City in Ruins

by R. K. Ryals

  My gaze followed his to the blade. “Are you referencing battle, Your Majesty? Or are you referencing life?”

  Cadeyrn lifted his sword, his eyes catching mine. “What do you think, Aean Brirg?”

  I stared, my pulse quickening. The prince had a way of teaching things, of making one understand the world on a primal but intelligent level. He understood human emotion more than most. Maybe it was grief that made him wise, but I believe it was so much more than that. It was grief but it was also time and responsibility.

  Reaching back, I touched my bow. “Unlike a sword, an arrow is tricky. The bowman fights from a distance knowing his arrow must fly straight and true to hit its intended target.”

  “True,” Cadeyrn agreed, approaching me. “But tell me, when you’re facing death, when you are eye to eye with the man who could either run you through or set you free, which weapon would you prefer?”

  My breath caught. “Words,” I breathed without hesitation.

  Cadeyrn’s eyes studied mine, searching my gaze. After a moment, he inclined his head. “I take it you’ve come to warn me about my mother?”

  I froze. “How did you know?”

  He sheathed his sword. “I saw your meeting with Reenah.”

  “You followed her?” I gasped. The strange thing about my life before I became a rebel compared to after was how lonely I could feel even though I was less alone than I ever had been. Before I was marked, there’d been no guards tracking my movements, no distrustful men and women stalking my steps.

  Cadeyn’s hands came up to grasp the fence surrounding the practice yard. The top of the barrier came up to Cadeyrn’s waist, which meant it was much higher on my person. “You must never forget, Aean Brirg, that I trust my abilities but I will never trust humanity. I always question my subjects’ fealty. To not do so would be weak. She was acting suspicious. Yes, I followed her. I’m not surprised she came to you.”

  The way he said the words caused my throat to constrict, and I coughed. “Do you agree with her?”

  He exhaled. “My mother is a queen who is loyal first to her husband, as is her responsibility, and then to her father. She comes from a strict nation, their intolerance and arrogance widely known. Those are hard characteristics to overcome even in marriage. Queen Isabella is ruled most by emotion. Emotion is folly in leadership.”

  “Not always,” I argued.

  “The majority of the time,” Cadeyrn conceded. “Remember what I’ve taught you, Aean Brirg. For anyone is susceptible to a blade at close range, to the thrust of a mighty weapon by a man who understands armor.”

  His words were a warning, and I heeded them.

  My feet stumbled away from him, but Cadeyrn’s hand rose, stopping me. “You could do worse than an alliance with Reenah.”

  What he didn’t say rang loud between us. He trusted his former consort.

  Backing away, I watched as he grabbed a tunic hanging over the fence, his eyes skirting the area. He would never feel safe, never feel free from the threat of assassination. He had a right to stay on his guard. He was safer in Medeisia than he was elsewhere because our country was closed off from most of the Nine Kingdoms by the ocean and the Ardus, but to drop his guard now would make him less alert when he left Medeisia.

  “Trouble,” the trees whispered.

  I stiffened.

  “You seek advice from a king?” a harsh voice asked behind me. I knew without turning that it was Mothelamew. The elderly scribe had always been suspicious of me and troubled by my presence.

  Pulling his tunic over his head, Cadeyrn looked up. “Leave it, Mothelamew.”

  Turning, I found myself peering into flashing blue eyes, their bright color at odds with Mothelamew’s wrinkled flesh and long grey beard.

  He frowned, deepening his wrinkles. “I don’t trust you.”

  My gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t expect you to. We serve different gods after all.”

  “Have you come for a reason?” Cadeyrn asked, approaching.

  The mage’s chin rose, his hard gaze swinging from mine to Cadeyrn. “You’re making a mistake allowing the council to remain intact, allowing the girl and the dragon to travel with you.”

  The prince’s face remained even. “The council is laughable. We both know it, but it’s a show of combined force between our people and the Medeisians until a better council can be created. Until the country decides what it wants out of its leaders. I respect you as a teacher and a mage, but leave the politics to me.”

  “The dragons—”

  Cadeyrn’s expression darkened. “During the time of Hedron, it was the dragons who gave the king power. It was a time of peace, his rule one of the most magnificent in history. The dragons are better allies than they are enemies.”

  Mothelamew’s gaze found mine. “You will be our downfall, phoenix.”

  I frowned, my brows furrowed. “The prophecy has been fulfilled.”

  “Has it?” the mage asked. “Are you so sure that it’s found its resolution?”

  Caderyn pushed past Mothelamew, his back stiff.

  “Are you so sure it hasn’t?” I asked suddenly. Cadeyrn paused. I stared at the mage. “So many lives have been lost in the uprising against Raemon. Dragon, human, and nature alike. We’ve lost and we’ve mourned.” The next words I uttered pierced my heart but I said them anyway. “When did one prince and one nation become more important than another? When is it that the Sadeemians started deserving more than the Medeisian men and women who’ve lost their lives?” Turning, I began my trek to the scribe school, pausing only long enough to add, “When you can tell me that, mage, I’ll quit fighting.”

  Chapter 8

  War happens in stages. It begins as an epic battle between what you believe is right and wrong and emerges into a mixed up world of beliefs. I’d long since lost the glamour of war. I was in that place plagued by nightmares, the one where ghosts propelled me forward rather than people. Cadeyrn had been right. There would be no more war moments. War had stolen my humanity. Maybe that’s why I found it so easy to fight for gods and dragons. I had nothing left to give to man.

  War simply kept on stealing.

  Our war had become a small courtyard full of stamping horses on a humid morning. There was no one to see us off, no sobbing families or battle cries. Whispers and murmurs surrounded us, servants quietly checking and re-checking our supplies. Guards circled the area, their swords drawn, their eyes on the forest. Princess Catriona sat upon a gentle horse, Gryphon behind her. Herrnos, two large Henderonian guards with bald heads and circles tattooed on their cheeks, flanked the steed. They wouldn’t risk Catriona walking for long periods, even if they had to carry her. The time when most women lost their unborn was past but the fear was still there. This baby was Sadeemia’s and Henderonia’s hope for the future.

  “Onward!” Prince Cadeyrn shouted.

  Horses moved over the draw bridge, their hoofs loud against the wood. Soldiers marched, their heads held high. Daegan, Maeve, and I followed. Lochlen flew in the skies above, his shadow looming over the ground. There was a flash of blue, and I knew Feras had arrived to take Cadeyrn’s place at the castle until his return. The royal scribes and mages from Sadeemia would remain with him. My uncle, Garod Consta-Mayria, had also been summoned to Aireesi to represent the Medeisian people in my absence. Although Garod’s title of ambassador had been reinstated, the people’s trust in him had been damaged. In truth, even though I didn’t blame my uncle for what happened, I’d also done nothing to repair our relationship. Since his return to Forticry, I’d not made a single trip home. It wasn’t Garod; it was the memories.

  A roar filled the air, the call signaling the dragon rex’s arrival in court. I didn’t look behind me to see if Feras landed. To look behind meant wanting to stay.

  A howl rose up, and the foliage at the edge of the forest shook, furry legs moving in and out of the underbrush. It made the soldiers nervous. Princess Catriona kept glancing at the sky and at the dragon above us before gazin
g at the woods. The ruckus did not bother me. I knew we were being followed by wolves.

  “We say good-bye too often,” the trees called down to me.

  I glanced up at their limbs, at the way the leaves waved. Branches ducked, skirting my head before rising again.

  “I wish they wouldn’t do that,” Maeve muttered, shivering. “It’s deuced creepy.”

  My smile met the foliage. “We shall overcome,” I told the trees. The words had become a mantra for us since our first foray into the Ardus with Kye.

  For hours we walked, the day blending into late afternoon and then night. The forest surrounded us, cloaking us as we made camp. We slept restlessly only to continue forward the next morning. There wasn’t much conversation, as if the entourage was afraid of the forest. They were subdued by it. They were jumpy, their eyes frantically darting at every noise.

  “Do you think they fear it so much because they don’t have forests like this in Sadeemia?” Maeve hissed.

  “No,” Daegan answered. “I think it’s because they aren’t used to how alive our forests are. There is nothing normal about the Medeisian woods.”

  “It’s home,” Maeve mumbled.

  “To us,” Daegan said. “To them, it’s sinister.”

  Daegan was right, of course. The forest was awake, it’s murmuring voice a rising crescendo with each passing day. The trees were suspicious of the Sadeemians, but they were cordial, watching but never interfering. No one was tripped up by vines or choked by the underbrush in their sleep. Nature simply watched. The smell of damp earth rose up from the ground, the soil springy beneath our feet. The scent of rotting vegetation mixed with floral undertones. Mosquitoes and dragonflies danced in the air. Birds chirped from overhanging limbs, their feathers fluttering as they settled. The forest was never quiet. The day traded in their creatures for the night, the crickets, frogs, and owls a vivid array of sounds.

  We were only hours from entering the Ardus on the fourth day when Oran came to me, his loping figure falling into step next to mine. I knew why he’d come, and my brows rose.

  “You do realize we’re going to sea?” I asked.

  Oran’s dark eyes peered up into mine. “You cannot dissuade me.”

  “I wouldn’t dare try,” I breathed, my lips curling. The wolf shook, his fur flying, and I knew he was thinking of the last time he’d been on a boat. My smile grew. “You may talk yourself out of it first.”

  He growled, the sound drawing the soldiers’ attention in front of us. Some of them reached for their swords, and my hand went to my bow, my eyes catching theirs. They backed down, their hard gaze passing from me to the wolf.

  “I see you’re well loved,” Oran quipped.

  I threw him a look.

  We marched, our tired feet carrying us to the edge of the Ardus, toward the unbearable heat and yellow sands. My heart hurt staring at it, the pain of Kye’s loss falling over me. I’d not walked in the Ardus since his death. The last time I’d traversed the barren wasteland had been on Lochlen’s back with Oran in my lap and Prince Cadeyrn behind me.

  Staring at it now, I felt my pulse race, my heart a lump in my throat.

  “Be brave,” a female voice said. It was Silveet, Goddess of the Forest. “Take what you’ve lost and let it speak for you, for us.”

  “This will not be a war of swords,” another voice added. Escreet, Goddess of the Scribes. Her spirit rose within me, overwhelming me. It made it hard to breathe, and I inhaled sharply. “This war will be made of words.”

  My hand grasped my heart, my fingers digging into the tunic I wore, an overwhelming sense of grief and need overcoming me. Pain sliced through me.

  “By the gods!” Daegan cried.

  “Your eyes!” Maeve breathed.

  Standing frozen on the grass just steps away from the desert sands, I felt a tear escape my eyes. Gasps and exclamations followed its movement down my cheek.

  “Stone?” Maeve asked. I knew by her careful tone that I was crying ink.

  My ears roared.

  A shadow fell over me, Lochlen’s circling draconic form dropping to the ground. He transformed, his body taking human shape before his feet hit the earth.

  “Don’t get near her! No one should ever approach a mortal consumed by the gods!” he bellowed.

  Slowly, and as gracefully as I could, I sunk to the ground, my chest heaving.

  “You felt this was necessary!” I cried, my voice strangled by the emotions clogging me. I was a lake of feelings. My skin burned.

  “You will take us with you,” Silveet promised.

  “Remember who you are,” Escreet added.

  If I’d been impressed by the goddesses’ lack of physical abuse before, I wasn’t anymore. Inky tears streaked down my cheeks, my wrists suddenly on fire.

  “No!” I breathed.

  I didn’t want to look down at my hands. I was too afraid of what I’d see, too afraid of the pain it would cause.

  “Oh, Stone,” Maeve whispered. She knelt across from me but didn’t approach.

  “Green eyes,” Oran muttered. “It seems your eyes change depending on your power.”

  “No,” Lochlen said, stopping just short of me. “They change according to the god influencing her. When we left Medeisia with Kye and entered the Ardus, Silveet’s influence wasn’t as strong. Stone’s true eye color is what we saw in the desert, a mix of her Medeisian and Sadeemian heritage. This,” he gestured at me, “is the work of the gods.”

  My mind barely registered his words, my body pummeled by memories. My hands rose, my gaze finally falling to my wrists. On my right was the tattoo of a burning star. On my left was the tattoo of a busted inkwell. These were not new symbols, but the marks I’d once carried had disappeared with Raemon’s death, the spilled ink on the dragon pendant, and Lochlen’s rebirth. The gods had re-marked me.

  “Why?” I asked, my voice shaking.

  I must have looked mad talking to Silveet and Escreet, to gods no one could hear but me.

  “Because the biggest battles are won out of faith and memory,” Silveet called.

  “Because the smallest battles are won out of need,” Escreet sang.

  My body sagged, the pain ebbing away.

  “Go with the gods, little one,” the trees called, their farewell echoing. It replaced the ebbing pain with more heartache. My trees.

  Boots stepped in front of me, filling my vision.

  “She’s a loon!” one of the soldiers cried. There was a chorus of murmuring agreement.

  A hand lowered, falling between me and the boots, and I followed the calloused palm to the strong man it belonged to. Prince Cadeyrn’s gaze locked with mine, his blue eyes unreadable.

  “You have a tendency to cause a show,” he said, his voice low.

  Inhaling, I placed my palm in his, my eyes forward. His gaze fell to my wrists before sliding away.

  “I believe I’m representing an egotistical lot,” I whispered back.

  His hand tightened on mine, squeezing before releasing. My body, my mind, and my heart never seemed to belong to just me.

  “It is the folly of leaders to believe we control only ourselves,” Cadeyrn said near my ear. He stepped back, his gaze passing over the men and women ahead.

  “Move forward!” he ordered.

  We marched onward, the stifling desert closing around us. Black-winged wyvers watched us from the sky, and a few of the soldiers broke away from the group, leading two horses into the desert, their swords in their hands. The horses were bait, fresh kills used to keep the wyvers at bay.

  My feet followed, the horses’ cries chasing me. The word loon kept circling my head, the occasional glance thrown my way.

  The only thing I cared about were the horses. “Is there no other way to satisfy the wyvers?” I asked.

  Lochlen moved next to me, his shoulder brushing mine. “The wyvers are predators, Stone. They need the fresh kill. The soldiers are making the hunt easier.”

  The horses cried once, a scream o
f despair in the distance, and then there was silence. No one other than Lochlen, Oran, and I heard the words they yelled in death.

  “Save us!” they’d cried. “We do not fight this war!”

  So many innocent lives. So many sacrifices.

  My gaze fell to my wrists. The goddesses had given me the mark of the mage and the mark of the scribe. The marks didn’t mean what they once did, but it didn’t stop me from rubbing at the tattoos. It didn’t stop me from wishing I could wash them away.

  “I’m losing myself,” I told Lochlen.

  His yellow-green eyes peered down at me. “The best heroes always do.”

  Chapter 9

  Traveling across the bottom of the desert into one of the port cities controlled by Sadeemia didn’t take as long as it did to march across the Ardus into the country’s capital. What would have taken weeks had we marched on Majesta took only days. Sadeemia ruled two ports just below the desert, the towns close enough to Medeisia to feel the country’s presence and far enough from Sadeemia to feel independent. Like the town of Rolleen, the villages we came upon—Wafer and Seasia—were made of white washed houses built into the cliffs with bright, colorful roofs. Unlike Rolleen, the houses were not freshly painted and the citizens didn’t come out to greet their prince.

  Curious window-shadowed gazes followed us as we stepped free of the desert and made our way from blistering sands to rocky cliffs, the harsh wind blowing in from the sea tousling our sweat stained clothes and cooling our heated, red faces.

  “No parade through the streets?” Daegan asked.

  Reenah, who’d been traveling with Catriona’s maids, fell back, her gaze on the cliff side villages. “There’s a healthy respect for the Sadeemian monarchy here, but it isn’t as celebrated as it would be closer to the capital. To most, Seasia and Wafer have earned their right to independence. Not from Sadeemia. They are too small and poor for that. But from the pomp and regalia expected from others. People die here more often than not, the fishing this close to the rough waters surrounding Medeisia making it more dangerous than work close to the Sadeemian capital.” She glanced at me. “Your healing abilities would be more respected here than royalty. They respect what helps them survive.”