Tempest (The Scribes of Medeisia)

by R. K. Ryals

  Frenda looked up at the prince, her lashes glistening with tears.

  Kye lowered his head. “It doesn’t replace the grief, I know.”

  Frenda nodded, and Kye released her hand. She gripped the sword, lifting it before pulling it to her chest. It was heavy. I could tell by the strain in her eyes, but she refused to release it.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

  Kye rose, leaving Frenda kneeling in her grief. Her head lowered and her shoulders shook. Kye blinked, but his face remained stoic, hard. He was a leader. Public emotion was weakness. He’d save it for his tent.

  Maeve came up behind the prince, her hand landing gently on his shoulder. He didn’t shake her loose, and it caused my heart to clench. Maeve was in love with Kye, it had been obvious to me from the moment I’d met her. It shouldn’t bother me. She was a good woman.

  Maeve’s head lowered, and her long dark hair fell over her shoulders. I watched it, fighting the urge to finger my own short tresses as I began to move along the treeline. The revelers had quieted, their hearts warring between grief and gratitude that the death hadn’t been one of their relations.

  A kek, kek filled the clearing. Some rebels looked up, but most of them didn’t bother. Ari was as much a part of the camp now as Oran.

  The falcon circled low, flying over the heads of the people gathered before landing in front of Frenda. I stopped moving, my pacing having brought me directly across from the woman. I was not the prince, nor was I the camp’s leader, but I had no relations, no family left other than my father who worked now for King Raemon. The rebels were my family.

  I stared at Frenda, at her bowed head and her shivering frame. Stepping forward, out of the protection of the trees, my eyes focused only on the woman. The falcon danced before her, and she looked up, her grief-stricken eyes widening on the bird before finding my gaze.

  She stiffened. I didn’t blame her. The rebels accepted me, but they also feared me. I was supposed to be a phoenix, a savior, but I had also taken them out of their comfort zone, exposing them to the wrath of the king.

  My steps took me to Frenda, my gaze locked on hers. I blocked out all noise from the camp, blocked out the heavy stares I felt now on my back, and knelt in front of Frenda. Ari took flight while Oran lay at my back, daring anyone to approach.

  Grief was not something I could heal, but I had learned a lot about my magic while recovering from my wounds. I reached out, taking Frenda’s hand while carefully lowering the sword to the ground. The woman tried to pull away at first, but I held on tight, my fingers firm around hers. She stopped struggling.

  Leaning forward, I whispered, “Let the forest comfort you.”

  I let go of my magic. My palm glowed gently, the white light traveling from my palm to Frenda’s. In it was nothing except warmth, the spirit of the trees, the gentle words of the wolves, the freedom I felt when I saw Ari fly through the air. There was nothing spectacular about it, but Frenda’s eyes widened and another tear leaked out of the corner of her eyes. I watched it fall, forging a brave trail from the top of her cheek to her chin.

  “People die for freedom,” I murmured. “They die so others may live.”

  The words were not my own, they were Kye’s, but I had learned to live by those words, learned to take comfort in Aigneis’ death knowing she’d martyred herself for a cause. I saw Frenda do the same, her hand tightening on mine.

  I smiled, the expression soft. She didn’t smile back, but her tears slowed, and she swallowed hard.

  “We were married only a year,” she said suddenly.

  The camp was bustling yet again around us, the people greeting—once more—those who had returned. Fires were stoked and plates of food were passed around. Someone made a joke and laughter filled the clearing. But, in this moment, despite the revelry, there was only Frenda, the forest, and me.

  I brought my free hand to Frenda’s chest. “And here,” I said. “You will be married for a lifetime.”

  Frenda smiled and sobbed at the same time. “Thank you, Phoenix.”

  I fought not to wince. “Stone,” I stated. “Just call me Stone.”

  Frenda nodded before standing, her head held high, and I lifted the heavy sword before placing it carefully in her arms. She accepted it, and moved away from me toward the tent she had once shared with her husband. She would grieve in the same space they had once made love. It was tragic.

  “Heroes,” I mumbled. “There are way too many heroes.”

  Oran pranced around me, his voice low when he spoke.

  “Yes, Phoenix, and there will be many more.”

  Chapter 2

  I didn’t return to the forest after Frenda retreated. I took comfort from the trees, but I didn’t hide in them. I walked to the fires instead, my gaze on the returning rebels. Daegan and Brennus each clapped me on the back as I passed, and I smiled widely at Maeve before hugging her hard. I truly did like the girl.

  Grinning, she peered down at me. “No worse for the wear, I see. Your face has healed nicely.”

  I shrugged. “The forest is a great physician.”

  Maeve’s arm went across my shoulders, and her head bent to mine. “I see many people accept the wolf now, too.”

  There was a tenseness to her tone that made me chuckle. She hadn’t been around to get accustomed to Oran’s presence. Many of the returning rebels watched the animal warily.

  “I’m afraid Oran didn’t give them much of a choice,” I murmured.

  Maeve glanced at the wolf. “Humph,” she snorted. “I don’t suppose he would.”

  “Stone,” a voice cut in.

  I fought hard not to stiffen, not wanting Maeve to sense my reaction to the man before me.

  “Kye,” I responded.

  My gaze moved to his face. His was a beautiful countenance; rugged and scarred. It told a million stories, and I loved its complexity. Midnight black hair framed his features, and piercing forest green eyes stared back at me.

  He bent close, his lips coming near my ear. I tensed then, as Maeve dropped her arm, her head turning away from us.

  “There is much to discuss,” Kye whispered, his breath fanning along my neck.

  I nodded, my sudden clammy hands clenching the fabric of my tunic to keep from trembling.

  Kye backed up just enough to look into my face. “You look well, Stone.” I nodded without responding, and he took one of my hands in his. “Thank you for what you did for Frenda.”

  My gaze went to the ground. What I’d done had been as much for me as the widow. It seemed only right to say farewell to those who passed. So many were forgotten in war.

  Kye released my hand, and I found my gaze drawn to his tattooed wrists as he stepped back.

  “We will meet in my tent.”

  His voice rose with the announcement, his eyes meeting briefly with mine before moving to Lochlen, Warwick, Maeve, Brennus, and Daegan. We all inclined our heads. All except Lochlen. He was a prince in his own right, and even if he wasn’t, dragons bowed to no one but their own.

  Rising conversation drowned out the tense moment, and I melded back into the crowd, letting Oran guide me to the tent in question.

  Kye’s tent was larger than most in the camp, his old, smaller tent having been abandoned when the rebels accepted him as their leader. A bigger structure had been assembled. There was a bed inside, and a hastily constructed table covered in documents.

  Pulling the tent flap aside, I ducked inside with Oran at my heels. Besides myself, the tent was empty, but I hadn’t expected the others to retreat as quickly as I had. I enjoyed the silence, sitting with my legs in front of me so Oran could rest his head on my lap.

  “You’re getting as tame as a dog,” I joked.

  Oran scoffed. “Even wild dogs enjoy being petted. Spoiled I may be, but never tame.”

  I flicked his ear. “Tame.”

  He glared up at me. “Never let my pack hear you say that. I have a reputation to uphold.”

  I cros
sed my chest solemnly. “Never.”

  We fell into silence. Outside, someone sang. The rebels danced. Shadows moved on the other side of the tent, and I found my foot tapping with the rhythm.

  “You didn’t want to join in the celebration?” a voice asked. Kye.

  I didn’t have to turn to know it was he who entered the tent. I’d know his voice anywhere.

  “Is there something to celebrate?” I asked.

  Oran stood, moving to the opposite side of the tent, his back to us before resting his head on his paws. Kye took his place by my side.

  “We released quite a few rebels.”

  I looked over at him. “And we lost some of our own.”

  One corner of Kye’s lips quirked upward, his hand taking mine. He turned it over, his fingers playing slowly across my palm. I should have pulled away, but I didn’t.

  “You will never change, will you, Stone? You will never accept that some must be lost for much to be gained.”

  I shook my head, my eyes on his fingers as they traced the lines of my hands. It was a curious sensation, and warmth unfurled in the pit of my stomach, lighting a fire that heated every corner of my body.

  “Should I change?” I whispered hoarsely.

  Kye’s smile grew. “No, you keep us balanced. I keep the rebels fighting for freedom, and you keep us all humble.”

  I forced my eyes away from my palm. How was I supposed to think when he was drawing shapes like that on my skin? I tugged on my hand. Kye refused to let go.

  “You’ve forgiven me,” he stated.

  It wasn’t a question, and his boldness with my hand made me bold as well. I lifted my free hand, reaching tentatively for his face. He watched me, his eyes alert, his breathing stilled.

  My finger touched the scar on his temple, and he exhaled, his eyes closing. The fingers he’d been drawing circles with on my palm froze.

  “So many scars,” I breathed. “You had enough without my hatred.”

  Kye freed my other hand, his palm coming up to trap my fingers against his face.

  “Humble,” he groaned. “You keep us humble.”

  I liked Kye with his eyes closed. It crumbled my reserve, and I searched his face and body openly, my gaze traveling to another white scar that started just at the edge of his neck before moving down his chest.

  I still had one free hand, and I started to lift it. Kye captured it with his own, and my gaze flew to his. His eyes weren’t closed anymore.

  “If you trace anymore scars, Phoenix, I will come undone.”

  There was amusement in his voice, and my cheeks flamed. His grin widening, he reached out to tweak one of my short curls. It made me self-conscious, but his grin never faltered.

  “It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want you to find out exactly how many scars I have.” His voice lowered. “It doesn’t mean that at all.” He tweaked the curl again. “I like it short. The sun has brightened it.”

  My spirits rose. “I haven’t grown used to it yet, but it seems safer to keep it short now, especially if we plan to enter Sadeemia.”

  Kye’s face darkened, but his hand didn’t fall. “It seems we don’t have much choice. We need Sadeemia’s help, and we have proof enough to get it.”

  I took his hand off of my hair before tracing the mark of the mage on his wrist with my finger. “The rebels will follow you,” I said confidently.

  Kye’s head lowered, his hand trapping mine against his wrist. We were playing a maddening game with our hands, and we both knew it.

  “No,” he said softly. “They will die for me. There is no way to escape crossing the Ardus, Stone.”

  There was anguish in his gaze. I saw it where others might have missed it.

  I forced his eyes to mine. “No, they will follow you.”

  Kye tugged on my hand, his head lowering. His face was so close.

  “I will follow you,” I breathed.

  I could see the answering glint in his gaze. His hand went to the back of my head, drawing me closer still.

  The tent flap lifted. I pulled away. Kye didn’t.

  “Later,” he promised as Lochlen ducked into the tent. My cheeks felt hot.

  Brennus ducked in after Lochlen, followed closely behind by Daegan, Maeve, and a scowling Warwick. The middle-aged man didn’t like me, and he had no problem showing it. We simply tolerated each other.

  “Your Majesty,” Warwick acknowledged.

  Kye’s eyes hardened. “Kye here, Warwick. My status is no different than before as long as I fight among the rebels.”

  Maeve fought a grin and lost the battle. I found my own lips curling upward.

  Kye stood, and Oran returned to my lap, his dark canine eyes moving to my face. He’d been witness to the scene between Kye and I, and it was obvious in his gaze. I leaned toward him.

  “Stop it,” I chided.

  The wolf grunted.

  Lochlen settled next to me, Oran between us, his gold eyes gleaming. “Did I miss something?” the dragon asked.

  I refused to answer him, and he chuckled before turning to Kye.

  “Salutations aside, I’m assuming you called us all here because you learned something on this mission of yours,” Lochlen said.

  Kye moved to the table on the side of the tent and lifted a map.

  “The situation in Aireesi is worse. Since we escaped death the first time, and I was outed as a spy, the king is doubling his efforts, killing all scribes and mages outright. Many of them have taken to hiding. Even their own families are afraid to shelter them. Any connection to a mage or a scribe means instant death. No imprisonment, just death.”

  “There’s no doubt we need help from Sadeemia now,” Brennus added. “It’s too much. We are not enough.”

  Lochlen nodded thoughtfully. “With Drastona, we have proof enough the Medeisian king wishes ill upon Sadeemia.”

  “If the king of Sadeemia will believe me,” I interrupted.

  Kye looked at me. “He will,” he promised. “We need to find the soldier Raemon forced you to write the missive to. I have no doubt it is being delivered now, and in your handwriting.”

  Guilt swamped me. My handwriting ordering the death of another. It felt the same as holding the weapon that would carry out the command.

  Maeve stepped forward. Only Lochlen, Oran, and I rested on the floor.

  “You do realize,” she said, “that if they discover Drastona wrote it, she could be in grave danger. We may need the Sadeemians’ support, but they are going to look at us with suspicion. Especially if King Raemon succeeds in assassinating Gabriella of Greemallia.”

  I didn’t give Kye a chance to speak.

  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I assured.

  Kye’s eyes met mine, and he nodded. “It’s beside the point,” Kye pointed out. “First we need to get into Sadeemia. We have no way to enter it by the sea. We’ll have to cross the Ardus.”

  Warwick gasped. “It’s suicide!”

  Kye’s face was grave. “To many, it would seem so.”

  Lochlen had grown quiet next to me, his usual amused expression replaced by something deeper, more thoughtful.

  “It is not impossible,” the dragon spoke up. “With enough supplies, it is not impossible.”

  Warwick’s gaze moved to Lochlen. “The wyvers,” he stuttered.

  Lochlen snorted. “They are mindless creatures being controlled by the king’s sorcerers. They have no problem killing, but even with the sorcerers’control, they are weak minded. And there are two among us who may can control them.”

  The group grew silent, stunned. It was Daegan that finally spoke.

  “Who?” he asked.

  Lochlen’s eyes grew hard. “I am Dracon, I fear no wyver. They are a lesser cousin, struck dumb by their own stupidity and punished by the gods. Even if I am unable to control them, I can defeat them or die trying. But controlling them,” his gaze moved to me, “that may be for another.”

  I stared at him. “They are creatures of the sand,” I
breathed.

  Lochlen nodded. “Indeed they are.”

  He said nothing more, his calculating gaze staring into mine.

  “It’s suicide!” Warwick fumed. “You won’t find many who will follow you through the Ardus.”

  My eyes were still on Lochlen’s. I saw something in his gaze, something fierce and loyal. He had accepted me on his back in Aireesi, allowing me to ride him out of King Raemon’s courtyard. He’d called me his rider then, and I saw it in his gaze now.

  “I’ll follow the prince,” I said confidently. Lochlen grinned, and then winked, his reptilian eyes dilating.

  Maeve took another step forward. “Aye, and I.”

  Brennus grunted. “Damned if I’ll let two women get the better of me. I’m in.”

  Daegan clamped a hand on Brennus’ shoulder. “Aye. As am I.”

  “You’re mad,” Warwick hissed. “All of you.”

  Kye stood tall, his large frame moving toward the older man. Kye and Lochlen were the tallest men present, with Kye just reaching six foot, and Kye took advantage of it.

  “You called me ‘your majesty’ when you entered the tent, Warwick. Who do you think will take the throne once Raemon is destroyed?” Kye’s eyes flashed, and for the first time, I saw him as our king; a strong leader, demanding but just. Fierce. “Remember that. Remember that it is your future king that took the most risk, who put his own life on the line to save your own. Remember that when you are cowering under your bedroll tonight. But never, and I mean never, belittle the people courageous enough to do what you will not. Leave us.”

  Warwick looked taken aback, his gaze going from the prince’s face to Kye’s now upturned wrists. Kye was flashing his marks. He was neither mage nor scribe, but he bore the marks of both. He bore them for us.

  Warwick bowed. “As you please, Your Majesty.”

  This time, Kye did not correct him.

  Warwick left the tent, his head down. Kye turned back to us.

  “Two days. We have two days to gather what supplies we need, and then we leave. Raemon is already ahead of us.”

  We all bowed our heads and took our leave.

  I was ducking out of the tent when Kye’s hand closed around my wrist. I looked up.