Tempest (The Scribes of Medeisia)

by R. K. Ryals

  I wasn’t comfortable undressing in front of anyone, but the water looked as inviting to me as it did to Maeve.

  I moved to the tub, untying the heavy brown cloak before letting it fall to the sand. Oran sat between the wooden washbasins as Maeve did the same. This tent was as cool as the prince’s.

  I looked at Reenah. “How is this possible? It is very cool in here,” I touched the water in the tub next to me, “and the water is very hot.”

  Reenah grinned. “You do not know this magic in Medeisia?”

  Maeve and I shook our heads.

  Reenah frowned. “How sad! It is such simple magic. All mages in Sadeemia can adjust temperature. Now, scoot!”

  Maeve and I glanced at each other before untying our tunics, our faces going red. Mine went redder still when I noticed, as our clothes fell to the ground, how much more endowed Maeve was than I. Oran chuckled from the sand.

  “Hush, wolf!” I hissed.

  “Too skinny,” Reenah clucked. “Both of you.”

  Maeve and I practically dove into the tubs to avoid further scrutiny.

  “By the gods, it feels nice!” Maeve exclaimed.

  I sighed in reply. Reenah pointed at our clothes in the sand, and then at the tent’s entrance. “Dispose of them,” she ordered before pinching her nose. “They reek!”

  Maeve and I sat up, water sploshing over the sides of the tub.

  “Our clothes!” we cried.

  Reenah’s brows rose. “You will get replacements, but these must go.”

  We watched in horror as our green tunics and brown trousers were thrown out into the night.

  “Wash!” Reenah commanded, and we fell back into the water. Soap was thrust into our hands, and we scrubbed our hair and bodies, our eyes on the women in the room.

  I tried to relax and couldn’t. “Are you all consorts of the prince?” I asked.

  Maeve looked at me, her eyes wide with horror. “Consort?”

  Reenah laughed. “Ah, you should see your face, maiden!” she said to Maeve before glancing at me. “No, we are not all consorts. Most of these women are warriors, some of them servants. I am the only consort here.”

  “Oh,” I murmured.

  “Lucky is what she is,” one of the other women said boldly in Medeisian.

  Reenah smiled. “He is a fine specimen, no?”

  Another woman giggled. “Fine indeed.” Her gaze moved to our bath. “But we all saw the men you traveled with. The scarred one is not a bad specimen himself.”

  Maeve and I stiffened, and my skin flushed. Reenah noticed. Her gaze, when it met mine, was knowing. My head ducked.

  “Forgive me for asking,” Maeve inquired, “but is a consort the same thing as a mistress?”

  I gaped at Maeve, but no one berated her for her question.

  Reenah approached us, towels folded over her arm. “Yes, young one. A consort is a mistress. The king invited me to the palace a year after Prince Cadeyrn’s wife died. He hoped, I think, that I could help the prince, but other than warming his bed, I have done nothing for his grief.”

  I stared at her as I stood. The towel was wrapped around me, and I clutched it.

  “The prince was married?” I asked.

  Reenah nodded, her expression sad. “Our prince has suffered much. His power is great, you see. Many want him dead. He has been an object of assassins since birth. But there was nothing so devastating as his marriage. It was a love match, but a year after they took their vows, his wife was murdered in their bed. The prince was away on a mission for the king.”

  Silence reigned in the tent. Someone handed me a loose white tunic, and a pair of brown leather breeches. I used one arm to pull the shirt over my head before letting the towel drop. The breeches that followed were much softer and cooler than I expected them to be even with the undergarments. It seemed these clothes were made for the desert, made to breathe where our Medeisian garments had not been.

  “You should not tell the foreigners so much, Reenah,” one of the women groused in Sadeemian.

  Reenah frowned. “The prince’s wife’s death is no secret, Greta.”

  I watched them curiously.

  One of the women handed Maeve a band to wrap around her hair. “It is hot in the desert,” she explained. “Keeping your hair up helps.”

  The woman looked at my short hair helplessly, but I smiled to show her I was not insulted. In truth, I liked the way it felt, the always unruly curls framing my face but not overpowering it. And it reminded me of Kye.

  “I like it,” Reenah murmured, lifting a hand so that it tweaked one of my curls. “Unusual, but it suits you.”

  I nodded my thanks.

  Winking, Reenah gestured at the tent’s opening. “Eat quickly. The prince is not a patient man.”

  Ceramic bowls were thrust into our laps, and my mouth watered at the sight of fresh meat and vegetables floating in a savory dark broth.

  “More magic?” I asked.

  Reenah grinned. “To keep the produce and meat fresh, yes, but the cooking magic belongs to Huck. And goodness knows, don’t ever let him hear you call it magic!”

  Maeve gasped, her spoon pausing halfway to her mouth. “The cook is a man?”

  The women were closing in on us, staring at us in interest. Oran pushed his way through them, and they shrieked.

  “It’s okay,” I soothed. “He’s just hungry. May he have some food?”

  One of the unnamed women quickly complied.

  “Men do not cook in Medeisia?” she asked as she laid a bowl of stew in the sand for Oran. The wolf ate greedily.

  Maeve and I shook our heads as we ate. “No, only women cook there,” Maeve answered.

  The women tsked as I drained my bowl. Reenah watched me, and I caught her gaze. She nodded at the tent’s entrance.

  “Come,” she said. “The prince is waiting.”

  I nodded, laying the bowl aside before following her out of the enclosure. Oran trailed me quietly. The night seemed less warm in the loose, thin white tunic, and I breathed it in, my gaze going to the moon, to the wyvers flying continuously in front of it.

  “You and the scarred man are lovers?” Reenah asked.

  The question surprised me, and I almost tripped in the sand. My gaze swung to her face, my eyes wide.

  She chuckled. “I have never had the pleasure to marry, but I have seen love, young one. Your eyes were bright with the emotion when he was mentioned earlier.”

  I looked away. “This is no time for love,” I said.

  The woman snorted. It was such an indelicate sound that I looked at her.

  “There is never a good time for love,” Reenah muttered.

  Her words struck a chord within me, but we were at the prince’s tent before I could ask her what she meant.

  Reenah winked at me before ducking through the flap.

  Inside, Cadeyrn stood opposite a freshly bathed Kye and Lochlen. They were deep in discussion, but paused when we entered. Cadeyrn’s gaze moved from me to the wolf.

  “He goes with me everywhere,” I said firmly before the prince could protest.

  Cadeyrn’s eyes met mine. “So be it.” His gaze slid to the woman next to me. “Thank you, Reenah.”

  She bowed. “You know where I can be found, Your Majesty.”

  And with that, she left. Cadeyrn didn’t spare her a glance.

  He motioned at me. “Come, daughter of Garod. Let’s talk about this prophecy of yours, this missive you wrote, and why you are followed by animals.”

  My eyes went to Kye. He watched me as I strode toward them, something deep within his gaze. It made my skin heat.

  Cadeyrn’s gaze moved between us, but he said nothing.

  “Prince Kyenar and the dragon have been spinning some wild tales,” Cadeyrn stated.

  Kye frowned. “Kye. I prefer Kye.”

  Lochlen didn’t look offended. I think he knew Prince Cadeyrn did it simply to rile them. I glimpsed amusement in the Sadeemian man’s face.

  �
�Tales, Your Majesty?” I asked, ignoring the tension between the two princes.

  Cadeyrn pulled a dagger from the inside of his boot. It made his tunic billow when he leaned over, the white fabric revealing a rather intricate black tattoo across his chest. I tried not to stare, but the design fascinated me.

  The prince straightened, his eyes on mine as he lifted the knife. “You can heal?” he asked.

  My eyes narrowed. I was tired of displaying my powers for power hungry men. If Cadeyrn was going to prove to be anything like Raemon, I wasn’t interested in the Sadeemian’s help.

  “I can,” I answered.

  Cadeyrn watched me. “I have no interest in a demonstration, but I can’t offer you my help on word alone. I am no enemy of your people, but I am also no friend.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  The prince took the dagger and dragged it across his palm. He didn’t flinch, but I did. Blood welled up along his skin and dripped to the sand below.

  Cadeyrn held his hand out to me. “Heal it,” he ordered.

  I stepped forward, swallowing hard as I took his hand in mine. Bile rose up in my throat. The prince looked amused.

  “A mage with healing powers afraid of blood?” he asked.

  I winced as my palm closed over his wound. The warm liquid there made saliva pool in my mouth, and the nausea became overwhelming. I swallowed it back. There was no way I was throwing up my first real meal in days. I closed my eyes, continuing to swallow as I felt the wound begin to close against my hand.

  “I’m not afraid of blood,” I muttered, “but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  The prince said nothing. He simply lifted my hand from his before placing a damp cloth in my palm. I opened my eyes.

  “Nicely done,” he said, “but not an unusual gift.”

  His wound was gone, and he used a second damp cloth to scrub the blood from his hands before moving away from me to the side of the tent. For the first time, I noticed a simple wooden table hastily set up on the side of the enclosure. There was a small washbasin resting on its surface. A stack of papers sat next to it, lit candles resting on each side. I recognized the papers as the proclamations we’d carried with us from Medeisia.

  Cadeyrn lifted the documents, his fingers thumbing through the pages.

  “So, the king of Medeisia plots to murder my fiancée?” he asked.

  The prince’s gaze lifted to meet Kye’s.

  Kye nodded. “He plans to intercept the ship carrying her to your shores.”

  Cadeyrn sighed. “In truth, he’d be doing me a favor getting rid of Gabriella.” I gasped, and the prince looked up at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “You think me callous for saying that, no doubt,” he said, “but then you haven’t met her.”

  Lochlen snorted back laughter, and the wolf at my feet chuckled.

  “Must be a weak female,” Oran muttered.

  I looked down at him. “Weak doesn’t mean unlikable.”

  Oran’s dark gaze met mine. “It does to a wolf.”

  “And a dragon,” Lochlen cut in.

  I glared at them both. Kye’s lips twitched. He didn’t understand the wolf, but he got the gist of the conversation. Cadeyrn watched us.

  “You really understand the animal?” the prince asked.

  I looked at him. “I do,” I answered. “There’s another traveling with us. She’s a falcon. You won’t see her unless she wants to be seen, but she is around nonetheless. I’d appreciate it if no bowmen shot at her.”

  Cadeyrn dropped the documents back onto the table before leaning his hip casually against the wooden surface.

  “Such power, and yet so untrained,” he murmured. “It’s a pity.”

  “It’s a crime,” Kye responded hotly, “and in our country, it means death.”

  Cadeyrn watched us a moment.

  “You realize, I am obligated to bring you to Sadeemia. With the threat you’ve so boldly accused your king of, you will be forced to face my father,” the prince said finally.

  I stepped toward the prince, my face flushed with anger, but Kye took me gently by the arm and pulled me back against his chest.

  “If we went back with you now, there would be no time to stop the assassination of the Greemallian princess,” Kye said firmly.

  Cadeyrn ignored Kye, his gaze moving to my face.

  “Who did your king order you to write the missive to?” he asked.

  Kye’s hands tightened on my arms. I took strength from it.

  “A Captain Blayne Dragern,” I answered.

  Cadeyrn stiffened. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded, my anger fading at the fury now emanating from the formidable prince. I pressed as close to Kye as I could.

  “Who is he to you?” Kye asked.

  He noted something in Cadeyrn’s expression. We all did. Cadeyrn turned away from us, his hands clutching the table. His knuckles were white against the wood, his shirt tight against a broad-muscled frame. I thought I spied another tattoo beyond the white material, but he shifted before I could be sure.

  “My uncle,” Cadeyrn answered softly, turning toward us, his mouth set in a grim line. “We leave for the coast at daybreak.” His eyes moved to ours. “We are a week’s journey from the coast where we sit now in the Ardus. Be prepared for a fight. Even food will not hold the wyvers off for a week. As for your king ...” Cadeyrn pushed away from the table, moving so that he stood nose to nose with Kye, me between them. “If what you say is true, and an assassination attempt is made on my fiancée, then there will be war. And your king will pay.”

  I was overwhelmed by the scent of pine and something exotic. Jasmine maybe? Or something spicier. Kye and Cadeyrn.

  Kye’s hands fell from my arms to my waist, anchoring me against him. “The only thing I ask in return is your support of the rebel cause and my ascension to the Medeisian throne,” Kye said.

  Cadeyrn stared at him. “So this is about power then?”

  Kye glared. “No, this is about giving my people hope. It’s about giving my people a ruler they can believe in.”

  Cadeyrn grunted. “You believe ruling is about hope?” he asked.

  Kye grew still. “Don’t you?”

  Cadeyrn’s blue gaze was cold and icy. “You’ll learn, Kye, that ruling is as much about death and lies as it is about hope.”

  Kye stood his ground. “People die for hope,” he responded.

  “They also die for stupidity,” Cadeyrn pointed out.

  I looked up, my gaze going from one strong chin to another. Both men were tall and intimidating, although for different reasons. Kye was a map of scars, lean and jaded by his childhood and his time among King Raemon’s army. I wasn’t sure what it was that jaded Prince Cadeyrn. His consort had mentioned a murdered wife, but there was something else there, too. Something deeper.

  “I would die for stupidity if it meant living in freedom,” I said softly between them.

  Cadeyrn’s gaze moved to mine. Kye’s arms tightened possessively.

  “Would you, Aean Brirg?” he asked.

  Aean Brirg. In Sadeemian, it meant little bird. I stared up at him, at the frown that marred his brow.

  He leaned down slightly. “War may change your mind. It will strip you of morals, will take away hope and love and replace it with something dark and cold. It will clip your wings, Aean Brirg, and you will no longer fly.”

  With that, Prince Cadeyrn stepped away from us, his glacial gaze moving to Kye’s face.

  “You have my word. If what you say is true, and we go to war with your father, I will support your cause and see you sit on the Medeisian throne.”

  “And your father would allow that?” Kye asked. “If Sadeemia won a war with Medeisia, would he not want to usurp complete power?”

  It was a fear we all shared. We were in awe of the Sadeemians, even envied them their government, but we didn’t want to be a usurped country. We wanted to maintain our own power, to try our own hand at starting anew.

 
; Cadeyrn brought his hand up, and we watched as he clenched his fist.

  “My brother is the heir to the Sadeemian crown. I am the only other royal who could ascend the Medeisian throne, and believe me when I say, I have no interest in ruling.”

  We didn’t doubt the look in Cadeyrn’s eyes. He turned away from us, his back straight.

  “Take them away!” Cadeyrn yelled.

  Madden and Ryon both entered the tent, their hands on the hilt of their swords.

  Cadeyrn looked at them. “Rest tonight, and have the guards switch watch often. We leave on the morrow for the coast.”

  The soldiers didn’t argue, escorting us quickly from the tent.

  I glanced back once to find the prince standing, his profile to the night, one fist clenched while the other clung to the blade of a sword. It didn’t seem to hurt him. Instead, he appeared to be wrestling strength from the metal. There was no time to wonder about it.

  I watched the way his muscles relaxed. Comfort. He sought comfort from the blade. I’d often done the same when nestled among the trees.

  Chapter 10

  They placed all of us in the same tent and posted a guard outside. Cadeyrn might be willing to help a group of Medeisian rebels, but until he had the proof he needed to trust us, he wasn’t going to make our life easy.

  “At least we’re clean,” Maeve pointed out.

  There were beds in this enclosure similar to the one I’d seen in the prince’s tent. They were strange, sitting off the ground on metal legs that didn’t look sturdy enough to hold up a feather but were remarkably strong. Cots, the guards called it. They laughed when they saw our faces.

  “Better a cot than a bedroll,” Ryon had teased. “This is the Ardus. Sleep on a bedroll and risk being stung by a scorpion.”

  So far, we’d done just fine avoiding any arachnids since entering the desert, but maybe the guards were right. I didn’t want to take any chances.

  “Let Brennus try it first,” Daegan said, his eyes on one of the beds. “He weighs the most.”

  Brennus grunted, shoving Daegan from behind so that the short, but stocky brown-haired bowman landed indelicately on the closest cot. It didn’t collapse.

  Brennus shrugged. “Seems fine.”