Tempest (27 page)

Chapter 33

There is a lot of planning in war, a lot of ideas that have to be formed, a lot of preparations that have to be made.

Over the next couple of weeks, King Freemont sent declarations out along with a company of men insisting every Medeisian refugee inside his kingdom report to his palace. Cadeyrn gathered his men, ordering Daegan, Maeve, and I to train along with his soldiers. Maeve and I shed our gowns once more, replacing them with the leather pants and tunics favored by the Sadeemian army. I didn’t mourn the loss of the gowns.

After the wyver’s attack on the palace, the king ordered a room made up for me, dropping any suspicions he’d had about my part in Raemon’s scheme. Gryphon had offered me a place in his father’s home, a chance at being part of a real family, but I’d turned him down. I’d seen Conall’s face when he’d admitted who he was, the fear in his eyes. I wasn’t ready for that, and I knew Conall wasn’t either. It helped that Cadeyrn had refused as well. I was safer at the palace with the other rebels and Lochlen. In many ways, I was as much a target in Sadeemia as Cadeyrn was.

Now that I had my own chamber, I didn’t see the prince as often. His father was determined to carry out Cadeyrn’s marriage with Gabriella as scheduled, using the occasion as a way to cement relations with Greemallia while seeking aid in the war if needed. The princess seemed content in her role, even after the wyver attack the night of the betrothal ball. I often saw her walking with Cadeyrn in the halls, her melodious laughter ringing through the rooms. I knew without being privy to their conversations that it was forced laughter. Cadeyrn rarely teased.

The only other time I saw him was in the training yard. His attempt to teach me how to use the sword was mildly successful at best. I could handle the weapon better than a novice swordsman, but I would never be able to compete with a master. I much preferred my bow, much preferred facing off with an enemy from the other side of an arrow.

“You may not have much choice one day,” Cadeyrn insisted.

He’d had his hands over mine, showing me a complicated move I still couldn’t remember, and I’d looked up at him, my voice confident.

“I know enough,” I said.

Cadeyrn shook his head. “You’re a stubborn one, Aean Brirg.”

He didn’t make it sound like a compliment, but I wasn’t offended.

“I know the bow,” I said instead. “It calls to me the same way the sword calls to you. It’s made of wood, made from the same trees I hear whispering in my head. I can use the sword if the need arose, but I depend on my bow.”

Cadeyrn had looked at me, his gaze full of disapproval, but he hadn’t argued. There was no time.

We spent our mornings ushering refugees into the Hall of Light to stand trial before Prince Caeyrn, our days training, and our nights planning. I climbed into my bed every evening more sore than the night before, drained both physically and mentally. I still had a hard time sleeping, but my dreams were quieter. Sometimes I cried, my thoughts on Kye, but even that lessened as time passed. I kept waiting, I think, for the big dramatic moment. The one that spoke to my soul, that lifted me up rather than pushing me down, that told me going to war was the right thing to do. I’d had that moment in Medeisia when Kye and I had taken the marks on our wrists, when we’d stood before the rebels and pledged ourselves to their cause.

Here, there was nothing. There was only dead wyvers along with the death of innocent men and women who should have never been a part of our conflict, who had no right to die, who’d not been fighting for a cause.

The thought kept me awake more often than it let me sleep. Sometimes, I paced the halls beyond my chamber, ignoring Madden or Ryon’s questioning gaze as they followed me quietly.

It was a stormy night two and a half weeks after the wyver attack when I found myself outside Cadeyrn’s chamber. I lifted my hand, my eyes on the full moon carved into its surface. I could feel Ryon’s heavy gaze on my back, his disapproval evident, but he didn’t say anything.

I had dropped my hand, my mind changed, when the door suddenly opened.

The prince stood there, his hand on the wood, his loose white tunic splayed open, the tattoo and pendant stark against his tanned skin.

“Did you need something?” he asked.

I shook my head before taking a step backward. Cadeyrn pulled the door open wider, his eyes on mine.

“Come in.”

He made the words an order, and I froze a moment before finally pushing past him, my eyes on his face as I ducked under his arm. He said something to Ryon before shutting the door.

“Why did you come, Aean Brirg?” Cadeyrn asked.

He was standing behind me, but I didn’t turn to face him.

“I don’t know,” I said.

For the first time, I heard Cadeyrn make a sound that could be mistaken as amusement.

“You do that a lot, you know,” he said. “It’s why I beat you at chess.”

I turned to face him. “What?”

His gaze searched my face. “You change your mind.”

Cadeyrn had a habit of making anything he said sound like an insult, even when he didn’t mean it to sound that way, and I shrugged.

“That’s a bad thing?” I asked.

Cadeyrn’s brows rose. “In my line of work, it can get you killed.”

I looked away from him, turning so that I was facing the hearth, my eyes on the fire.

“You came because you think I’ll understand you more than anyone else will,” he said suddenly.

I spun. “No ...”

Cadeyrn moved to me, placing his fingers against my lips. It reminded me too much of Kye, and I started to push him away, but he wouldn’t let me.

“There will be things people do for the rest of your life that reminds you of him,” Cadeyrn said. “It can be a certain way someone rubs their hands through their hair or the way they blink too much when they are nervous, but each time you see it, you will see him.” The prince pressed his fingers harder against my lips. “Like this. This reminds you of him, doesn’t it?” he asked.

I nodded, and he dropped his hand.

“There will always be reminders. They never go away. It’s still too soon for you, Aean Brirg. It’s okay to keep grieving. It’s okay to keep him with you when you fight. It’s okay to draw on his strength when you aren’t sure you can take another step.”

“I’m trapped,” I admitted. “I’m lost in that desert, trying my best to remember why we started this war, why it’s okay that innocent people are dying just because they got in the way.”

Cadeyrn watched me. “You had your moment with him,” he stated.

I blushed, and Cadeyrn chuckled. “Not that kind of moment,” he said before lifting my hands, turning them so that my wrists were facing up, the marks visible. “Your war moment.”

Cadeyrn’s thumbs rubbed over the designs, first the burning star before moving to the inkwell. “All warriors have one. That moment when they know what they’re fighting for means more than the risks, more than the people who will die in the process.” His eyes moved to my face. “Sometimes we lose that moment, but it doesn’t mean it’s not still there.”

“Do you have a moment before each battle?” I asked him.

Cadeyrn moved away from me, stepping to his bed before leaning down to pull a box out from beneath his mattress. Curiosity got the better of me, and I moved next to him, my eyes on the small wooden box. The top was carved with the same Henderonian design he wore around his neck.

Cadeyrn lifted the lid, and my eyes widened.

“These are my moments,” Cadeyrn whispered.

I didn’t reach out to touch the items within. It seemed wrong somehow to even look at them. Two wedding bands, a small swaddling blanket, and a bloody piece of fabric ripped from a tunic, the figure of a falcon emblazoned on it.

“War is like fire,” Cadeyrn said. “Sometimes it’s simply a spark of disagreement. Sometimes it’s a burning inferno impossible to extinguish. There’s no turning back. You told me you’d rather love too much than to have never loved at all. Sometimes it’s better to fight than to have never tried. There is never victory in war, but in the end, there can be peace and freedom from persecution.”

Cadeyrn closed the box and slid it back beneath his mattress before his gaze found mine again.

“Why did you come, Aean Brirg?”

I was wearing a dressing gown, and I reached into a pocket sewn into the skirt, my hands closing around a bottle of ink.

I swallowed hard. “Have you ever tattooed anyone?” I asked.

I knew that some warriors, especially those who traveled the sea, often marked themselves or their comrades. Others pierced their ears, an earring for each sea they’d sailed. I knew Cadeyrn had traveled, knew he’d fought for Sadeemia on foreign soil. I’d come to him on a hunch, and I was hoping I was right.

Cadeyrn’s eyes narrowed. “What are you asking?”

I pulled the ink from my pocket along with a marking prong I’d managed to confiscate from one of the warriors we’d been training with. Cadeyrn stared at it, and I flashed him my wrists again.

“These are my moments,” I told him.

I held out the ink and the prong. I didn’t have to say anything else. He knew without my asking what I wanted, and he pointed at the bed.

“Where?”

I pointed at my back, swallowing my modesty as I unfastened my dressing gown, undoing it just enough to reveal the top part of my back below my neck.

“A falcon,” I said.

I sat down, turning so that I couldn’t see the prince’s face. The bed dipped as he sat behind me.

“Why a falcon?” he asked.

“To remind me what I fight for now,” I answered. “After the sand tempest in the desert, you told me that birds are keen creatures and often magnificent survivors. I haven’t forgotten that.”

Cadeyrn grew quiet, moving behind me, and I knew when the prong touched my skin that he’d agreed to it. I winced when the metal dug into my skin, but I didn’t cry out. There were no tears.

“Why a falcon?” he asked again as he worked, and I realized I’d only answered part of his question.

I stared at the comforter on his bed.

“To remind me I fight now for your country as much as for mine.”

Cadeyrn said nothing as he worked, the prong moving with painful slowness across my flesh. I bled, but Cadeyrn wiped away the excess blood and ink with the corner of his tunic. Over and over. Pain, blood, ink.

Finally, he stopped, setting aside the ink and prong before pulling up the back of my dressing gown. He leaned forward, his mouth near my ear.

“For out of the ashes of devastation will arise a phoenix, an omen, a child born under the Harvest Moon,” Cadeyrn recited, his breath stirring the small hairs along my neck. It was the prophecy, the lines from the Book of Truth. “This child,” Cadeyrn whispered, “will be born of forbidden magick, born to bring two nations together.”

With those words, his arms snaked around my waist. I turned in his embrace, my face going to his chest, the tears that sprang forth rolling from my cheeks onto his flesh. His head settled on top of mine.

“Birds,” he said, “are often magnificent survivors.”

I sobbed, and for the first time, the grief didn’t make me feel guilty. It didn’t make me feel guilty because I knew the prince also grieved in his own silent way, that he still pined for someone he’d never see again. For once, I didn’t have to pretend to be something much bigger than what I was. I was Aean Brirg, a little bird, a survivor. When the tears were spent, when I moved away from Cadeyrn, I was stronger. I was a warrior, ready for my vengeful march on Raemon.