City in Ruins (11 page)

“It’s my life, Lochlen,” I
whispered.

He blinked. “I never said the gods were wise.
With great power comes the need to manipulate. You won’t fail,
Stone.”

“I would have spoken for the gods and the
dragons without the marks,” I said.

Lochlen sighed. “The marks are part of you.
They’re part of your people. All you have to do is remember how
much is at stake. Remember how careful you have to be with your
words. You don’t need to be a queen to live. You just need to make
sure you keep the wrong king from power.” He leaned close. “I do,
however, think that you deserve to be a queen.”

My eyes burned. “I’m not a descendant to the
throne.”

“No,” Lochlen agreed, “but it’s those who
aren’t born to rule who learn to listen.” Turning me, he forced me
against the side of the ship, my hands against the rail and my eyes
toward the sea. The water was dark below, a half-moon throwing very
little light onto the waves. “Listen, Stone! What makes you unique
is that you don’t belong to just one god. You take them with you
wherever you go.”

The singing ocean was suddenly screaming, the
sound so terrifyingly loud that I cried out, my hands flying to my
ears. Lochlen forced them away.

“Listen!” he shouted.

He released me, and I stumbled, a piercing
shriek tearing through my head. My teeth slammed together against
the need to scream.

“Your destiny,”
the sea sang.
“Swim, little one. Rise
up like the ocean. Take us with you on this journey. Call to
Liqueet, goddess of the water. Rise! Give us peace!”

Falling to the deck, I hugged my
knees.

“No,” I hissed. “No more gods!”

The ocean grew angry, its screams growing,
never easing. Boots thudded across the deck.

“Don’t touch her,” Lochlen’s voice
commanded.

Hands clutched my arms, tight enough to make me
aware they were there, loose enough to comfort.

“I am not your consort,” Cadeyrn replied, his
voice firm, “and I am not afraid of the gods.” Pulling me into his
embrace, he whispered, “Breathe, Aean Brirg. Remember what I’ve
told you before. If you let them consume you rather than
controlling them, then you belong to them. If you control them,
they belong to you. They want a queen, give them one.”

The screaming in my head was painful, the sound
making it hard to concentrate. The sea was different than the
forest. She was moody, calm one moment and then angry the
next.

“Stop!” I demanded, pulling on my
magic.

I drew on Oran, the one connection to the
forest I had on the ship, and he answered, his haunting howl
reaching for the stars. Calling on Escreet was easier. The marks on
my wrists, the ink in my skin, bound me to her. Both powers rose up
within me, the magnitude silencing the ocean’s roar.

“When you are weak, we will make you
strong,”
the ocean whispered.

Sagging against Cadeyrn, I peered up at
Lochlen. “I hear them,” I told him. “I hear them all.”

“Keep listening,” Lochlen replied. “The gods
aren’t fair. Their immortality makes them ruthless, but they are
our gods. When Medeisia rises again, she will be
magnificent.”

Cadeyrn should have released me then, but he
didn’t, his hard gaze on the dragon. “How much can one woman take
before the gods drive her mad?” he asked.

Lochlen smiled, the gesture a sad one. “You
tell me. How much can one man lose before the gods turn him
ruthless?” His gaze swung to mine. “Just because a war is over
doesn’t mean it’s been won.”

I blinked, my heart heavy. “You’re talking
about the prophecy, aren’t you?”

Cadeyrn stood and offered me his hand. “You
know things, dragon,” the prince replied.

My fingers slid into his palm, and he gripped
them, his warm touch sending sparks of fire down my spine. My skin
tingled. “What are we missing?” I asked.

Lochlen exhaled, smoke rising in the air above
him. “The end of Raemon’s reign should have brought peace to
Medeisia and to those involved in the uprising.” He glanced at me,
his gaze falling to my wrists. “I’ve been spending most of this
journey in the sea. There’s a lot of unrest among the creatures of
the ocean. I’ve been hearing things. Ask yourself why the gods
marked you, Stone. Why would they feel the need to bully you into
compliance?”

Stepping away from Cadeyrn, I lifted my arms.
The tattoos stared at us, a reminder of the gods’
desperation.

“History can be altered,” Cadeyrn stated.
“Somewhere along the way, the prophecy changed.”

Lochlen’s chin rose. “And with it, the way the
war plays out. Medeisia’s future depends on its players. The
prophecy doesn’t matter anymore. Your future is in your hands now,
and with it, the future of more than one race.”

My eyes remained on my wrists. “The gods are
more than desperate,” I whispered.

Memories assaulted me, the pain and grief
overwhelming. Where had it all gone wrong? Two princes had died;
Kye and Prince Arien’s infant son. The king of Sadeemia was in a
coma, and Prince Cadeyrn was married to a Henderonian princess. All
of this left Medeisia without a definitive ruler. It also left
Sadeemia weaker than it had before.

I tried my best not to think it, but the
thought came anyway, and it shattered my heart.

“The wrong prince died.”

Chapter 14

The ache in my chest robbed me of speech, and I
stumbled away from the main deck, ducking down the stairs to the
middle deck below and the cabin I shared with Maeve. She was
sleeping when I entered, and I was careful not to wake
her.

Fumbling through the small pack leaning against
my bolted bed, my hand closed around the necklace lying on the
bottom, my fingers clutching the silver chain. Keeping my fist
closed, I pulled it free and held it against my heart. The
Henderonian pendant had been a gift from Prince Cadeyrn, a token to
remind me of Kye.

With necklace in hand, I left the room, the
sour smell inside the cabin a reminder of Maeve’s putrid stomach.
What might have been different had Kye lived? Where would we be
now? How safe would our people be? The dragons, for one, would have
rejoiced, their future secure in the hands of a dragon rider. The
gods would have been put at ease.

Questions chased me from deck to deck, my feet
carrying me to the quarterdeck.

A circle of lantern light caught me, a hand
catching me by my free wrist.

“You’re running,” Prince Cadeyrn’s voice
accused.

“Don’t,” I warned.

Eventually, everyone breaks.

“You aren’t the only player in this war, Aean
Brirg. You aren’t the only person who changed the course of
history.”

Twisting my arm so that the tattoo on my wrist
glared up at him, I hissed, “I’m the one they blame.”

Our eyes locked.

“Keep asking yourself the questions I know
you’re asking in your head,” he said, releasing me. “Keep answering
them if you feel you have to, but know this. Pain doesn’t answer
questions the same way twice. Pain will tell you a lie, and then
keep on filling you with varying untruths until you’re left with
agony. It only makes you hate yourself rather than giving you a
solution.”

Cadeyrn’s face was leaner in the dim light.
There were lines around his eyes, as if he’d been squinting, his
full lips frowning too often. A gust of wind stirred his hair,
pulling the mahogany mass around his face. The prince was like the
wild animals of Yorbrook, patient but fierce.

“Do you hate yourself?” I found myself
asking.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Cadeyrn
answered, “Every day.” He glanced down at my closed fist, the end
of the silver chain winking at him. “Quit trying so hard to be
strong, Aean Brirg.”

His words surprised me. I started, my grip
tightening on the pendant, my head ducking. “Those words seem wrong
coming from you.”

“Does it?” Cadeyrn asked. He marched past me to
the side of the quarterdeck, his fist clenching and unclenching.
“I’ve failed you.”

I froze, stunned. My grief, my fears, and this
overwhelming sense that I’d somehow messed up the war vanished with
his words.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He looked at me. “You’ve got to work on your
pain, Aean Brirg. If you don’t, it’s going to destroy you. It’s
going to turn you into someone no one recognizes. Pain is a monster
that turns your heart to rock and devours your soul. Let pain
fester long enough and it starts to define you.” His face was all
passion, anger, and uncertainty.

I stepped toward him. “Is that what you’ve
done?”

He stood very still. “I’ve let it define who
I’ve become. You, however,” he pointed at my chest, “you’ve turned
it into an old friend that embraces you in the night, as if you’re
afraid not hugging it close will cause you to lose warmth. Your
pain is a fire you sit next to when it’s cold. I don’t know which
is worse, the way I deal with pain or the way you do.” He laughed,
the sound short and bitter. “You’re so young to have seen so much
destruction.” He grabbed my shoulders, his gaze falling to the
tattoos on my skin. “You’re so young to be threatened so often with
your own death.”

My heart pounded. I’d seen many sides of
Cadeyrn’s personality, but this side was new. I was afraid to move,
afraid he’d shut himself off once more.

“War isn’t fair,” I whispered.

What started off as anger and grief slowly
ebbed out of me, chased away by my wonder, by the need to keep the
prince talking.

Cadeyrn closed the distance between us, his
fingers coupling with my fist, forcing it open. With my pendant in
his hand, he stepped behind me. Carefully moving my messy braid, he
fastened it around my neck. The stars winked down at us like Feras’
pile of gemstones, diamonds pressed against black
velvet.

“It was my destiny to die,” Cadeyrn said, his
breath fanning my neck as his hands fell away. “He would have made
a good king, and you would have been a spectacular queen. Together,
you would have brought an age of peace.”

For the first time, I realized my guilt was
nothing compared to Cadeyrn’s. It wasn’t just because of his
deceased wife. He blamed himself for my pain, for the loss of
people he didn’t rule. His life had always been about fighting. For
everyone but himself.

Turning, I peered up at him. “If you want me to
quit trying so hard to be strong, I want you to take a moment and
quit fighting.”

His mouth tightened, his blue eyes navy in the
darkness. “I can’t stop.”

My heart was a well of sadness. “I’m not
allowed to show you how.” The words fell from my lips unchecked. I
didn’t have the right to say them. I’d spoken out of turn, but I
couldn’t take them back, and I didn’t want to.

Cadeyrn peered down at me, his mouth
thoughtful, the fire in his eyes banked like embers flaring after
they’d burned low. “Drastona Maree Consta-Mayria,” he murmured. My
name sounded foreign on his tongue, fuller. Reverent. “The daughter
of so many, and yet she belongs to no one.”

A deep loneliness settled over me, the truth of
his words an invisible cloak more powerful than tattoos, mage
powers, and hooded scribe robes.

The prince’s hand found my cheek, his fingers
curling against my skin. The look I saw in his gaze was raw, more
open than anything I’d ever seen from him.

His face lowered, his lips hovering just above
mine.

“Don’t,” I whispered, my gaze finding his.
“Because if you asked me to, no matter how wrong I know it is, I
wouldn’t be able to say no.”

It’s a mystery what brings some lives together.
Destiny, karma, and the gods’ influence. None of that mattered.
Minds often chose different paths from the heart, led by duty and
circumstance. The heart, however, spoke for itself. It didn’t seek
out what was easy. It loved what was hard.

Cadeyrn’s finger touched my lips, his head
rising. “Your dragon has it right, Aean Brirg. Despite everything
dueling inside of you, despite the fact that you’ll never be able
to completely give up the pain you hold, you’d make a magnificent
ruler. If it was within my power, I’d make you one.”

Surprising myself and him, I pressed my lips
against his finger, kissing it. “No one ever asked me if I wanted
to be a queen of anything. I don’t need power, Your Majesty. All I
ask for is peace,” my gaze caught his, “and happiness for those I
care about.”

Cadeyrn sighed, his lips brushing against my
forehead, lingering there a moment before he stepped back. “You
know what else you’d make, Aean Brirg?” he asked, his gaze falling
to my waist. “A great mother.”

My hand flew to my stomach, his words making me
yearn for a future that wasn’t mine.

“I think I would have liked that,” I
said.

Something odd flashed in the prince’s eyes, but
before I could question it, it was gone. His hands moved, his feet
putting more distance between us.