Tempest (The Scribes of Medeisia)

by R. K. Ryals

  “What have you brought us, Madden?” the man who’d yelled earlier asked the captain before clapping him on the back.

  The blue-cloaked Madden glanced at our group, his gaze pausing on Lochlen before moving away. The Sadeemian people stared mainly at the wolf, but they knew not what Lochlen was, and it seemed Madden had no desire to share our secret.

  “Refugees, or so they say. They wish an audience with our king,” Madden answered.

  Ryon’s eyes narrowed, renewed interest sparking in his gaze.

  “Our king?” he asked.

  Ryon and Madden’s gazes locked, and a look passed between them. Kye stiffened next to me, his jaw clenching.

  “Is Cadeyrn within?” Captain Madden asked, his head inclined toward a large tent in the center of the camp. It was no different than the rest, white and billowing. But it was larger, and there were dark shapes moving within.

  “He speaks now to his advisors,” Ryon answered.

  Madden’s gaze moved to our solemn faces before sliding back to the soldier facing him.

  “Tell him these Medeisans would like to see him about an urgent matter.”

  Ryon’s mouth parted in surprise. “But, sir—”

  Madden held up his hand, silencing him. “Now,” he ordered.

  Ryon’s lips thinned, his gaze moving to mine before sliding to Lochlen. Among our group, we looked the most foreign; Lochlen with his reptilian eyes, and I with my supposed aqua pupils. I straightened.

  Ryon bowed at the waist and backed away, his feet coming together in the sand before pivoting. His back was straight as he walked, his head high.

  “We requested an audience with your king. Cadeyrn is not your king,” Kye remarked, his teeth clenched, his eyes on the captain.

  Cadeyrn. That name was familiar to me. I stiffened.

  “No,” I whispered. “He is not, but he is the king’s son.”

  Madden’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “How would you know this?” the captain asked.

  Kye’s green eyes met mine, and he nodded, sudden comprehension filling his gaze. It was Cadeyrn’s future wife Raemon intended to assassinate.

  “What is this?” a man asked, the loud voice breaking through the tension. It was a deep voice, hard and commanding.

  I looked up … and up, my eyes finally meeting the icy blue gaze of a large, rugged man. He had shoulder-length mahogany hair streaked with gold, high cheekbones, and full lips. A scowl marred his features. The people in the camp bowed.

  Madden went down on one knee, risking a quick glance in our direction.

  “Your Highness, I have brought you a group of refugees. We found them a day from the Medeisian border. They say they are seeking our king.”

  So this was Cadeyrn. He was an intimidating man, young but old, as if his youth had been stripped away from him. There was nothing left but coldness. I wanted to reach out and take Kye’s hand, but our wrists were still tied behind our backs.

  Prince Cadeyrn stepped forward, his eyes moving over our group, pausing as Ryon’s did, on first me and then Lochlen. He looked as if he might say something, but then thought better of it.

  “Into my tent,” he ordered, pivoting on his heels before marching into the white interior beyond.

  Our guards prodded us in the back, and we moved forward. I was weak and tired, but I walked as the other rebels did; with my head held high, my shoulder to Kye’s. I couldn’t hold his hand, but I still sought strength from him. He showed no fear, and I was determined to do the same.

  Cadeyrn spun to face us as we moved into the enclosure, and he lifted a hand, waving most of the guards away. Only Madden and Ryon remained, along with another man I didn’t recognize. He was a handsome man, maybe Cadeyrn’s age, with a hard face and golden hair tied behind his head. He, like Madden, wore a blue cloak over a loose white tunic.

  The tent was empty except for a small bed that was lifted a few inches from the sand, and it was cool. We all looked up in surprise, the breeze within welcome.

  “What sorcery is this?” Brennus mumbled.

  Daegan threw him a look. “Asked by a mage, no less.”

  Cadeyrn stared at us, his gaze penetrating. He spoke our language, I had no doubt, and I felt something else from him. Something eerily familiar.

  “No sorcery here,” Cadeyrn said in the Medeisian tongue. “Only magic. Am I to assume each of you are mages?”

  No one answered him.

  “Untie us,” Kye commanded, “and we will answer everything.”

  The Sadeemian prince looked at him. “You speak as a royal speaks, refugee, with your command. I rarely negotiate. You wish me to free you? How can I trust you with your hands unbound?”

  The tension between the two men was thick, and I bumped Kye gently with my shoulder.

  “Because we come to save you, not to harm you,” I said, my voice low.

  Cadeyrn’s gaze moved to mine. For long moments, he stared, his eyes cold, his face unreadable, but whatever he saw in my gaze made him nod.

  “Release them,” he ordered.

  Both Ryon and Madden sputtered, but one look from the prince had them rushing to our backs. The ropes fell away from our wrists, and I rubbed the raw skin with a wince, pulling my hands in front of my face while gritting my teeth. Pins and needles invaded my muscles as feeling came back to them. Cadeyrn’s eyes moved to our arms.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  The tattoos on our wrists were stark, the ink dark against our skin even with the rope burns.

  Kye straightened. “This, Your Highness, is the mark of a mad king.”

  A hush fell over the tent’s occupants. Cadeyrn approached us. He paused in front of me, lifting my wrists. I wasn’t prepared for the foreign prince’s touch, and I gasped. Kye tensed.

  “A burning star,” Cadeyrn murmured, “and a busted inkwell. What means this?”

  The prince’s Medeisian was very good. He had almost no accent, and I knew then he was well traveled. It was obvious in his gaze.

  Cadeyrn dropped my hands. “Who are you?” he asked us.

  Kye’s head lifted, his gaze as piercing as Cadeyrn’s, his scars vivid.

  “I am Kyenar Grenville Berhest, the illegitimate heir to the Medeisian throne.”

  Cadeyrn’s soldiers roared, and a sword was thrust against Kye’s back. Only Cadeyrn seemed unaffected.

  “Spy!” Ryon accused. His sword lifted.

  “Hold!” Cadeyrn ordered, his voice calm. “Step away from him.”

  “B-but, Your Majesty ...” Madden sputtered.

  Cadeyrn growled, his blue eyes going paler. It was disconcerting, and I stared. “I said step away from him!” the prince warned.

  Ryon and Madden fell back, but they didn’t lower their swords. The unnamed Sadeemian man with golden hair stepped forward, an amused look on his face.

  “They seem harmless enough, although the two on the end are strange,” the man commented.

  Cadeyrn glanced over his shoulder. “You know as well as I do, Gryphon, what the one on the end is.”

  The man smirked. “Yes, that I do. I wonder, why is a dragon traveling with a group of refugees and a prince.”

  We all gawked. They knew what Lochlen was.

  Lochlen’s own smirk mirrored Gryphon’s. “Ah, it seems your people have not forgotten our kind,” the dragon said.

  Cadeyrn ignored them, his eyes locked on Kye. “Tell me, illegitimate prince of Medeisia, why do you come here now?”

  Kye inhaled. “We come seeking aid. My father is a mad man. He slaughters his own people, slaughters anyone who bears his mark of magery or scribery. Both practices are forbidden in Medeisia. The marked have gone into hiding. Rebels, they call us.”

  Cadeyrn nodded, his gaze falling to Kye’s wrists. “And yet you are no mage and no scribe.”

  Brennus took a step forward, but Kye raised his hand, stopping him. Ryon and Madden raised their swords.

  “Is it that obvious?” Kye asked, his voice li
ght.

  A corner of Cadeyrn’s mouth twitched. “Your skin would not be so scarred if you had magic in your blood, Prince. And yet, you bear marks.” His gaze slid to Brennus. “And your men are loyal to you. I can respect that, so tell me then why the girl next to you bears both marks, but the rest of your group bears only one.”

  Cadeyrn didn’t look at me, but his interest made my blood run cold.

  Kye’s hand went to the small of my back. “Because she is both scribe and mage.”

  Cadeyrn’s gaze did move to me then, his eyes narrowed. “And she lives? Your king kills tattooed scribes and mages, but does not kill a rebel who bears both marks?”

  I didn’t flinch, my gaze meeting his. “I took the first mark unwillingly, Your Majesty,” I answered. “The second, I asked for.”

  Kye’s hand tightened on my back. Cadeyrn stared at me.

  “She looks familiar, no?” Gryphon asked. He stepped up next to the prince. I didn’t look away.

  Cadeyrn lifted a hand to his brow. “Tell me, Prince Kyenar, what does your king slaughtering marked rebels have to do with Sadeemia?”

  Kye’s hand fell away from my back. “My father wants war with your country.”

  Gryphon laughed. “And he believes he could defeat our army?”

  Kye was not amused. “And you believe madness means he isn’t bright?” Kye asked in return, his tone callous. “If nothing else, madness has made him more dangerous. He will not attack Sadeemia outright. He will do it with subterfuge.”

  Kye pointed to his pack, lying now in the sand just inside the tent. The guards had disposed of our belongings before they’d left us.

  “Inside, you will discover papers proclaiming unrest between our countries, papers that accuse your father of blocking imports and training mages to kill.”

  The prince looked unconcerned. “Propaganda is used by all kings.”

  Kye laughed. “Yes, this is true, but Raemon has taken his to new extremes. Tell me, Your Majesty, do you trust the men within this tent?”

  Cadeyrn’s gaze grew sharp. “I do.”

  Ryon, Madden, and Gryphon all held weapons now. The threat was felt by all.

  Kye glanced at me. “Then trust me when I tell you that King Raemon of Medeisia intends not to attack you directly, but to invoke an attack on you by the Greemallian king.”

  Cadeyrn’s eyes swept our group. “Go on,” he ordered. His interest was piqued.

  Kye took my hands, gently turning them in his until my wrists were obvious to all. “In Medeisia, the marked are slaughtered. I don’t know how things work in Sadeemia, but in Medeisia it is rare for a scribe to have the powers of a mage. So, when we discovered Drastona Consta-Mayria, daughter of Medeisia’s Sadeemian envoy ...”

  I held my head high as Gryphon snapped his fingers. “I knew I knew her! Garod’s daughter! She was maybe eleven turns when I saw her last. I was in Medeisia to meet with Raemon’s council, but was turned away. Such a quiet child! Hidden mostly. There were rumors about her—”

  “Gryphon,” Cadeyrn interrupted. The man looked up at the prince. “Cease talking.”

  There was no bite in Cadeyrn’s command. Ryon and Madden fought to keep their expressions even. It seemed Gryphon was a known babbler.

  “Yes, well ...” Gryphon mumbled, deflated.

  Cadeyrn gestured at me, and Kye’s hands tightened on my wrists.

  “Garod’s post as envoy was dissolved,” Kye continued. Cadeyrn didn’t look shocked at the news. “Following this, Garod was ordered to the capital, to Aireesi, to sit on my father’s council. On the journey, he and his family were overtaken by Medeisian soldiers and Drastona was accused of scribery. She was marked. It was a ploy. The king knew of Garod’s daughter and her interest in the Archives. She was to be an example ...”

  Cadeyrn shook his head. “Get to the point, Prince. What does Garod’s daughter have to do with Sadeemia?”

  I pulled my hands from Kye’s grasp. It was obvious the prince was an impatient man.

  “Because,” I answered, my eyes lifting to Cadeyrn’s, “I wrote the missive that ordered one of your men to assassinate the Greemallian princess.”

  The entire tent exploded in chaos. I was sent sprawling to the sand, a knee and sword in my back. There was a grunt and Kye was next to me; a stolen sword in his hand, the blade at the throat of whoever held me down. Another sword was pointed at Kye.

  “Tell me,” Gryphon said dangerously from behind me, “why I shouldn’t kill her now?”

  Cadeyrn watched us all, his gaze alert, his eyes on my face.

  The tip of Ryon’s sword nicked Kye’s collarbone. I watched as a drop of blood welled up, dripping slowly into his tunic. Growling filled the tent, and I realized faintly that Oran was also standing over me, his jaw gaping, his teeth bared. Brennus was leaning over a prone Madden, who I assumed was the man Kye had taken the sword from. Maeve and Daegan stood poised, fists lifted while Lochlen watched, his gaze as calculating as Cadeyrn’s.

  “You kill her, you die,” Kye warned Gryphon. “She wrote the missive under duress before being thrown into a dungeon to hang. I know, because I was scheduled to hang with her.”

  No swords lowered, although Cadeyrn moved to my side and knelt. He seemed unconcerned by the massive display of testosterone being thrown around his quarters.

  “Tell me, scribe,” he said. “Why do you come here now to warn us?”

  I looked up at him. Oran’s jaw was uncomfortably close to Cadeyrn, but again, he looked unmoved. “The rebels need you,” I whispered. “Too many have died under Raemon’s hand.”

  Cadeyrn stared a moment before nodding, standing so that he faced us all.

  “Stand back,” he ordered. “Let them up. They tell the truth.”

  Lochlen stepped forward. “So that is one of your powers then, Prince?” the dragon asked.

  Cadeyrn’s mouth twitched again. It seemed he refused to smile or answer. “And you, Dragon? You seem remarkably disrespectful.”

  Kye grunted. “You get used to it.”

  I let myself smile for the first time. “The prince of dragons bows to no one but his father,” I said.

  Everyone froze, even Cadeyrn. He turned until he was facing Lochlen.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Cadeyrn said, his words for Kye, but his stare on the dragon. “Start at the beginning.”

  Kye complied.

  Chapter 9

  It was dark outside when Kye finished our story. He left nothing out. Gryphon stood with his arms crossed. Madden sat grumpily on the sand, a hand to a large goose egg on his forehead. Ryon leaned on his sword while Cadeyrn listened, his attention focused on Kye’s words. The rest of us wavered on our feet, the heat from the past couple of days catching up to us.

  Occasionally, Cadeyrn’s gaze swept to me, his silence and attention disturbing, but it wasn’t until Kye mentioned the Kiarian Freesonalay and the prophecy that any reaction crossed the Sadeemian men’s faces. Cadeyrn’s shoulders tensed. Nausea swept over me.

  “May I sit?” I whispered.

  I was beyond caring if my question looked weak.

  Kye glanced at us all. “Please,” he said, “my people are weak. We need water and rest.”

  Cadeyrn nodded. “Take them,” he ordered. “Leave the girls with our women. Let them bathe and eat. The men are to have the same treatment. Afterwards, bring the prince, the dragon, and Garod’s daughter back to me.”

  The soldiers didn’t hesitate. Ryon and Madden ushered us out of the enclosure, and into the dark desert night. Whatever magic had been inside Cadeyrn’s tent had cooled us, and sweat instantly beaded up on my brow once we were clear of it. The air was much nicer in the desert at night, but it was still warmer than it should be.

  Kye grasped my hand tightly in the darkness before we were separated.

  “It’ll all be okay,” he whispered next to my ear, and then he was gone.

  Maeve and I clung to each other as we were led away, Oran on my heels. Ryon escorted us, none
to gently, prodding us until we were outside a smaller tent than the one we’d left behind. He pushed us inside, and we landed on our knees.

  Women shrieked.

  “How dare you enter without announcing yourself!” a woman cried out.

  My gaze lifted to find at least fifteen women in various states of dress.

  Ryon snorted, switching to the Sadeemian language. “None of you have anything I have not seen before.” He paused, his eyes sliding over the room. Women pulled garments up over their chests. “Although,” Ryon admitted, “some of you display it better than others.”

  “Out!” the woman from before bellowed. “Go, you imbecile!”

  Ryon backed out of the tent, a smirk on his face. “The prince ordered these women bathed and fed. The shorter one is to be returned to his tent. I don’t care what you do with the dog,” he called out. Oran growled.

  Instantly, Ryon was gone.

  The bellowing female turned to us. She was clad in nothing more than a tunic, her pale leg shapely in the candlelight surrounding us. She avoided the wolf, but didn’t seem afraid of him. By the look in the woman’s eyes, she’d been warned of our arrival.

  “So, you are the Medeisians everyone is whispering about?” she asked. Neither Maeve nor I answered, and she chuckled as she knelt before us. “You may stand, Medeisians. I am Reenah, the prince’s consort. Not that he calls on me much.”

  I looked at Maeve. “She says we can stand.”

  Reenah watched me as we rose. “Ah, so I see only one of you speaks our tongue. No worries, many of us speak your language. Those of us who travel with the prince are required to know many tongues. But I warn you, my Medeisian is bad and heavily accented.”

  I nodded and Reenah turned to Maeve. “I am Reenah,” she repeated in Medeisian. “You bathe now, yes? We help.”

  Maeve looked relieved, her gaze moving appreciatively to several wooden tubs full of steaming water.

  “Go,” Reenah said with a laugh.