City in Ruins (6 page)

“I hate the sea,” Daegan murmured that first
evening after the council meeting, his shoulders
slumped.

“Maybe it will be easier the second time,” I
soothed.

We stood on a balcony at the school of scribes.
The sun was setting, throwing a spray of colors into the sky. The
wind was harsher than usual, tugging our hair into the
air.

“Explain this consort thing,” Maeve
interrupted.

She flanked me, her body enfolded in a soft
blue woolen dress. Velvet and silk were meant for the
rich.

I glanced at her. “I’m to be a voice for the
dragons. Nothing more.”

She sighed. “You realize this will diminish how
people view you.”

“Their scrutiny isn’t as important as what I
stand for.”

Daegan patted me on the back. “It’s not easy
representing what most fear.”

“You put too much stock in the gods,” Maeve
grumbled. “Both of you.”

“Maybe,” I murmured, “but I believe it’s the
other way around.” I turned to face her, my face serious. “I think
the gods put too much stock in us.”

For a long time we stood there, our gazes
watching the village below, a blanket of black falling over the
houses. This was Medeisia, a country of small, poor villages with
banked fires, murmuring families, bleating goats, clucking
chickens, and snorting livestock. It wasn’t much, the people having
lost so much during Raemon’s dark rule, but it was our
home.

“We shall overcome,” Daegan mumbled.

He left then, Maeve on his heels, their feet
taking them to the rooms below. They’d remain at the scribe school
until we departed.

Above me, a falcon called, and I sighed, my
booted feet carrying me to the stairs, through darkened hallways,
and out into the night. The forest called to me, the trees
murmuring sweet, comforting words, the air heavy with
enchantment.

Leaves rustled, the dark limbs reaching for me.
Glowing eyes peered at me from the foliage.

“It doesn’t disconcert you?” a small voice
asked.

I wasn’t expecting company, and I
jumped.

Spinning, I found myself face to face with
Reenah, Cadeyrn’s consort. “Are you following me?”

Her head bowed, a sheepish expression crossing
her features. “I’ve been watching the school.”

My brows furrowed. “Why?”

The consort’s golden tresses looked white in
the moonlit night, her wary gaze flicking from the forest to my
face and back again. “I was looking to get you alone,” she
admitted. Her hands rubbed her arms, her eyes widening. “It’s
spooky here.”

A smile played on my lips. “It’s the darkness.
It fools the mind. The night isn’t full of monsters, I assure you.
What have you come for?”

She moved closer to me, her eyes on the trees.
“There’s much unrest developing in Sadeemia.” She saw my sudden
distrustful expression, and her head shook. “Not because of Prince
Arien. His rule is similar to his father’s, but the queen has his
ear. He listens too much to his mother, and I’ve never trusted
Queen Isabella. Less so since her brother committed
treason.”

I stared. “Have you not gone to Prince Cadeyrn
with your fears?”

“Tis impossible. Since his marriage to Catriona
of Henderonia, I’ve been relegated to menial tasks. I have the
consort title, but what was once assumed of me …” She let the words
trail off. “It would not be wise for me to be found alone with the
prince. Not anymore. Even with Henderonia’s lax rules about
marriage. There’s too much at stake politically. I am also not in a
position to accuse a queen of anything.”

My expression softened, my hand finding
Reenah’s shoulder. She scooted into my embrace, her eyes on the
forest. She was afraid, but she’d overcome that to come to
me.

“Prince Cadeyrn trusts you,
Stone.
You
have his
ear. I’ve been with the prince for years, and I’ve never known him
to trust anyone other than his late wife. His trust doesn’t come
easy.”

My heart clenched, a gnawing loneliness eating
at me. The trees’ comforting whispers grew louder.

“I’ll be sure to speak with him,” I promised,
my head dropping. There was no denying my connection with the
Sadeemian prince. To deny it would be to lie.

Reenah inhaled. “You’ve chosen a hard road.
Consorts are given much freedom, but in certain cases, there is
also much danger.”

I glanced at her. “You’ve heard?”

She hugged me, not out of affection but out of
unease. “Your best human spies will always be the working class. I
do not envy those in power. Their riches, yes. Their
responsibilities, never.” Shivering, she edged away from me. “I’ll
return to the palace now,” she glanced at the sky, “and leave you
to your darkness.”

My eyes followed her as she stumbled away,
rushing loudly through the undergrowth to the clearing beyond, her
shadowed shape scurrying to the castle. Darkness was a universal
fear. Even with the animals and the trees, occasional wariness
gripped me in the night, a fright born from my
childhood.

“You’ve chased her away,” I teased the
trees.

“It is ridiculous to be afraid of
the night. There is nothing in the night that isn’t in the
day.”

“There’s light,” I protested.

The trees scoffed.
“The blind eye sees more than the eye with
sight.”

“A bit of philosophy?” I asked. My tone was
light, but I understood their meaning. The blind found other ways
to traverse life, to understand the world. They didn’t fear
darkness, they welcomed it. By welcoming it, they welcomed what hid
in it. They grew in ways those with sight couldn’t grow. Their
limitation became their strength.

“Did you come to escape?”
the trees asked.

“No,” I answered. “I came to
breathe.”

Inhaling, I drew in the forest through my nose,
the smell of damp earth and pine needles. The heavy scent of
flowers hung on the air, the cloying odor mingling with soil, moss,
and tree bark.

“You will be pulled in many
different directions soon,”
the trees
said.
“You must remain strong,
Phoenix.”

I glowered. “I am not the phoenix.”

The trees laughed.
“Not to the humans. To the forest, you have always
been the phoenix.”

My eyes found the dark sky, my gaze traveling
the stars sprinkled among overhanging limbs. “What am I doing? I am
not a leader. I don’t know politics.”

“War has made you a leader. It has
placed you at the side of two princes. It has given the people a
voice, the forest a voice, and the gods a voice. Be brave, Phoenix.
Your power comes from reasoning and patience. This will not be the
only time you doubt yourself. It will be one of many. As you have
in the past, you will also doubt yourself in the
future.”

“Can you not be so wise?” I asked
lightly.

“It would be lying to pretend
ignorance.”

A chuckle bubbled up, the trees’ literal sense
of humor tickling me. While on the sea, I was going to miss the
trees.

Chapter 7

A cold chill permeated the air. It wasn’t the
kind of chill that came with winter. The air was warm. It was a
figurative kind of chill that promised death. With preparation for
travel underway and Princess Catriona in residence, there was
little chance of getting Cadeyrn alone. He was surrounded at all
times by scribes, mages, and Henderonian officials. The guards on
the ramparts doubled, and although I was allowed free rein in the
palace, my presence was less welcome after Lochlen revealed my
status among the dragons.

As a whole, the scrutiny did not bother me, but
there were others who watched me, those I cared about. Their
scrutiny hurt. Gryphon found it hard to look me in the eyes, his
gaze falling to my chin when he spoke with me. His words were curt
and short, limited to a simple yes, no, or maybe. Catriona was
better, her eyes meeting mine, but her gaze was full of curiosity,
burning with questions I couldn’t possibly make her understand the
answers to. Like Cadeyrn, she was a ruler. What I was doing and who
I represented made no sense in human politics. I had created a
divide between myself and the Sadeemian people.

Words filled me to the brim, flooding my body;
Reenah’s words, Cadeyrn’s words, the goddess’ words, and Lochlen’s
words. I was surrounded by political intrigue and the possibility
that our kingdom and Sadeemia’s could fall. We didn’t know how deep
the animosity with New Hope went, if the king of the country
supported his Blayne Dragren’s betrayal. It did not help that the
gods and dragons of Medeisia feared losing their presence in our
country and that King Freemont’s declining health meant the
possible rule of a new king, one who may be controlled by his
mother. Medeisia’s capital was a city in ruins torn between turning
to dust or rising as a new, stronger nation.

It was the afternoon before we departed that I
finally found an audience with Cadeyrn. He was on the practice
fields, the area designed by the prince after Raemon’s fall.
Cadeyrn’s chest was bare, his clothes stripped to the waist, his
muscles gleaming with sweat. Beads of moisture rolled down the
design on his torso, the dying sun catching on his silver pendant.
He battled a Sadeemian warrior as I approached, his gaze never
leaving his opponent.

I was without the brown scribe cloak, my dragon
skin tunic and breeches tight against me but not restricting, the
material surprisingly light and resilient. A bow and quiver of
arrows was slung onto my back, the need for weapons greater now
with my position. I felt the gathering hostility toward me, and I
didn’t ignore it.

“A word,” I called.

With a mighty thrust, his sword lifting up and
then over, the prince disarmed his opponent, his blade going to the
warrior’s throat.

“You have my ear,” he replied, nodding at the
solider he’d fought before stepping back. The man stood, bowed, and
retreated. “There are many different types of swords,” Cadeyrn said
suddenly, turning to face me, his blade held down in front of him.
“Some of them are used for hacking and slashing, others for cutting
and thrusting. The type depends on the type of armor a particular
region uses. It depends on the reach and techniques needed to break
through a country’s defenses. My sword is a longsword, better
suited to cut and thrust. It has a long reach, and is handy against
belligerent chain mail.”

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.”