There is unrest among some of the palace guests. There is talk of betrayal. I am sure they are foreign, but they are not part of the Henderonian or Greemallian delegation.”
Stooping, I urged the mouse to climb into my palm before setting him gently on the floor. “You’ve done well, Thomas. Find out what they are up to and come back to me.”
The mouse scurried away, and I glanced up at Maeve and Daegan. “There are men in the palace that do not belong here.”
Daegan pushed his hood back. “Raemon’s men.”
Maeve’s face was soon uncovered. “’Tis impossible. The prince’s campaign to oust Medeisian spies after the wyver attack was successful.”
Standing, I stared at her. “Was it? I fear Raemon is more dangerous than the Sadeemians give him credit for.” I lifted my wrist. “We’ve felt his hatred, his hunger for power. We know what he is capable of. We’ve been the target of his ire.” My gaze went to the ballroom, to the king and his family in the distance. “But as much as he hates scribes and mages, I fear he hates something else much more.”
The sound of thudding boots made us stiffen. “What are you about, rebels?” Ryon called out, Madden on his heels. “We’ve lost you once today. We won’t do so again.”
Daegan bowed at the waist, a smile playing on his lips. “Do you fear us?” he asked.
Ryon huffed, “Ask me that after I’ve thrown you into the dungeon.”
I knew by the sparkle in Ryon’s eyes, his threat was a bluff. As much as Ryon and Madden hated to admit it, I think the guards liked us. We’d developed a bond while in the desert that was deepened in our fight with the wyvers.
“Come,” Madden coaxed. “The prince will miss us, and there is a lot at stake right now.”
My gaze went to the castle walls as we followed the guards, my eyes
finding the retreating figure of a tiny mouse. There was indeed a lot at stake, more than the Sadeemian guards realized.
§§§
It was dark now, the ball having come and gone. The guests were all abed, the servants hastily laying out the things they’d need for the festivities on the morrow. It was to be a spectacular wedding, a grand and unusual event. I should be sleeping, but I wasn’t.
Even after being turned away, I often found myself at the prince’s chamber door, my fingers tracing the design in the wood. The night before his wedding was no different.
Ryon sighed. “Is this going to be a habit, rebel?”
I glanced back at him. “Do you have a problem with it?”
Something in Ryon’s gaze softened. “I suppose I can’t fault you. There is something about the man that draws people to him.”
“Particularly women,” a new voice added. It was the lilting voice of the Henderonian princess. Ryon stiffened.
Catriona’s willowy frame materialized from the darkness, making me feel very short and one dimensional. Bowing, I murmured, “Your Majesty.”
My gaze traveled her clothes, taking in the stiff formal gown from the ceremony a few hours before. The deep purple silk was black in the dim hallway, and I pulled my dressing gown more firmly around me, my bare feet ducking within its folds, my cheeks heating.
Catriona’s gaze found mine and held it. She motioned at Cadeyrn’s chamber. “You’re his mistress then?” she asked.
My eyes widened, my head shaking. “No … no, I’m not the prince’s mistress.”
My stuttering gave her pause, her gaze raking my figure. “And yet you stand outside his chambers in nothing more than a robe and shift?”
There was condescension in her tone, her words sharp and angry. It was the same anger I’d seen on her face in the Hall of Light the day she’d arrived, the same anger I’d heard in her voice when she accused Cadeyrn of murder.
The glow from Ryon’s lantern glinted along the woman’s hair, highlighting the red, and I followed it with my gaze. “You hate him,” I mumbled. My eyes found hers. “Do you think he killed your sister?”
Catriona’s eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening. Ryon groaned from behind me.
“You dare ask me personal questions?” she accused. “You, a girl coming to warm the prince’s bed?”
Her words didn’t bait me. I did, after all, come seeking comfort from the prince even through a closed door, but it wasn’t the kind of comfort she thought I sought. I’d come to terms with something since finding Cadeyrn’s door closed in my face. I was lost. Visiting him had been a way to connect with someone as lost as I was.
“And you?” I asked. “What do you come for? Vengeance?”
Catriona stepped forward, her red lips pressed together, her brows knitted. I knew the moment she recognized me because she inhaled. “Rebel,” she hissed. “I’ve heard many things about you.”
I lifted my chin. “Most false, I assure you.”
Her gaze searched mine. “Then you aren’t the girl of prophecy? A branded girl who crossed a cursed desert and took down a wyver?”
I was shorter than the princess, but I held myself tall, my shoulders back. “I’m given too much credit in rumor. There was a prince lost in the desert who deserves the most honor.”
A knowing look filled Catriona’s eyes. “Ah, yes,” she murmured. “It is often the ones sacrificed who bear the most tribute. And yet,” she waved her hand, “they are not here to enjoy it, are they?”
There was a hardness to her tone that filled me with shame, made the guilt I felt over Kye’s death rear its ugly head.
“Such hatred, Princess,” I said.
Turning away from her, I motioned at Ryon. He exhaled loudly, his relief obvious, his lantern lifted.
“Your escort, Your Majesty?” Ryon asked the princess.
I could feel her gaze on my back. It burned me.
“He is there just beyond the shadows,” she replied.
On cue, a man called out a greeting, and Ryon answered him. It was enough.
We were a few steps away from the door when Catriona spoke again, “You trust too easy, small one.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Have you asked yourself if it was worth it to your sister, Your Highness? Have you ever wondered if having love, even briefly, was worth the pain of death?”
The princess’s chin lifted, her jaw tense, something glinting on her cheek. I knew even in the dim light that it was a tear. “You want to believe that, don’t you?” she asked. “I’ve heard about your lost prince. Your story is quite the rage with scribes and bards. Little phoenix, they call you. They sing of your great romance with a scarred prince, about his terrible death, his sacrifice. All in the name of love. Tell me, do you think it was worth it?”
Tears pushed at the back of my eyes, but I swallowed them back. I’d spent my life amongst storytellers. I knew the might of a story. Knew how tales tended to take wings and fly. It’s why I loved them. The princess thought she was hurting me. I could see it in her eyes, could see that she believed she had wounded me. But she hadn’t been in that desert lying next to Kye’s body. She hadn’t helped me bury him. She hadn’t watched the way my tears washed his bare, poison-filled chest. She’d not stood in the woods behind a prince while he took the mark of the scribe and the mark of the mage on his wrists. She hadn’t seen him bear our shame. Kye’s fight with his father had started long before I came along.
“He didn’t die for love,” I told her. “He died for justice.” Catriona’s lips parted, but I stopped her. “I’m glad to hear his story is being told. He’s a martyr now. He’s a reason our people fight. He always has been. My goal is to keep him alive, to use my love to keep him alive.”
Catriona’s mouth snapped shut, her gaze going to Prince Cadeyrn’s door. There was still hatred in her eyes. Kye may have died for a cause, his life given in war, but her sister had done nothing more than marry a foreign prince.
My gaze followed hers. “You can’t make him hate himself more than he already does.”
With that, I walked away. It wasn’t my place to defend Cadeyrn. Hatred or no, the princess would be sharing his bed on the morrow.
Chapter 8
Morning brought the sound of trumpets, followed by the clanging bell of the Serenity Temple in the village. At first, I did nothing but stare at my bedroom ceiling. I’d been away from the forest too long. I’d gotten used to feathers under my back, a warm room and a steaming bath, and I’d gotten used to not worrying about attacks by Raemon’s men.
“Staying abed won’t make you feel any better,” Oran grumbled next to me. His snout ducked under the blanket, and I jumped when his cold nose pressed against my hip.
“No,” I mumbled, “but it certainly doesn’t make me feel worse.”
The wolf grunted, standing up to shake his fur before jumping from the bed. His paws had barely hit the floor when Reenah entered the room. Prince Cadeyrn’s consort was as radiant as always, her long blonde hair twisted into a complicated fountain of curls on top of her head. Her tresses were covered by a gauzy light blue scarf that traveled down her back like a train. It fell over a darker blue dress with lighter beading. It was the color of the Sadeemian royalty. Blue on blue. Today, the consort represented her country, her sovereign.
She saw me staring and grinned. “No gawking, little bird, you’ve a similar dress to wear today. After all, it is a wedding. No cloaks or tunics. It won’t be allowed. Even the mages and scribes will be required to dress for the occasion. No robes.”
Eyeing her, I whispered, “I won’t wear blue.”
I may be taking refuge in Sadeemia, but it wasn’t my country. Not really.
Her grin widened. “I didn’t expect you would. Your dragon insisted on green. Red, he said, was Raemon’s color, but green would suffice for the rebels.”
My lips quirked. “My dragon?”
It was an interesting choice of words. Oran chuckled. Lochlen belonged to no one exc
ept himself.
Reenah winked, her hands busy unfolding a gauzy jade scarf. Draping it over a forest green dress, she held it up to me.
“It’s a good color for you,” she said. “Now up! There’s much to do. First a double wedding, and then an extravagant consummation feast.”
There was something wrong; I could feel it in the air. The trees whispered things from beyond the castle. “Trouble,” they wept.
My eyes slid to Oran. His mane shook.
“What will this mean for you?” I asked Reenah.
Sliding from the bed, I picked up the dress, eyeing it thoughtfully before slipping it over my shift. It was surprisingly comfortable, the material hugging my hips before cascading to the floor. There was no ornamentation, no beading, just a cascade of green satin. It had a round neckline that didn’t hint at curves, and yet it suited me.
Reenah’s gaze slid down my frame. “If Gabriella meant to make you look lesser, she has failed.”
I glanced down, my gaze catching the silver pendant at my neck. Reenah noticed it, but she didn’t comment. Her knowing blue eyes found my face.
“I will remain a consort. I have been in the palace since I was a child. Even with two wives, neither the prince nor his father will dismiss me. You worry for naught,” Reenah whispered, her elegant fingers finding my chin.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I straightened. It should be awkward standing here with Cadeyrn’s former lover, but I liked Reenah. If truth be told, I liked her a lot.
“Come,” she insisted, “the day doesn’t grow any younger.”
With those words, I followed, the gauzy scarf pinned to my head and left to drape down my back. It was meant to be worn over the face if preferred, a concession to the Henderonian women who had accompanied Catriona to Sadeemia, but I left mine back, my face open.
Under my skirts, I secured a dagger to my thigh. Reenah didn’t comment.
“Trouble,” the trees sang.
The word traveled down my spine, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Oran’s fur bristled. It was hard with the trees. Sometimes they saw something that worried them, but often they just felt it, their leaves shaking with grim horror.