by R. K. Ryals
Catriona’s gaze followed Maeve’s. “Maybe you can return one day,” the princess suggested.
There was no reply. None of us anticipated returning. The Ardus was too brutal, the trip too grueling, the war ahead too uncertain. Unlike Maeve, I had no interest in the mage school. The scribe school in the city of Quills was a different story. I’d have liked to see it, to mingle with the brown cloaked scholars. I wanted to smell leather and ink, and inhale the unmistakable sharp odor of old parchment.
“And you, Drastona?” Catriona asked. “Would you like to return?”
Cadeyrn’s horse slowed, the giant stallion’s hooves plodding gently against the stone. Gryphon’s charger did the same. My brother’s gaze found my face, but Cadeyrn kept his eyes forward.
My answer hurt me more than it hurt them. “Sadeemia is a beautiful country,” I replied softly, “but …”
“It isn’t home,” Daegan finished.
The bowman’s hand found my shoulder, and he squeezed. Sometimes I wondered if Daegan felt as much of a connection to the trees as I did. He had a teasing, nonchalant nature, but I’d seen him climb a tree, his bow lifted. He was as much a swordsman as a bowman. He could use both weapons efficiently, but there had been something about his eyes when we’d been in the trees in Medeisia, each of us stringing arrows to shoot at the enemy.
My gaze found Daegan’s face. He grinned. “There is too much sand in this kingdom. I loathe sand.”
It was then I remembered Daegan’s power was connected to soil and art, that Brennus had once said Daegan had strange dreams and drew images in the dirt.
My lips twitched. “Too much sand,” I agreed. His hand fell away from me, but I clamped his shoulder. It was something fellow soldiers often did. The touch reminded me how different I was now, how different all of us were.
We were nearing the sea when the trumpets blared. Men swung from the rigging of ships, and the smell of salt and fish permeated the air even as the docks erupted in chaos. Villagers ran for their homes, and men shouted. The trumpet music wasn’t pretty, it was harsh, the trills a warning. Cadeyrn pulled back on his reins, his gaze going to the sky.
“We’ve got trouble,” Gryphon called.
Hooves thundered behind us, the sound of clanging armor replaced by a call to arms. We whirled to find the king riding toward us, his blue cloak flying behind him. His personal guard surrounded him. One of them held a red-faced Arien. The heir to the throne was screaming belligerently, his voice unrecognizable.
It was only as they neared us that his screaming made sense.
“My son, Father!” he yelled. “He is my son!”
Freemont would not look at him, his narrowed gaze finding Cadeyrn. The prince steadied his stallion, his gaze locking on the king.
“It’s dangerous for all of us to be out in the open at the same time!” Cadeyrn hissed.
The guards were nervous, their gazes searching shadowed alleys and nearby rooftops. I pulled an arrow from the quiver on my back, my gaze alert. Swords hissed as they were unsheathed.
The king dismounted and pulled Arien from the guard’s saddle. He threw him on the ground before Cadeyrn’s horse.
The prince stared at Arien. “It must be tragic if you are willing to show so much weakness in public,” Cadeyrn admonished.
Freemont approached him. Grasping each side of his tunic, the king ripped open his shirt, leaving his skin bare. His dragon pendant was gone. All air left my lungs. A cold chill punched me in the gut, my heart thrumming at twice its normal speed.
Lochlen roared, the sound eerie coming from the mouth of a human man. He pulled back his hood, his yellow eyes flashing as he kicked Arien in the gut. Neither the king nor Cadeyrn stopped him.
Lochlen grabbed the heir by the neck. “Where is it?” he demanded.
I wanted to go to my knees on the cobblestone walkway, but I forced myself to keep standing. Hopelessness crashed into me.
Lochlen shook Arien. “Where is it?”
The dragon’s skin was beginning to shift out of focus, and I knew he was in danger of transforming.
King Freemont stiffened, his gaze finding Lochlen. “He’s traded it for the life of his son.”
The king’s dragon pendant was gone, stolen and handed over to Raemon’s men.
My heart filled with despair, my eyes scouring Arien’s face. “And you thought it would save him?” I asked.
The words slipped from my tongue unchecked and cold. This was a meeting of princes. I had no place in their quarrel, but Arien had handed Raemon immense power, power that could destroy us all.
Arien gazed up at me, his eyes full of hatred. “This is your fault,” he accused.
Never blinking, I leaned forward. “You have just killed your son,” I told him. It pained me to say it, pained me to face a man who’d stolen from his father out of sheer desperation. I didn’t blame Arien. Love pushed people to do things against their better judgments, anything to save those they cared about. Nevertheless, it was wrong to hide the truth from him.
My gaze found Arien’s. “I’ve stood face to face with King Raemon, Your Majesty. He does not bargain. You’ve not only given him the tool to usurp your nation, you’ve given him a reason to destroy your heir.”
Arien’s face fell, horror filling his gaze. “He wouldn’t,” the prince breathed.
Cadeyrn swung from his saddle, his face unreadable. His eyes, however, were full of distress, the kind only a father would know.
He offered Arien his hand. “There may still be time.”
There was no time. We all knew it.
Lochlen chose that moment to transform, his golden body launching into the air. Screams filled the frosty morning.
His reptilian eyes raked our group. “The dragons will be forced to fight now.”
Lochlen was leaving us; I could see it in his gaze. He could travel much faster by air, and he was desperate. I wasn’t sure what the pendant was capable of, but I could see future devastation in Lochlen’s dilated pupils.
Replacing the arrow I’d pulled free of my quiver, I reached for him. Lochlen circled us, his maneuver causing the people below to fan outward. It left him room to land, his tail swinging.
Racing to him, I ran my palms down his cool scales. “You can’t!” I begged him.
His head swung in my direction. “The pendant could mean the annihilation of dragons, Stone. It would give Raemon powers that should only belong to the dracons. We must go to war or risk the extinction of our race.”
I gripped one of the spines on his back. “Then I’m going with you.”
Protests ensued. Oran rushed into my legs. Maeve and Daegan gripped the hilts of their swords until their knuckles turned white.
“You can’t leave us,” Maeve breathed.
My gaze slid from them to Lochlen’s monstrous visage. I could see myself in his pupils; my wide, scared eyes, faint freckles, and wild shoulder-length hair. I wasn’t a beautiful woman. Many would describe me as passively pretty, but there was something about my gaze. It told stories no seventeen year-old girl should know.
“It’s now or never,” Lochlen warned me.
My gaze went last to my wrists. The marks stared up at me, both of them equally compelling, but it was the mark of the scribe that drew my attention. The prophetic words from the Kiarian Freesonalay slammed into me, the lines scrawled by a scribe who’d lived amongst the dragons. He’d known he was going to die, but he’d left the book. His words had lived on long after his death.
The voices of the trees and the hum of the ocean suddenly filled me, the words they sang overwhelming me. I knew these words. “It is often powers we overlook that grant us the means for greatness.”
My place was with the dragons. I would be their scribe, the person who penned their story long after they were gone. The dragons would fight on the front line. They would be the first line of defense against the king. They would protect the marked rebels with their lives because they knew the danger of the pendant. I would fi
ght and die with them.
Gripping the spine on Lochlen’s back, I hauled myself onto his golden scales.
“The dragons will be the first to die,” I said.
It was sad, my words, but I heard the truth in them. I saw the knowledge that filled Daegan and Maeve’s gazes. They glanced down at their wrists, at the burning star that marred their skin.
Their faces were full of determination when their chins rose. Lochlen saw it and bared his teeth. It was his way of smiling.
“I can’t carry you all. Travel to Rolleen, and I will send dragons to you there. They will carry you upon my command,” Lochlen roared.
Oran sat back on his haunches, his black gaze on my face. I leaned forward.
Lochlen sighed, smoke curling from his nostrils. “You’ll have to hold him, Stone. You can’t let go. It’s a risk having him on my back.”
I opened my arms to the wolf, and he sprang upward, his heavy weight settling across my lap. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Lochlen’s wings spread, his head lifting. I prepared myself for the take off, for the wind to fill my hair, my cloak flying. It was interrupted by a presence at my back. Lochlen would have reared, but my hand stopped him. I didn’t have to turn around to know who’d climbed onto Lochlen’s back behind me.
“As second-in-command, Gryphon will retain control of the army. Get us to Medeisia, Dragon,” Cadeyrn ordered. “This fight belongs to my nation as much as to yours. If Raemon has killed my nephew, he will pay.”
Arien sat hunched on the ground, his thin shoulders shaking. Freemont nodded at Cadeyrn, a silent message passing between them. Gryphon seized the reins of Cadeyrn’s stallion.
The prince nodded at him. “Join us as quickly as you can in Medeisia,” Cadeyrn ordered. “For those the dragons allow passage, come as fully armed as you can.” His gaze found Catriona’s. “Stay with Gryphon. I trust him with my life.”
Lochlen glanced back at the prince. “You presume much climbing onto my back.”
Cadeyrn’s lips twitched. “I never ask. It is a habit I don’t intend to break.”
There was grudging respect in Lochlen’s gaze. “You will never ride me alone.”
Even respect won Cadeyrn no favors. Lochlen’s unspoken message was clear: the only rider allowed solo on his back was me.
I removed my bow, positioning it above Oran on Lochlen’s back, the weapon wedged between Lochlen’s spines. I’d be lucky if I didn’t lose it.
Cadeyrn inclined his head. It was the only concession the prince gave the dragon. “Horses are more comfortable,” he muttered.
Lochlen gave him no more time to speak. With one sudden push, he was in the air, his muscular body moving into the wind. My gaze found the ground even as Cadeyrn’s arms tightened around me, his hand finding one of Lochlen’s spines. Unlike Kye, Cadeyrn hadn’t been raised flying on a dragon. The seating was precarious at best.
My hair flew into the wind, but as tall as Cadeyrn was, it didn’t hit the prince in the face. Oran whimpered in my lap. With Cadeyrn’s embrace trapping me, I clung to the wolf.
On the ground, Maeve, Daegan, Catriona, and Gryphon peered upward. Behind them stood Ryon and Madden. The king was already seated on his horse, his guards ushering him toward the palace, Arien with them. My gaze met Daegan and Maeve’s, and I lifted one arm just long enough to flash them my wrist. It wouldn’t be long before they joined us, not if Lochlen kept his promise.
Gryphon issued an order, and the soldiers resumed their march to the sea.
“Your brother is a competent commander,” Cadeyrn said, his breath fanning my ear.
Settling against his chest, I murmured, “I would know him better one day.”
Lochlen dove between two ships. Men scattered along the deck, one sailor falling from the lower rigging, his fist shaking at the dragon. Lochlen chuckled.
It would be the last time I heard him laugh.
Chapter 19
Flying is seeing the world at a completely different angle. Flying is feeling weightless and free. There is terror in flying, but there is also beauty. It’s a heady, thrilling adventure. I’d come to love the air. I’d come to love how it felt against my cheeks, how it swept through my hair and caressed my face. It, like the trees and the ocean, had its own language. Only it didn’t speak to me in words. It spoke to me in sensations.
Lochlen utilized air currents, spreading his wings so that he glided on the breeze. It made flying smoother. It wasn’t until he flapped his wings that it was less level. The Sea of Rollinthia rolled beneath us, the sun gleaming off the waves. Dolphins and colorful fish jumped from the water, their scales shimmering. Seagulls called to each other, their awful jokes making Oran grumble against my legs. He hadn’t moved since we left Sadeemia. He was too afraid to move, too afraid the movement would cause him to fall. I didn’t fear it as much as he did, not with Cadeyrn behind us.
The prince was quiet for the first few hours of the journey, his chest rising and falling behind me. I could feel his pendant against my back. It dug into my skin, but I didn’t complain. It reminded me who he was and who he belonged to. Somehow, over the past few months, my relationship with the prince had changed. It had become deeper than any friendship I’d ever had, aside from Lochlen and Oran. Cadeyrn wasn’t Kye, but I’d begun to appreciate that about him. I’d begun to appreciate their differences, our differences.
From the moment the mark of the scribe had been branded on my wrist, I’d begun to change. It wasn’t just the war or the bloodshed that had changed me, it was what being on my own had taught me about myself. I’d learned the most about who I was through being tested. I wanted to hate the obstacles in my life, but I couldn’t.
“When I was a child, I used to hide in the gardens to watch my stepmother having tea with the wives of visiting dignitaries,” I said suddenly.
Cadeyrn leaned forward, his chest pressing into my back, his head lowering. “Don’t many little girls do that?” he asked.
I watched the landscape transform. The atmosphere changed. The chill lessened, the air warming, and I knew Lochlen was approaching the Ardus.
“The ones who play with dolls and play at being ladies, I suppose,” I admitted. “But I never wanted to be a lady. I wanted more out of life. I wanted to be a mercenary from Yorbrook or a pirate on the Raging Sea. I wanted to be a minstrel regaling the royal court on the Isle of Marr. I wanted to travel the nine kingdoms, and to return home different and worldly. I loved listening to the ladies who came to Forticry because they were all foreign. They had accents and interesting stories to tell, but in the end they were all the same. They were all ladies. Just with different clothes, different gods, and a different way of speaking.”
Cadeyrn’s arms tightened around me. It was unintentional on his part, I think, but it made my blood sing nonetheless.
The prince inhaled. “And so you no longer wanted to travel?”
Below us, the city of Rolleen came into view. The colorful rooftops built into the craggy seaside cliff looked different from the sky. They looked like a pile of jesters, each one sitting on the shoulder of the other. I kept waiting for them to fall, their bell-capped hats lifting as they grinned. I’d only seen jesters once as a child, but they’d delighted me. Laughter often fixes more pain than tears.
I glanced up at Cadeyrn, but the sun blinded me, and I looked away again. “Oh no, I still wanted to see the nine kingdoms, but I discovered them through parchment instead. I learned about the different cultures, about their religions, and their superstitions. I hid in the Archives, doodling and writing until candles burned too low to see. There were so many calluses on my fingers I couldn’t hold a fork properly for a week. Garod despaired of me. My room was high in the manor, and the window opened to the sky. I’d lie in bed at night and count the stars. The stars tell stories we often miss when we don’t look at them. There are gods in the stars.”
Cadeyrn’s chin suddenly rested on the crown of my head. For a moment, it reminded me of Ky
e, but then it didn’t. Cadeyrn didn’t feel like Kye, and he certainly didn’t smell like him. Cadeyrn’s clothes didn’t smell of pine needles and sandalwood. Cadeyrn often smelled of leather, the polish he used on his sword, mint, and wine. He smelled like books and mint flavored tea.
“As a little girl, my wife often pretended to be a courtesan,” he revealed.
I choked on a laugh.
Cadeyrn chuckled. “I give you leave to be scandalized. I certainly was, but it’s what drew me to her. She told me it was easier to court men who desired you than to court those who only kissed your hand out of duty.”
“It worked then?” I asked. “Her courtship of desire.”
“She was a bewitching woman. She could cast a spell over an entire room.”
For some reason, the image made me smile. The air was teeming now with heat, waves of it shimmering in the distance. Sand surrounded us. The Ardus. Dark shapes whirled in the sky, the wyvers who patrolled the damning desert swooping low before rising again. Something wriggled in their grasp, and I shuddered.
“I was a delusional child,” I admitted. “Recently, I’ve learned that no matter how great the adventure, it isn’t the journey that matters. It’s the people who take the journey. It’s their stories that matter, their heartache, their love, and the complications that life throws at them.”
Lochlen glanced over his shoulder, his reptilian gaze finding my face before he turned forward again, his eyes on the horizon, on the dark shapes that threatened us. The wyvers weren’t a danger to us, it was the sand storms. The wyvers would report to Captain Neill, but he’d always known we were coming. There was nothing we could do to hide it.
“Your mother was like you,” Lochlen said suddenly. “Soren always said it wasn’t the bigger picture that mattered, it was the pieces that made it whole.”
Oran grumbled against my belly. “You humans are too bloody introspective.”
I poked him. “You’re just grumpy because you’re afraid you’re going to die up here.”
Oran snorted. “Well, when you put it that way …”
