Fist of the Furor (6 page)

Oran huffed, “Females.”

I kneed him in the snout, and he growled.

I couldn’t be sure, but I was almost certain I heard laughter within Cadeyrn’s chamber as we exited. It sounded good, his laugh.

Chapter 7

“I’m guessing you had a good reason for entering my room earlier through a door no one is supposed to know about?”

The castle ballroom was full of people, a colorful parade of dresses and tunics. The outfits were an eclectic mix of three cultures trying to exist as one, fake smiles and painted faces blurring as they moved. There were a lot of different dances, some of them fast and some of them slow. I didn’t know any of them.

I couldn’t see the prince. My back was to him, the hood of my cloak pulled up to hide my short hair and scandalous attire. The royals had learned their lesson from the last ball. The doors leading to the gardens remained closed, but I hadn’t forgotten the terror and the deaths. I hadn’t forgotten the threat Raemon posed.

“You’ve never had dragons at the palace, Your Majesty,” I answered, my lips twitching. “They have the uncanny ability of finding small, dank places.”

I caught a quick glimpse of a golden goblet with rubies lining the rim. A strong hand held it, swirling the contents before depositing it on a passing tray, untasted. I had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was going to die tonight, all in the name of Prince Cadeyrn. I didn’t know how he lived with it.

His laughter from earlier flitted through my mind. It was gone now, replaced by his usual sultry expression and alert gaze. I missed the laughter. It had been an easy sound, at odds with the man behind me.

It was the laughter that made me smile. “I have a sneaking suspicion you knew we were there,” I muttered.

It made sense. The prince was always on guard, his sword at the ready. It bothered me that I’d known nothing of a concealed door the prince, Lochlen, and Oran all seemed more than aware of.

“Secrets are often best kept between few,” the prince answered.

A loud cry went up in front of the hall. Goblets rose into the air,
 
a room full of eyes sliding to the back of the ballroom. The prince moved around me, his frame shielding me from view. Inclining his head, he marched toward the front of the atrium, his steps steady and sure. There was never any doubt in Cadeyrn’s movements. Only confidence. He was a man of few words, but when he did speak, it carried weight.

At the front of the hall, the king stood, his goblet held high. “Tonight, we celebrate not one but two unions, the joining of my son to two stunning women, the princess of
Greemallia
and the princess of Henderonia. With respect to his late wife, His Royal Majesty, Prince Cadeyrn Forsen Bernhart has asked to accept the gods of the realm of Henderonia, and in so doing, their customs.”

There were more words, but I didn’t hear them over the roaring in my head, over the sound of mumbled Sadeemian dissent. It was dangerous, someone hissed, for the prince to turn his back on the God of Unrest and the Goddess of Serenity. It was folly, another woman agreed. Nonetheless, they smiled and held up their chalices, their cheers rising with the crowd.

A Henderonian official stepped forward. The man was dressed in a formal silk shirt that wrapped his body, the scarlet material fastened by silver buttons with engraved circular designs. He approached Cadeyrn, his fingers going to a clay bowl he held firmly in his hand, his lips pressed together. There was defiance in his gaze as he lifted fingers soaked in purplish juice. I knew from my studies it was crushed grapes, meant to represent fertility.

The man coated Cadeyrn’s forehead in dripping circular designs. It was the symbol of acceptance. Kneeling, the prince lifted his hands and allowed his wrists to be bound by twine. It was a vulnerable position for him, but not deadly. I, more than anyone, knew Cadeyrn’s strength. It would take nothing for him to break the twine, but he remained kneeling, his head down in supplication. The Henderonian man spoke words I couldn’t hear from the back of the room, but I knew when Cadeyrn stood, his hands free once more, that he’d been accepted by the Henderonian gods, the practice making him acceptable to Catriona’s people. On each side of the ballroom stood the princesses.

Catriona was the first to approach. Avoiding Cadeyrn’s gaze, she used a red cloth with a strange circular design in its center to wipe the purple juice from Cadeyrn’s forehead. Pressing it quickly against her own forehead, she closed her eyes, spoke two quiet words, and then offered the cloth to Gabriella of Greemallia.

Stormy eyes met Catriona’s as Gabriella approached, stunning in a sparkling silver gown that offset her ebony black hair and pale skin. She accepted the cloth, her knuckles white as she kissed its circular center before offering it to Cadeyrn. His acceptance ended the ceremony.

“May their unions be fruitful and prosper!” King Freemont shouted. He took a deep swallow of his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The guests followed suit.

“And so it is done,” a voice murmured beside me.

It was a familiar voice. From the long, grey beard, I knew the words came from Mothelamew, the royal mage who had trained Cadeyrn. The mage was a shadow in the palace, often seen but only heard when he deemed it necessary. He spoke mostly to Cadeyrn. I spared him no glance.

“You do not sound overjoyed,” I responded.

The mage’s blue cloak swirled around him as he stepped closer. “It has begun. The beginning to a spectacular story that will one day rest amongst the stars with the stories of the gods.”

My gaze found his hood. “A magnificent story? You put a lot of stock in marriage.”

Mothelamew’s head lifted, his grey-blue eyes finding mine. “Sometimes what seems like a brilliant idea is often one of folly.”

There was accusation in his gaze, but there was also a grudging admiration that blunted the sharpness.

“I’m sure I don’t follow,” I whispered.

Mothelamew sighed. “I’m sure you don’t, Aean Brirg. I’ve heard what the prince calls you. He is right. You are a little bird. Often you appear small and weak, but when you rise up, you will be mighty. Listen well. You are the daughter of more than one god, your blood the blood of more than one nation.” He nodded at the prince where he stood between Catriona and Gabriella, his steely blue gaze on Mothelamew and me. “For some it takes marriage to bind nations.” His wrinkled hand suddenly found my shoulder, and I flinched. “For others, it takes simply being born.”

With that, he vanished into the crowd, his words ringing through my head.
You are the daughter of more than one god, your blood the blood of more than one nation
.

“The mage must have had foul words for you,” Daegan’s voice spoke abruptly, and I jumped, my gaze flying to his blue cloaked frame. The bowmen grinned from beneath his hood. “There isn’t much that shakes you these days, Phoenix. Most of us take notice when you tremble.”

I fingered a dagger I kept hidden in a sheath beneath my cloak. It was my preferred weapon when it was inappropriate for me to wear a bow to a function. It wasn’t as useful as my bow, but I was much better with a dagger than I was with a sword.

“I am ready to return to the forest,” I told Daegan.

He snorted. “Aye. As am I. I feel useless here, as if we are making no headway. My body yearns for a fight. I have dreams about Raemon’s men, about being branded. I worry.”

I glanced at him. “We all do.”

“I know how to fight in a forest,” Daegan added. “Here, I feel like a target.”

“Aye,” Maeve’s voice echoed from behind me. “Like an uneducated, obvious target.”

I kept my gaze on the prince. His blue eyes locked with mine, even though I knew he couldn’t see my face, shrouded as it was by the hood. “Never uneducated, Maeve. Sometimes it doesn’t take books to make a scholar.”

“Ha!” She laughed. “Words uttered by a scribe.”

Gabriella’s gaze followed Cadeyrn’s, and her eyes narrowed. My gaze slid away.

I turned toward Maeve. “Books are often a great start, but words need experience. They need trial and error. Never fear words. Use them.”

Maeve nodded, her lips tight. She was so much brighter than she gave herself credit for. I’d been teaching her to read while we were in Sadeemia, and she was a fast learner. She was strong, witty, and capable.

“The forest never judges,” Maeve breathed. “I’m ready to return to it.”

A squeak startled me, and I glanced down to find Thomas the mouse hiding beneath my cloak. Maeve’s gaze followed mine, and though she inhaled sharply, she didn’t shriek.

“By the gods,” Daegan swore. “Is that what I think it is?”

Maeve harrumphed. “At least it isn’t snakes.”

Daegan’s eyes widened. “I miss all of the good stuff.”

The image of Cadeyrn in his chamber came to mind, and I couldn’t help but agree.

“There is danger,”
Thomas called up to me.

I nodded at Maeve and Daegan, and we moved slowly along the walls of the reception hall. The mouse climbed on top of my boot, squeezing his body between the top of my shoe and my leg. I shuddered at his unusual warmth, my jaw clenching.

Pausing just outside the ballroom, I glanced down at my foot. “What do you mean danger?” I asked.

The mouse’s head popped out of my boot. “I’m not sure, my Queen. There is unrest among some of the palace guests. There is talk of betrayal. I am sure they are foreign, but they are not part of the Henderonian or Greemallian delegation.”

Stooping, I urged the mouse to climb into my palm before setting him gently on the floor. “You’ve done well, Thomas. Find out what they are up to and come back to me.”

The mouse scurried away, and I glanced up at Maeve and Daegan. “There are men in the palace that do not belong here.”

Daegan pushed his hood back. “Raemon’s men.”

Maeve’s face was soon uncovered. “’Tis impossible. The prince’s campaign to oust Medeisian spies after the wyver attack was successful.”

Standing, I stared at her. “Was it? I fear Raemon is more dangerous than the Sadeemians give him credit for.” I lifted my wrist. “We’ve felt his hatred, his hunger for power. We know what he is capable of. We’ve been the target of his ire.” My gaze went to the ballroom, to the king and his family in the distance. “But as much as he hates scribes and mages, I fear he hates something else much more.”

The sound of thudding boots made us stiffen. “What are you about, rebels?” Ryon called out, Madden on his heels. “We’ve lost you once today. We won’t do so again.”

Daegan bowed at the waist, a smile playing on his lips. “Do you fear us?” he asked.

Ryon huffed, “Ask me that after I’ve thrown you into the dungeon.”

I knew by the sparkle in Ryon’s eyes, his threat was a bluff. As much as Ryon and Madden hated to admit it, I think the guards liked us. We’d developed a bond while in the desert that was deepened in our fight with the wyvers.

“Come,” Madden coaxed. “The prince will miss us, and there is a lot at stake right now.”

My gaze went to the castle walls as we followed the guards, my eyes finding the retreating figure of a tiny mouse. There was indeed a lot at stake, more than the Sadeemian guards realized.

§§§

It was dark now, the ball having come and gone. The guests were all abed, the servants hastily laying out the things they’d need for the festivities on the morrow. It was to be a spectacular wedding, a grand and unusual event. I should be sleeping, but I wasn’t.

Even after being turned away, I often found myself at the prince’s chamber door, my fingers tracing the design in the wood. The night before his wedding was no different.

Ryon sighed. “Is this going to be a habit, rebel?”

I glanced back at him. “Do you have a problem with it?”