by R. K. Ryals
She glanced at me. “It would make my life easier,” she answered.
I fell quiet, my gaze following hers to the sea. The waves were rough but not vicious, the grey skies from earlier slowly melting away, sending occasional patches of light down to the ship’s deck.
“Your curiosity makes you good with people,” Catriona blurted. My gaze swung to her profile. She was watching me, occasional glances thrown in my direction. “SeeVan has been Cadeyrn’s Quartermaster since before my sister’s death,” she revealed, shrugging. “Beatrice wasn’t always warm with him. He intimidated her, and the fear made her coarse.”
This was the first time I’d heard anything unfavorable about Cadeyrn’s deceased wife, and I leaned against the railing, weighing my words. My flaws were many, and knowing Beatrice had them, too, created a kinship with her. It made her more human, more accessible rather than a paragon. It made me understand Cadeyrn and her better. Because love couldn’t exist without flaws. Flaws gave a person a chance to prove they loved someone, that being with them wasn’t about them being perfect.
“Fear makes us do and say things we wouldn’t otherwise say or do,” I said finally, smiling.
“Fear doesn’t do that to everyone,” Catriona murmured. Catching my eye, she gestured at me. “Are you in love with my husband, rebel?”
Her question threw me, and I inhaled, my gaze flying to the sea. We’d had a similar conversation months before, but things had changed drastically since then. The pregnancy for one. Even if she didn’t love Cadeyrn, she was tied to him now. She was tied to him by the child and by alliances.
I chose my words carefully. “I respect him.”
Her eyes narrowed, her head lifting. “Things are awkward between us now, aren’t they?” she asked, her hand dropping to her rounded belly. She was dressed in a lightweight blue gown, the material suited for the heat. “This,” she rubbed her stomach, “makes things awkward. I never wanted that. The Medeisians fascinated me. You fascinate me; your spirit, your powers, and your choices. I admit, I am more selfish than you.”
Her words stunned me, robbing me of speech.
Catriona chuckled. “I rather enjoy surprising you.” She glanced over her shoulder at the deck, at the crew as they scurried about. Across the expanse, Cadeyrn stood with SeeVan and Gryphon, their gazes on a map held by my brother. “I want love,” the princess whispered. “I don’t want the delegated strictures of marriage. I could care less about alliances. Those were Beatrice’s responsibilities. I want freedom.”
Reaching out, I touched her, my hand squeezing her shoulder. “Those are treasonous words, Your Majesty. Those in power often have to make sacrifices for duty, for the safety of their people.”
Catriona snorted. “That’s why you would have made a better queen, rebel. You believe in that. You believe in giving up things to make the whole better.”
I frowned. “I do believe in that, but everyone is a little selfish. Everyone wishes for individual happiness away from duty. The question isn’t what you want. It’s what you’re willing to face to get it. It’s the consequences you’re willing to suffer.”
The princess sighed, her gaze flicking from the group of men and the sea. “It’s funny to me,” she breathed, “how much some men love the ocean and how they refer to it and their ships as women. The ocean is a bitter mistress, always unpredictable and moody. How is it they can love the sea, but not love the same thing in a bride?”
My brows furrowed. “Are we talking about Prince Cadeyrn?” I asked.
Catriona straightened, a faraway look in her eyes. “I’m sorry, rebel. I’ve been a little under the weather.” She bowed her head, the Medeisian gesture a kind farewell. “Thank you for speaking with me.”
I bowed my head in return, unease swirling in my gut. I felt like I was missing something. “Your Majesty,” I called as she walked away. She paused. “Just remember that forked paths are dangerous ones. If you choose the wrong one, there isn’t a guarantee you’ll return,” I told her.
Throwing me a soft smile, she sauntered away, her silent guards on her heels. My unease grew.
“Humans are such unpredictable nuisances,” Oran grumbled as he padded to me from further down the deck. He’d been lying with Maeve when I left to walk along the rail, but he came to me now, his steps unsteady. “Having such good hearing can be a curse.”
“Your hearing may come in handy,” I pointed out.
My gaze sought out Prince Cadeyrn, my eyes studying his form. The men weren’t looking at the map anymore, they were gazing out to sea deep in discussion.
We were chess pieces, all of us. The hard thing about a human chess game was that the pieces could think. It wasn’t easy playing a game when you couldn’t predict the next move.
Chapter 12
It was a four week journey over the Sea of Rollinthia and into the Sea of Cairn and the Black Sea to reach Henderonia under fair weather conditions. The Beatrice was a massive ship, built and outfitted to carry a large number of men and supplies. According to SeeVan, who’d taken to waiting up for me every evening on the main deck, the Beatrice could carry up to four hundred men at capacity, the majority of these being sailors.
“We’ve seen some rough seas in overcrowded conditions when it was called for,” SeeVan told me one night, a week into the journey. He was mending old sails, not because he had to but because he seemed to like doing it. “Keeps my hands busy and my mind workin’.” He tapped his forehead. “Runnin’ a ship is like runnin’ a small country. One misstep, and ye run the risk of mutiny. We all have our ways of keepin’ what we need to know straight. Mine’s mendin’. The Cap’n practices with his sword.”
It was the steel that pacified the prince. The forest and parchment did the same for me. The ocean calmed me, too. It had a low voice, a soft hum that was more music than words, as if it didn’t need to speak. The sea was louder at night, the sound pressing against me like a soft hug. Above us, the stars hung in the sky, brighter than I’d ever seen them through the foliage back home. There were two seas, the one below us and the celestial one above. We were sandwiched between them, so small and insignificant.
There wasn’t much to do aboard the Beatrice for passengers. I spent the days and nights going from a small cabin on the middle deck with a wretched Maeve to the galley and the main deck. Maeve had not gotten used to the sea, her sour stomach keeping her either abed or on the deck near the railing. Food was getting easier to take in, but the constant nausea kept her subdued.
Daegan fared better. Once the initial sickness passed, he found work on board. The sailors welcomed him, the extra hand appreciated. Daegan had a knack for working the rigging.
“It’s like climbing the trees back home,” he said, winking.
I missed the trees.
The night kept me sane. Oran joined my meetings with SeeVan, and although the Quartermaster had been leery of the wolf in the beginning, he’d begun to accept his presence. Occasionally, Lochlen appeared in his human guise, quietly lowering himself next to me, smoke curling from his nostrils into the night as he listened. SeeVan seemed to enjoy the company.
“I was a mercenary before I came to the Beatrice. Yorbrook is an untamed country, mostly jungle with small settlements nestled between soggy forests and dark, forebodin’ rivers. The wildness is born in the folk who live there. It just sort of grows up inside of us. We can survive anything,” he said, patting his chest proudly. “The jungles are a dangerous place, full of as many bloodthirsty men as there are animals.” He glanced at me. “If your Silveet rules there, she’s a brutal goddess.”
Lochlen snorted, his lanky form reclining against the ship, his yellow-green eyes on the sky. We’d been on the sea for three weeks now, and although keeping the ship’s ledger helped pass the time, I was growing as restless as the dragon.
“The gods are unpredictable,” Oran murmured from my feet.
My gaze studied SeeVan. His lined features looked smoother in lantern light. The soft glow hollowed out
parts of his face and mellowed out others, giving him an oddly unrealistic appearance.
“But you love it,” I insisted. “You love your home.”
The Quartermaster’s eyes were bright, his lips quirked.
“It’s the excitement he loves,” a low voice said. Prince Cadeyrn stepped out of the shadows, his tunic pulled loose at the top, so that the breeze pulled at the fabric. “Those born in Yorbrook are born to danger. It’s hard to please a man who’s survived it all.”
SeeVan chuckled, the sound more a roar than a laugh. It startled the crewmen on deck, but their sudden attention didn’t last for long. The men worked four hour shifts to keep the ship running smoothly. There was no time for idleness.
“All great men want a Yorkbrook born warrior fighting with him,” SeeVan pointed out.
Cadeyrn nodded, his eyes hooded. He stood on the edge of the group, his height keeping the top of his head out of the lantern light.
SeeVan’s hands worked deftly against the sail he was working on, his tongue quieted by the prince’s presence.
“What brought you to the sea?” I asked. My back was against a barrel, my feet crossed. Oran’s head was heavy on my ankles. My fingers worked a piece of rope, tying and untying it. I’d grown interested in knots since being at sea and SeeVan was teaching me how to tie them. Cadeyrn’s presence was unnerving, the amiable story-filled nights we’d grown accustomed to thrown asunder. My fingers were clumsy.
SeeVan glanced at Cadeyrn, his gaze flicking to the Captain’s face before falling to mine. “I double crossed the wrong man, miss. Got myself in a lot of trouble with a rowdy bunch of pirates. Before long, I was in the Raging Sea and being keelhauled to a ship. If I hadn’t been saved and dragged from the water by the Cap’n there, I’d have lost my life. Almost didn’t survive as it was, and it left me a scarred man. My face and body wasn’t always so ugly.”
I studied him, my eyes wide. The deep lines on his face weren’t from age and the elements. They’d been carved out by the sea.
“Keelhauled?” I whispered.
SeeVan frowned. “It ain’t for a woman’s ears that.”
His respect for my sex warmed my heart. “Thank you,” I replied. “You remind me that I was a lady once.”
My response startled SeeVan, and he stared at me. “Once? Being a consort don’t make ye any less a woman, miss.”
My cheeks flushed, my fingers gripping the rope in my hands. Lochlen chuckled. Oran’s body shook, his laughter quieter than the dragon’s.
“I suppose it doesn’t,” I mumbled.
Hands suddenly fell next to mine, Cadeyrn’s kneeling figure overwhelming in the circle of light.
“The mage knot is a Sadeemian design,” he said, removing the rope from my palms. “It was created to foil lesser mages, the complicated loops meant to slow escape.”
We all stared at the prince, at his large hands deftly working the rope. His shoulder brushed against mine, and I inhaled, forcing my gaze to his fingers.
He finished the knot and handed it to me. “You’re going under rather than over on your third pass.”
I accepted the rope, my gaze finally meeting his. “I’ll remember that.”
SeeVan cleared his throat. “I hear tell ye’ve been marked by the gods,” he said, breaking the tension, his gaze falling to my wrists. “We have few gods in Yorbrook, but we have a healthy respect for spirits. There are a might many deities in the Nine Kingdoms. Do your gods really expect Medeisia to fight to keep them out of faith? How do ye know yours are the right gods?”
The ocean’s song grew so loud, it was a roaring tsunami in my ears.
“Because mine aren’t necessarily the right gods,” I said abruptly, a knowing sensation warming my limbs. Oran’s head lifted, his gaze swinging to mine. Lochlen watched me. I couldn’t see Cadeyrn’s face, and I didn’t glance his way. “Mage powers differ in each country. The way people learn isn’t the same in Medeisia as it is elsewhere. Our customs are different. Before we walked our world, the gods controlled it, and as the dragons before us, they didn’t always agree. They preferred certain climates over others, they quarreled, and they were divided. New hierarchies were born, the gods reigning over each kingdom claiming the people, the land, and the magic as their own. We’re all descendants of gods, but none of us come from the same gods.”
“You believe this?” SeeVan asked.
My gaze met his. “If Medeisians forget their gods, the gods who claimed us will be forgotten. In the end, our country will suffer. I believe this because I feel it. I believe this because they all call to me. If a region loses its history, its gods, and its customs, it loses power.” I glanced at Cadeyrn. “Medeisia makes a better ally than it does a captive.”
My chest heaved, my eyes falling to my wrists, an unexpected, sobering knowledge crashing over me. How I missed it before was beyond me. I’d been marked by the gods. I’d been consumed by them. In truth, the gods were arrogant rulers who used fear as much as they did power to demand loyalty. I’d been chosen, and they’d marked me the same way Raemon had marked his people. The burning star and the busted inkwell.
“Stone?” Lochlen asked.
My gaze rose to meet his, and I saw the truth in his reptilian gaze. Horror warred with weary expectation within me. “Tell me I’m wrong,” I whispered.
Lochlen’s head bowed, his fiery hair falling around him.
“Lochlen—” I began.
“You won’t fail them,” he insisted. I’d been chosen as an ambassador for the dragons and for the gods. They’d been suppressed too long by the madness of a king and a fearful people. The rebels had bred hope into the Medeisian heart, our success a catalyst for a new, golden future however slow it may be.
The dragons couldn’t risk losing their chance to flourish.
The gods couldn’t risk losing the power they’d gained.
I stared at the tattoos. If I failed to be the voice of my people, if I failed to keep Arien from taking power in Medeisia then I was going to die.
I’d been re-marked. I’d been warned. I’d been enslaved.
If I failed, I ceased to exist.
Chapter 13
Standing, I stumbled away from the group and into the shadows. The wind tugged on me, the stars jeering down from the sky. My chest was tight, tears fighting to escape.
“There are consequences to war,” Lochlen called.
I whirled, my eyes flashing. “We won the war! You died, and I died with you to prove it!”
His eyes glowed, their yellow-green depths eerie in the dark. “Humans won their war. No one remembers the creatures left in the wake of devastation. That’s the problem with human politics. You destroy lands and lives, and while picking up the pieces, you forget those who helped.”
Anger coursed through my veins. I was angry at the gods, but I was even angrier at Lochlen. “I didn’t forget! I’m as tied to the gods and dragons as a mortal can be. I’ve never forgotten you.”
“Sacrifices must be made,” he said firmly.
I glared. “Whose sacrifice? Mine? If you wanted my life, you could have taken it away from me before Kye’s and Brennus’ death. You could have taken it before they burned Aigneis alive. You could have taken it before half of the rebels died bearing marks they didn’t deserve. I am one person, Lochlen, and I would have died to save many.”
The dragon approached me, his fingers closing around the top of my arm before pulling me against the railing. The ship’s crew paused in their work, our rising voices drawing attention. Oran skulked in the shadows, wavering between the need to come to me and the need not to interfere.
“Your life meant more to the cause! You were a symbol of hope for your people! If you had died, then there would have been no hope for the dragons or the gods. Now, the Medeisians are open to us.”
“And you think my death now will cause them to accept you over Prince Arien? Are you looking to be a king, Lochlen?”
“No,” he answered. “I’m looking to make you a
queen.”
His answer stunned me into silence, my shocked gaze on his face. My fingers gripped the side of the ship. “What?” I asked. “I’m no queen, Lochlen. All I’ve ever wanted to be was a scribe.” My voice had lowered, aware now of the audience we had acquired. “What do the marks have to do with me being anything?”
Lochlen’s eerie gaze studied mine, his hand tightening on my arm. “What king or queen has yet to represent more than just their people? You already do that. You speak for people, gods, and dragons. The gods marked you. They did it because fear is a powerful motivator. Because when you stand before your enemy and your people, the fear that you’ll lose your life will be enough to keep you speaking.”
“It’s my life, Lochlen,” I whispered.
He blinked. “I never said the gods were wise. With great power comes the need to manipulate. You won’t fail, Stone.”
“I would have spoken for the gods and the dragons without the marks,” I said.
Lochlen sighed. “The marks are part of you. They’re part of your people. All you have to do is remember how much is at stake. Remember how careful you have to be with your words. You don’t need to be a queen to live. You just need to make sure you keep the wrong king from power.” He leaned close. “I do, however, think that you deserve to be a queen.”
My eyes burned. “I’m not a descendant to the throne.”
“No,” Lochlen agreed, “but it’s those who aren’t born to rule who learn to listen.” Turning me, he forced me against the side of the ship, my hands against the rail and my eyes toward the sea. The water was dark below, a half-moon throwing very little light onto the waves. “Listen, Stone! What makes you unique is that you don’t belong to just one god. You take them with you wherever you go.”
The singing ocean was suddenly screaming, the sound so terrifyingly loud that I cried out, my hands flying to my ears. Lochlen forced them away.
“Listen!” he shouted.
He released me, and I stumbled, a piercing shriek tearing through my head. My teeth slammed together against the need to scream.