Fist of the Furor (2 page)

Chapter 2

My slippers were silent on the marble as I descended the flight of steps, the sound of raised voices circling me. Madden followed, his face set in disapproving lines. Maeve met us at the bottom of the stairs, Daegan at her back.

“Complicated stuff, court matters,” the bowman muttered. “I think I much prefer fighting to words.”

“There is less chance of misunderstanding in swords and bows,” Lochlen agreed, his reptilian eyes flashing as he slunk from the hall’s shadows.

Madden tensed. There was something disconcerting about the way Lochlen moved, his steps fluid and lithe. Each of us wore a robe over our clothes. Maeve and Daegan chose to wear the color of the mage, the blue cloak falling over leather trousers and skirts. I donned the color of the scribe, the simple brown cape resting over a thin green dress with no petticoats. I couldn’t afford the weight; the risk too much fabric would pose in an unexpected fight. It was enough I wore the skirt.

Pulling my hood up, I glanced at Lochlen, who also wore a brown cloak. The only difference in our garments was the thread. Lochlen’s mantle was lined in gold. It suited him.

“You fear power if you fear words,” I remarked.

Daegan threw me a look, his fingers pulling his blue hood down over his face. Maeve mimicked him. I lifted the corner of my robe, allowing Oran to duck within its shadows before shuffling down the Hall of Light, keeping to the walls. Guards lined the polished marble entrance, their faces stern and unmoving. Only their gazes betrayed them, their eyes tracking our group as we moved past, our feet silent. Any noise we made was overridden by angry exclamations.

“You dare question me?” King Freemont roared.

Before him in the immense hall knelt the scarlet clad woman from the courtyard. Her dress was long, the back a trailing train of red lace embroidered with complex circular patterns. Rays of sunlight filtered through the hall’s vast glass ceiling, highlighting golden dust bunnies before catching on sparkling rubies embedded in the woman’s upswept fiery hair. Her head stayed lowered, her knees on the marble.

“My father is adamant, Your Majesty,” she stated firmly.

Her voice was lyrical, the sound sweet but forceful. King Freemont watched her, his fingers playing absently with his beard. He lounged on his throne, the dais lined with royals. The queen stood on his left side, her hand on the back of the throne, her slanted eyes full of curiosity. To the king’s right stood Arien, his son and heir, and below him stood Gabriella, Cadeyrn’s betrothed. The Greemallian princess’ cheeks were flushed, angry pink spots stark against pale skin, her sharp, narrowed gaze on the kneeling redhead.

“And you can back this claim?” King Freemont asked.

The woman stood slowly, respectfully, her bejeweled fingers beckoning. A page rushed forward, his fingers gripping a rolled parchment sealed with two figures, a half dragon and a series of circles. The dragon belonged to Freemont, the circles to the King of Henderonia. King Gregor was the only monarch in the nine kingdoms who used shapes for his seal.

The woman’s long, elegant fingers took the scroll, unrolling it, her sharp eyes on the words scrawled within. “It is written, in return for an alliance with the kingdom of Henderonia, King Freemont Horan Bernhart VIII of Sadeemia hereby promises in marriage, his second son, Cadeyrn Forsen Bernhart, to the daughter of King Gregor Dreen II of Henderonia.”

Silence filled the hall, the woman’s words trailing off, her lilting speech echoing off the marble.

A seething Gabriella took a step down the dais. “This is mockery! Foolishness. You have no right to make claims with a treaty that has already been fulfilled.”

The scarlet woman smiled, the gesture filled with sadness. I knew that look, and I knew it well. “If it were up to me, I’d make no claim.”

“And yet you make it,” a new voice intoned.

This voice was low, its rich tones filling the entire chamber, the sound drawing every eye down the hall. There, his sword unsheathed, the point resting against his reflection on the floor, stood Prince Cadeyrn. A hastily thrown on white tunic billowed over his chest, his tattoo on display where the ties had been left undone.

“Hello, Cat,” he added, his blue eyes searching the woman’s piercing hazel gaze.

She blinked. “I stand on formality here, Your Majesty. I prefer Catriona.”

Cadeyrn’s head dipped. “So be it.”

King Freemont stood, a frown marring his features. “That marriage agreement is null. We’ve met its terms.”

Princess Catriona’s head rose, her chin out. “The agreement promises the hand of Gregor’s daughter in marriage to Prince Cadeyrn. I realize my sister is dead, Your Highness, but there are still three daughters remaining. My sister was never named in the contract. It leaves a lot open to interpretation.”

Gabriella gasped. “You witch!”

Catriona stiffened, her gaze finding the king’s. “We’ve gotten wind of your troubles in Henderonia. You can ill afford a dispute with our kingdom.”

Maeve gasped from beneath her hood, but other than quick, astonished glances, there was no reaction from the royals. This was politics. What a mighty web had been woven. Sadeemia’s power was well known, its strength and army notorious. It helped that the king’s son was the most powerful mage ever born. It also made him the most dangerous.

Freemont massaged his temple, his ensuing headache obvious. “It seems we have much to discuss, Princess.”

Princess Catriona curtsied, the move graceful and fluid, before motioning to her party. The king waved them all from the room, his dismissal curt.

“See them well placed,” he told the guards. “As for the princess, have her put up in her sister’s old rooms.”

Feet scurried to obey, silent women and men eyeing each other before ducking from the hall. Catriona backed delicately from the dais before giving her back to the king. It put her face to face with Cadeyrn.

The prince inclined his head. “It’s been too long,” he said.

Catriona’s gaze was hard. “Not long enough, Your Highness. You look remarkably well for a murderer.”

With that, she nodded and left. Her words hung in the air, unheard by the royals on the dais, but Maeve and Daegan stiffened. Oran’s fur lifted against my palm. Only I noticed the quick flash of pain in Cadeyrn’s gaze.

For long moments, there was silence. Our group fanned out around Prince Cadeyrn, our gaze on the royals. Like it or not, Cadeyrn was our leader while we resided in Sadeemia. We depended on him for support in the war, depended on him to get us back into Medeisia to overthrow the king.

The sound of Catriona’s echoing steps faded before King Freemont dared speak next, his sharp gaze moving to his son’s face.

“Your wife’s family is voracious,” he muttered.

Cadeyrn resheathed his sword. “And you’re not, Father? King Gregor is no fool. His country is in a vulnerable position. He only retains his power now because he holds trade alliances with Guarda and New Hope. And we all know how trustworthy New Hope is after Blayne’s betrayal.”

The queen winced, her lips pinched. She was in a hard position. The wife of a king, and the sister of a traitor. Arien reached for his mother, but Cadeyrn remained unmoved. This was war. Even politics was war, fragile threads in a much bigger game, and this is where Cadeyrn thrived.

Gabriella fumed, “You can’t marry her. Our countries have an agreement. A
signed
agreement.”

Cadeyrn glanced at her. “And yet Henderonia’s agreement predates yours. You can’t fault a king for the mistake of his scribes.”

Gabriella scowled. “We can, and we will. The scribe who penned the agreement should be executed for his oversight. Loopholes do not belong in contracts.”

Her talk of execution turned my heart cold, and I stiffened. As rebels of Medeisia, we had no right to interfere with foreign politics, but I’d seen enough scribes die.

“You would execute a scribe for penning the dictation of a king?” I asked suddenly, my voice echoing. “It makes you no better than our mad ruler.”

Gabriella’s hard stare found mine, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Do you blame the king? Tread lightly, rebel, you aren’t hiding in a forest anymore. Words have consequences here.”

I pulled back my hood, my eyes flashing, before raising my arm. The robe fell away, revealing the busted inkwell on my wrist. “I know all about the consequences of words, Your Majesty.”

Silence reigned, Gabriella’s gaze pinned to mine. I refused to look away.

A hand fell on my shoulder, and I knew without looking it was Lochlen’s.

“Where does this leave Medeisia and the dragons?” Lochlen asked. “Your country is being threatened by Raemon, a king who wears the other half of a very powerful amulet. Marriage alliances or no, you’ve signed a declaration of war. These shaky alliances you’ve drawn up with Henderonia and Greemallia stalls the inevitable and gives Raemon more time to make his own alliances.”

Lord Conall stepped from the shadows of the dais, his hands behind his back, his blue eyes sliding from Lochlen to me. I hadn’t noticed the Minister of Government before, and seeing him now disconcerted me. He was, after all, my birth father.

“We must tread lightly. Both Greemallia and Henderonia have legitimate claims—” Conall began.

Gabriella took another step down the dais. “Our country more than theirs. Do you really want to anger my father? Sadeemia is a powerful nation. We are well aware of that, but do not be hasty. Do not think yourselves invincible. Princess Catriona is right about one thing. You cannot afford a dispute with other kingdoms. Greemallia is a larger nation than Henderonia. Our military is mightier.”

“A threat?” King Freemont asked, his lips twitching. “Well played, Princess. You do your father proud.”

Conall’s voice rose again, protests that mingled with Lochlen’s sudden frustrations. The dragon expressed his disdain of human weakness and petty contracts. Conall stressed the importance of not angering the Henderonian king while attempting to placate Gabriella. Somewhere behind me, Daegan mumbled his dislike of politics.

I stared, my eyes roaming the room, my mind sorting through the documents I’d once studied in the Archives, both political and otherwise. Gabriella was right. Words have consequences, but she was also wrong to threaten me. Words are power. To fear them was to be destroyed by them. I didn’t fear words. I respected them.

My gaze went to Cadeyrn, to his calm face as he eyed the chaos in the Hall of Light. He watched, his shoulders relaxed, his shirt splayed open. It was his chest that brought understanding. The sight of his Henderonian tattoo etched into his skin, the story of the Sadeemian god and goddess that gave me pause. Cadeyrn’s first marriage to a Henderonian princess had been a love match, and in the end, a tragedy.

I felt the sudden awareness when his gaze found me, but I didn’t look away. My eyes stayed locked on his chest, the embarrassment I should have felt in being caught staring lost in my chaotic thoughts.

Voices circled us, the echoing sound of arguments made and discarded threatening to overwhelm me. Oran pushed up against my hand, and I curled my fingers into his fur.

“You know something,” the wolf said.

I didn’t answer him. I simply continued to stare at the prince’s tattoo.

My voice rose above the others, the sound loud and firm. “There may be another option.” Silence met my words, and I tore my eyes away from Cadeyrn, my gaze sliding to the dais. “The prince’s first wife was Henderonian, and now King Gregor wants that marriage contract upheld despite the princess’ death.”

“Is there a point to repeating facts?” Gabriella asked.

My gaze moved to hers. “Have you ever considered Henderonia’s customs?”