by R. K. Ryals
“Torrance,” I whispered, my nose scrunching as I glanced at my belly. My mid-section was softer than it had been before, but it was no rounder. “What do you think of that?”
My back rested against the wood, my gaze on the stars, my stomach churning. I groaned. “At this rate, I think I’m going to nickname you Misery,” I teased.
“Gabethian,” Prince Cadeyrn’s voice said suddenly.
Startled, I sat up so quickly, I just managed to hang my head over the side of the ship before I vomited. Cadeyrn caught me, his arm supporting my back.
My face heated, my eyes squeezing shut.
“Gabethian,” I panted, my hand pressing against my stomach. “Does it mean anything?”
Cadeyrn assisted me to the deck.
Bringing my knees to my chest, I let my arms fall around my legs.
He watched me. “It’s an old Sadeemian word meaning triumph over adversity.” He leaned close. “Use it. It reminds me of his mother.”
I stared. “I think it reminds me more of his father.”
Cadeyrn settled next to me, his back leaning against the railing. By the light sheen of sweat on his skin, I knew he’d either been practicing with his sword or working in the rigging.
“No,” he said. “I face adversity, but his mother is definitely better at triumphing over it.”
Something about the way he looked at me suddenly made me incredibly sad, as if naming our child was a form of saying good-bye.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Cadeyrn smiled, his hand suddenly cradling my head. Leaning me forward gently, he pulled the neck of my tunic away from my skin, his gaze falling to my back. I knew what he was looking for, and though most of the scars from New Hope were gone, a few silver lines remained.
“I’m not,” he said suddenly, his gaze finding mine. “I’m not sorry, Aean Brirg.” Standing, he stepped away, his eyes bright when he added, “Gabethian. Call him Gabethian.”
His boots thudded across the deck.
“Gabethian,” I repeated. “Gabethian Torrance Bernhart.”
From where he lay in the shadows, Oran’s head lifted. “I like that.”
I smiled. “I think I do, too.” My brows rose. “Now, if he’ll just let me sleep.”
Oran snorted. “A sign of things to come, I’m sure.”
Maybe, I thought. And yet, oddly enough, I was okay with that.
Chapter 31
“Land, ho!” Daegan cried.
A loud cheer should have risen up to meet the words, but there was nothing. Stone-faced sailors walked along the decks, coiling rope and lifting supplies for the move inland.
Standing at the rail with Reenah and Lochlen, I watched as the shoreline came into view. Majesta was as beautiful as I remembered, an awe-inspiring, magical place full of hundreds of people. A large, white palace made of smooth stone rose up into the sky, the sight greeting us as men worked to moor the ship. The towers and jutting turrets looked eerily like prison bars, like reaching fingers beckoning for us to come. Blue flags flew from the roof, proudly displaying the Sadeemian crest: a black falcon, his wings spread.
Along the wharf, people stopped to stare at the Beatrice, the large, royal ship unexpected in port.
“Don’t run the flags,” Cadeyrn ordered. SeeVan rushed to comply.
With very little ceremony, we unloaded. Passengers departed before the cargo. As with our previous foray into the country, most of us were ushered into covered carriages, the conveyances rolling over cobblestone streets toward the palace.
The prince separated himself from the group, a band of loyal sailors following him on horseback. His life was under constant threat in Sadeemia. He was a target for political assassins greedy for power.
The air sizzled with tension.
A wide-eyed Ryon met us at the palace, his mystified gaze taking in the bedlam.
Rather than announce himself, Cadeyrn pulled a rearing horse to a halt before the palace steps and dismounted.
Throwing the reins at one of the servants, he bellowed, “Bring my mother and my brother into the Hall of Light.”
It seemed unlikely that Ryon’s eyes could get even wider, and yet somehow they managed.
“Sire?” he asked.
“Now!” Cadeyrn ordered.
The man stuttered, rushing past me into the palace beyond. Caderyn rarely got flustered, his calm presence a comforting balm to those around him. Seeing him this way did not bode well for anyone.
With a final glance at the wall and yard, Cadeyrn entered the palace, his personal guard rushing in from the garrison yard to flank him, their confusion making them clumsy.
We marched as a group into the fortress, Oran tangling himself in my legs. The white stone walls we passed mocked us, the polished marble floors throwing back angry, indignant reflections.
A picture glass window built into a vaulted ceiling threw a spectacular glare over a large, golden throne. On it sat the king, Arien of Sadeemia. Servants in blue surcoats lined the room, their gazes as wide as Ryon’s.
Arien, a lankier, shorter version of his brother, stood when we entered, his brows furrowed. “Brother?” the king acknowledged.
Cadeyrn paused before the throne, going down on one knee on the marble, as it was the custom to do so. The rest of us followed suit, our wary gazes bouncing from one person to the next as we fell to the floor.
“Rise,” the king commanded, his voice small and startled. “What is this, brother?”
Cadeyrn was blunt and to the point. “Did you have any idea our mother was a murderer?”
Arien’s face went utterly still, spots of pink forming on his cheeks, his harried, frantic gaze darting through the room, never landing on anything.
With angry denial written all over his features, he snarled, “What’s the meaning of this?”
Paying us no heed, Cadeyrn gestured at his guards. “Be prepared to arrest your queen,” he ordered them.
Gasps swept the room.
Arien stepped off of the dais. “You don’t mean that!”
Cadeyrn’s eyes glinted. “I mean every single word.”
The end of the hall exploded in chaos. A woman stomped petulantly down the corridor, her eyes flashing furiously. She was beautiful, even with her hair in disarray. Like her father, King Brahn, she had slanted eyes, her porcelain features glowing.
“What—” she began.
Catching sight of Cadeyrn, his face twisted in fury, she paused, an uncertain smile ghosting her lips.
“Hello, mother,” Cadeyrn greeted, his eyes full of rage.
Isabella stiffened, her back rigid. “What is the meaning of this, son?”
Cadeyrn waved at his guards. “Arrest her!”
Arien flew into the chamber, throwing his arms out in front of his mother. “Stand down! You have no right!” he screamed. “You are not the king! I am!’
Calmly, the gesture even more disturbing because of his composure, Cadeyrn moved his brother aside, his flashing eyes on Isabella.
“I have convincing evidence she’s been involved in more than one treasonous plot against Sadeemia. Side with her, and I’ll assume you’re in league with her,” he accused.
Arien sputtered.
Isabella glared. “Says the son who’s married to a barbarian, a man who’s gallivanting around the world with dragons and women with tainted reputations.”
Anger climbed its way up my spine.
“Your father is alive,” Cadeyrn announced suddenly. “Not only alive, but he’s resumed his throne. Did you really seek to unseat King Brahn?”
Isabella froze.
Arien laughed. “Of course King Brahn’s alive. You set out to see him yourself.”
Cadeyrn’s gaze swung to his brother. “Imagine my surprise then when I arrived to discover that King Brahn has been imprisoned in his own dungeon for four years and that his children put him there.”
Murmurs exploded around the room.
Arien glanced at Isabella. “Mother?”
>
She winced. “There are perfectly good explanations why kings are removed from power. If he was in the dungeons, then I am sure the people had something to do with it.”
Cadeyrn’s gaze narrowed, and for the first time since meeting him I noticed uncertainty painting his blue eyes. He couldn’t tell if his mother was telling a lie!
The truth hit me so hard, I almost stumbled, my wild eyes flying to the queen. Isabella was a mage. It was no wonder she’d been able to hide her sadistic, manipulative ways for so many years. She was one of the few people her son couldn’t read.
“Tell me,” I said suddenly, my voice loud in the echoing chamber. “If the people placed King Brahn in the dungeons, then why would they put a treasonous Blayne Dragern on the throne? Why would they accept Princess Gabriella of Greemallia and your son’s former wife as their queen?”
The murmurs grew.
Isabella’s wild, furious gaze flew to my face, her open hatred so great, I inhaled. But it was when her eyes widened, her hate-filled gaze falling to my stomach, that I felt true fear. It was ironic really that after everything, Queen Isabella would have the same kind of mage powers my mother had. My mother had been a midwife and a healer, had been able to determine if a woman was pregnant and what she was carrying.
“No,” she hissed, her eyes tracking my mid-section.
Taking a step back, I watched her, my gaze cautious.
I knew when she realized I knew what she was by the slow grin that spread across her features. There was no madness in her smile, simply hatred. “Did you think mages came only from countries with many gods?” she hissed.
Her words threw Cadeyrn into a rage, his roar when he realized what his mother was, filling the chamber.
He drew his sword.
“Did you kill them?” he asked her. “Did you kill my wife and my son?”
“Brother!” Arien exclaimed.
Cadeyrn glanced at him. “And what about yours, Arien?” he asked. “Did you give up father’s half of the dragon pendant to Raemon on your own? Or did someone help convince you? Think carefully, brother. Remember that your wife comes from a country with three gods.”
Arien froze, his face full of open horror and confusion, a maelstrom of emotions he couldn’t seem to sort through. “My son,” he whispered, his gaze flicking to Isabella.
The queen laughed. “Do you really believe I’d kill my own grandchildren?”
A loud hiss filled the room as swords were drawn, angry eyes directed at the queen. Murmurs rose up from the servants along the hall. Blue cloaked men weaved stealthily through the room, their hard gazes on the queen. The king’s guard.
Isabella took a step back. “You needed saving!” she shouted. “All of you!” She sneered, her gaze finding me again. “Even now there’s a bastard child growing within this room, a child who could make a claim to the Sadeemian throne.”
Stares found me, but I didn’t cower. I also didn’t refute. There was one thing I wasn’t. I was not a liar.
Daegan and Maeve gasped.
“Stone,” Maeve hissed, “is it true?”
Rather than answer, I turned and walked out of the hall. “There’s one way to discover the truth,” I called over the shoulder. “Tell me where the king is.”
Surprisingly, it was Arien who rushed from the room, his feet falling into step next to mine.
“My father?” he asked. “Do you think you can save him?”
I glanced at him. “I can try.”
People followed us, a caravan of spectators forming behind us. I ignored them. It was the way of things at court. People only cared about the magnificent things they could see rather than focusing on the magnificent things life had given them.
Picking up his pace, Arien led me into a secure room on the second floor. Guards flanked it, but they stepped aside when they saw the prince.
Arien nodded at them. “Allow only my brother in here,” he ordered.
Cadeyrn had his mother to deal with, and I knew by the stark pain I’d seen in his eyes that knowing she’d killed his family had almost been too much for him. They’d not only been killed, they’d been mutilated.
Swallowing past the bile that rose up in my throat, I concentrated on the chamber, on the high, four poster bed holding a king.
Freemont looked peaceful lying among velvet and silk, his body sprawled just beneath the blankets. A thick bandage wrapped his head.
“Was it a blow to the head?” I asked.
Arien glanced at me. “We don’t know. We heard cries, and then discovered him this way. A man from New Hope was standing over his prone figure. We’ve always assumed it was a blow.”
Stepping to the side of the bed, I climbed onto the comforter, my body causing a small dent next to the king.
“Your Majesty,” I said respectfully, my head bowing.
Lifting my hands, my palms burning, I laid them against his head. Energy exploded along my skin, and I fell back, my gaze widening.
Arien stared at me. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”
My hands found the king’s head again. “He’s been marked by enchantment. Even if I can heal him, I’m not sure I could get past the magic to save him.”
The prince leaned close. “You have to try,” he insisted.
Inhaling, I bore down with my hands, my fingers slipping into the king’s coarse hair. Energy shot up my fingers, burning me. The pain lanced into my arms, but I kept pressing forward anyway, my teeth gritted. It wasn’t until an odd black fog began forming behind my eyes that I recoiled.
“I can’t,” I told Arien, my voice full of anguish. “I can’t risk it. Whatever she’s done to the king, the same fate will visit whoever attempts to save him.”
Arien studied my face. “You are carrying my brother’s child, aren’t you?” he asked. “That’s why you won’t risk it.”
My chin rose. I didn’t lie. “Yes.”
Pushing his hand through his hair, Arien looked at his father. “Do you think it was my mother? Do you think she did this to him?”
I did, but I didn’t tell him that.
My head shook. “You and your brother have been told enough lies. I don’t know who did it, Your Majesty. I won’t make false accusations, but whatever was done, it was done with magic.”
Arien’s face fell to his hands. “I’ve been raised for this you know, and I’m still not sure I can do it.” He glanced at me. “I mean, look at me. I let my mother convince me to make a trade for my son, and he lost his life. My son.” His words caught on a sob.
I reached for him, my fingers finding his shoulder. “She was your mother, Your Majesty. People should be able to trust their mothers. What you did was out of love. Your son, wherever he is, knows that.”
“My wife,” he muttered. “She hasn’t been the same since.”
I pictured the Yorbrook princess Arien was married to, and I couldn’t help but think of SeeVan.
“Those who can survive the jungle, can survive anything,” I said. They were SeeVan’s words, said in passionate fervor during one of his stories. My fingers tightened on the prince. “Maybe she hasn’t been the same because the two of you haven’t been the same. Your mother has badly influenced you and your brother’s relationships. Give your wife a chance,” I told him. “Heal together. Don’t heal apart. If you heal together, then you can grow together. If you heal apart, you may never find your way back to each other again.”
Arien’s gaze moved up to mine. “For the longest time, I blamed you and your country,” he said. “For the longest time all I wanted to do was destroy you all.”
My heart hurt for the pain the prince was enduring, for the pain that Isabella had put both her sons through. Losing a loved one was devastating, but the thought of losing a child … my hand flew to my stomach.
“Hatred breeds hatred,” I said finally.
Arien sighed, his hand finding his father’s face. “We have a lot of things to make up for in this family,” he said.
He wasn’t t
alking to me anymore, and I stood. I was just about to step free of the room when Arien said, “Thank you.”
I’d not been able to save a king, but maybe, just maybe, I’d been able to save his kingdom.
Chapter 32
It was sunny the day the Queen of Sadeemia was dragged onto the practice fields behind the palace, her hands tied behind her back, her eyes full of hatred. There were representatives from each of the Nine Kingdoms present, including two dragons from Medeisia. Accusing a royal of a crime wasn’t a simple matter. To punish royalty in the eyes of the law required a trial and the presence of ambassadors and kings.
Arien and Cadeyrn sat in judgement.
Queen Isabella’s crimes weren’t just against Sadeemia. They were also against New Hope, Medeisia, and Henderonia. In many ways, her hatred had brought three countries together and united them. The irony was not lost on me.
The lawn was covered with spectators, the murmuring crowd circling the field. I stood between Lochlen and Reenah, close enough to hear the trial but far enough to protect my heart. So many crimes. So many people lost.
One by one, people came forward, revealing secrets about the queen. Some of them we knew, some we suspected, and some we’d not been aware of at all. Queen Isabella had connections all over the Nine Kingdoms. It had been Isabella who’d been able to procure the Black Root from Dearn that Gabriella attempted to kill me with. She’d been the mastermind behind her father’s imprisonment, she’d been the one to formulate the plan to take out Medeisia, and she’d been the one to send Gabriella to the Isle of Marr to kill Cadeyrn’s unborn son and to destroy me. Strangely, it was Blayne who had saved my life. He’d wanted to see me suffer where Isabella only cared to see me dead. Had he not asked Gabriella to bring me to New Hope, I would have died on Marr. It also turned out that Isabella had mercenaries from Yorbrook on retainer, her despair over her sons’ marriages making her desperate. Had she not been found out, more people would have died.
Cadeyrn was the last person to approach his mother, his fists clenched.