Fist of the Furor (15 page)

“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 fight 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 Kye, 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 …”

Lochlen dove, bringing us closer to the sand as wyvers circled overhead. They watched us, but they didn’t approach.

One of Cadeyrn’s hands fell from Lochlen’s spine and settled on the hilt of his sword.

“You seem comfortable with heights,” I noted.

Cadeyrn watched the sky. “I’ve spent a lot of time in the rigging of ships. It’s often like flying. When the sea is angry, it’s cheating death.”

Lochlen pushed ever onward. I could feel him tiring, but he never slowed. There was a single-minded desperation in the way he flew.

“What does the dragon pendant do?” I asked him.

Smoke curled up from Lochlen’s nose and blew back into my face. I coughed and waved it away.

“It isn’t what it does,” he answered me. “It’s what it is.”

My fingers dug into Oran’s fur. “And what is it?”

Lochlen
rose, and then dove again. Oran groaned.

“That question may be better suited for my father,” Lochlen replied.

He pushed himself harder, and I welcomed the rush of air in my face. The wind was too loud to speak after that, but it didn’t help the heat. Sweat trickled down my face and back. It saturated our clothes.
Cadeyrn’s
breathing became shallower behind me, his chest rising and falling more often. Mine did the same. The Ardus was an unforgiving place. It stole from people. It stole reason and humanity.

Gazing at the sands, I saw Kye and Brennus in the wavering heat waves. They waved at me, smiles stretching their faces. Worry gnawed at my gut. No matter how many stories I told, how many times I tried to swallow my fears, I worried about Medeisia. I worried about what we’d find in the rebel camp, and I worried about what the dragon pendant would mean for my country and for Sadeemia. I cared about too many people, and I didn’t want to lose any of them.

In the distance, a line of darkness stretched across the horizon, grey clouds hovering over dark figures. Snow fell from the clouds, and I gasped.

“Medeisia!” I gripped Oran’s fur, and I could feel the excitement that hummed beneath his skin.

Familiar murmurs surrounded me, and I shuddered as the trees whispered,
“Welcome home, little one.”