by Ryals, R. K.
I heard Oran groan. His mouth hung open, and drool pooled around his tongue. He loped over to the fire, circling three times before lying down, his eyes on the kitchen.
Cadeyrn waved at the table.
“Feel free to serve yourselves.”
We didn’t wait to be told twice. We piled our plates with foods we’d never dreamed of eating, fruits we’d never heard of, and sweets we’d never tasted. Servers brought chalices full of watered down ale, and we drank them greedily. Only Lochlen restrained himself, eating just the meat available at the table.
Cadeyrn watched us.
“Tell me,” he said, “is food so hard to come by in Medeisia?”
We froze, our bellies full, and our faces flushed with embarrassment. It was Maeve who spoke first.
“We ate better in the desert, Your Majesty, than we did in the villages back home.”
Cadeyrn leaned back, his plate only half empty as his eyes roved over our faces.
“And the nobility?” he asked.
Maeve and Daegan looked at me, but I didn’t meet their gazes. Out of all of the rebels, I held the highest rank after Kye, even with my illegitimacy.
“Not much better, Your Highness. We didn’t starve, but the best food was always reserved for the noble families in the capital as well as the king.”
Cadeyrn nodded, his eyes pausing on each of us before he glanced up at the attending servants.
“Leave us,” he ordered. “And make sure the building is secure. There are guards posted out front and in the back. I want no one in these rooms. My people may retire, the Medeisians remain.”
Sara scrambled to comply, shooing everyone out of the room who wasn’t a part of the prince’s party before showing Reenah and the other female servants to the stairs leading to the rooms above.
Cadeyrn waited until the dining area was empty before he leaned forward, his fingers steepled on the table.
“I’ve sent my man, Gryphon, to intercept the Greemallian ship. Tomorrow, I find my uncle. But, for now, I need as much information about Medeisia as you can give me.”
“You believe us then?” Daegan asked.
The prince’s gaze was hard when he looked at the bowman.
“I have suspected for some time that Raemon was up to something. I’ve heard talk of the unrest in your country even before my men stumbled on you in the desert—”
“You mean you have spies?” Daegan interrupted.
Cadeyrn’s jaw clenched, his lips thinning.
“Interrupt me again, and I will have you escorted from this room.”
Daegan fumed, but he didn’t argue.
The prince’s gaze moved to Lochlen. “And the dragons? Why do you join the Medeisian rebels?”
Lochlen’s yellow-green eyes caught the flame from the hearth as he leaned forward, his russet hair almost red in the glow.
“Your father wears a pendant around his neck, Prince. Have you seen it?”
“Aye. A broken, gold dragon with ruby eyes,” the prince answered.
Lochlen nodded. “Raemon wears the other half. I’m sure as the son of the king, you’ve heard the story of its creation. If not, then know this, if the two halves are ever rejoined, they give the ruler who bears it immense power. Forged by dragonfire, it belongs to my kind, to the dragons, and Raemon wants it. The dragons settled in Medeisia long ago when the country was unnamed land, nothing except forests and wild animals. We ruled it. There are other dragons in other lands, but the rex, our king and my father, lives in Medeisia. There is magic in those forests and in those mountains, ancient magic that speaks to my kind. We fought one war with humans to preserve it, and we will fight another. This time, we will win. Raemon cannot be allowed access to the other half of the pendant. It is time the gift was returned to the dragons. It speaks highly of our civility that we have not already attacked. We do not abhor humans, in fact we prefer to live peacefully amongst them.”
We all stared at Lochlen. In that moment, he was a prince. He wasn’t a traveling companion or a beast. He was a powerful, threatening dragon prince with a mission. It was often easy to forget what he was. He moved among us quietly, his easy going nature a disguise—even in dragon form—to the fierce monster he could be.
Cadeyrn met his gaze evenly. “Would it not be easier for you to attack Raemon now, to wrestle control of Medeisia?”
Lochlen sat back. “As much as I hate to admit it, the number of dragons that still exists has dwindled. We are mighty, but we are fewer than we used to be. Our women lay less eggs. We will fight if necessary, but we are unwilling to risk our kind in a human disagreement if it can be won among men.”
“I see,” Cadeyrn responded. He was silent a moment, his eyes watching the flames dancing along the polished chalice in front of him. When he finally spoke, it was with steely resolve. “I’ll need schematics of Medeisia, especially the capital. If your king is as mad as you believe he is, then assassinating a princess won’t be the only threat he’ll attempt.”
Daegan, who’d slumped in anger moments before, stiffened. “You think he would march on Sadeemia?” he asked.
Cadeyrn lifted a brow. “Desperation has made many men attempt the impossible.”
I clutched the seat of my chair. “And if he has one spy among your men, then he may have many,” I added.
Cadeyrn’s gaze slid to mine. “It is possible. No country is impregnable to spies, and there is always the possibility Raemon has allies.”
Cadeyrn’s face was drawn, the lines in his forehead deep. The idea of fighting any war was hard, but fighting it on home soil was worse.
Cadeyrn stood. “Tell me, have any of you been inside of Raemon’s palace?”
Once again, all eyes shifted my way.
“Only Drastona,” Maeve said quietly.
Cadeyrn stared at me. “As a guest?” he asked.
Images bombarded me, haunting images of the palace. There were sad memories of the king’s study when I looked into my father’s eyes and he failed to recognize me. There were devastating memories of the dungeons; of Kye strung up in chains, his back bloodied. There were sickening memories of dead guards killed by mice and bugs after I ordered them to attack, and there was the unforgettable memory of a rebel swinging dead from his noose in the courtyard.
Cadeyrn knew most of my troubles with the king. Kye had described our plight when we’d been brought into the Sadeemian camp, but he’d left a few tiny holes in the story, parts he knew I’d been uncomfortable with. Kye had protected me when he could. For all Cadeyrn knew, I’d been a guest at the palace before the troubles in Medeisia, before my maid had been burned, and before I’d been sentenced to hang.
My gaze met the prince’s, my face hard and cold.
“No, Your Highness. As a prisoner.”
Chapter 20
Silence was an odd way to end a meal. The prince watched me, his gaze intent. It should have bothered me, but the interest I saw in his stare wasn’t the kind of interest I’d once seen in Kye’s eyes. This was more about the knowledge I had in my head rather than interest in me as a person.
A sharp pang ripped through my stomach, and I fisted my hand against my middle. Even his name hurt. It had taken me months to come to terms with Aigneis’ death, and even after that, it often pained me to think about her. Her smell was fading from my memory. The things she used to say and do were beautiful remembrances, but I couldn’t recall the way her voice sounded or the way her hand felt on my hair.
Losing Kye had taken me to a whole new level of sorrow. I felt gutted and raw. Thinking about him hurt, the memories bringing tears I was trying so hard not to shed. Not in public.
Cadeyrn dismissed us, and we rose from the table. There was no more discussion, nothing about the intended assassination or what Cadeyrn planned to do about it. There was no more talk about Medeisia, Raemon, or Sadeemia. There was only a dismissive wave, a flushed Sara as she was summoned from the kitchens, and a polished wooden staircase taking us to decent-sized rooms with feath
er-stuffed beds and tubs full of steaming water. Each of us was left alone in a room, a guard stationed outside of our door. Oran remained with me, but even with his presence it felt strange being alone.
“You hurt,” Oran said once the room was empty.
I looked down at him before glancing around the room. There was a desk in the corner full of parchment and ink. A large, Henderonian armoire so alike, and yet unlike, the one I’d had in my bedroom at Forticry, was against the far wall. The sight of it filled me with homesickness.
“I’m okay,” I answered.
I started to unlace my clothes. We’d bathed in the ocean, but the wooden tub looked too inviting not to use. The steaming water smelled like lilacs, and I ran my fingers over the soft purple flower petals floating on the surface as I climbed inside.
“I wonder if it is always like this in Sadeemia. Do peasants bathe in flowers?”
Oran settled next to the tub.
“It is a different world,” Oran said, “but I much prefer our forest.”
I didn’t reply, but I certainly agreed.
I tarried in the tub until the water became tepid and my fingers and toes wrinkled, but it wasn’t until I stood and reached for a large white towel that I cried. I hadn’t expected the tears, the hot rush of liquid that suddenly drowned my cheeks. My shoulders didn’t shake, and I didn’t sob. The tears just came unbidden, running like a small river down my face and onto the floor.
“Holding back grief is like holding back the ocean,” Oran murmured.
He rose, his soft feet padding against the floor as he moved with me to the bed. I sat on the edge of the feather mattress, the towel gripped against my chest.
“The hurt ... I’ve never felt pain quite like this before,” I managed.
Oran jumped up onto the mattress and placed his snout next to my leg.
“It will get better,” he promised. “Losing a mate is the same as losing a piece of your soul. It can never be replaced, but it will heal.”
I looked down at him.
“You’ve lost a mate?” I asked.
The wolf sniffed. “Two.”
My eyes widened as Oran’s gaze traveled to mine.
“The forest can be harsh, child birth harsher. Things grow and things die. It is the way of life. We move on, and we learn to heal. I have lost two mates to the wild. Creatures in the Medeisian woods live longer than most. I have lived 100 years. Much too long for a wolf. It is said we live so long because Silveet has blessed our forest, but when you lose those you love, it feels more like a curse. I have learned to love again, to accept new mates. It is the same for us all. Ask Lochlen one day how many mates he’s had.”
I inhaled. “Lochlen! He has been married?”
Oran laughed. “I wouldn’t call it marriage so much as a joining. The dragon has lived hundreds of years. He has mated and has fathered two surviving dragonlings. His last mate was killed by those who fear dracons, and his children have grown and moved on.”
I stared down at my lap before swiping at my cheeks. “I feel foolish for crying. So many have gone, so many others have lost those they cared about.”
Oran nudged my leg. “It’s true. War and life take much away, but you’d be more foolish not to grieve. Life is about love. It’s about being overwhelmed by it, healed by it, torn asunder by it, and then being rebuilt by it.”
“It destroys you,” I whispered. Cadeyrn’s words rang through my thoughts.
Oran lifted his head. “I heard what the prince said about love, and although I respect him, I disagree. I’m not human, true, and maybe humans think differently. But know this; love doesn’t destroy, it builds us up and makes us stronger. In death, it gives us even more reason to love and to love harder.”
With that, the wolf jumped off the bed and padded over to the door.
“Someone comes,” he hissed.
I stood just as a knock sounded.
“It is Reenah,” a female voice called out.
The knob turned, and the Sadeemian consort entered the room.
“I’ve been asked to attend you,” she informed me. She smiled at me before moving to the armoire. “Cadeyrn ordered clothes brought from the village while you dined. Nothing fancy. Simple dresses, but it will be nice to wear something other than dirty trousers and tunics.”
I gawked at her.
“The trousers and tunics are not so bad,” I managed as she threw open the armoire and lifted a deep green gown and navy blue surcoat with silver embroidery.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Reenah remarked. “You may have short hair, but you are still a woman.”
Oran grunted from the floor, and I glared at him.
Reenah glanced at me knowingly as she laid the clothes out on the end of the bed.
“It will make you feel better, too.” She handed me a chemise. “Sleep in this tonight, and in the morning you can put on the gown. If you need help, I am at your service.”
I shook my head. Reenah had already seen more of me than I desired.
The consort ran her hands over the gown before walking to the door.
“All will be well,” she assured.
The click was loud when the door closed. I didn’t spare the gown a glance as I pulled the chemise over my head, dropped the towel, and climbed into the bed.
It was then my shoulders shook, the pillow beneath my head growing wet. Sometime during the night, Oran climbed into the bed with me. He moved so that his body was flush to mine, his cold wet nose against my neck. Clutching his fur, my sleep was both restless and punctuated by tears.
“Sleep, child of Silveet,” Oran soothed. “Sleep.”
Chapter 21
Something woke me, and I opened my eyes to discover Oran sitting up in the bed, his hair standing on end.
“What’s wrong?” I hissed.
Oran didn’t move, and I followed his gaze to a window on the side of the room. It was dark, the candles that had been burning when I’d fallen asleep were long burnt out. However, the moon cast a faint glow through the beveled glass into the room, filling it with enough fragmented light to make out my surroundings. I sat up, reaching carefully for the gown at the end of the bed. Oran jumped to the floor.
That’s when I heard the voices, male voices that argued on the street below. I didn’t take the time to consider my actions. I jumped up, throwing the gown on before grabbing the surcoat and pushing my arms through. I laced the dress as I moved to the window, standing to the side of it, my gaze on the cobblestone road.
Two cloaked men stood just below my room.
“Who are they?” I asked, using my fingers to quietly unlatch the casement, cracking it open because I knew Oran would be able to detect their scent.
Oran calmed.
“Cadeyrn,” he said, his nose lifting, “and his man, Gryphon.”
I stiffened. “The man he sent to intercept the Gremallian ship,” I mumbled. The same man who’d stood with Cadeyrn when we’d been brought into the Sadeemian camp, the one who’d offered Kye relief when he’d been dying from wyver poison.
The two men started to walk away, and I pushed the window further open, gauging the distance from the window to the road.
“What are you doing?” Oran hissed.
I didn’t look back at him. I watched the men instead, my gaze following them as they moved down the street toward the sea. I gripped the windowsill, using it to propel myself through the opening. There was a ledge just outside the window, and I used my bare toes to find it.
“Stone!” Oran called out.
I looked into the room. “My boots,” I ordered.
The wolf growled as he took my shoes into his mouth before marching them sullenly to the window, jumping up so that his paws rested on the sill. I took the shoes from him and dropped them to the ground. It wasn’t a long fall, even from the second story. The road sloped upward and my room was next to its tallest point. I’d fallen further from a tree.
“Don’t ...” Oran warned.
I lo
oked at him. “We are here for Medeisia. We came here to stop an assassination and to seek aid from the Sadeemian king. Midnight trysts are more than a tad bit suspicious. I think it wise we stay informed.”
Oran’s chest rumbled as I gripped the windowsill, turning slowly before jumping to the street below. The landing made my teeth clink together and my head hurt, the soles of my feet burning, but I barely registered this as I sunk my toes into my boots and took off after the cloaked figures. They had a substantial lead.
There was a groan behind my back, and I glanced over my shoulder to find Oran limping after me.
“I’m too old for this,” he grumbled.
I smiled as I loped after the prince and his man, keeping to the shadows as they moved from the town to a road I hadn’t seen when we’d entered the village earlier. It led down to a wharf. The water lapping around it looked inky in the dark, the moon’s reflection quivering over the waves. It wasn’t a full moon, but it was bright and there were lanterns swinging from wooden posts along the dock. Fire burned within them, but rather than candles, it looked like the flame sprang up from a murky liquid. I’d never seen anything like it.
“Another man,” Oran warned.
I fell back against a small, wooden building at the edge of the wharf, my back flat against the planks. The dock was too open for us to move onto it unnoticed, but the lanterns highlighted a trade-cog anchored in the water. It was a small ship, but large enough to hold a crew and passengers as well as cargo. A tall, broad-shouldered man exited the vessel, walking with loud, commanding steps onto the wooden wharf.
Gryphon and Cadeyrn met him, both of them pulling back the hoods of their cloaks.
“Uncle,” Cadeyrn greeted.
I froze.
“Nephew,” the tall man responded, “it is good to see you again.”
The man’s hair looked black in the night, his skin pale. A strong breeze blew in from the ocean, and the lanterns shook on their posts, but didn’t fall. The blazes remained strong.
Cadeyrn stared, his watchful eyes roaming over the man’s face. I knew without a doubt this was Blayne Dragern, the same man I’d written the missive to, the prince’s uncle. It is amazing how things come full circle. From a piece of parchment to a face.