City in Ruins (7 page)

His words were a warning, and I heeded
them.

My feet stumbled away from him, but Cadeyrn’s
hand rose, stopping me. “You could do worse than an alliance with
Reenah.”

What he didn’t say rang loud between us. He
trusted his former consort.

Backing away, I watched as he grabbed a tunic
hanging over the fence, his eyes skirting the area. He would never
feel safe, never feel free from the threat of assassination. He had
a right to stay on his guard. He was safer in Medeisia than he was
elsewhere because our country was closed off from most of the Nine
Kingdoms by the ocean and the Ardus, but to drop his guard now
would make him less alert when he left Medeisia.

“Trouble,”
the trees whispered.

I stiffened.

“You seek advice from a king?” a harsh voice
asked behind me. I knew without turning that it was Mothelamew. The
elderly scribe had always been suspicious of me and troubled by my
presence.

Pulling his tunic over his head, Cadeyrn looked
up. “Leave it, Mothelamew.”

Turning, I found myself peering into flashing
blue eyes, their bright color at odds with Mothelamew’s wrinkled
flesh and long grey beard.

He frowned, deepening his wrinkles. “I don’t
trust you.”

My gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t expect you to.
We serve different gods after all.”

“Have you come for a reason?” Cadeyrn asked,
approaching.

The mage’s chin rose, his hard gaze swinging
from mine to Cadeyrn. “You’re making a mistake allowing the council
to remain intact, allowing the girl and the dragon to travel with
you.”

The prince’s face remained even. “The council
is laughable. We both know it, but it’s a show of combined force
between our people and the Medeisians until a better council can be
created. Until the country decides what it wants out of its
leaders. I respect you as a teacher and a mage, but leave the
politics to me.”

“The dragons—”

Cadeyrn’s expression darkened. “During the time
of Hedron, it was the dragons who gave the king power. It was a
time of peace, his rule one of the most magnificent in history. The
dragons are better allies than they are enemies.”

Mothelamew’s gaze found mine. “You will be our
downfall, phoenix.”

I frowned, my brows furrowed. “The prophecy has
been fulfilled.”

“Has it?” the mage asked. “Are you so sure that
it’s found its resolution?”

Caderyn pushed past Mothelamew, his back
stiff.

“Are you so sure it hasn’t?” I asked suddenly.
Cadeyrn paused. I stared at the mage. “So many lives have been lost
in the uprising against Raemon. Dragon, human, and nature alike.
We’ve lost and we’ve mourned.” The next words I uttered pierced my
heart but I said them anyway. “When did one prince and one nation
become more important than another? When is it that the Sadeemians
started deserving more than the Medeisian men and women who’ve lost
their lives?” Turning, I began my trek to the scribe school,
pausing only long enough to add, “When you can tell me that, mage,
I’ll quit fighting.”

Chapter 8

War happens in stages. It begins as an epic
battle between what you believe is right and wrong and emerges into
a mixed up world of beliefs. I’d long since lost the glamour of
war. I was in that place plagued by nightmares, the one where
ghosts propelled me forward rather than people. Cadeyrn had been
right. There would be no more war moments. War had stolen my
humanity. Maybe that’s why I found it so easy to fight for gods and
dragons. I had nothing left to give to man.

War simply kept on stealing.

Our war had become a small courtyard
full of stamping horses on a humid morning. There was no one to see
us off, no sobbing families or battle cries. Whispers and murmurs
surrounded us, servants quietly checking and re-checking our
supplies. Guards circled the area, their swords drawn, their eyes
on the forest. Princess Catriona sat upon a gentle horse, Gryphon
behind her.
Herrnos,
two large Henderonian guards with bald heads and circles
tattooed on their cheeks, flanked the steed. They wouldn’t risk
Catriona walking for long periods, even if they had to carry her.
The time when most women lost their unborn was past but the fear
was still there. This baby was Sadeemia’s and Henderonia’s hope for
the future.

“Onward!” Prince Cadeyrn shouted.

Horses moved over the draw bridge, their hoofs
loud against the wood. Soldiers marched, their heads held high.
Daegan, Maeve, and I followed. Lochlen flew in the skies above, his
shadow looming over the ground. There was a flash of blue, and I
knew Feras had arrived to take Cadeyrn’s place at the castle until
his return. The royal scribes and mages from Sadeemia would remain
with him. My uncle, Garod Consta-Mayria, had also been summoned to
Aireesi to represent the Medeisian people in my absence. Although
Garod’s title of ambassador had been reinstated, the people’s trust
in him had been damaged. In truth, even though I didn’t blame my
uncle for what happened, I’d also done nothing to repair our
relationship. Since his return to Forticry, I’d not made a single
trip home. It wasn’t Garod; it was the memories.

A roar filled the air, the call signaling the
dragon rex’s arrival in court. I didn’t look behind me to see if
Feras landed. To look behind meant wanting to stay.

A howl rose up, and the foliage at the edge of
the forest shook, furry legs moving in and out of the underbrush.
It made the soldiers nervous. Princess Catriona kept glancing at
the sky and at the dragon above us before gazing at the woods. The
ruckus did not bother me. I knew we were being followed by
wolves.

“We say good-bye too often,”
the trees called down to me.

I glanced up at their limbs, at the way the
leaves waved. Branches ducked, skirting my head before rising
again.

“I wish they wouldn’t do that,” Maeve muttered,
shivering. “It’s deuced creepy.”

My smile met the foliage. “We shall overcome,”
I told the trees. The words had become a mantra for us since our
first foray into the Ardus with Kye.

For hours we walked, the day blending into late
afternoon and then night. The forest surrounded us, cloaking us as
we made camp. We slept restlessly only to continue forward the next
morning. There wasn’t much conversation, as if the entourage was
afraid of the forest. They were subdued by it. They were jumpy,
their eyes frantically darting at every noise.

“Do you think they fear it so much because they
don’t have forests like this in Sadeemia?” Maeve hissed.

“No,” Daegan answered. “I think it’s
because they aren’t used to how
alive
our forests are. There is
nothing normal about the Medeisian woods.”

“It’s home,” Maeve mumbled.

“To us,” Daegan said. “To them, it’s
sinister.”

Daegan was right, of course. The forest was
awake, it’s murmuring voice a rising crescendo with each passing
day. The trees were suspicious of the Sadeemians, but they were
cordial, watching but never interfering. No one was tripped up by
vines or choked by the underbrush in their sleep. Nature simply
watched. The smell of damp earth rose up from the ground, the soil
springy beneath our feet. The scent of rotting vegetation mixed
with floral undertones. Mosquitoes and dragonflies danced in the
air. Birds chirped from overhanging limbs, their feathers
fluttering as they settled. The forest was never quiet. The day
traded in their creatures for the night, the crickets, frogs, and
owls a vivid array of sounds.

We were only hours from entering the Ardus on
the fourth day when Oran came to me, his loping figure falling into
step next to mine. I knew why he’d come, and my brows
rose.

“You do realize we’re going to sea?” I
asked.

Oran’s dark eyes peered up into mine. “You
cannot dissuade me.”

“I wouldn’t dare try,” I breathed, my lips
curling. The wolf shook, his fur flying, and I knew he was thinking
of the last time he’d been on a boat. My smile grew. “You may talk
yourself out of it first.”

He growled, the sound drawing the soldiers’
attention in front of us. Some of them reached for their swords,
and my hand went to my bow, my eyes catching theirs. They backed
down, their hard gaze passing from me to the wolf.

“I see you’re well loved,” Oran
quipped.

I threw him a look.

We marched, our tired feet carrying us to the
edge of the Ardus, toward the unbearable heat and yellow sands. My
heart hurt staring at it, the pain of Kye’s loss falling over me.
I’d not walked in the Ardus since his death. The last time I’d
traversed the barren wasteland had been on Lochlen’s back with Oran
in my lap and Prince Cadeyrn behind me.

Staring at it now, I felt my pulse race, my
heart a lump in my throat.

“Be brave,”
a female voice said. It was Silveet, Goddess of the
Forest.
“Take what you’ve lost and let it
speak for you, for us.”

“This will not be a war of
swords,”
another voice added. Escreet,
Goddess of the Scribes. Her spirit rose within me, overwhelming me.
It made it hard to breathe, and I inhaled sharply.
“This war will be made of words.”

My hand grasped my heart, my fingers digging
into the tunic I wore, an overwhelming sense of grief and need
overcoming me. Pain sliced through me.

“By the gods!” Daegan cried.

“Your eyes!” Maeve breathed.

Standing frozen on the grass just steps away
from the desert sands, I felt a tear escape my eyes. Gasps and
exclamations followed its movement down my cheek.

“Stone?” Maeve asked. I knew by her careful
tone that I was crying ink.

My ears roared.

A shadow fell over me, Lochlen’s circling
draconic form dropping to the ground. He transformed, his body
taking human shape before his feet hit the earth.

“Don’t get near her! No one should ever
approach a mortal consumed by the gods!” he bellowed.

Slowly, and as gracefully as I could, I sunk to
the ground, my chest heaving.

“You felt this was necessary!” I cried, my
voice strangled by the emotions clogging me. I was a lake of
feelings. My skin burned.

“You will take us with you,”
Silveet promised.

“Remember who you are,”
Escreet added.

If I’d been impressed by the goddesses’ lack of
physical abuse before, I wasn’t anymore. Inky tears streaked down
my cheeks, my wrists suddenly on fire.

“No!” I breathed.

I didn’t want to look down at my hands. I was
too afraid of what I’d see, too afraid of the pain it would
cause.

“Oh, Stone,” Maeve whispered. She knelt across
from me but didn’t approach.

“Green eyes,” Oran muttered. “It seems your
eyes change depending on your power.”

“No,” Lochlen said, stopping just short of me.
“They change according to the god influencing her. When we left
Medeisia with Kye and entered the Ardus, Silveet’s influence wasn’t
as strong. Stone’s true eye color is what we saw in the desert, a
mix of her Medeisian and Sadeemian heritage. This,” he gestured at
me, “is the work of the gods.”

My mind barely registered his words, my body
pummeled by memories. My hands rose, my gaze finally falling to my
wrists. On my right was the tattoo of a burning star. On my left
was the tattoo of a busted inkwell. These were not new symbols, but
the marks I’d once carried had disappeared with Raemon’s death, the
spilled ink on the dragon pendant, and Lochlen’s rebirth. The gods
had re-marked me.

“Why?” I asked, my voice shaking.

I must have looked mad talking to Silveet and
Escreet, to gods no one could hear but me.

“Because the biggest battles are won
out of faith and memory,”
Silveet
called.

“Because the smallest battles are
won out of need,”
Escreet sang.

My body sagged, the pain ebbing
away.

“Go with the gods, little
one,”
the trees called, their farewell
echoing. It replaced the ebbing pain with more heartache. My
trees.

Boots stepped in front of me, filling my
vision.

“She’s a loon!” one of the soldiers cried.
There was a chorus of murmuring agreement.

A hand lowered, falling between me and the
boots, and I followed the calloused palm to the strong man it
belonged to. Prince Cadeyrn’s gaze locked with mine, his blue eyes
unreadable.

“You have a tendency to cause a show,” he said,
his voice low.

Inhaling, I placed my palm in his, my eyes
forward. His gaze fell to my wrists before sliding away.

“I believe I’m representing an egotistical
lot,” I whispered back.

His hand tightened on mine, squeezing before
releasing. My body, my mind, and my heart never seemed to belong to
just me.