City in Ruins (21 page)

Occasionally, Lochlen told us a tale, revealing
things about the dragons I’d never known before. While Medeisia
boasted a large portion of the draconic race, it was Guarda who was
home to the most reclusive, powerful, and dangerous of dragons. I
hung on every word, my eyes wide as he spoke. It never seemed to
matter how much I went through, how much pain I endured, I never
lost the excitement of a good story.

Daegan re-joined the crew, spending almost as
much time on deck as Prince Cadeyrn, although he’d also begun
visiting Maeve. As much as I loved the rebels, our path had begun
to split after our uprising against Raemon. Our friendship wasn’t
weaker. It would always be strong and dependable. We’d just entered
into a new, exciting chapter, a chapter full of endless
possibilities where we could practice magic, explore books, and try
new things. I saw more sea voyages in Daegan’s future and a family
in Maeve’s.

Reenah surprised me the most. Her path in life
seemed closely ensnarled with mine. I’d begun spending most of my
days with the consort and discovered—to my delight—that she had a
keen interest in scribery. We spent hours poring over documents and
books, our teasing banter enough to keep my heart light despite the
loneliness that seemed forever ingrained in my soul. It was an odd
sort of loneliness. Not so much a need to have Prince Cadeyrn in my
life, but more a need to see him happy.

So many of our paths had become entwined.
Despite the pain of our journey, when I looked up and saw Daegan
swinging in the rigging, Maeve attempting to smile despite her weak
stomach, Oran bickering with Lochlen, SeeVan stitching the sails,
Reenah bringing me a new book, and Cadeyrn standing on deck bare
chested, his sword flashing, I couldn’t make myself regret any of
it.

Chapter 30

It was the last week on ship when
the nausea set in. I spent almost as much time sneaking away to
cast up my accounts into the sea as I did with my friends. Only
Reenah, Lochlen, and Oran knew of my condition, and I’d come to
depend on them in the final days on the
Beatrice
, my body weak but my mind
strong.

“He’ll be a bold one,” Reenah told me one
evening.

I laughed. “What makes you say
that?”

She shrugged. “To cause such powerful sickness,
he has to be bold.”

I’d taken her words to heart, my hand cradling
my stomach as I walked the deck at night, Oran guarding me. The
nausea was worse in the evenings. I’d had to cut my time with
SeeVan short, my miserable form shivering against the shadows of
the deck railing.

“Torrance,” I whispered, my nose scrunching as
I glanced at my belly. My mid-section was softer than it had been
before, but it was no rounder. “What do you think of
that?”

My back rested against the wood, my gaze on the
stars, my stomach churning. I groaned. “At this rate, I think I’m
going to nickname you Misery,” I teased.

“Gabethian,” Prince Cadeyrn’s voice said
suddenly.

Startled, I sat up so quickly, I just managed
to hang my head over the side of the ship before I vomited. Cadeyrn
caught me, his arm supporting my back.

My face heated, my eyes squeezing
shut.

“Gabethian,” I panted, my hand pressing against
my stomach. “Does it mean anything?”

Cadeyrn assisted me to the deck.

Bringing my knees to my chest, I let my arms
fall around my legs.

He watched me. “It’s an old
Sadeemian word meaning
triumph over
adversity
.” He leaned close. “Use it. It
reminds me of his mother.”

I stared. “I think it reminds me more of his
father.”

Cadeyrn settled next to me, his back leaning
against the railing. By the light sheen of sweat on his skin, I
knew he’d either been practicing with his sword or working in the
rigging.

“No,” he said. “I face adversity, but his
mother is definitely better at triumphing over it.”

Something about the way he looked at me
suddenly made me incredibly sad, as if naming our child was a form
of saying good-bye.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Cadeyrn smiled, his hand suddenly cradling my
head. Leaning me forward gently, he pulled the neck of my tunic
away from my skin, his gaze falling to my back. I knew what he was
looking for, and though most of the scars from New Hope were gone,
a few silver lines remained.

“I’m not,” he said suddenly, his gaze finding
mine. “I’m not sorry, Aean Brirg.” Standing, he stepped away, his
eyes bright when he added, “Gabethian. Call him
Gabethian.”

His boots thudded across the deck.

“Gabethian,” I repeated. “Gabethian Torrance
Bernhart.”

From where he lay in the shadows, Oran’s head
lifted. “I like that.”

I smiled. “I think I do, too.” My brows rose.
“Now, if he’ll just let me sleep.”

Oran snorted. “A sign of things to come, I’m
sure.”

Maybe
, I
thought. And yet, oddly enough, I was okay with that.

Chapter 31

“Land, ho!” Daegan cried.

A loud cheer should have risen up to meet the
words, but there was nothing. Stone-faced sailors walked along the
decks, coiling rope and lifting supplies for the move
inland.

Standing at the rail with Reenah and Lochlen, I
watched as the shoreline came into view. Majesta was as beautiful
as I remembered, an awe-inspiring, magical place full of hundreds
of people. A large, white palace made of smooth stone rose up into
the sky, the sight greeting us as men worked to moor the ship. The
towers and jutting turrets looked eerily like prison bars, like
reaching fingers beckoning for us to come. Blue flags flew from the
roof, proudly displaying the Sadeemian crest: a black falcon, his
wings spread.

Along the wharf, people stopped to
stare at the
Beatrice
, the large, royal ship unexpected in port.

“Don’t run the flags,” Cadeyrn ordered. SeeVan
rushed to comply.

With very little ceremony, we unloaded.
Passengers departed before the cargo. As with our previous foray
into the country, most of us were ushered into covered carriages,
the conveyances rolling over cobblestone streets toward the
palace.

The prince separated himself from the group, a
band of loyal sailors following him on horseback. His life was
under constant threat in Sadeemia. He was a target for political
assassins greedy for power.

The air sizzled with tension.

A wide-eyed Ryon met us at the palace, his
mystified gaze taking in the bedlam.

Rather than announce himself, Cadeyrn pulled a
rearing horse to a halt before the palace steps and
dismounted.

Throwing the reins at one of the servants, he
bellowed, “Bring my mother and my brother into the Hall of
Light.”

It seemed unlikely that Ryon’s eyes could get
even wider, and yet somehow they managed.

“Sire?” he asked.

“Now!” Cadeyrn ordered.

The man stuttered, rushing past me into the
palace beyond. Caderyn rarely got flustered, his calm presence a
comforting balm to those around him. Seeing him this way did not
bode well for anyone.

With a final glance at the wall and yard,
Cadeyrn entered the palace, his personal guard rushing in from the
garrison yard to flank him, their confusion making them
clumsy.

We marched as a group into the fortress, Oran
tangling himself in my legs. The white stone walls we passed mocked
us, the polished marble floors throwing back angry, indignant
reflections.

A picture glass window built into a vaulted
ceiling threw a spectacular glare over a large, golden throne. On
it sat the king, Arien of Sadeemia. Servants in blue surcoats lined
the room, their gazes as wide as Ryon’s.

Arien, a lankier, shorter version of his
brother, stood when we entered, his brows furrowed. “Brother?” the
king acknowledged.

Cadeyrn paused before the throne, going down on
one knee on the marble, as it was the custom to do so. The rest of
us followed suit, our wary gazes bouncing from one person to the
next as we fell to the floor.

“Rise,” the king commanded, his voice small and
startled. “What is this, brother?”

Cadeyrn was blunt and to the point. “Did you
have any idea our mother was a murderer?”

Arien’s face went utterly still, spots of pink
forming on his cheeks, his harried, frantic gaze darting through
the room, never landing on anything.

With angry denial written all over his
features, he snarled, “What’s the meaning of this?”

Paying us no heed, Cadeyrn gestured at his
guards. “Be prepared to arrest your queen,” he ordered
them.

Gasps swept the room.

Arien stepped off of the dais. “You don’t mean
that!”

Cadeyrn’s eyes glinted. “I mean every single
word.”

The end of the hall exploded in chaos. A woman
stomped petulantly down the corridor, her eyes flashing furiously.
She was beautiful, even with her hair in disarray. Like her father,
King Brahn, she had slanted eyes, her porcelain features
glowing.

“What—” she began.

Catching sight of Cadeyrn, his face twisted in
fury, she paused, an uncertain smile ghosting her lips.

“Hello, mother,” Cadeyrn greeted, his eyes full
of rage.

Isabella stiffened, her back rigid. “What is
the meaning of this, son?”

Cadeyrn waved at his guards. “Arrest
her!”

Arien flew into the chamber, throwing his arms
out in front of his mother. “Stand down! You have no right!” he
screamed. “You are not the king! I am!’

Calmly, the gesture even more disturbing
because of his composure, Cadeyrn moved his brother aside, his
flashing eyes on Isabella.

“I have convincing evidence she’s been involved
in more than one treasonous plot against Sadeemia. Side with her,
and I’ll assume you’re in league with her,” he accused.

Arien sputtered.

Isabella glared. “Says the son who’s married to
a barbarian, a man who’s gallivanting around the world with dragons
and women with tainted reputations.”

Anger climbed its way up my spine.

“Your father is alive,” Cadeyrn announced
suddenly. “Not only alive, but he’s resumed his throne. Did you
really seek to unseat King Brahn?”

Isabella froze.

Arien laughed. “Of course King Brahn’s alive.
You set out to see him yourself.”

Cadeyrn’s gaze swung to his brother. “Imagine
my surprise then when I arrived to discover that King Brahn has
been imprisoned in his own dungeon for four years and that his
children put him there.”

Murmurs exploded around the room.

Arien glanced at Isabella. “Mother?”

She winced. “There are perfectly good
explanations why kings are removed from power. If he was in the
dungeons, then I am sure the people had something to do with
it.”

Cadeyrn’s gaze narrowed, and for the first time
since meeting him I noticed uncertainty painting his blue eyes. He
couldn’t tell if his mother was telling a lie!

The truth hit me so hard, I almost stumbled, my
wild eyes flying to the queen. Isabella was a mage. It was no
wonder she’d been able to hide her sadistic, manipulative ways for
so many years. She was one of the few people her son couldn’t
read.

“Tell me,” I said suddenly, my voice loud in
the echoing chamber. “If the people placed King Brahn in the
dungeons, then why would they put a treasonous Blayne Dragern on
the throne? Why would they accept Princess Gabriella of Greemallia
and your son’s former wife as their queen?”

The murmurs grew.

Isabella’s wild, furious gaze flew to my face,
her open hatred so great, I inhaled. But it was when her eyes
widened, her hate-filled gaze falling to my stomach, that I felt
true fear. It was ironic really that after everything, Queen
Isabella would have the same kind of mage powers my mother had. My
mother had been a midwife and a healer, had been able to determine
if a woman was pregnant and what she was carrying.

“No,” she hissed, her eyes tracking my
mid-section.

Taking a step back, I watched her, my gaze
cautious.

I knew when she realized I knew what she was by
the slow grin that spread across her features. There was no madness
in her smile, simply hatred. “Did you think mages came only from
countries with many gods?” she hissed.

Her words threw Cadeyrn into a rage, his roar
when he realized what his mother was, filling the
chamber.

He drew his sword.

“Did you kill them?” he asked her. “Did you
kill my wife and my son?”

“Brother!” Arien exclaimed.

Cadeyrn glanced at him. “And what about yours,
Arien?” he asked. “Did you give up father’s half of the dragon
pendant to Raemon on your own? Or did someone help convince you?
Think carefully, brother. Remember that your wife comes from a
country with three gods.”