City in Ruins (3 page)

Chapter 3

The scribe school wasn’t far from the palace,
the building residing just on the outer banks of the moat nestled
against the forest. Morning light slanted over me as I walked, the
dew saturated air hanging heavy over my head. It curled the hair
around my face and kissed my cheeks, reminding me in stark detail
of the dream I’d just had.

The trees beyond the school rustled, and a
silver figure darted out of the foliage, droplets of water flying
as a wolf slid next to me, his body shaking to dislodge the
moisture from his fur.

“You look distressed,” Oran noted, his sharp
eyes trained on my face.

I glanced at him. “You came because the forest
asked you to, didn’t you?” I asked.

He shook himself again, his fur bristling. “No,
I came because I know what they are asking of you, and I knew it
wouldn’t be easy.”

Startled, I paused. Chirping birds danced,
their song moving the sun into a higher position in the sky, as if
they sung to wake up the world. The dawn fell over us in a soft
pastel yellow, hints of sparkling light glinting off of dew
splashed trees and grass, like diamonds placed inside a bowl of
freshly churned butter.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

My hand fell to the wolf’s fur, and we walked
together. Guards dressed in the scarlet Medeisian tunic, the wolf
and crossed swords staring down at us, marched along the rampart.
The outfits used to scare me, but these Medeisian men didn’t work
for Raemon.

Booted feet sounded on the watch tower near the
draw bridge.

“Ho, Scribe!” the guards called.

Lifting my hand, I nodded my head in the
customary Medeisian greeting. “A good morning to you. I’ve come to
seek an audience with the king.”

No questions were asked. I was often at the
palace, a trusted official who’d only just moved to the new scribe
school last month. Before then, I’d lived in the castle, a guest of
Cadeyrn’s.

The draw bridge lowered, the creaking sound
loud in the still morning. The palace received a lot of damage
during our attack on Raemon, but five months had done a lot to
change that. New stone and freshly cut wood covered places once
ripped away, turning the building into a patchwork quilt, a
fortress of stories.

The courtyard greeted me. It, too, had changed.
It had been a chaotic place full of mud, stamping horses, and
rushing geese. The horses remained, but the geese and the mud were
gone replaced by landscaped gardens and stone walkways. Prince
Cadeyrn was nothing if not proficient.

“I miss the geese,” Oran grumbled.

“Only because you dream of eating them,” I
remarked.

The wolf’s tongue swept out, and I fought the
chuckle that worked its way up my throat. Today was not the kind of
day for laughter.

The interior of the palace hadn’t changed much.
It was still a dark, gloomy place, even with the new lamps that
hung throughout, the lamp oil from Sadeemia keeping them lit. My
boots thudded against the stone, stopping just short of a sitting
room Cadeyrn had turned into an office. The prince was reluctant to
use Raemon’s old study and had transformed this room into his
private sanctuary.

My fisted hand rose, but before I could knock,
the door swung open. It was that way with Cadeyrn, as if he knew
when I stood on the other side of an entrance.

My hand dropped, my gaze rising to the prince’s
face. His loose, untucked tunic hung open in the front to reveal
the silver pendant he wore around his neck. Thick mahogany hair
framed his features.

Vivid blue eyes met mine. “You’re up early,
Aean Brirg.”

His hand slid up the door, his arm rising, and
I ducked beneath it.

“I could say the same for you,” I
replied.

Leaving the door, the prince moved to a
sparsely covered desk flanked by a bookshelf and a wall of maps.
Cadeyrn’s palm fell to the desk’s surface, his free hand falling to
the sword strapped to his waist, his thumb rubbing the hilt. No
words fell from his lips, his cool gaze finding me. He
waited.

Oran lingered next to me, and my fingers sought
his fur.

“I’ve had a dream,” I breathed.

Cadeyrn’s expression remained impassive. “And
you’ve come to tell me about it?”

Stepping forward, I closed the distance between
us. “The Goddess of Scribes and the Goddess of the Forest came to
me, Cadeyrn.” He’d given me permission to use his given name months
before, and I took advantage of it. “They warned me against
Sadeemian rule.”

The prince froze, his eyes
narrowing. “
My
rule?”

My gaze fell away from his. “Your
brother’s.”

We were close, too close, and his hand found my
face, lifting it. Since the day we’d kissed on the ramparts, we’d
rarely been alone, and when we were, we’d maintained a respectful
distance. His sudden, familiar touch sent a jolt of fire from my
face to my toes.

“It was a dream,” the prince
murmured.

My gaze searched his. “Medeisia belongs to
Sadeemia by right of war, to the Sadeemian heirs by right of blood.
We’ve overthrown Raemon, and now we’re left to the heirs of Hedron.
You and your brother. We trust you, Your Majesty, but your brother
is a different matter. When you depart and join your wife, where
will that leave this country?”

“Cadeyrn,” the prince corrected. “In private,
I’m Cadeyrn.” His head bent. “Are these your worries, Aean Brirg?
Worries manifested in dreams?”

My face flushed, and I stepped back from him,
his hand falling away from me. “I know the difference between a
dream and a meeting with gods.”

He studied me. “Politically your country will
be free and left under the rule of a just king. Did you imagine
something different? Under Arien’s rule, you will be allowed to
live the way you should have lived. You’ll be allowed to practice
scribery and magery. You even have a place on the king’s
council.”

“But is that enough?” I asked. “Will Arien try
to change our ways? Will he attempt to force Sadeemian ceremony and
religion on Medeisia?”

“Would it matter if he did?” Cadeyrn inquired
in turn. “Sadeemia would be taking Medeisia under its influence,
giving it a peaceful rule and prosperity. It is the spoils of war,
Aean Brirg. Is allowing change here that much of a sacrifice for
peace?”

“It is when the gods have asked me to stop it,”
I replied.

Cadeyrn stiffened, his gaze roaming my figure.
“Play your hand, Stone.”

Oran pushed up against my palm, and I clutched
him for support. “I’ve been asked to be an envoy of the gods and a
consort of the prince of dragons. I’ve been asked to speak for all
of them.”

“Lochlen came to you.” The prince’s shoulders
fell. “And you agreed?”

He knew?

My feet moved forward hesitantly. “I agreed. To
both.”

“Stone,” Cadeyrn exhaled. He leaned against his
desk, his muscles bunching as he clenched the wood. “Do you know
what you’re doing?” He glanced at me. “You can’t mix religion with
politics. It’s a deadly game.”

“You did,” I countered. “To take a Henderonian
and Greemallian bride, you converted to a foreign
faith.”

“For a treaty!” Cadeyrn argued. “To make
alliances. It’s politics. All of it. Accepting new gods meant peace
for my country. You’re talking about denying gods in favor of
rebellion.”

Silence stretched. “We need a Medeisian king,”
I said finally. “With a Medeisian in power, we wouldn’t lose our
gods or our traditions.”

Cadeyrn frowned. “They mean so
much?”

“You ask me that as a soldier and a king,” I
replied, approaching him. “Now ask me that as a man.”

Cadeyrn’s knuckles turned white against the
wood, and although I expected to hear the desk crack, it didn’t.
The prince held back.

“By doing this, you’re not just turning your
back on Sadeemian rule, you’re turning your back on the protection
I could give you as a Sadeemian prince.”

“I know,” I whispered. “You’ve protected me
enough. There are others in your life who could use it
more.”

He glanced back at me, his eyes dark. “Gods and
dragons, Aean Brirg. Are they worth it?”

I stared. “What do you think, Your
Majesty?”

During times of need, I’d relied on gods and
dragons. Silveet, Escreet, and Lochlen had all saved my life. They
expected the same in return, and I couldn’t refuse them. As a king,
Cadeyrn may not understand, but as a man I knew he did. I knew it
by the look in his eyes. Loyalty came at a price.

“Even the prince owes the forest,” Oran said
abruptly.

I glanced down at the wolf.

“What does he say?” the prince
asked.

My gaze met his. “That we all owe the forest
much.”

Cadeyrn’s jaw clenched, his hands straining
against the wood. He left impressions in the surface, and I found
myself wondering how much of his life was spent holding back. His
strength was as pricey as loyalty.

Oran was wrong. The forest, the dragons, and
the rebels had risked our lives to warn the prince about the threat
to his country from Medeisia, but Cadeyrn had repaid that. He’d
repaid it in his blood, in his willingness to stand up against his
father for a band of insurgents.

Cadeyrn’s eyes fell to Oran. “You know the
forest, wolf, but you’re sadly lacking in human
politics.”

It was the first time the prince had ever
spoken directly to any of the wild creatures surrounding me, and I
gazed at him in awe. Even Kye, who’d lived amidst the trees, had
never spoken directly to the foliage or the animals. Only to the
dragons. A new respect for the prince blossomed in my heart. He may
not be able to understand Oran, but he spoke to him.

The wolf seemed to feel the same, his haunches
meeting the study floor, his piercing gaze on the prince. “You’re
right, prince. It’s why we fear the humans.”

I repeated Oran’s words.

“I’ll do everything in my power to protect what
you stand for,” Cadeyrn replied, his eyes remaining on the wolf’s,
“but I can’t make any promises. I’m the second prince to a powerful
monarch. I wasn’t born to rule Sadeemia or the countries it
annexes. I was born to make sure it remained powerful and
undefeated. I was born to use as a pawn for alliances. I know my
place. I respect my family.”

“We wouldn’t respect you as much as we do if
you didn’t respect your place and your family,” Oran stated. “You
make a great ruler, Your Highness. All we ask is that you don’t
stand in our way.”

Oran’s words fell from my mouth and Cadeyrn
nodded at the wolf, his gaze returning to mine. “Pray your gods are
strong, Aean Brirg. Pray your dragons are stronger. Humans destroy
too much.” Releasing the desk, he stepped away from it. “A
delegation from Sadeemia arrives today. It includes my wife, your
brother, Gryphon, and a handful of scribes and mages who agreed to
risk the journey. The Medeisian council will be called to convene.”
He started to approach me and then thought better of it. “There are
no more war moments, Aean Brirg. Everything you do now will be
based on the faith you have in your people.”

Ignoring the warning bells in my heart and
head, I closed the distance between us, my hand finding his open
tunic, my fingers splaying over the intricate tattoo on his chest.
His pendant fell over my hand. The tattoo was the tragic story of
the Sadeemian gods. The pendant was a powerful reminder of love and
family. They made up who Cadeyrn was.

“Don’t forget who I am, Cadeyrn,” I begged him.
“As we traverse this path, don’t forget that I’m not fighting for a
nation so much as a small minority; Gods, dragons, nature, and
knowledge. People have forgotten them. Don’t let that get lost in
the bigger picture.”

His hand came up to cover mine. “I’m not my
brother, Aean Brirg. Remember our chess games.”

The door behind us creaked open, and we fell
apart.

“People approach, Your Majesty,” a man
called.

Cadeyrn glanced at me. “Call to Lochlen,
consort. You have a big role to fill today.”

He wasn’t cruel, he was honest. The pendant
he’d given me in Sadeemia rested under my tunic, a reminder of
Kye’s love and Cadeyrn’s friendship. It was too heavy today, the
silver making my heart ache.

Chapter 4

Chaos reigned at the Medeisian palace, and I
ducked out of the way, blending into the walls as I found the tower
stairs that led to the ramparts. I took them two at a time, as if
the running exertion would purge me of the roiling emotions inside
my body. Oran followed, his claws clicking against
stone.

“You rush, little one,”
the trees called as I burst onto the ramparts, my
chest heaving.

Leaning against the stone, I pulled my brown
cloak further around me. Medeisia wasn’t cold, the past five months
having seen the end of winter and the beginning of spring, but the
cloak felt safe.