Tempest (12 page)

Mana Deea. The mother goddess.

“This journey,” Kye finished, “ends together.”

Each of us began pouring sand into the hole, covering Brennus’ body, tears sliding down our cheeks. Even warriors in Medeisia cried. It was considered holy to mourn our dead. It was only after Raemon took complete power that men were considered weak when they shed tears.

“It is time to depart,” Prince Cadeyrn’s deep voice said from the desert behind us.

We all faced him.

The fire the prince’s men had built burned low now, blackening the yellow-orange landscape with death.

“Grief must be brief in the Ardus,” Cadeyrn warned.

His gaze moved to the sands, to the spot we’d buried Brennus before going to the sky. Wyvers circled once more.

“Ari,” I whispered, my mind panicked.

A
kek, kek
answered me, the falcon’s dark shape responding to my call. She flew low, avoiding the wyvers. A few of Cadeyrn’s bowmen lifted their weapons, but Cadeyrn raised his hand, and they lowered them.

Cadeyrn’s eyes moved to mine before going to the falcon.

“Does she sense aggression from the wyvers?” Cadeyrn asked.

I looked at him in surprise. His gaze met mine.

“Birds are keen creatures, and often magnificent survivors.” It was all he said, his eyes moving away yet again. “Does she sense anything?” he asked.

I shook my head. Ari had said nothing about the wyvers.

Cadeyrn nodded before gesturing at his men.

“Come!” he bellowed. “Day will soon fail us.”

The guards moved quickly, righting one of the carts and reloading the supplies. Daegan and Kye joined them. One of the sand equus had perished in the tempest and Cadeyrn waved at it dismissively.

“Leave it, and the cart.”

“But the supplies ...” a soldier argued.

“I’ll carry them,” Lochlen roared.

Cadeyrn glanced at the dragon. The prince’s people shrank away, but Cadeyrn never flinched. He showed no fear.

“Tie the supplies on the dragon,” Cadeyrn commanded. “Those who rode the cart can walk now.”

The men did as they were ordered, and Lochlen bent, his golden head resting in the sand as the guards approached him carefully.

“Amazing how much they fear him simply because he is so large,” Oran said, bemused.

Smoke curled up from Lochlen’s nostrils, and several of the men recoiled.

“I think that has something to do with it, too,” I pointed out, my eyes on the smoke.

Maeve watched the whole scene quietly. I reached over, my hand going to her shoulder. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at me either.

“Is our cause worth all of this?” she asked me.

I moved my hand to her cheek, my fingers grazing the sand burns. They healed beneath my touch.

“Brennus did not die for naught,” I answered her.

Maeve closed her eyes. “No,” she agreed.

Her chin lifted, and when her eyes reopened, her gaze was different. It met mine evenly. The heat of hate and jealousy I’d seen in them at the Sadeemian camp was gone. A new acceptance settled over us. In war, there was no time for jealousy, no time for hatred amongst ourselves. There would be plenty of time for that afterward.

Daegan and Kye rejoined us as the caravan once again lined up in the desert sand, minus many men, women, and one cart. A dragon now stalked among us, his back carrying supplies, his head down. I ran a hand along his cool scales as we moved behind the prince’s men, stopping only long enough to drink deeply from provided water skins. And then we marched.

“People die for freedom,” Kye muttered next to me.

I looked up at him, my hand going to his.

“They die so others may live,” I finished.

The words didn’t mean as much anymore. They were important, this I knew, but now it felt like we were saying them to convince ourselves they were true.

I glanced over my shoulder, at the shifting sands, the blackened pyre, and the unmarked spot where we’d buried Brennus. Wyvers circled.

In the end, Brennus’ body may fall prey to scavengers. It may even be exposed by the wind to the elements, or left beneath a dune to decay. But he’d not been burned. He’d not burned on a pyre with a mark on his wrist. None of us wanted to die that way. Not while marked by King Raemon. Because then, it would feel like the king had won.

My eyes found Daegan’s face in the glaring sun. Cadeyrn and his men had pulled up the hoods on their cloaks, their heads protected. We did the same, but not before I saw another tear slide down Daegan’s hard face. Watching a warrior cry was different than watching other people cry. Watching a warrior cry was like watching peace shatter followed by the promise of retribution.

Chapter 14

Cadeyrn didn’t stop moving until dark. His men lit torches when it was too black to see, forcing them into the ground once we’d stopped for the night. They used the meager light to set up cots along the sand. No one bothered with tents.

Lochlen lowered himself to the ground, and I collapsed against his side, his scales cool against my hot face. We all leaned on him, too weary and broken-hearted to take another step. Only faith and hope kept us moving now, faith in our cause and hope for freedom.

“Food?” a female voice asked, and I looked up to see Reenah standing before us, holding out wrapped parcels.

I nodded, taking the items gratefully. “Thank you.”

She nodded back, her gaze moving over our faces. “Rest well, Medeisians.”

Reenah left, her hips swaying, her long hair swept up on top of her head. Instead of pants, she wore a loose wrapped skirt with no petticoats. A ring of small bells around her ankle tinkled when she walked. No one other than I watched her go. Even Daegan cared little about the alluring consort.

I turned to the rebels and held out the parcels.

“We should eat,” I said.

I passed them out slowly, glancing into each face as I went. Daegan stared at the sand, his once jovial expression sour. Maeve nodded at me but didn’t smile. I really didn’t expect her to. And Kye ...

I narrowed my eyes on Kye’s face. He was sweating profusely, liquid dripping from his brow down into the collar of his tunic.

“Kye?”

He looked at me and shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just a little tired.

Daegan’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing—like mine—on Kye’s face.

“You don’t look fine, Kye,” Daegan said.

Maeve moved next to the prince, her hand going to his forehead.

Her eyes widened. “He’s burning up,” she hissed.

I rushed to Kye’s other side just as he started to collapse. Maeve and I barely caught him, each of us pulling one of his arms around our neck, supporting him.

“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, panicked.

Lochlen’s head swung to the prince, his eyes searching, knowing. And then he sniffed. Oran did the same.

“I smell something rotten,” Oran complained, his paw rubbing his nose.

Lochlen recoiled, his massive head swinging toward the makeshift Sadeemian camp.

“Prince Cadeyrn!” Lochlen bellowed, flames billowing out into the night.

The fiery display was followed by several shrieks and the swift
swoosh
of unsheathed swords.

“Kye,” I whispered, my free hand going to his face. His normally olive skin was pasty and warm, his eyes dull.

He tried smiling at me and failed. “Just tired, Stone. Just really tired.”

I felt my throat closing up, and I struggled to breathe. There couldn’t be anything wrong with Kye. There just couldn’t. Not Kye. Not
my
Kye!

“You disrupt my camp,” Prince Cadeyrn said abruptly, his voice threatening.

Lochlen’s chest rumbled.

I looked up, my eyes meeting the Sadeemian prince’s gaze, my face full of fear, desperation, and terror. Kye was sagging between Maeve and I.

Cadeyrn took one look at him, and gestured at one of his men. “Set up a tent. Quickly!”

There was no hesitation.

“What’s wrong with him?” Daegan asked, his voice tight.

We’d just lost one of our strongest warriors and a dear friend. We couldn’t lose our leader. Not Kye. Never Kye.
I
couldn’t lose Kye.

I couldn’t breathe.

“We’ve got a tent up, Your Highness,” a man called out.

Cadeyrn approached Maeve and I, but neither of us were willing to let go of Kye.

“You’ve got to let us take him,” the prince insisted.

His voice wasn’t gentle. It was cold, hard, and unrelenting. As much as I wanted to hate him for his unemotional, calm tone, it was what eventually made me let go. There was something so certain about Cadeyrn, something incredibly reassuring.

Cadeyrn took Kye’s arms, bracing him as he led him toward a small, white tent lit inside by a torch. I followed, Oran on my heels, Daegan and Maeve not far behind. Lochlen was forced to wait, the prince’s men lifting the supplies from his back before he could transform.

“Wait here,” Cadeyrn said at the tent entrance, turning to look at us before he ducked into the enclosure.

I refused to be left behind, shoving my way into the interior, my eyes on Kye as they lowered him onto a cot. Only two other people were present aside from Cadeyrn; his man, Gryphon, and Reenah. Both wore grave expressions on their faces.

I heard Daegan and Maeve enter behind me. Cadeyrn looked up.

“I said wait outside,” he ordered, but I ignored him, my eyes focused solely on Kye’s face before traveling down his body.

Gasping, I froze when I saw his leg.

“What ...”

Kye’s leg was swollen, the skin mottled and purple.

Oran went to the sand at my feet, his snout covered by his paws. “Rotten,” he muttered.

“Wyvers,” a voice stated sadly. Lochlen.

Horrified, my eyes widened, my gaze swinging to the tent’s entrance. Lochlen was a man again, his reptilian eyes locked on Kye.

“Not possible!” I said. “It’s just not possible.”

There had been no wyver attack.

“Stone,” Kye soothed, his voice weary from where he lay on the cot.

I shook my head.
No!

“During the sand tempest ...” Lochlen began.

Daegan growled. “
Nothing
could have survived that sand!”
 

“
Something
did,” Prince Cadeyrn interrupted, his voice stern.

Daegan glanced wildly at Lochlen. Maeve and I were staring at him, too; our faces full of shock.

“Wyvers,” I whispered.

It couldn’t be. Kye had seemed fine during our march after the sand storm. He’d never complained, never said anything other than “in due time” when I’d asked him about his leg.

Daegan laughed, the sound harsh. “Aren’t wyvers a cousin of the dragon?” he asked.

He advanced on Lochlen, his eyes full of hatred and sudden knowledge. “
You
can breathe in sand.
You
could have survived the storm without the cover,” Daegan accused.

Lochlen’s pupils elongated, the black dominating the yellow-green. “I’ll excuse you because you are grief stricken and afraid, but I do not tolerate threats.”

It was easy to forget that Lochlen was as much a prince as Kye or Cadeyrn. And in truth, he was a much more dangerous one.

“Wyvers are a cousin to the dragon,” Lochlen explained, “but we do not share the same attributes. A dragon can breathe in many things, even water, but sand is not one of them. I cannot filter sand from my system, but a wyver can. It’s why they thrive in the desert.”

I backed up slowly, my steps taking me to the cot holding Kye. There, I stopped, turning so that my back faced the bickering group at the entrance, my eyes glued to Kye’s leg.

“I can heal it,” I said. “I should have healed it before.”

Cadeyrn caught me by the arm, pulling me toward him so that his mouth went near my ear. “Not wyver poison. No mage has ever been able to heal it.”

I stared at him, something in his gaze making me freeze.

“You knew,” I said. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Cadeyrn dropped my arm, his gaze swinging to the tent entrance. “So did your dragon.”

I glared at Lochlen, horrified.

“Lochlen?”

Lochlen looked away from me, his expression pained. “You can’t heal this, Stone,” Lochlen answered.

A sob escaped me. “How do you know? By the gods ...”

I knelt by the cot, my hand going to Kye’s face. He’d fallen asleep during our argument, but he opened his eyes when I touched him, a small smile on his face.

“Stone,” he murmured.

I heard Maeve sob from the front of the tent.

“There are things we can do ...” a voice reassured. I looked up to find the man, Gryphon, standing on the other side of the cot, his eyes on my face.

“Is that why you’re here?” I asked. “Are you a physician?”

Gryphon looked up at Cadeyrn before glancing back down at me.

“I am a nobleman first, a soldier second, and a physician last. I am the second son of the second most powerful man in Sadeemia. As a second son, I was sent to fight in the army. And here, I have learned the ways of the physician out of necessity.”

I looked back down at Kye, at the tight lines around his mouth. I leaned in close, my lips brushing his forehead.

“Kye,” I whispered.

I thought back on the sand storm, on the way he’d thrown himself on top of me at the end, almost desperate. Hold on, he’d said. I love you, he’d told me. He must have been stung by the wyver before he’d thrown himself over me.

A tear trickled from the corner of my eye.

“No.”

A hand cradled my face, the thumb rubbing my cheek, and I looked down to find Kye peering up at me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked him, my voice cracking.

“Because you’d have killed yourself trying to save me.”

His voice was so weak.

“Kye,” I breathed.

He smiled, that gentle smile I loved so much, but wanted so bad to hate right now.

I looked down at his wound.

“I have to try,” I said.

I glanced up at the tent full of people, my eyes moving last to Reenah. I wondered briefly why she was here, what she had to do with a sick Medeisian man, but then I remembered the women after the sand storm, the one’s who’d bathed the faces of the deceased. Reenah had been among them.

My gaze flew back to Kye. He’d fallen asleep again, his face creased with pain, sweat soaking the cot.

“I have to try,” I repeated.

I started to reach for Kye’s leg, but a hand suddenly wrapped around my wrist. It was hard and punishing, bruising.

“You touch it with sand-burned hands and poison will enter your system as well.”

I looked up, my eyes meeting Prince Cadeyrn’s. He’d had a wife once. Reenah had said it had been a love match, and she had been murdered. I searched his face. I needed him to understand.

“Please,” I pleaded, tugging at my hand. “I have to try.”

The prince’s jaw tightened, but he released my wrist.