Tempest (The Scribes of Medeisia)

by R. K. Ryals

Lochlen moved to the sand, settling cross-legged next to Oran.

  “You’re not worried about scorpions?” Maeve asked.

  The dragon peered up at her, his reptilian eyes shining as he ran a hand down his arm. “It may look like human skin, but it isn’t.”

  It was all he said. Maeve shivered before moving past him to the empty bed next to Daegan.

  “They couldn’t leave us with the warrior women and consort?” Maeve grumbled.

  Daegan’s head shot up. “Consort? As in mistress?”

  Maeve grinned. “Prince Cadeyrn’s consort,” she reiterated.

  Daegan’s face fell. “There’s only one?” he asked.

  Brennus lay back on the cot opposite Maeve, his eyes going to Kye.

  “Well, I’ll be. Ye should ‘ave a consort, Kye. Ye be a prince, too,” he said, his Rendohan accent more prominent when weary.

  Kye coughed, avoiding our gazes as he lowered himself onto a cot nearest the tent’s exit.

  “I’ve no interest in a consort,” he said.

  Daegan laughed. “You be a man, right?”

  Maeve reached over and slapped him on the back of the head. “We might not look like ladies most of the time, but Stone and I aren’t men. Hold your tongue!”

  I settled onto a cot next to the tent’s wall. It put Brennus above me, and Kye at my feet. Lochlen and Oran were on the sand next to me.

  I patted the bed, my eyes on the wolf. “Lochlen may have a tough hide, but you do not. Take the extra cot or sleep here at the end of mine.”

  Brennus chuckled. “If I didn’t know ye was talkin’ to the wolf, I’d take ye up on that offer, Stone.”

  I threw him a look.

  Maeve groaned. “Maybe you could all use a consort.”

  Oran’s fur shook. “I’ll take my chances in the sand, Phoenix.”

  I shrugged, tuning out Brennus’ monologue about Sadeemian women and how strangely appealing they were.

  “I think their magic is interesting,” I said suddenly, breaking into the conversation just as Daegan was about to begin his own spiel about the necessity of consorts in general.

  Maeve lifted her head. “I wouldn’t mind learning that trick they do with temperature,” she agreed.

  Both Daegan and Brennus nodded. We were all mages, all of us except for Kye.

  “I like their confidence. I often find I’m afraid of my magic,” I admitted.

  Brennus grunted again. “It’s because we aren’t trained. We have to figure it out as we go.”

  I looked at him. “What can you do, Brennus?” I asked.

  His gaze met mine. “I’m good with stone,” he said, “and I can hear things sometimes. Voices.”

  Daegan harrumphed. “We always knew you were mad, Brennus.”

  Brennus rose up on his elbows. “Says the man who has odd dreams, and draws strange pictures in the dirt.”

  Daegan sniffed. “I used to paint before I was marked.”

  I watched them. I already knew what Maeve could do. She could manipulate fire, had accidentally burned down part of a marketplace before being marked because of it.

  “Useful skills,” Kye said from his cot. We all turned toward him. His eyes moved over our faces. “All of them, useful. King Raemon’s tyranny must be stopped.”

  I stared at him, at his beautiful face, at the scars that started at his neck and moved down into the white tunic he now wore. I noticed Maeve did the same.

  “Does it ever bother you,” I asked him quietly. His gaze shot to mine, and I gestured at our group. “Does it bother you that we are all mages, but you were born with no magic?”

  Kye threw us a half-smile. “It did once. My father is a convincing man. He often ranted about the risk mages could have on people without magic. We, as normal folk, have no defense against magic attack, he always said. I suppose that’s true. There are bad mages, Captain Neill for example, but there are good ones too, and they are dangerous only if untrained. It’s the same with knowledge. Knowledge is power in itself. Without it, we are all defenseless.”

  Brennus and Daegan both nodded thoughtfully before their heads lowered, their backs resting once more against the cots. Maeve watched Kye, her expression a curious collection of emotions. Love, maybe? Or infatuation. Definitely respect. I hoped my face didn’t look like hers, but I feared it did.

  “I’d like to learn to read,” Maeve admitted, her voice loud in the quiet enclosure before she reclined, her eyes going to the tent’s pinnacle. Her lids were heavy. I heard Brennus snore.

  Lochlen yawned and curled up in the sand. How odd it looked to see a grown male attempt to coil up like a lizard.

  “This conversation has grown too deep for me tonight,” Lochlen grumbled.

  I grinned down at his odd figure. “I thought dragons didn’t need much sleep.”

  Lochlen snorted and smoke curled up into the dim space. It blew out the only candle in the tent, and threw the space into darkness.

  “Tonight, Phoenix, we all rest,” he said.

  His words seemed to coax sleep from Daegan and Maeve. Maeve’s whistling breath and Daegan’s grumbling slumber met Brennus’ snore in the night. I lay in the darkness as long as I could, staring up into the pitch black gloom. There was light around the tent flap from the fires that burned beyond. Strange for a desert, but I assumed the Sadeemians had a reason. Maybe it was to warn away the wyvers.

  Curiosity got the better of me, and I lowered my feet to the sand. I’d kept my boots on before lying in the cot, not wanting to find a scorpion hiding within them, or a sand-colored desert snake seeking shelter. I’d heard about scorpions and sand snakes all of my life. Anyone who grew up within sight of the Ardus border was raised on desert stories. Some of them were too outlandish to be true, no doubt, but fascinating.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Kye’s voice asked in the darkness.

  I smiled.

  “It’s the scribe in me, always curious,” I answered as I shuffled through the sand, moving slowly so I wouldn’t trip over the cots or Lochlen and Oran. My eyes were glued to the outlined tent flap.

  I heard Kye sit up, moving so that he stood behind me as I reached the fabric entry. I lifted the flap.

  A few small fires burned beyond. Men and women moved around them, lifting and lowering large pots on and off the flames before scrubbing tunics and cooking foodstuff.

  “It’s cooler at night. It seems reasonable that they would do the most work when it was dark,” Kye said into my ear, his breath fanning the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck. I shivered.

  His arm snaked around my waist, and I closed my eyes. My skin tingled where he touched me, even with the tunic separating his arm from my stomach.

  “We never got a chance to talk after—” Kye began.

  I turned around in his arms, my fingers going to his lips.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  “Stone—”

  I shushed him again. “I can’t remember ever wanting to be anything other than a scribe. In my heart, I’ve always believed that everything had a word to describe it, that anything could be written about, that there was nothing that couldn’t be said aloud. I was wrong. Some things have no words to describe them. Some things can’t be defined.”

  Kye’s hand came up to my face, cradling it, his thumb rubbing across my cheekbone. His eyes studied my face before he bent, his lips sliding across my jaw, leaving a sensitive trail from my chin to my cheek.

  He paused, his mouth going next to my ear. “Once upon a time, a pair of wide, sad eyes stared out at me from a dark wagon,” he whispered. “The girl’s cheek was cut, her skin covered in dirt, and I knew her heart was breaking. I had heard, even felt, the unbelievable pain in her scream when her companion was murdered. And still, she fought. She spit at her tormentors and cursed them. And then she ran. She ran, and she ran, heading toward a desert that would kill her as quickly as it would protect her. In that moment, I felt my heart change. Maybe there are no words. You’re right, Stone. Maybe, in these times,
it’s better not to say them. But ...”

  Kye’s words trailed off, his gaze going over my head to the tent flap, to the Sadeemian people beyond. There were different men and women by the fires now. It seemed they worked in shifts, so that each group had time to rest. Many were packing bags and cleaning weapons in preparation for the journey to come.

  I looked up at Kye’s face, my eyes searching his gaze. The flames from the camp beyond danced in his pupils.

  “But?” I asked.

  His gaze moved down to mine, his hand sliding into my hair, his fingers pulling gently on the short strands.

  “But then,” he continued, “I remember the angry girl who looked up at the sky and ordered it to rain, the same girl who took a sword and broke the chains that bound me in a castle dungeon.”

  He leaned closer, so close I could feel his lips move against mine as he spoke to me, felt the friction as he talked.

  “I remember the girl who knelt in the middle of a rebel camp amidst people she barely knew and asked for a mark that would brand her as different. And in that moment, I felt every scar on my body tear open. They tore open, and they bled again.”

  I almost smiled at his words. “That doesn’t sound pleasant,” I teased.

  The feel of his lips as they continued to skim over mine was creating a spark between us, making my skin tingle from my lips to my fingertips, from my fingertips to my toes. I felt it when he smiled.

  “Never unpleasant. Not when the one person who can heal them all is with me always,” he lifted my hand and placed it against his chest, “here.”

  He wasn’t speaking anymore. His lips pressed against mine, and as he kissed me, I felt his heart beat against my palm. One thump ... two ...

  I counted his heartbeats. Feeling its rhythm felt like standing in the middle of the forest. It felt like skimming my fingers through Oran’s hair. It felt like a pen scratching across parchment. Feeling his heart beat felt like coming home, and after having lost so much, a tear fell from the corner of my eye, leaving a trail from my cheek to my lips. Kye kissed away the salt, his lips lifting.

  “It’s not supposed to hurt,” I said before his lips could touch mine again, “but it does.”

  Kye’s gaze searched mine. “It is supposed to hurt. The best kind of love always hurts like hell.”

  He’d said it. Love. His arms tightened around me, his lips soft against mine. There was no urgency in this kiss. Only gentle pressure, the kind of moment that would last forever because there was no rush, no need to speed through it.

  And so he kissed me.

  He kissed me in the middle of a tentative ally camp, inside a dark tent with sleeping rebels and marching guards beyond.

  He kissed me, my palm against his chest, and I let him, lifting his hand so that it rested in the space above my heart. One thump ... two ...

  And then I knew what he meant when he said every scar in his body tore open, and I was the only one who could heal them because suddenly my heart was a gaping hole, the scars in my emotions an open wound. His kiss healed them. His beating heart replaced awful memories with something hopeful and new.

  I pressed his hand harder against my chest. “Here,” I murmured against his lips. He was healing me here. One thump ... two ...

  Chapter 11

  My heart was full.

  I stepped from my cot only a few hours after Kye and I retired, the first awake among the rebels, and moved once more to the tent flap. It was still dark out, but the sky was turning grey, the sand white. After almost a week in the Ardus, I’d learned dawn was the coolest part of the day. A slight, warm breeze pushed through the entrance, and I pushed aside the fabric to look out over the sand.

  I didn’t expect to find myself facing the Sadeemian prince.

  Cadeyrn’s gaze was hard when it met mine, and I hid behind the tent flap, only half of my face visible in the predawn light. For a moment, he simply stared, his eyes moving from my face to my hair before traveling to the sand.

  “Who are you?” he finally asked, his voice low and deep in the gloom.

  I glanced around for our guards but saw no one.

  “I’m Drastona Consta-Mayria,” I whispered, my fingers digging into the fabric of our enclosure.

  Cadeyrn’s eyes narrowed. “Not your name, girl. I know your name.”

  I stared at him. “Then I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

  His eyes lifted from mine, his gaze moving to the desert.

  “The Ardus is a funny mistress,” Cadeyrn said. “She is unlike any desert. Her temperatures do not drop at night the way it should, the way it often does in most barren wastelands. She keeps few creatures alive. Only the worst kind of monsters survive here, the venomous and dangerous.” His eyes lifted to the sky, to the wyvers.

  I looked at his profile. In truth, the Sadeemian prince scared me, but there was also something sad about him, something deadly and strong. As if he had tried to die a thousand ways and hadn’t managed to succeed yet.

  “Have you traveled in many deserts, then?” I asked carefully, my voice so low I wasn’t sure he’d even hear.

  He didn’t turn to face me.

  “Too many,” he answered, his voice as low as mine. “You say you come here to help your people. Do you believe you are the phoenix of peace this Book of Truth speaks of?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer him, so I stuck with the truth.

  “I ... I’m not sure I’m what the rebels believe me to be, but I want them to have something to believe in. I want something to believe in. Even if it means believing in myself.”

  Cadeyrn looked at me then, his expression unreadable.

  “Is it so bad in Medeisia?” he asked.

  I didn’t blink. “Worse.”

  He nodded. The prince was tall with thick hair, bound now behind his head. He wore the same loose white tunic as his people with brown leather trousers and tall boots. A blue cloak was tied beneath his neck, the hood down. He stared for long moments at the rising sun.

  The camp was coming alive before us. Cadeyrn’s people began gathering up supplies and lowering tents, and a group of men herded a cluster of strange looking animals from the desert into the camp. They lifted supplies and tied them onto the beasts’ backs. I watched them wide-eyed.

  “Sand equus,” Cadeyrn said, noting my interest in the large, tan animals. They looked like horses, but had much broader backs and a thicker pelt. Their legs were longer than an average horse, and their feet were wide. All of them had light-colored fur that blended well with the desert and long, wide snouts. Their nostrils flared as they were led past us, and they stamped at the sand with their hooves.

  Several guards marched behind the sand equus, and they glanced at the prince as they passed. He waved them on.

  “Stone?” a voice called out from behind me, the sound breaking the silence.

  The prince turned, his gaze finding mine as Kye joined me at the entrance,

  “Stone,” Cadeyrn repeated.

  He seemed to test the name on his tongue, a bemused look crossing his face as he glanced at Kye.

  “Gather your men. We leave as soon as the camp is disassembled,” Cadeyrn ordered.

  Kye stared at him, his green eyes narrowed while his dark hair fell into his face. I looked between them before focusing on Cadeyrn.

  “All of us?” I asked. I gestured at the people in the desert. “Will the whole camp go?”

  Cadeyrn glanced at me. “Some will return to Sadeemia.”

  Kye’s arm went around my waist. I could hear our friends rousing behind us, but Kye didn’t pull away.

  “They go to warn your king,” Kye accused.

  Cadeyrn smirked. “Only a foolhardy leader would lead an entire group of warriors and servants to possible slaughter without first warning his sovereign,” Cadeyrn responded, his eyes narrowing on Kye. “I am not a foolhardy leader.”

  The Sadeemian prince walked away then, his blue cloak flapping in the morning breeze. The wind seemed heavier today
, and I noticed Cadeyrn glancing at the sky.

  “Are we leaving now?” Daegan asked groggily from behind us.

  Neither Kye nor I stirred, our eyes on the camp. The people beyond moved quickly, expertly.

  “He’s certainly an efficient commander,” Lochlen said as he pushed his way past me, his face lifting in the early light.

  Kye snorted. “Efficient, but arrogant.”

  I looked up at him. “Do you really think so?” I asked.

  Maeve, Daegan, and Brennus joined us at the opening, Oran weaving through their legs to settle at my side. Maeve’s gaze went immediately to Kye’s arm on my waist, and I saw her stiffen. I started to pull away, but Kye held me fast. Brennus and Daegan glanced at each other, a shrewd look passing between them.

  “Do I really think he’s arrogant?” Kye asked me, his voice breaking the tension. He grunted in answer. “Yes.”

  My hand went to Kye’s arm on my waist, my stomach fluttering with drunk butterflies.

  “I don’t think it's arrogance,” I said, my gaze finding the Sadeemian prince. He stood in front of a group of blue-cloaked men, his hand gesturing as he spoke. “I think it's pain.”

  Brennus grunted. “No, it’s arrogance.”

  “Aye,” Daegan agreed.

  “Men,” I mumbled.

  Our guards—Ryon and Madden—returned, their faces hard. Each of them held a pile of blue cloaks.

  “Put these on,” Madden ordered.

  We each took one, moving apart so that we could fasten them under our chins. Three soldiers sidled up next to Ryon, saluting before depositing our old packs and weapons into the sand beside the tent. We gazed at them.

  “Go on,” Ryon said tersely. “Take them. The prince has ordered your things returned.”

  Ryon sounded less than happy about the command, his middle-aged, lined face framed by wild blond hair and marred by a deep scowl.

  Brennus was the first to move, barely controlling his excitement as he grabbed his sword and held it up reverently.

  “Ah,” he sighed.

  To a warrior, a weapon meant much more than his pack.

  Daegan and I reached for our bows as Kye picked up his weapons, slinging his pack onto his shoulder. Daegan also took a sword, but I didn’t reach for one. Beyond knowing basic swordplay, the bow was my strength.