by R. K. Ryals
Her words struck a chord within me. Survival was something I understood.
Above us, seagulls flew, making quick passes before gliding over the sea, their raucous calls following them.
“What did the horse say when he was tickled?” one of the gulls asked. “HeeHaw!” he answered himself before any of the other birds had a chance to reply.
“That’s a donkey, you idiot,” another seagull exclaimed.
At my feet, Oran snorted. “Damned gulls.”
Smiling, I lifted my face toward the sky, pulling back the hood of the brown cloak I’d used to protect my face in the desert so that the wind could tug at my hair, its cool fingers running over my scalp. There was something about the sea. Like the forest, it spoke to me. Not in the same language as the trees, but it spoke. It hummed, its song sinking into my bones, the smell of salt on the air leaving my tongue wanting more.
Our group practically ran down the winding roads to the beach below, throwing off caution and custom by tearing off desert-tainted clothes to rinse in the sea. I’d been modest once, but that had changed. I bathed with the rest of them, my cracked lips stinging when the salty spray hit the desert-dried skin. I couldn’t swim so I remained close to the shore, the waves intimidating me. The ocean was full of power and mystery. It reminded me of Cadeyrn.
Men and women laughed as they jumped the waves, their glee carried away by the breeze. My eyes found the horizon, my gaze landing on a ship anchored just off the coast. It was a large ship with three masts.
Beside me in the shallow surf, Oran groaned, his gaze following mine.
“It’s a beautiful ship,” I said on a laugh.
The water that swirled around my knees was dark and full of frothy bubbles from the waves. The sky around us was grey, the sun hiding behind mist and clouds.
“It’s not beautiful, Stone,” Maeve groused. “It’s not the least bit beautiful.”
Daegan threw her an amused grin. “Already green around the gills and she ain’t even aboard it.”
Maeve splashed him, and he chased her into the waves being careful to stay to the shallows. Lochlen had long since disappeared into the sea, leaving us at the first sight of water.
Reenah approached me, offering me a bar of lye soap before wading deeper into the surf, her confidence in water awe-inspiring. Most of the Sadeemians were comfortable with the sea, as if they were born knowing how to swim. Even Catriona of Henderonia glowed as she stood on the edge of the waves, Gryphon beside her.
“She’s called the Beatrice,” Prince Cadeyrn’s voice said suddenly from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I found him staring at the ship, his silent approach having startled me. He stood, his hands clasped behind his back, his chin toward the sea.
“After your wife?” I asked.
The question was simply an invitation to tell me more. I knew Beatrice was his deceased spouse.
His gaze fell to mine. “She’s a sturdy ship,” he answered.
I could have spoken then. I could have agreed with him or told him how magnificent the vessel was, but the silence spoke more than words ever could. I’d come a long way from the lost ambassador’s daughter who’d watched her nurse burn in the Medeisian woods. I’d learned about life in a tragic way. Silence was a companion of the wise.
“This will be a different kind of war, Aean Brirg,” Cadeyrn said suddenly. “We aren’t going to New Hope to fight. We’re going there to stop a war, everything we say and do will be under scrutiny. Your gods may not pose a serious issue here, but in New Hope they won’t be allowed. Save your fight for when you return to the forests, when you’ll be face to face with Arien. Save your fight for your uprising against my brother.”
“We seek only tolerance,” I said, speaking of Arien.
“You won’t find that in New Hope.” Caedyrn’s hand found my shoulder. “Use your head, Aean Brirg.” He leaned close. “The queen is always the most important piece.”
As quickly as he’d approached me, he left, leaving behind a gaping hole in my heart. I cared about the prince way more than I should.
Love was a complicated emotion. The fire was lit in the heart, sending sparks of warmth through the veins and down into the body. Love didn’t need to be told to care. It just cared. Love didn’t have to be reciprocated. It just needed to be planted and watered. Love was like a flower standing alone in a field. As long as it was fed by the rain and could look upon the sun, it flourished and found happiness. I was the flower. Cadeyrn was the sun, too far away to touch, too hot to be close to, but as long as he shone, I’d flourish. His happiness was enough.
I would never share a life with the prince, but he saw me as his queen. It was a beautiful and devastating place to be. For a king must use his queen to protect himself.
I was the forest.
I was words.
I was a dragon consort.
I was a chess piece.
I was everything, and I was nothing.
Chapter 10
If the Beatrice was magnificent from the shore, then she was even more magnificent up close. It took four row boats to transport those who’d made the trip from Medeisia. Catriona, her maids, the herrnos, and Gryphon were the first to row out to the Beatrice. The next two boats were full of soldiers, servants, and supplies. The last belonged to the Medeisians, Cadeyrn, and Madden. Since leaving Medeisia, the prince had been cautious, surrounding himself with trustworthy guards, Madden included. Personally, I missed Ryon.
We’d barely struck out on the water when Maeve clutched her stomach, her face taking on a decidedly green hue.
“The sea was never meant for people,” she mumbled, her free hand gripping the side of the row boat.
The sea sang to me, and I glanced into the waves. In the water, Lochlen swam, his body no longer human, his yellow-green eyes watching me from the beneath the surface. His golden scales brightened the sea around him. Reaching out, I let my fingers skim the top of the water just above him. His large, draconic eye winked at me.
“The warriors and crew who sailed the Beatrice down from Majesta won’t be comfortable with the dragon,” Madden declared.
My gaze lifted to find the guard’s pinched face regarding Cadeyrn’s calm visage.
“Your problem isn’t with the dragon,” I said suddenly. “It’s with me and my choice to represent him.”
Madden’s lips pressed together, his eyes swinging to my face. “It’s your title I have an issue with.”
“Then loathe me,” I demanded. “I was given a choice. Lochlen fought by your side, as a dragon and a man. The battlefield does much to create brothers out of unrelated men.”
“Enough,” Cadeyrn interceded. “The dragon will cause less a stir in the sea than he will aboard the ship. He won’t be denied access to either.” His gaze dropped to the wolf at my feet. “Beast and man will co-exist peacefully. There’s a lot we could learn from each other.”
Madden’s mouth snapped shut. Oran’s head lifted, his dark eyes finding the prince. My heart swelled with gratitude, and I studied Cadeyrn.
“Well,” Oran sighed, “it seems the prince finds man as much an enemy as you do, Stone.”
His words rang true. I’d not been the only one betrayed continuously by man. Cadeyrn had suffered worse. He’d seen more bloodshed and fought more political battles than any man should. He was a constant target, his family murdered in an attempt to get to him.
My fingers found the wolf’s fur, gripping it. War had stolen the prince’s humanity long before it had ever stolen mine.
“Ho!” voices called down from the Beatrice.
One by one, we boarded the ship, special care taken to get Oran on deck from the row boat below. The Beatrice was like nothing I’d ever seen. I had no experience with sea travel other than the brief journey from Rolleen to Majesta on a trade-cog, but I’d read about it.
This ship was a Sadeemian explorer, a large, stable ship suited for long voyages and heavy seas. It was roomy, big enough to carry passengers, a crew,
and provisions. What I’d thought were three masts from onshore was actually four.
“This is not ideal,” Maeve gasped. She lurched to the side of the ship, sagging against it. Oran reclined on the deck, his own discomfort obvious. Daegan looked sick, but he stood tall.
I stared, my gaze traveling from the bowsprit, the spar extending from the prow (the front of the ship) to the stern (the back of the ship). The Beatrice had a dependable and strong air about her as if the vessel had absorbed the spirit of the woman it was named after.
My gut and my heart told me this ship was one of Cadeyrn’s war moments, the Beatrice a piece of him in the same way the items he kept hidden in a box were a piece of him, torn fragments of his time with his son and wife. There was a piece of me in that box, too. A ripped strip of cloth used to wipe blood and ink away when Cadeyrn tattooed the falcon on my back.
Cries rose up from the deck, the sound shaking me out of my reverie, as Cadeyrn’s long stride ate up the surface. Heads bowed, some of the passengers falling to their knees on the wooden surface as he approached.
“Resume,” Cadeyrn commanded.
He nodded, acknowledging the show of respect. A stocky, balding man with brawny arms and fierce tattoos approached the prince. He had a harsh demeanor broken strangely by a dainty pair of gold spectacles on his nose. The sharp contrast was startling.
The men clasped hands, their heads bent in abrupt discussion.
“That’s SeeVan, the Beatrice’s Quartermaster. Better known as V. He’s sailed with the prince for years,” Reenah informed us, approaching from the side of the deck.
Coils of rope and other supplies littered the wood. Crew men scurried to move provisions below deck while securing necessary equipment above.
“I’ve never seen spectacles before,” I replied.
Reenah laughed, the tinkling sound drawing attention from some of the men, Daegan included. “You would notice that. They’re only made and sold in the Guarda markets, though how they’re produced is beyond me.”
“They’re convex-shaped glass used to magnify images,” I breathed, my gaze studying the frames.
Reenah chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it.”
My fingers itched for a quill, parchment, and ink to make notes and sketches, to record this moment on the sea, to draw a ferocious-looking man with slim eyeglasses.
“I’m dying,” Maeve moaned, drawing our attention to her hunched form.
Seagulls dove, their wings fluttering over Maeve’s miserable head. “What did the dying man say to his son?” a seagull yelled.
“Rest in peace?” another asked.
“Oh,” Oran grumbled, his paws rubbing at his ears, “now I’m dying.”
The seagulls laughed.
Prince Cadeyrn glanced up from his discussion with SeeVan, his gaze passing over the ship, his eyes skirting mine as he perused the men on deck.
“He’s the captain of the Beatrice,” Reenah announced.
My eyes widened. “The prince?”
She smiled. “He commandeered her from a group of smugglers off the coast of Dearn when he was eighteen turns. She’s seen a name change and plenty of improvements since then.”
My curiosity got the better of me. “What was she called before?”
Reenah’s eyes twinkled. “The Vixen. We’re quite suited for this vessel I think, you and I.” She winked.
Mortals gave other mortals roles, titles, and expectations. Once you filled one of those roles, it didn’t matter if it didn’t suit you, you were mired in rumors and innuendos. Words are power. Humanity, however, didn’t always translate words wisely. In the wrong hands, words could destroy lives. It wasn’t words that shouldn’t be trusted. It was the people who said them.
“Yes,” I agreed, “I rather think we are.”
Daegan stumbled next to us, his gaze passing from my face to Reenah’s. “Just so you know, I think the consort system is entirely unfair. What if a man wanted to be a consort? I could think of worse ways to spend my time.”
Coming from anyone else, the words would have been an insult. With Daegan, he was all seriousness, his eyes full of glowing amusement.
Reenah slapped at him, and he inhaled sharply, his hand falling to his stomach. “Maybe I should save the teasing for when my stomach doesn’t feel like someone removed it, shook it, and then replaced it wrong,” he gasped.
This time when Reenah laughed, I joined her.
Chapter 11
The ship’s sails were open, the vessel digging through the waves when the Beatrice’s Quartermaster came to me. I was standing on the deck facing the sea, letting the spray from the ocean wet my cheeks when his lumbering form settled next to mine, a leatherbound book held gingerly in his big hands. SeeVan looked even more terrifying up close, his face lined by time and the elements, his gaze shrewd.
“The cap’n mentioned ye be a scribe,” he said.
I glanced at him, focusing on his spectacles. Evading intimidation meant looking at the small things, the things that made a person human. To look beyond the outer exterior of a person to the man or woman beneath.
Smiling, I nodded.
SeeVan thrust the book in my direction. “It’s the ship’s ledger. There be two of ‘em. The cap’n ledger and the ship. If ye look at what’s been recorded, it’s pretty self-explanatory. We’ve not had a scribe on board in a bit. While I know my letters, I’m not good at scribin’. Got a hard time seein’ the words, I do. Cap’n says ye may be interested in taking a look. Might make ye feel useful and all.”
My brows rose, amusement rising in me. “Useful?”
I accepted the book, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his loose breeches. “I’ll warn ye, miss. Ye got a lot of men on board lookin’ at ye like ye’ll be something good to eat knowin’ you’re a consort. Dragon whore or not. Reenah’s protected by the royals, but ye ain’t.”
His blunt words crashed over me, my face heating. “The captain has told you everything then?”
SeeVan inclined his head. “I’m the Quartermaster, miss. It’s my duty to know what’s going on aboard this ship and what kind of problems it could cause. Being a consort of the dragons, ye’ve thrown away your right to Sadeemian protection. Your protection depends on the dragon, and he isn’t always on board.”
“He’d hear me if I called,” I protested.
“Nevertheless,” SeeVan said, “the cap’n wants ye to scribe for the Beatrice. Your bow and arrows aren’t as useful on ship as they’d be on land. If ye have a job on board, a title, then the cap’n is obligated to protect ye.”
A slow warmth developed in the pit of my stomach. “This was the captain’s idea then?” My fingers pressed against the tome, drawing strength from the leather and parchment. Escreet’s presence was much stronger here than Silveet’s. The ocean sang, the sound rising until it was a steady chorus around us.
“He be a good leader, miss. He’s saved my life a time or two.”
My gaze found his, peering past the harsh lines to what he must have looked like as a boy. “What may I call you, sir?” I asked.
For a moment, his eyes widened, my respectful address unexpected.
“I go by V on the Beatrice,” he replied.
Smiling softly, I inquired, “From where do you hail, V? You don’t have Sadeemian features, and your dialect is different.”
When he’d approached me, I’d noticed the black tufts of hair that remained on his head, his eyes so dark they were almost black. He was a head taller than me, but not as tall as most Sadeemian men. He also sported loose breeches and a strange, colorful sleeveless tunic.
SeeVan studied me. “Ye be an observant one. I hail from the wilds of Yorbrook.”
“Yorbrook!” I exclaimed, delighted. “I would be honored if you told me about your country one day, Mr. V.”
The man flushed. “Just V, miss. Cap’n told me ye were an inquisitive wench.” He scowled and stepped away from me. “I might have time to tell ye a little about the wilds if ye
ever feel the need to visit the deck most evenings after ye sup. I do some mendin’ on the lines durin’ my watch.”
My heart was light. I’d spent the past two years embroiled in war and rebellion. I’d forgotten what it felt like to converse with a stranger about something other than politics. Strangely enough, SeeVan reminded me of the scribes I’d visited and worked with at Forticry growing up. I’d enjoyed watching them scribble on parchment while they told me stories.
“I’d like that, V,” I replied, holding up the book, “and I’ll take the position. You can tell your captain I did not refuse.”
Inclining his head, he backed away before turning, his feet thudding across the deck.
“You make friends in odd places, rebel,” a female voice called.
Glancing up, I found Princess Catriona waddling toward me, her herrnos guards flanking her.
She stopped at the ship’s railing, her fiery hair flying away from her face as she inhaled the breeze. “I was worried the baby wouldn’t take well to the sea, that I’d be as sick as your rebel friends, but he seems to be thriving so far. Only a half day out, but that’s a good sign.”
I clutched the ship’s ledger, my nails digging into the leather. “He?”
Catriona grinned. “It’s customary to hope for a boy when you’re a royal. Mayhap it’s a girl, but words carry weight, so it’d be nice if the fates listened.” She winked.
The fates were the Henderonian gods, a group of female and male deities who controlled Henderonian lives. There were more gods in Henderonia than there were in Medeisia.
“Aside from your gods, do you want a boy?” I asked.