City in Ruins (10 page)

Throwing me a soft smile, she sauntered away,
her silent guards on her heels. My unease grew.

“Humans are such unpredictable nuisances,” Oran
grumbled as he padded to me from further down the deck. He’d been
lying with Maeve when I left to walk along the rail, but he came to
me now, his steps unsteady. “Having such good hearing can be a
curse.”

“Your hearing may come in handy,” I pointed
out.

My gaze sought out Prince Cadeyrn, my eyes
studying his form. The men weren’t looking at the map anymore, they
were gazing out to sea deep in discussion.

We were chess pieces, all of us. The hard thing
about a human chess game was that the pieces could think. It wasn’t
easy playing a game when you couldn’t predict the next
move.

Chapter 12

It was a four week journey over the
Sea of Rollinthia and into the Sea of Cairn and the Black Sea to
reach Henderonia under fair weather conditions. The
Beatrice
was a massive
ship, built and outfitted to carry a large number of men and
supplies. According to SeeVan, who’d taken to waiting up for me
every evening on the main deck, the
Beatrice
could carry up to four
hundred men at capacity, the majority of these being
sailors.

“We’ve seen some rough seas in overcrowded
conditions when it was called for,” SeeVan told me one night, a
week into the journey. He was mending old sails, not because he had
to but because he seemed to like doing it. “Keeps my hands busy and
my mind workin’.” He tapped his forehead. “Runnin’ a ship is like
runnin’ a small country. One misstep, and ye run the risk of
mutiny. We all have our ways of keepin’ what we need to know
straight. Mine’s mendin’. The Cap’n practices with his
sword.”

It was the steel that pacified the prince. The
forest and parchment did the same for me. The ocean calmed me, too.
It had a low voice, a soft hum that was more music than words, as
if it didn’t need to speak. The sea was louder at night, the sound
pressing against me like a soft hug. Above us, the stars hung in
the sky, brighter than I’d ever seen them through the foliage back
home. There were two seas, the one below us and the celestial one
above. We were sandwiched between them, so small and
insignificant.

There wasn’t much to do aboard
the
Beatrice
for
passengers. I spent the days and nights going from a small cabin on
the middle deck with a wretched Maeve to the galley and the main
deck. Maeve had not gotten used to the sea, her sour stomach
keeping her either abed or on the deck near the railing. Food was
getting easier to take in, but the constant nausea kept her
subdued.

Daegan fared better. Once the initial sickness
passed, he found work on board. The sailors welcomed him, the extra
hand appreciated. Daegan had a knack for working the
rigging.

“It’s like climbing the trees back home,” he
said, winking.

I missed the trees.

The night kept me sane. Oran joined my meetings
with SeeVan, and although the Quartermaster had been leery of the
wolf in the beginning, he’d begun to accept his presence.
Occasionally, Lochlen appeared in his human guise, quietly lowering
himself next to me, smoke curling from his nostrils into the night
as he listened. SeeVan seemed to enjoy the company.

“I was a mercenary before I came to
the
Beatrice.
Yorbrook is an untamed country, mostly jungle with small
settlements nestled between soggy forests and dark, forebodin’
rivers. The wildness is born in the folk who live there. It just
sort of grows up inside of us. We can survive anything,” he said,
patting his chest proudly. “The jungles are a dangerous place, full
of as many bloodthirsty men as there are animals.” He glanced at
me. “If your Silveet rules there, she’s a brutal
goddess.”

Lochlen snorted, his lanky form reclining
against the ship, his yellow-green eyes on the sky. We’d been on
the sea for three weeks now, and although keeping the ship’s ledger
helped pass the time, I was growing as restless as the
dragon.

“The gods are unpredictable,” Oran murmured
from my feet.

My gaze studied SeeVan. His lined features
looked smoother in lantern light. The soft glow hollowed out parts
of his face and mellowed out others, giving him an oddly
unrealistic appearance.

“But you love it,” I insisted. “You love your
home.”

The Quartermaster’s eyes were bright, his lips
quirked.

“It’s the excitement he loves,” a low voice
said. Prince Cadeyrn stepped out of the shadows, his tunic pulled
loose at the top, so that the breeze pulled at the fabric. “Those
born in Yorbrook are born to danger. It’s hard to please a man
who’s survived it all.”

SeeVan chuckled, the sound more a roar than a
laugh. It startled the crewmen on deck, but their sudden attention
didn’t last for long. The men worked four hour shifts to keep the
ship running smoothly. There was no time for idleness.

“All great men want a Yorkbrook born warrior
fighting with him,” SeeVan pointed out.

Cadeyrn nodded, his eyes hooded. He stood on
the edge of the group, his height keeping the top of his head out
of the lantern light.

SeeVan’s hands worked deftly against the sail
he was working on, his tongue quieted by the prince’s
presence.

“What brought you to the sea?” I asked. My back
was against a barrel, my feet crossed. Oran’s head was heavy on my
ankles. My fingers worked a piece of rope, tying and untying it.
I’d grown interested in knots since being at sea and SeeVan was
teaching me how to tie them. Cadeyrn’s presence was unnerving, the
amiable story-filled nights we’d grown accustomed to thrown
asunder. My fingers were clumsy.

SeeVan glanced at Cadeyrn, his gaze flicking to
the Captain’s face before falling to mine. “I double crossed the
wrong man, miss. Got myself in a lot of trouble with a rowdy bunch
of pirates. Before long, I was in the Raging Sea and being
keelhauled to a ship. If I hadn’t been saved and dragged from the
water by the Cap’n there, I’d have lost my life. Almost didn’t
survive as it was, and it left me a scarred man. My face and body
wasn’t always so ugly.”

I studied him, my eyes wide. The deep lines on
his face weren’t from age and the elements. They’d been carved out
by the sea.

“Keelhauled?” I whispered.

SeeVan frowned. “It ain’t for a woman’s ears
that.”

His respect for my sex warmed my heart. “Thank
you,” I replied. “You remind me that I was a lady once.”

My response startled SeeVan, and he stared at
me. “Once? Being a consort don’t make ye any less a woman,
miss.”

My cheeks flushed, my fingers gripping the rope
in my hands. Lochlen chuckled. Oran’s body shook, his laughter
quieter than the dragon’s.

“I suppose it doesn’t,” I mumbled.

Hands suddenly fell next to mine, Cadeyrn’s
kneeling figure overwhelming in the circle of light.

“The mage knot is a Sadeemian design,” he said,
removing the rope from my palms. “It was created to foil lesser
mages, the complicated loops meant to slow escape.”

We all stared at the prince, at his large hands
deftly working the rope. His shoulder brushed against mine, and I
inhaled, forcing my gaze to his fingers.

He finished the knot and handed it to me.
“You’re going under rather than over on your third
pass.”

I accepted the rope, my gaze finally meeting
his. “I’ll remember that.”

SeeVan cleared his throat. “I hear tell ye’ve
been marked by the gods,” he said, breaking the tension, his gaze
falling to my wrists. “We have few gods in Yorbrook, but we have a
healthy respect for spirits. There are a might many deities in the
Nine Kingdoms. Do your gods really expect Medeisia to fight to keep
them out of faith? How do ye know yours are the right
gods?”

The ocean’s song grew so loud, it was a roaring
tsunami in my ears.

“Because mine aren’t necessarily the right
gods,” I said abruptly, a knowing sensation warming my limbs.
Oran’s head lifted, his gaze swinging to mine. Lochlen watched me.
I couldn’t see Cadeyrn’s face, and I didn’t glance his way. “Mage
powers differ in each country. The way people learn isn’t the same
in Medeisia as it is elsewhere. Our customs are different. Before
we walked our world, the gods controlled it, and as the dragons
before us, they didn’t always agree. They preferred certain
climates over others, they quarreled, and they were divided. New
hierarchies were born, the gods reigning over each kingdom claiming
the people, the land, and the magic as their own. We’re all
descendants of gods, but none of us come from the same
gods.”

“You believe this?” SeeVan asked.

My gaze met his. “If Medeisians forget their
gods, the gods who claimed us will be forgotten. In the end, our
country will suffer. I believe this because I feel it. I believe
this because they all call to me. If a region loses its history,
its gods, and its customs, it loses power.” I glanced at Cadeyrn.
“Medeisia makes a better ally than it does a captive.”

My chest heaved, my eyes falling to my wrists,
an unexpected, sobering knowledge crashing over me. How I missed it
before was beyond me. I’d been marked by the gods. I’d been
consumed by them. In truth, the gods were arrogant rulers who used
fear as much as they did power to demand loyalty. I’d been chosen,
and they’d marked me the same way Raemon had marked his people. The
burning star and the busted inkwell.

“Stone?” Lochlen asked.

My gaze rose to meet his, and I saw the truth
in his reptilian gaze. Horror warred with weary expectation within
me. “Tell me I’m wrong,” I whispered.

Lochlen’s head bowed, his fiery hair falling
around him.

“Lochlen—” I began.

“You won’t fail them,” he insisted. I’d been
chosen as an ambassador for the dragons and for the gods. They’d
been suppressed too long by the madness of a king and a fearful
people. The rebels had bred hope into the Medeisian heart, our
success a catalyst for a new, golden future however slow it may
be.

The dragons couldn’t risk losing their chance
to flourish.

The gods couldn’t risk losing the power they’d
gained.

I stared at the tattoos. If I failed to be the
voice of my people, if I failed to keep Arien from taking power in
Medeisia then I was going to die.

I’d been re-marked. I’d been warned. I’d been
enslaved.

If I failed, I ceased to exist.

Chapter 13

Standing, I stumbled away from the group and
into the shadows. The wind tugged on me, the stars jeering down
from the sky. My chest was tight, tears fighting to
escape.

“There are consequences to war,” Lochlen
called.

I whirled, my eyes flashing. “We won the war!
You died, and I died with you to prove it!”

His eyes glowed, their yellow-green depths
eerie in the dark. “Humans won their war. No one remembers the
creatures left in the wake of devastation. That’s the problem with
human politics. You destroy lands and lives, and while picking up
the pieces, you forget those who helped.”

Anger coursed through my veins. I
was angry at the gods, but I was even angrier at Lochlen.
“
I
didn’t forget!
I’m as tied to the gods and dragons as a mortal can be. I’ve never
forgotten you.”

“Sacrifices must be made,” he said
firmly.

I glared. “Whose sacrifice? Mine? If you wanted
my life, you could have taken it away from me before Kye’s and
Brennus’ death. You could have taken it before they burned Aigneis
alive. You could have taken it before half of the rebels died
bearing marks they didn’t deserve. I am one person, Lochlen, and I
would have died to save many.”

The dragon approached me, his fingers closing
around the top of my arm before pulling me against the railing. The
ship’s crew paused in their work, our rising voices drawing
attention. Oran skulked in the shadows, wavering between the need
to come to me and the need not to interfere.

“Your life meant more to the cause! You were a
symbol of hope for your people! If you had died, then there would
have been no hope for the dragons or the gods. Now, the Medeisians
are open to us.”

“And you think my death now will cause them to
accept you over Prince Arien? Are you looking to be a king,
Lochlen?”

“No,” he answered. “I’m looking to make you a
queen.”

His answer stunned me into silence, my shocked
gaze on his face. My fingers gripped the side of the ship. “What?”
I asked. “I’m no queen, Lochlen. All I’ve ever wanted to be was a
scribe.” My voice had lowered, aware now of the audience we had
acquired. “What do the marks have to do with me being
anything?”

Lochlen’s eerie gaze studied mine, his hand
tightening on my arm. “What king or queen has yet to represent more
than just their people? You already do that. You speak for people,
gods, and dragons. The gods marked you. They did it because fear is
a powerful motivator. Because when you stand before your enemy and
your people, the fear that you’ll lose your life will be enough to
keep you speaking.”