Tempest (24 page)

How well I knew this! And how selfish it was for me to judge based on looks. I’d seen myself in a mirror. I looked as weak, if not weaker, than the Yorbrook princess. I just didn’t feel weak. I think I did once, and I’m not sure when my opinion of myself started to change, when my confidence began to grow. Kye played a huge role in transforming me. He taught me a lot about sacrifice, about being as much a symbol for people as a leader. He taught me to grow.

My gaze went back to Cadeyrn. The story of his tattoo stayed with me today, played itself out over and over in my head. The god of unrest and the goddess of serenity.

Cadeyrn glanced up, his eyes suddenly meeting mine, but I didn’t look away. His gaze told a million tragic tales, held visions of lands I’d never get to see, and spoke of a confidence I’d just learned to accept in myself. He reminded me of a dragon. He had the same bearing, the same type of strength and fearlessness, the same kind of self-reliance. But it was the chain around his neck that caught my eye and made the biggest impression. Family.

I looked away, my hand going under the table to grasp Lochlen’s. The dragon wasn’t expecting it, and I felt him stiffen.

“What?” he hissed near my ear. I just grinned, my strange new aqua eyes coming up to meet his reptilian pupils before sliding to Maeve and Daegan. Family.

“Nothing,” I said, my hand squeezing his before letting go.

Family. I was hard pressed to find the fighting strength I needed to take over a country for people I loved but didn’t really know. But for family, I would destroy mountains.

Chapter 27

If breakfast was a tense affair, then the council meeting was completely and utterly nerve-racking. We’d been led to a study following the morning meal, our stomachs full but anxious. Behind us, the king, his heir, and Cadeyrn entered before settling calmly around a long table. This table wasn’t as polished as the one in the dining room, its surface covered in documents, maps, parchment, and ink. Books lined the walls, sitting haphazardly along well built wooden shelves. There was no marble in this room, only plain wood and stone. An arrow slit window and candles were the only source of light.

“Sit,” the king demanded.

We didn’t hesitate.

“Many local and foreign noblemen and women are making their way to the palace for a betrothal ball we are scheduled to hold in two days. I’d like this settled before then,” the king announced.

Gryphon and four hooded figures—two of them in blue cloaks and two in brown—entered the chamber, their silence deafening as they took their place in the high-backed chairs. Daegan stiffened next to me, his eyes on the faceless people.

“The royal mages and scribes,” the king said, his hand sweeping the table. “This will be an informal meeting. We will not stand on ceremony.”

Two more men had joined us as the king spoke, their silent faces hard as they took a seat across from us. No one bowed.

The cloaked figures pulled back their hoods. All of them were advanced in age, with white hair and lined faces. One of the brown-cloaked figures turned out to be a woman, her white hair twisted on top of her head in a complicated circle of braids. The elderly men with her were clean shaven with the exception of one. The bearded man wore a blue cloak, his beard as long as the one I’d once seen on Aedan, the scribe master at Forticry. It trailed past the surface of the table, disappearing beneath the wood. His eyes were dark blue and sharp, his gaze on my face. His stare followed me even as I looked away, my scrutiny going to the new men across from us.

These men were middle-aged. Their faces were lined, but their blond hair was full and untarnished by age. They were both tall. One of them, like the bearded man sitting near the head of the table, stared at me. I fidgeted under the gaze, my eyes going to my hands on the table. I hadn’t realized until now that I was clenching them, my short nails digging into my palm.
 

“Now that we are all present,” the king said as he stood, “I suggest we convene.”

Cadeyrn and Arien rose with their father, their fingers resting on the table.

“It seems my son has uncovered a plot by the Medeisian king, one that would have caused war between our country and Greemallia. And though foiled, Cadeyrn believes King Raemon is still a threat. Across from you sits the Medeisian rebels who brought this plot to our attention.”

King Freemont gestured at our group, his voice loud as he recounted the events from the day before. The men listened intently, their brows furrowed, their eyes shifting occasionally to us. Shock registered on their features when the king introduced Lochlen as the prince of dragons, and unease flickered in their gazes when they took note of the wolf. But it was my part in the story that stirred the most interest. The brown-cloaked man and woman stiffened, their eyes narrowing on my face when the Book of Truth was mentioned, and I knew immediately by their reaction that these were the scribes.

“The phoenix,” the woman breathed, her old eyes crinkling as she squinted at me.

I sat taller, my heart rate increasing and my palms beginning to sweat.

“Too young,” the brown-cloaked man argued.

“Hush, Eiric. She only looks too young because you are so old,” the woman admonished. She leaned forward, her piercing gaze searching my face. “Astonishing.”

“Watch it, Lucrais. Insulting Eiric will only cause him more disbelief,” the bearded blue-cloaked man teased.

Lucrais waved her hand dismissively. “He just enjoys a good argument.”

“The big question here isn’t the girl,” the king interrupted, his voice breaking into the conversation, “it’s whether we go to war with Medeisia.”

The bearded man stood, his beard sliding with him as he rounded the table, his eyes on my face. “In that case, Your Majesty, the focus should definitely be the girl.”

Pausing behind my chair, one of his wrinkled hands gripped my chin gently before lifting my face. My eyes met his where he towered over the seat’s high back. It seemed wrong that the Sadeemians should be such tall people.

“I am Mothelamew,” the man said. His voice was hypnotizing. It had the raspy quality of age, but was low and commanding. He smelled like incense. “And you, child, are interesting.”

I shook my head, effectively shaking off his grip.

“I’m just a girl,” I whispered.

The old man’s gaze moved to the wolf, and he laughed. “No,” he said. “Not just a girl.”

“What does she have to do with our decision to fight Medeisia?” the king’s heir asked. Arien’s voice was high, as if he had gone through the voice change during puberty but had never come out of it.

Mothelamew looked to Lucrais who stood, her wrinkled hands clutching the folds of her brown cloak. “Because, Your Majesty,” she said, “without the girl, you won’t win the war.”

My heart sunk.

“Then you believe the prophecy?” Freemont asked. “That she will bring her people peace?

Cadeyrn hadn’t moved during the entire exchange. He sat—his back against his chair, his expression even—listening. The rest of the table did the same.

Lucrais cocked her head. “And you don’t, Your Majesty?” she asked. “Even after having fathered one of the foretold?”

Freemont’s jaw tightened, his gaze going to the table before lifting again. “Hence another reason to reconsider. If we go to war, then there is always the possibility we lose a prince.”

Cadeyrn never flinched, but I did.

“And yet,” Mothelamew interjected, “your son is right. I take it Cadeyrn is the reason we’re here, that he has suggested we march on Medeisia?”

Freemont’s silence was answer enough.

Mothelamew grinned, his lips opening to reveal remarkably good teeth despite a little crookedness. “I have taught the prince well, Your Highness.”

“You?” Eirick spat.

Cadeyrn looked skyward. It was the closest thing I’d ever seen him or any monarch come to an eye roll.

“I give you some credit,” Mothelamew admitted, “but most of it I claim.”

The brown-cloaked Eirick stood, his mouth opening in protest.

“Stop this!” the king commanded. Everyone froze as the king pounded the table with his fist. “Tell me why we should go to war.”
  

Mothelamew gestured at the silent, blue-cloaked man still sitting. This man had milky white eyes, and I knew by their vacancy that he was blind.

“Brother,” Mothelamew prompted.

The blind man rose, his vacant stare on my face. It unnerved me.

“Girl,” he said. His voice was hoarse and broken, and I found myself leaning forward to hear him. “Who was your mother?” he asked.

I hadn’t expected that particular question, and I gawked, my lips parting.

“My mother?” I managed.

The man didn’t nod. He simply stared, waiting.

I looked around the table, at the silent, fascinated faces, my gaze ending on Lochlen where he sat next to me. I waited for him to answer for me, but he didn’t.

I cleared my throat. “Soren,” I answered. “Her name was Soren, but I didn’t know her. She was a midwife who gave birth to me out of wedlock and left me with my father, Garod Consta-Mayria. She no longer lives.”

The man’s dead gaze drilled into me, and I froze. His stare felt physically strange, as if tiny fingers were running along my skin before pushing into my chest and into my hair, digging down into the inner reaches of my skull.

He shook his head. “Garod is not your father,” he said suddenly.

The silence that followed was deafening, his words so blunt and unexpected that I wasn’t even sure how to react. I just stared at him, my eyes wide, my heart pounding. I started counting the thumps, timing them with my breaths.

“Not my father,” I repeated dumbly. The people in the room were gone now. There was only me and the blind man, his stare and my shock. “I don’t understand,” I whispered.

My gaze moved to Lochlen, to the dragon who’d known my mother personally. He was leaning forward, his pupils dilated, his interest as real as mine.

“I knew her mother, mage,” Lochlen breathed. “The dragons protected her during her pregnancy before Soren took the child to her father, hiding her in plain sight among the humans.”

The man’s empty gaze shifted to the dragon. “Even the mightiest of creatures can be fooled. Did you ever meet the father? Did the woman ever speak of him?”

Lochlen stiffened. “Not until the end.”

The man nodded, his face confident. “Garod is
not
her father.”

I kept swallowing because I was afraid if I stopped, I’d forget how to breathe or move, talk or function.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered again.

There was a loud cough from the end of the table, the sound almost strangled. It came from one of the blond men. He was handsome despite his age, his blond hair worn slightly long so that it curled just below his ears. It should have looked feminine, but it didn’t. His face was too masculine, too sharp to be confused with a female.

Gryphon leaned forward. “Father?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

The man coughed again, his face going red.

He waved his hand. “I’m fine,” he answered.

I looked between the two men. Gryphon’s concerned eyes searched his father’s face. I could see the resemblance between the two. Gryphon had once said he was the second son of the second most powerful man in Sadeemia. Through my studies, I knew this meant his father was Freemont’s minister of government, the king’s link to the people.

It was Cadeyrn who finally broke the silence, his deep voice calm despite the revelations.

“If Garod is not her father, then do you know who is, Artair?”

The blind man lifted his head. “I do not.”

The minister of government coughed again. Gryphon stood. “Really, Father,” he said. “Are you all right?”

The man lifted his hand and nodded. Freemont watched him.

“Conall?” the king asked.

The blond man shook his head, his eyes red when he finally looked up.

“The mage doesn’t know who her father is,” Conall said, his voice strained, “but I do.”

I was standing before I’d even realized I’d moved, bile rising up in my throat as I stared at him. Gryphon stood across from me, unease in his features.

Conall’s gaze moved to mine and held it. “I traveled often into Medeisia when I was a young man, sailing through the channel beyond Rolleen before trekking for two days through the Ardus to the border. It is how all dignitaries who met with Garod came to discuss affairs of state. Medeisia never wanted to trade, never wanted to discuss a peaceful way to open up the Ardus for travel. Trouble with Raemon began even then.”

“Father,” Gryphon interrupted, but Conall shook his head, his gaze remaining on mine.

“It was on one of these trips that I met your mother,” he revealed.