 
The Scribes of Medeisia: Mark of the Mage

by R.K. Ryals

Copyright © 2013 by Regina K. Ryals

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to a group of amazing people. To my sister, Sabrina Williams who patiently reads every new page as I write it. To Laura Wright Laroche who diligently produces the cover art for my books. To Melissa Wright for patiently putting up with incessant emails and long conversations about writing only the two of us could have. To Elise Marion, a beta reader/friend/traveling buddy who gives criticism when needed and is willing to beta read at the drop of a hat. To my amazing fans, and to the amazing Young Adult and Teen Readers group run by Derinda Love and Jodie O'Brien for the never ending support and friendship they give to every writer they know. And to the fb friends who shower me with encouragement and love. Amy McCool, Bree Foster-High, Shanna Roberson, Nanette Del Val Bradford, Katherine Pegg Eccleston, Cara Crabtree, and Carole Ronneberg, you have no idea what it means to me. And finally, I give a very, very special thank you to my editor on this project, Melissa M. Ringsted, for everything she has done to make this book the best that it can be. And to Audrey Welch, best friend extraordinaire, who listened to me tell her a story about a scribe and then threatened to throttle me if I didn't write it. Her violence is extremely appreciated. This book is for you. And last, but never, least, I dedicate this book to my children who are forever begging me to tell them fairytales.

Prologue

Scratch, scratch, scratch . . .

For a moment there was nothing except the sound of a quill pen running across rough parchment. A calloused, wrinkled hand gripped the edge of a crude, stone surface turned into a table. It was rudimentary at best, but it suited its purpose.

The cavern was dark with the exception of a few lit candles sitting haphazardly around the cave, causing flickering shadows that looked like ghosts.

Suddenly there was a loud crash, followed by a small shower of rocks and dust, but the scribe did not look up. He did not flinch. His hand kept moving, tirelessly, persistently. The dragons above him were fighting for dominance. The old dragon king had died. In his place, there were three strong enough to rule, but only one of the three would survive. It was the custom. It did not affect the scribe. He had only one objective; The Kiarian Freesonalay: The Book of Truth. He scribbled.

In the year of the Dragon, a kingdom will be divided. Twins will be born to the sovereign. These male heirs will be greedy. They will seek power. They will war amongst themselves, and their kingdom will be split in two.

For one son, the years will not be kind. His kingdom within the forests will suffer. Trade will be sparse. Crops will falter. There will be famine and civil war. A dictator will rise from his heirs, all semblance of a monarchy erased. There will be persecution. The old magick will be condemned. All learning will be outlawed. Those born with power will be murdered.

For the other son, the years will be prosperous. His kingdom amidst the sea will bring him wealth and bring his people peace. Trade will flourish. The old magick will be esteemed.

A desert will form between the two nations. The kingdoms will be divided by barren, harsh land. But it will not stop the big war from coming. It will not stop a dictator from attempting to usurp power.

The Dragons will take to hiding in their mountains. The creatures of the forest will bide their time. For out of the ashes of devastation will arise a phoenix, an omen, a child born under the Harvest Moon. This child will be born of forbidden magick, born to bring two nations together.

To the prosperous kingdom, there will be born a son to the ruler. His magick will be borne of steel, strong. His life will be cursed with hardships. His power will make others greedy, murderous. He will be plagued with death.

The girl, the phoenix of peace, will bring . . .

The cave shook. The pen could no longer be held steady. Bigger rocks fell from the cavern's ceiling. There was no more time. A new dragon ruler would be crowned. The mountains quivered. The fight was mighty. The cavern did not hold. The scribe was not afraid. He had always known this would be his fate. He was a scribe. He was a prophet. In the end, he would die with his book. And when the fateful boulder fell, he did not cry out. His lifeless hand fell limp, his lax fingers tickled by bound parchment. The book would not die. Books never die.

The small cavern was no more. The scribe was dead. The only thing left among the stone was the book. The Kiarian Freesonalay: The Book of Truth.

Part I

The Mark

Chapter 1

The smell. Wet ink, old parchment, and leather.

The smell consumed me, weaving its way through my nostrils and down to my eternally ink-stained fingertips. It was an old, comforting smell. The smell of new beginnings, of adventure, and of disappointment.

"I'm sorry, Stone. The mistress has forbidden it."

Master Aedan avoided my gaze as he moved through the Archives, stacking scrolls that were already perfectly aligned. His long, grey beard skirted the floor as he paced to the shelves before running a wrinkled finger along the books within. His brown, heavy cloak hung around his bony wrist. He seemed older each time I saw him. I focused on the shelves.

The shelves were nothing more than deep grooves built throughout a circular stone room, and they held centuries of records, stories, and legends. Ladders leaned sporadically against the ledges, and candles burned inside protective glass casings. Fire would not be risked within the Archives.

"Did she give a reason why?"

I was whispering, but speaking louder was out of the question. The space felt too sacred. I mumbled promises to Escreet, the Goddess of Scribes. They were promises to serve if only Aedan were wrong. Tears felt imminent. The mistress, my stepmother, was stealing my essence. The Archives, the histories housed within the cavern, were my life. I had been raised on the smell, on the rough feel of parchment, on the historic words scrawled within.

Master Aedan's gaze finally met mine, his kind, bushy brows lowered over shadowed eyes.

"Tis no place for a lady."

It was all he said. The words were not his.

"I'm no lady," I muttered.

Ladies wore dresses that weren't covered in dust. Ladies didn't have stained, calloused hands with nails bitten to the quick. Ladies didn't write, ladies didn't study, and they certainly didn't think for themselves.

Master Aedan sighed, his hands gripping a roll of parchment before moving toward me.

"She has forbidden it, Stone," he repeated, his gaze moving from the parchment to my hands. "But she never said parchment outside the Archives was off limits. Take this. She is a witch, my dear, there is no doubt, but what she does now protects you."

I looked at Aedan. Protects me? By closing me off from the Archives?

"Go now, child. Go," Aedan murmured as he shooed me from the room.

I held the empty paper to my chest protectively, the scent tickling my nose as I ducked out into the manor's hall. A tear worked its way down my cheek, digging a channel through dust-covered flesh. The Archives rarely needed regular cleaning. No one, with the exception of the scribes, ever saw the interior.

"She can't do this."

My words were confident, my demeanor wasn't. Even as the heavy, wooden door closed in my face, I knew I was wrong. She could do this, and she had.

I turned on my heels, the back of my hand swiping my cheeks as I ran for the stairs at the end of the corridor. The hallway was a small one, the stone stairs jagged and uneven as they led up from the caverns beneath to the main manor above. Forticry.

Forticry, Medeisian for strength, was aptly named. The manor was an intimidating, dull buttress that sat on the edge of Medeisia, a mountainous country covered mostly in forests. It was made entirely of stone. Although small, as far as manors go, it was an important gateway into our country and was situated against deep woodland and mountains.

Beyond the forest's edge, a desert stretched; a barren wasteland between Medeisia and its twin country, Sadeemia. The manor was in a strategic location. The stone stronghold had a view of the forest and mountains in one direction, and the desert border in the other. Because of this, Forticry was the home of the Medeisian Ambassador, Garod Consta-Mayria, a man who played an important role in the politics between Medeisia and Sadeemia. He was also my father.

The stairs were a blur beneath my feet. The tapestries lining the grey stone walls were a blended, bright mess as I ran through the main entry, a hall made up of one massive hearth and a line of family portraits. I didn't spare them a glance as I slipped the parchment Aedan had given me down into my dress. My gaze was on an arched entryway leading into a room covered in tapestries of flowers and greenery. There were two stuffed settees, the fabric made out of dark green velvet with gold tasseled pillows. Between them sat a large potted plant, a fern with wide, hanging leaves.

Lying across one of the expensive divans, her dark curls spread across a pillow, her small, beaded slippers teasing the foliage at her feet, was my stepmother, Lady Taran.

I stopped just inside the door, my eyes trailing Taran's low cut, sapphire blue gown. The silk shone in the late afternoon light from a nearby arrow slit window, her tanned skin glistening where the too tight dress pushed up her bosom. One move, and she'd be half-naked.

"Why?"

The question was loud in the still room, my voice wavering as Taran removed the arm she had slung over her eyes. She was a beautiful woman, my stepmother, and she knew it.

"The Archives is no place for a lady, Drastona."

Her voice was firm, stern. I took a hesitant step forward.

"You never cared before."

Taran sighed as she pushed herself up, her green eyes darkening as her gaze found mine.

"You were not sixteen before."

I placed my hands against the tapestry at my back, the stone wall behind it lending a comforting support.

"I do not understand."

Taran laughed. "Of course you wouldn't, dear. Your father has never forced you to learn the etiquette required by most ladies. He has spoiled you. While you've been hiding amongst dusty shelves and flea bitten scribes, our world has changed."

"Changed," I repeated.

I was only mimicking her now. I knew the politics. I was an ambassador's daughter, and I was fond of the Archives. Medeisia's king, Raemon Berhest, had become a dictatorial recluse over the past five years. His laws were harsh, his edicts verging on murder. Even his inner circle wasn't immune to his iron hand. This included the ambassador and his family.

"We've been summoned to court," Taran announced, her green eyes sparkling as she fanned herself. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. I wasn't enthused.

"It's a dangerous place," I said, my eyes wide.

Taran ignored me. "The king is yet unmarried, and the court will be overflowing with eligible titles. There will be opportunity in this."

It didn't take long for her words to sink in.

"No," I gasped.

Taran grinned.

"Mareth will undoubtedly ensnare the better match, but your marriage could be advantageous to us as well."

Her words sounded distant. They were echoes between a rapid beating heart.

"But I'm to be a scribe."

Mareth I could well understand. My half sister was born to be a Lady. She reveled in her station. I had never wanted a title. I was, after all, the proclaimed illegitimate daughter of Garod. His name offered me protection, nothing more. My father had encouraged my interest in the Archives. I had always believed he would let me stay there, away from the prying eyes of the public. But now . . .

"You may have been born on the wrong side of the cloth, dear, but your duties to your father remains. You _will_ marry."

I couldn't breathe. My chest felt too tight, my knees felt weak. The tapestry behind me was now bunched in my fist. I clung to it.

"Your fondness for knowledge is all well and good, Drastona, but it can only harm us now."

Taran pulled a cord hanging from the vaulted ceiling near her head. I didn't even hear the sound the bells made as they traveled throughout the manor. I was deaf to it all.

It wasn't until Aigneis' strong hand settled on my shoulder that I moved. Her dark eyes met mine, the depths full of sympathy and something more. Fear maybe.

"You knew?" I whispered.

Aigneis was a middle-aged woman with dark auburn hair braided and wrapped around the top of her head. It was peppered with grey. She had been my nurse for as long as I could remember, and she knew as well as I why going to court would be dangerous for me. I didn't wear the mark of the mage, but the power ran through my veins. Taran was not aware of it, but my father was.

King Raemon had outlawed magic four years ago. Anyone with tainted blood was to be marked, a tattoo of a star on fire branded onto their wrist. It was a death sentence.

"We can work around it," Aigneis answered, her breath against my ear as she guided me out of the parlor to a twisted stone staircase beyond. Her burning star flashed from her wrist as she took my hand in hers. I let her grip comfort me as she pulled me up the stairs and into my room, shutting the door against the chaos below.

The Archives. Court. Marriage. Something was wrong. It was all too quick.

Aigneis was agitated. It was obvious in the way she moved spastically around my room, her reddened hands patting her hair every time she walked from the hand-me-down tall, Henderonian armoire to the scarred open trunk at the end of my bed. My gaze followed her until the constant movement caused a dull ache behind my eyes.

"You're worried," I finally stated.

Aigneis paused in mid-stride, a rose-colored garment folded over her arm. Her eyes wouldn't meet mine, and the room's low light threw shadows across her face.

"A little," she admitted.

I stood up and moved to the armoire, my eyes tracing the complex, circular designs in the oak the Henderonians were so famous for. The wardrobe was an imported piece that had once belonged to Mareth. When one of my half sister's famous fits rendered a long crack down the middle of the door on the right side, the piece had been retired to my room and another wardrobe was commissioned.

I was glad of Mareth's temper. I loved the piece, crack and all. Its thick wooden legs had the wardrobe sitting a few inches off of the floor. For years, I had practiced writing on its underside, the upper half of my body hidden under the massive armoire. By the time I was thirteen, baby fat made it impossible for me to slide underneath, but I knew the markings were there and that was enough for me.

"You cannot go," I said.

Aigneis sighed and closed the trunk before patting the top. I accepted her invitation and moved to take a seat. She lowered herself next to me, kissing the top of my head as her right hand stroked my loose hair. I never wore it up. The dark, sun streaked strands were too unruly to tame.

"Ah, my heart, it is not our decision to make."

She was wrong. Court may be dangerous for me, but it was a death sentence for her. My eyes met hers, and she noted the concern there. Her free hand came down to cover my clenched fists, folded demurely but angrily in my lap.

"I am marked, yes. But I work for a noble family. My position protects me."

I shook my head, and her hand fell away from my hair.

"Here. It protects you _here_. Not at court. Not where your mark will taunt the king himself."

My words were sharp, but Aigneis was like a mother to me. She had served my birth mother before myself, although I was pretty certain my mother had been of low birth.

Aigneis never spoke of my mother, never described her, never revealed much outside of her love for me. Even Taran's curious questioning had been ignored despite several lashings my stepmother had inflicted on Aigneis. My father was ignorant of Taran's curiosity, but I had seen Aigneis' scars. I had helped apply the ointment when Taran's whippings went too far. I had threatened to go to my father once, but Aigneis had forbidden it. Her mark made her vulnerable to accusations.

"Your fear should be for yourself," Aigneis whispered.

I was sixteen, the year most mages acquire their power. My mother had been a mage. It was the only knowledge Aigneis had been willing to part with, and it had simply been to prepare me. A wise choice, considering I had started showing signs earlier than most. Nature, Aigneis said, was my forte. Animals, for example, were attracted to me.

As if on cue, a low _kek, kek_ filtered through the room, and I looked over my shoulder at a narrow casement with a makeshift windowseat fabricated from an old, broken trunk and large, well used brown pillows. A falcon perched on the stone sill, her sharp eyes glancing briefly at me before preening her bluish-black wings. She was a beautiful creature, almost three pounds with a nice forty-seven inch wingspan. She had black wingtips and a rusty, dark barred underbelly. I called her Ari. I had rescued her as an eyas from a falconer who insisted she was not suited for training. And, although I had released her to the wild years ago, she still returned to me often. Watching. Always watching.

"I do not fear for myself," I said quietly, standing so that Aigneis could continue to pack my trunk.

Nothing in my room matched. The furniture was nothing more than old, worn settees covered in red or black velvet. Heavy tapestries with forest frescoes hung along the walls, and candelabras rested on bare wooden tables. In one corner stood a plain wooden chair against a low desk covered in parchment and ink. The other corner held my bed, a semi-large four-poster with an uncomfortable mattress stuffed with straw. The midnight blue comforter that covered it was thick, worn, and soft; I loved it as much as I loved my Henderonian armoire.

"You have come at a bad time, dear Ari," I crooned as I moved to the window seat, my hand coming to rest carefully against the falcon's head.

Ari ignored me, her eyes sweeping over Aigneis as she folded one last dress before closing the trunk for good. Aigneis' cheeks were flushed, and I berated myself for not offering to pack the trunk. But what little rebellion I had left in me refused to pack for a trip I did not want to make.

"The journey will not take long, a week at most. At court, alliances will be made quickly. If you are wed, it will be done in haste."

Aigneis' words were low, rushed, and I looked up at her, my eyes wide.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Aigneis' jaw tightened.

"Because that is the way of things now, Stone. Court is not as it was. No one speaks truth. Alliances are the only thing that matter. Trust no one. People are pawns in the king's game, and it comes at a bad time."

I was frozen, watching as Aigneis' eyes skimmed the room cautiously.

"Aigneis?" I asked, but my unspoken question was interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

Aigneis moved to answer it, her hand lifting once more to her hair. She tended to smooth it when she was anxious.

"Aigneis," a man greeted, and I shooed the falcon hurriedly out the window as my father stepped into the chamber.

Garod was a large man, of average height but solidly built. He was tan of skin, like most Medeisian men, and his chestnut brown hair was cropped short and left uncovered. He wore a casual, belted dark brown tunic over tan breeches with tall, shiny black boots. His deep green eyes met mine evenly.

"Daughter, I expect you know of our invitation to court?"

His gaze was sympathetic. It reminded me of another moment many years ago, the only other time he had ever entered my chamber. He had been appalled by the furnishings and had threatened to remove them all, replacing them with splendid, imported pieces. But I loved my room, and I refused. Garod was not a bad father, just a busy one.

"May I request to stay behind?"

It was a futile attempt. I knew it by the look in his eyes, but stubbornness knows no bounds. Garod moved awkwardly in the small space, folding his bulky form to sit firmly on the edge of my bed. It squealed in protest, and I worried about the frame. My father didn't seem to notice.

"These are bad times. No one is immune to Raemon's edicts. Marriage to the right nobleman . . . it is the way to protection."

Marriage again. I fought the urge to bite my nails.

"I could be a scribe. I know the work."

Garod's face fell, his gaze moving from Aigneis to the door before returning to me.

"Drastona," he began, one large hand coming up to pat my shoulder awkwardly. It was a bad sign. "The scribes are being disbanded."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did, a strange numbness stole over me.

"Disbanded?"

My question sounded distant even to me. Aedan's words played in my head. _She is a witch, my dear, there is no doubt, but what she does now protects you._

"Like the mages?"

"Aye," my father answered

It was too much; first the mages and now the scribes. Magic, knowledge, and writing . . . all outlawed. I sat down heavily next to my father.

"Why does he fear it all so much?" I whispered.

Garod closed his eyes briefly, lifting his hand to rub a spot above his brows.

"Knowledge is power, and King Raemon fears all power but his own."

My father's words were treasonous, spoken in whispers inside of a worn out room with only myself and a weary maid. I glanced at my window, at the darkening horizon beyond. A few stars braved the semi-darkness, sparkling against a purple-hued sky shot through with pink.

"And their mark?" I asked.

Stray clouds lined in grey wove among the brave stars, vicious warriors attempting to snuff out hope.

"An inkwell covered in cracks," my father answered.

I thought of the men and women I'd spent my childhood sitting next to in the Archives, of their good-natured hidden smiles as I wasted parchment with innocent doodles.

"The Archives?"

The words came out on a gasp, my throat constricted by tears.

"It will remain," my father answered. "But the scribes will be sent away."

The clouds outside had overtaken the stars, the thick, suffocating dark masses eating the brave celestial bodies alive.

The scribes were being sent away. To die?

"Be ready on the morrow, Daughter. We leave at dawn."

My father's large hand landed gently on the crown of my head before suddenly disappearing. I never heard him leave. My eyes were on the window, on the occasional brave star as it tried to break through the cloud cover. Medeisia was fast becoming a land of ignorant people forced to follow a mad king. We were being snuffed out, eaten alive.

Chapter 2

"Really, Mother! You honestly expect me to share a carriage with that awkward, dusty child?"

Mareth's voice was shrill, the servants loading the carriages tense as Aigneis and I skirted the workers carefully. The journey to the capital was not a long one, but the forests along the way were full of outlaws, desperate marked men full of bloodthirsty rage.

"I honestly expect you to," Taran answered, her voice firm, final.

Even in simple travel attire, Taran was magnificent and Mareth had inherited her mother's looks. Petite, with dark silky curls, and the same golden skin, Mareth stood in a fiery, red dress, her green eyes sparkling with malice.

"She should be marked and sent away, and you know it," Mareth hissed before lifting her skirts to kick angrily at the dirt beneath her feet.

Dew-covered soil and grass clung to the hem of her dress as she spun and stomped to the carriage. The footman on duty did not open the door fast enough, and he was rewarded with a slap as Mareth climbed haughtily to her perch within the coach.

The footman's expression was even, his eyes averted as I approached, and I winced. There was a visible five-fingered mark along his whiskerless cheek. His jaw was tight, and his eyes bright as he fought to hold his tongue. He was barely thirteen turns. The boy was young to be a footman, but times were hard and a more experienced man required higher pay. My father wasn't the only nobleman who had begun hiring younger servants, children even.

"Jarvis," I acknowledged as the boy helped me into the carriage. He didn't answer. He simply assisted Aigneis before shutting the carriage door, leaving me alone in a musty coach with an irrational, mumbling half sister and eerily calm companion.

"You shouldn't speak with the servants, Stone," Mareth scolded.

I looked away, my gaze on the window. It was damp outside, the morning blanketed by fog, turning the landscape grey despite the sun burning behind the clouds. It promised to be a humid day, sticky and warm. I suddenly appreciated Aigneis' choice in clothes. My light blue dress was thin, and we had left off several petticoats due to travel.

"There is to be a great reception, I hear," Mareth said, her tone laced with excitement. Her thoughts, like her mother's, were on court.

There were shouts from outside, and the carriage jerked, throwing me against the seat as Mareth continued to chatter across from me.

" . . . a magnificent feast, dancing . . ."

A _kek, kek_ broke through Mareth's words, and I let my eyes wander to the sky where a dark shadow flew against the grey backdrop. Ari.

" . . . so many eligible noblemen. We are quite lucky, you know."

The carriage was moving away from the manor. Away from the scribes I'd grown up amongst, and from the Archives that would now stand empty, the books within yellowing with age as dust overtook the tomes.

"Do you even hear me, Stone?" Mareth asked.

I looked back at her briefly and nodded. It was the only encouragement she needed.

"If we play our cards right, we'll both be married within a fortnight. Just think—"

My eyes fell to Aigneis' wrist, and I stiffened.

"Is that all you care about?" I interrupted, my voice tight. Aigneis glanced at me in warning as Mareth paused, her eyes narrowing.

"Marriage?" Mareth asked. "Of course I care about it. If we marry well, the family will be established, our position guaranteed."

My lips thinned. "Safety shouldn't depend on who we marry."

Mareth laughed, the sound harsh. "In your case, marriage is all you have."

"Mareth!" Aigneis warned.

I stiffened, my eyes moving between them.

"What do you mean?"

Mareth laughed again, and she clapped merrily as the coach bounced along, hitting a small rut that threw me into Aigneis. I pushed away from her.

"You don't know?" Mareth asked, clapping again, her giddiness turning into something darker, malevolent. Her green eyes met mine evenly. "Have you not heard of the scribes? About father's post?"

Aigneis leaned forward. "I don't think now is—"

The scribes I knew of, but my father?

"No," I interrupted. "What about father's post?"

Mareth watched me, her gaze greedy.

"It is no more, dear Sister."

She spat the endearment as if it hurt her to claim any relationship to me. I sat unblinking, her acid tone leaving me cold.

"Stop there, Mareth," Aigneis ordered, her face flushed.

Mareth's gaze moved to the older woman, her eyes flashing.

"I take no orders from the likes of you."

I wanted to defend Aigneis, but I was frozen, my gaze now on my companion.

"What is she talking about?" I asked. "What does she mean by no more?"

Aigneis sighed. "Your father's post has been suspended. The ambassadorship has been dissolved."

A numb feeling swept over me as Aigneis lowered her head, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, one hand low enough it instinctively covered the mage's mark on her wrist.

"W-what? Why?"

There was only one reason the king would dissolve my father's post. One reason only. There was no need for an ambassador if Medeisia had no intention of having relations with Sadeemia. I didn't wait for Aigneis' answer.

"The king would risk war with a nation twice our size?" I asked.

Mareth's expression was dark. "It's treason to question the king."

I ignored her. "What will Father do now?"

I expected Aigneis to answer, but her head stayed lowered. It was Mareth's gaze that met mine, watching me a moment before her expression turned wicked.

"Garod has been offered a post at Court. You see, this is the reason why marriage is so important to you, Sister. Without marriage, you will die."

My eyes widened despite my attempt to disguise my unease. Mareth sat up straight, her back firmly against the coach's cushioned seat, her green eyes brighter than they'd been before.

"You think no one will notice your lineage, Stone? You think no one will notice your scholarly ways. You will be marked, and you will die."

"No," I whispered. "Father wouldn't let it happen."

Mareth smirked.

"You honestly think he could stop it? We aren't children anymore. You are a bastard child with an unknown history, and an uncanny interest in the Archives, in the past. Marriage is the key, Stone. If I were you, I'd play the giggling debutante and snatch the first nobleman drawn in by your fluttering lashes."

I didn't answer my sister. Instead, I let my gaze move away, my eyes once more on the window, on the slight drizzle that had started to fall outside. I could still hear the _kek, kek_ in the distance, and I tried in vain to see Ari in the sky above. _Kek, kek_. The falcon's call was eerie. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was calling out, _"Run, run."_

Chapter 3

The first day through the forest was spent listening to Mareth switch between talk of the festivities at court and threats of my possible demise. It was a grim way to travel even with consistent stops to eat and relieve ourselves. Aigneis barely spoke.

It was a nice reprieve when Mareth finally nodded off to sleep, her head bobbing at an odd angle, her mouth hanging open. Her snores were nothing compared to her conversation. Snoring I could handle.

"They want me dead," I said, my voice low.

Aigneis looked up at me then, her eyes glancing occasionally at Mareth.

"No, they want you married. It is against the law to harbor a scribe or a mage in any household. Taran will not have her dreams of power skewered."

I looked down at my hands. "And if I fail to marry? If I slip up?"

Aigneis' face fell. "Then they will feed you to the wolves. Even if it means blaming your father to protect themselves."

It was a heavy blow.

"Drastona—" Aigneis began.

She was interrupted by a jolt. The carriage rocked as it halted, and I grabbed onto my seat.

"Whoa there!" a voice shouted.

I glanced at Aigneis, my eyes wide. Mareth sat up across from us, rubbing the back of her hand against her mouth.

"What's this about?" she asked groggily.

Aigneis gripped the curtain over our window, moving it aside just enough to peer out of the opening, her eyes sharp. Mareth leaned forward, her breath ragged.

"It's not rebels, is it?"

After a moment, Aigneis sagged in relief.

"No," she breathed. "Something in the road I think."

Mareth scowled. "Damned nuisance."

"Maybe," Aigneis conceded. "But it's also a chance to stretch."

She rapped on the door, and it was opened quickly by Jarvis.

"May we alight?" Aigneis asked.

The boy inclined his head, moving aside to offer his hand for support. We nodded at him as we stepped from the carriage. Mareth refused to move. Instead, she placed her legs on the seat we vacated, lounging unlady-like in the privacy of our coach.

"What's amiss?" I asked.

The ground under my slippers was spongy and damp. It had drizzled off and on since we left Forticry. It was getting dark now, filling the forest with eerie shadows. Mist lifted from the warm ground, swirling around the bases of dark, thick trees. Crickets and frogs heralded the night, and there was the distinct smell of rotted vegetation. Bloodthirsty insects landed quickly on bare skin, sucked greedily, and then flew away. I scratched irritably at a spot on my arm and another on my neck.

"Are we stuck?" Aigneis asked.

Jarvis would not meet our gaze. It was then I noticed the silence, the way the soldiers were standing at attention along the carriages. I didn't recognize any of their faces. My father's men were forced against the conveyances, their expressions hard, their eyes downcast. Aigneis gripped my arm.

"I should have known," she hissed before looking down at me, her eyes desperate and hard. "Get back in the carriage, Stone."

An older man stepped forward. He had black hair streaked with white, and he wore chain mail with a red, belted surcoat. Emblazoned along the front was an image of a howling black wolf and two crossed swords. The king's soldiers.

A carriage door stood open behind the man. My stepmother rested against the space, a lantern held high, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted into a cruel smile. My father was behind her, his face grey in the shadows thrown off by the lamp. His mouth was gagged, his hands tied behind his back.

I cried out as Aigneis pushed me backward. The soggy ground was unforgiving, and I slipped, one hand sinking into the dirt as I caught myself.

"Aigneis Friel Gaffney," the king's man said loudly. "You wear the mark of the mage. In the land of Medeisia, sorcery has been outlawed. You have been accused of using your magic after succumbing to the mark. Do you confess this to be truth?"

Silent tears were leaving tracks on my cheeks as my grip tightened on Aigneis' hand. I cowered behind her, but Aigneis stood tall, her head held high. Our carriage door had opened, and Mareth peered beyond it, her face pale.

"I confess nothing," Aigneis answered.

Confession mattered naught. Any accusation meant death. She knew it. I knew it.

Soldiers began moving in on us, and I pulled on Aigneis desperately. We could run. Surely we could run!

"No!"

My wail was lost in the sound of stomping men, shouted orders, and rippling chain mail as Aigneis gently pried my fingers away from her hand.

"Let me go, dear heart," she said, her voice calm. Only her eyes expressed any fear.

"No," I mouthed, the sound weak, desperate, shocked.

"Listen to the forest," she whispered.

Her hand moved to my face, and she swept her fingers over my damp cheeks as the soldiers seized her roughly. I tried grabbing for her as they dragged her backward, but I was shoved toward the ground, my fingers gripping soggy soil. The rotting scent from before was cloying now. It stank of death.

"Light a mage-fire!" the red coated man ordered.

I was screaming now, the sound shrill. The other men looked at their captain with wide eyes.

"And risk the trees?" a young soldier asked.

The older man's gaze moved to the private, and the boy shifted uncomfortably.

"The trees will not burn. Light a fire."

The captain's voice was low and commanding with a threatening undercurrent no one seemed willing to test.

A hand was over my mouth now, and I looked up wildly only to find myself peering into Jarvis' youthful face.

"Quiet, miss. They'll only burn you as well," the boy whispered against my ear. Even at thirteen, the boy was the same height as me, and he was strong. I fought him desperately, but he didn't loosen his hold.

"You've always been nice to me, miss. Please," he begged.

Aigneis didn't struggle as they tied her to a hastily constructed pyre of wood. I screamed against Jarvis' hand, my head throbbing furiously. They couldn't do this! They couldn't!

"By order of King Raemon, this woman has been accused of sorcery. The punishment is death. All present bear witness. Light the fire," the captain announced.

Another red coated soldier lifted a torch, saluting Igneet, God of Fire, before throwing it onto the pyre. Wood crackled as it lit, some of it sputtering, and I was suddenly hopeful. I pulled on Jarvis's hand.

"The wood is too wet! It's too wet!" I whispered furiously, but Jarvis simply re-covered my mouth before angling his head at the red-breasted captain. It was then I noticed the way the man's hands glowed as he held them toward the pyre. The man was a mage. The king's captain was a mage. I screamed again, and Jarvis held me.

I kicked furiously, finally breaking free as the flames took hold, the wood near Aigneis' feet beginning to smolder and pop.

Two soldiers caught me before I neared the fire, holding me back when I tried to throw myself at Aigneis. Their fingers dug cruelly into the skin on my upper arms, but I barely noticed the pain. I wasn't even sure I was breathing. Each breath was a sob. My lungs burned.

The edge of Aigneis' dress caught fire, and I struggled against the men's hold. I wanted to shut my eyes but couldn't. There was banging from a carriage behind me, and I twisted just long enough to see my father kicking at the walls of the coach where he was bound. I tried to move toward him, but the soldiers' grips were too strong, too unyielding.

It was then Aigneis screamed. For the rest of my life, I would remember that scream; the pain, the despair, the fury in her voice. The same emotions roiled through my veins. My screams met hers in the night, in the forest where a mage-fire was being controlled by a sorcerer.

Screams . . . the smell of burning flesh.

Those screams would haunt me forever.

Those screams ripped through my heart.

Those screams tore at my soul.

Screaming . . . and then silence. Nothing left except the putrid smell of death, and the popping sound of flames. Someone sobbed. Someone yelled threats. Someone even scratched the faces of the soldiers.

In the end, I'm pretty sure that someone was me.

Chapter 4

I was a wild creature, snarling, kicking, scratching, and lashing out at anything or anyone who dared touch me. There was nothing sensible left in me. I wasn't worried about surviving. I wasn't even worried about dying. I was worried about death. Not my death. No, not that. My death seemed simpler than what I was facing now. What I faced now was horror.

The sights, the smells, the sounds . . . it left impressions on the brain. Grey impressions. It wiped all color from the scene as men stamped down any lingering flames, spreading ash into the air as they kicked at the remains left behind.

Ash caught in my hair, on my gown, along my cheeks. Some even entered my mouth as I breathed.

Ash. Aigneis.

It was all too much. Even as I fought, even as I screamed, I gagged. And then I was retching, spewing the contents of my stomach onto the ground as the soldiers threw me down in disgust.

"Do we burn her, too?" an irritated voice asked as I heaved.

Bile rose up in my throat, and my stomach cramped as the soldiers around me paused. There was no reason to dismantle the pyre if another mage was going to burn.

"Lady Consta-Mayria, do you accuse this young woman of magery?"

It was the captain's voice. I hated his voice, hated the way it cut through my clothes and chilled me to the bone one moment and then made me sweat the next. The anger in my blood was a palpable entity. He was a mage who had murdered a mage. I wanted to burn him, to see the way _his_ ashes floated away on the breeze.

Ashes. Aigneis.

"No," my stepmother replied after a moment. "No, I've not seen anything to suggest the girl is a mage. But scribery, yes. She is not a licensed scribe, but she practices it."

There was kicking inside my stepmother's carriage. Muffled screams. My father.

"So be it," the captain said firmly. "No death, but mark her. We'll leave sentencing to the king."

My stomach was empty when the soldiers dragged me backward, my throat on fire, raw from acidic bile, smoke, and yelling.

"And your husband?" the captain asked.

I stiffened. My father. Taran laughed, and I struggled again. My cries were feeble and hoarse, but they were still cries, still screams for justice. I would fight or die trying.

"Garod is a naive man who took in a pitiful creature. She deceived him. I accuse him of nothing," Taran said.

I fell limp, my chest heaving. The raspy groans escaping my lips were sighs of relief. My father was going to be fine. Taran still needed him. My maid and I were nothing more than collateral.

"Hold her down," one of the young soldiers commanded.

A man at my back forced me to kneel, his knee and hands trapping me against the ground as another soldier pulled my left arm onto the rough bark of a fallen log. The timber was damp and uncomfortable, but I didn't fight them. Aigneis was dead. My father was safe. I had no energy left.

"Derrin!" a warrior yelled.

A portly, almost feminine-looking man with oily blond hair appeared next to me. He was nervous and his mouth twitched as he removed a bottle of ink along with a small, razor-sharp metal prong attached to the end of a stick. He tested the prong on his own skin, nodding in satisfaction before smearing ink along the pointed end. His breath smelled of wild onions and moldy cheese as he leaned next to me. I inhaled sharply, holding my own breath as he placed cold, grimy fingers around my arm just below my wrist.

"Hold still, you hear? Marking is a delicate thing, and I don't want to cut too deep."

He gave me no time to answer. I fought involuntarily when the prong sank into my skin. The point _bit_ into me, and I thrashed as the three soldiers surrounding me tightened their grips on my body. The increased pressure of the log was hurting the back of my hand even as the prong's bite transformed into a burn.

"Please," I begged.

I hated the weakness in my voice, hated even more my obvious low tolerance for pain.

"Not much longer," one of the soldiers said quietly, and I glanced toward him, my gaze finding the brown eyes of a young man not much older than me. Black hair fell over his forehead. Pity. There was pity in his stare, and I looked away, whimpering as the prong continued to dig into my flesh. I was tired now. So, so very tired, and my wrist was on fire.

"Tricky things these marks," Derrin said jovially.

I kept my head turned away, my eyes on the trees. I was feeling faint, and I took deep, unsteady breaths in an attempt not to pass out. Aigneis had stood strong. Even knowing they were going to burn her alive, she had remained strong.

Again, I heard her screams in my head, and my breath caught. For Aigneis, I would not falter. For Aigneis I would bear the marking with pride and strength. The thought gave me new resolve, and I grit my teeth as the prong moved along my wrist.

The burning sensation had turned oddly numb, and I welcomed the reprieve from pain. The trees swayed in the darkness before me, the only light coming from the lanterns swinging from the carriages and the torches held up by the guards attending me. The dim glow made the trees look eerie in the darkness, like black figures beckoning me into the night.

"That will do it," Derrin said. I cringed as spittle hit my arm before a cloth closed over my wrist. "Pour some ale on it and bandage it."

The onion-cheese smell was overwhelming as Derrin leaned over me, his chubby face close to mine.

"Nice skin you have, dear. Soft as butter."

I turned my head, and my eyes met his. Torch light glowed in his pupils, and I smiled despite the renewed pain in my arm.

"A curse on you," I whispered.

Derrin's eyes widened, and I spit in his face. There were cries of outrage as hands tightened around my arms. A cruel tug on my hair pulled me toward the back of the carriages, and I stumbled over the loose soil and strewn branches littering the forest floor. Leaves crackled under my feet, and the humid breeze picked them up, throwing the dead foliage against my skirts. _"Run,"_ they seemed to whisper.

"You only make it harder on yourself," a voice said.

It was the black-haired soldier again. His hand was on my left arm, his grip firm. He nodded at the guard on my right side, and I had just enough time to note a brown, earthen jug before a cork was popped free. The cloth on my wrist was removed, and the dark-haired young man lifted my wrist while the other guard splashed ale onto the raised, angry design. It was my first real look at the inkwell now etched into my skin. An inkwell covered in cracks.

I hissed when the ale hit my wrist, my eyes stinging from the burn. It brought tears I had been fighting hard not to shed, and I looked at the top of the soldier's head as he leaned over my arm, drying the wound before wrapping it with an old rag.

"You killed the only mother I have ever known."

The soldier's head came up, and his eyes met mine again. I didn't look away. A solitary tear forged a trail down my mud-covered cheek as I gazed at him.

"And you want me to make it easy on you?" I asked.

I never received an answer.

"Cage her!" another guard hollered.

There were rough hands again, shoves and kicks. In the dark, I could make out little. The pain in my arm was intense. One moment I was stumbling, the next I was lifted up. There was a brief weightless sensation before my cheek met rough flooring, a crude surface made of hastily nailed wood.

"Move!"

The order was loud, harsh. It wasn't safe to camp in certain areas of the woods at night. A door banged shut behind me, and it was suddenly pitch black as the torchlight moved away.

I pushed myself up gingerly, ignoring the wet chill on my cheek as the wind pushed through spaces in the wagon walls. Blood was nothing to me now, although the scrape on my face was uncomfortable. I cradled my left arm against my chest. It still burned from the ale. My mark.

"Ho!"

The sound of horses stamping and wheels turning had me grabbing at the floor as the wagon jerked forward, and I was slung against the side of the cart. The fingers on my right hand found spaces between bars made out of thick wood, and I held on tight.

A soldier on horseback moved past, a torch held up as he took his place at the party's rear. There was light again. It was dim, but it was light nonetheless, and I looked at the small area brightened by the flames.

Fire. Ash. Aigneis.

I was in a rough prison, a wagon with wooden bars. The floor I sat on was littered with debris. Leaves, dirt, and other remains I refused to look at carefully. Those remains didn't matter.

My sobs were silent when they came, my shaking body camouflaged by the night and by the wagon's jerking motion. There were chains on my heart now. My flesh was caving in around me. It was a heavy feeling, a weight that sat solidly on my shoulders, and I felt like I was bleeding from every pore in my body. Aigneis.

Somewhere in the forest, a wolf howled. The sound was eerie, causing the horses to spook, the wagon to jerk even more. I clung to the thick bar, letting my scraped cheek rest against my hand.

"The Ardus is three days by foot."

The voice startled me, and I clasped the wood as I sat up, my eyes on the torchlight now visible outside the wall I leaned against. In the space provided, I could make out the dark-haired young soldier's face, made eerie by the night and the flickering flames. He was a handsome man, rugged with a small scar along his temple.

Another wolf howled, and the soldier pulled his horse away briefly, calming him before coming close again.

"Who are you?" I asked.

My voice cracked. My throat hurt, and my head throbbed almost as painfully as my arm. The boy watched me a moment before inclining his head.

"Kye," he answered.

He looked away then, his eyes searching the torches up ahead. I studied him, my thoughts a chaotic, grieving mess.

"The Ardus?" I asked finally.

His gaze didn't return to mine. He sat up straight in his saddle, his expression even. He was one of the king's soldiers. He was risking his life talking to me, and I was having a hard time understanding why.

He knew I knew what the Ardus was. It was the desert between Medeisia and Sadeemia, visible from my bedroom window at Forticry. It was a beautiful sight in its starkness, a little over a day's walk from my father's manor. It was also deadly.

"There is sanctuary in Sadeemia for those who survive the crossing," Kye replied, his gaze flicking to mine before moving away again.

I let my cheek rest once more against my hand.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

Kye didn't answer. He kicked his horse instead, turning his steed so that he rode once more behind the wagon. The torchlight moved away from me, highlighting the boards at the cart's rear. I could still see the young soldier as he waved his light back and forth, searching the woods before signaling the guards ahead. All was clear.

I hugged my marked arm more tightly against me. The throbbing in my wrist was wave-like, the pain receding and then returning. My jaw was beginning to hurt as I clenched it against the ache in my arm. The sharp stinging sensation radiated down into my fingers and back up into my shoulder. And yet, the pain must be nothing compared to the agony Aigneis had experienced on the pyre.

I closed my eyes against the screams echoing in my head.

"We will camp in a few hours. The lock on the back of this wagon has always been faulty."

Kye's soft voice swept over me, but I kept my eyes closed against the memories, against the stinging pressure in my arm. The mark branded more than my skin. It branded my soul.

"My father."

I hadn't realized I'd said the words aloud until a hand suddenly touched mine on the bar. When I opened my eyes, Kye's face was close enough to be frightening rather than intimate. When I gasped, he pulled his horse away.

"Your father is too important to the king."

It was all Kye said, and then he was gone again. Somehow, I knew he wouldn't be back this time.

Ardus. A faulty lock. The soldier was giving me a chance to escape. I would die in the capital. I knew it. The final look in Aigneis' eyes told me she had known it too. Maybe she had had hope for me and for her at the beginning of this journey, but it was a futile hope. I saw that now, but it had still been hope.

My father was a powerful man, and one of the few men who knew both the Sadeemian language and politics well enough to be useful to King Raemon. I was his illegitimate daughter. I had practiced the work of scribes for years, and the scribes had just been royally disbanded. I was the perfect political example. It would show the people that rank and birth mattered little to the king. Anyone with magic or knowledge would die marked. The thought made me angry.

Once more a wolf howled, and I heard Aigneis' scream in the sound. I saw the burning pyre, saw Aigneis' face as she looked at me, her eyes wide with concern. _Listen to the forest._

The wolf howled again followed by a faint _kek, kek_ in the skies above.

_"Run, run,"_ the animals screamed.

I would not be Raemon's example. I would not be the political tool used to scare his own people into subservience. I'd be damned if I would die without killing the king first.

My eyes moved to the back of the wagon, to the light on the wood as Kye guarded the back of the procession. The flickering torchlight danced on the dry, cracked remains of leaves and broken pottery, and I let my gaze travel from the floor to the door, my eyes finding the iron lock as the flames from the torch illuminated the metal before going dull.

Ardus. A faulty lock.

Chapter 5

I was curled up on the wagon floor, my eyes on the space between the wooden bars when the carriages finally stopped. People called out to each other as horses were unsaddled and small campfires lit. The smell of food wafted through the modest cart, and I brought my knees in closer to my chest as nausea overcame me.

"Wretched business this," a servant said in hushed tones as she walked by.

There were other voices then. Mareth's laughter and Taran's lilting speech. And still I lay, unblinking at times, my wrist raw, my chest tight with anger and grief. There were eyes outside the spaces, brief moments when someone would glance in at me. Even Mareth stopped once, but I was unseeing, my chest hollow. I think I kept expecting my father to find a way to save me, but the mark on my wrist said it all. Garod could do nothing now. I was branded.

"Food?" a voice asked.

These eyes I knew. I didn't answer.

"You should eat," Kye tried again.

I let my gaze move to his eyes beyond the bars. The dark made everything eerie, made the visible parts of his face look severe, pale, and dangerous. Only his voice saved him, made him different.

"No food," I managed.

The words were barely audible, my voice so hoarse I could barely speak, but Kye walked away as if he'd understood.

I went back to staring, watching as the shadows from the fires outside played wicked tricks on the wagon's wooden beams. So many shadows, so many stories told by spectres of the night. I saw Aigneis in the shadows, and I stared as I heard the forest around me whisper its own language—bugs trilling, a falcon's call, distant howling from preying wolves.

It seemed like hours before dirt was kicked onto smoldering fires. The voices outside grew quieter, less merry. Still, I stared. I stared until there was only silence, until every light source had been extinguished, leaving me in a darkness plagued with nightmares.

And then I moved. A faulty lock, he'd said.

My left wrist protested—the skin tender and tight where blood had dried against the design—as I inched my way silently across the cart. The distance from the bars where I lay and the door wasn't far, but I stopped often, my body noisy against the debris littered across the wagon. Even my breath sounded loud, the noise of my skirts deafening.

I was on edge, my grief still too raw, and my fear overwhelming when my right hand finally fell against the brass latch on the cart's wooden door. It was cold against my palm, comforting, terrifying. A faulty lock, he'd said.

I ran my fingers over the metal, my eyes blind in the darkness until I felt the latch's release. I jiggled it carefully, pausing when it came open, the _clinking_ sound making me hold my breath, my head spinning. A horse whinnied nearby, and there was a rustling noise among the brush, but no one approached the cart.

I was faint by the time I exhaled, my trembling fingers clinging to the door. The lock wasn't faulty. The door had been left unbolted.

Gratitude flooded me as I pushed the door open slowly, carefully lowering myself to the ground before stepping away. My legs and feet tingled as I moved toward the trees. I was afraid I wouldn't make it far in the dark, but I had to try. For Aigneis, I had to try.

I was just inside the tree line when a hand closed over my mouth. My eyes widened, my heart beating furiously, and I twisted in an attempt to break myself free. An arm went around my waist, tightening cautiously.

"Whoa there! No harm done. Three days to the Ardus, I said, but you won't make it far without food or water."

Kye's voice was harsh in my ears, and I shivered as his arm fell away. A parcel was forced into my right hand, and a water skin was forced into the other. I took them, my eyes battling the shadows. I felt the boy behind me, but I could barely see him.

"Why?" I whispered even as he pushed me forward, away from him.

"Don't stay to the trails. They'll look for you there. Just keep traveling in this direction," Kye said as he turned me gently, his hands on my shoulders for only a brief moment before they fell away again. "Walk, sleep, and eat facing this direction. Understand? This forest is a confusing place, a dangerous one. Sleep high if you can. Go."

I didn't turn to look at him. I was afraid it would confuse me if I did. I faced the dark forest instead.

"Why?" I asked again.

Silence and then, "Because death comes too easy for our king. We suffer."

I didn't have to look behind me to know he was gone as fast as he had come. Kye, a soldier I'd never forgive because the same men he fought with killed Aigneis. A soldier I'd never forgive because he had helped hold me down while another man branded me. A soldier I'd never forgive because he was giving me freedom marred now by terrible images. I cradled my parcel and water in the crook of one arm.

_"Walk, sleep, and eat facing this direction,"_ I told myself as I stumbled forward, my free hand out in front of me.

The dark was a barrier I did not know how to overcome. It was full of insects and spider webs. Trees and thorns. Each step I took had my heart in my throat.

I felt the ground carefully with my thinly slippered feet, the damp seeping into the soles. The air was not cold, it was sticky and cool. Flies buzzed past my head, and I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out as more wolves howled. They sounded closer to me, but I was afraid to stop, afraid to find a high place to sleep that faced the direction I needed to go.

Fear was a new ally of mine. It painted pictures in the gloom that weren't really there, created sounds I wasn't sure were real. I could hear the captain's voice. I even thought I saw him once, and I stopped in my tracks, my pulse a beating drum in my neck.

"Not real," I told myself as I moved forward, leaves breaking apart beneath my feet. Something slithered next to me, but I refused to look down and I didn't stop again. I was afraid if I stopped, I wouldn't continue forward.

The brush was getting thicker as I moved, and I batted at a large bug as I pushed my way through the dense foliage. I kept waiting for something to bite through my slippers, but my feet met only brambles. They dug into my soles, and I winced.

"Step lightly, child. They follow."

The voice made me stumble, and I reached out blindly, my hand grasping the sturdy trunk of a nearby tree. Rough bark scraped my palms.

"Who are you?" I breathed.

The voice was crude . . . abrasive, almost like listening to wood being rubbed against wood. I wanted to flinch at the sound, but I didn't.

"You recognize us not, child? How disappointing."

I started to answer, but something slapped me from behind, sending me hurtling forward, and I cried out.

"No time, child. No time. Men follow you. Run."

It was then I heard the shouts from behind me, and I lifted my skirts, the darkness suddenly less terrifying than the men following me. I'd watched Aigneis burn. I wanted to be as brave as she was when they led her away, but I'd also heard her screams. They echoed in my head as I ran. Fire. Pain. Death.

"Run. We will not let you fall."

The rough voice was insistent, and I picked up speed, the blurry, ebony shapes of trees and branches closing in around me, pushing against me, lifting me, even carrying me. It was then, as coarse, almost brutal hands seemed to grab me in the darkness, propelling me ever forward that I recognized the voice. _Listen to the forest,_ Aigneis had said.

"The trees!" I gasped.

Laughter suddenly surrounded me, raspy chuckles that sent chills down my spine.

"You acknowledge us now, child."

The voice sounded proud, smug. I should have been disturbed by the realization. I should have been afraid of the branches that still brushed me, thrusting me onward. I should have been confused by the way they protected me. But I wasn't. I wasn't afraid because Aigneis had prepared me for this.

While running through a dark forest being chased by the men who had murdered Aigneis, I had come into my magic. And the only thing that managed to cross my weary mind was one thought,

"They've given me the wrong mark. I carry the mark of the scribe."

Chapter 6

Sometime during the night I must have stopped. And once I stopped, I must have slept. Light woke me. Greenish, white light fragmented by a canopy of varying leaves above my head. I was on a bed of grass, surprisingly soft and dry. I smelled damp earth and wood.

A drop of dew slid down a leaf, dripping first onto my nose before sliding slowly down the side of my face. The water was soothing against chapped, raw skin.

I stared up into the trees above me, my head fuzzy. Brown and grey muted birds hopped from limb to limb while a squirrel ran along a branch, chittered, and then disappeared. Life.

"Aigneis," I whispered, images bombarding me as I tried to sit up. My father. The scribes. My stepmother. The king's soldiers. Fire. Kye. Darkness. The trees.

The trees! I sat up abruptly, my eyes searching the canopy.

"Where am I?" I asked.

The leaves above me shook even though there was no breeze.

"You are a little over a day from the forest's edge, child. Men still hunt you, but they will tire soon. You are safe here."

A little over a day? How long had I walked the night before? How long had I slept? I lifted a hand and placed it tentatively against the nearest tree's trunk. The bark seemed to quiver against my palm.

"Are you many or only one?" I asked.

The strange echoing laughter from the night before surrounded me, and I shivered. I wasn't cold. I wasn't even afraid. No, the sound made me feel . . . happy maybe? No. No, that wasn't right. It made me feel content, calm.

"We are many, but we speak often as one."

My stomach growled then, and I placed my left hand against my stomach. My wrist protested, and I glanced down at the mark on my skin. The inkwell. The mark of the scribe.

"Your food and water are next to your bed."

I forced my gaze away from the design on my wrist, glancing now at the water skin and cloth-wrapped parcel Kye had forced into my hands the night before. They were sitting against the bed of grass, still tightly bound. The night had become a blur for me, confusing. It surprised me that I still had the supplies.

I lifted the water skin and drank deeply. The liquid within had a stale taste, but it was still good. Refreshing. The food was poor. There was bread and cheese within the cloth, but the bread was hard and the cheese was moldy. I ate the bread anyway and scraped the mold off the cheese before eating it as well. There was dried meat, but I saved it, wrapping it once more before sliding it into a small pocket in my dress.

I said a quick prayer to Silveet, Goddess of the Forest, before I finally stood. I was dirty, my hair was tangled, and the design on my wrist had a red appearance that alarmed me. The skin was also hot, feverish.

"You will fare well, child, mark our words. You will heal, and you will remain safe within these woods. Do not worry. You already have friends within the forest. No creature of any kind will harm you."

It was disconcerting having a conversation with someone I could not look in the face.

"How do you know this?" I asked.

Leaves rustled, and a branch swept downward, rubbing gently against my cheek before returning to its original position.

"Because you are your mother's child, dear one."

A _kek, kek_ filtered down from the air above, and I searched what sky I could see through the foliage. Ari.

"The falcon claims she is your protector."

I could not get used to the voice, to the abrasive quality. It made goosebumps pop up along my skin each time the plants spoke to me.

"I saved her as an eyas," I told the trees.

Leaves rustled once more.

"I think it is deeper than that. Your magic speaks to her. To all of us."

I shivered. Maybe I was afraid.

"I don't understand," I whispered.

There was laughter again.

"Ah, child. You will. Your magic can't be taught. It must be understood. Time will teach you much."

I was definitely afraid. Lonely and afraid.

"She's dead."

It was the first time I had said the words aloud since I had seen Aigneis burn. She was dead. _Dead_. Tears welled up in my eyes. They made me angry, and I swiped at my cheeks before they even had a chance to fall.

"Dead," I repeated.

Why I said the words now when I should be worried about other things was beyond me. But it seemed right. The anger, the pain . . . it felt right.

"Such a funny thing death is for mortals. You cry. You mourn. You grieve. You get angry. But death is not always tragic, dear one. Sometimes death is the ultimate expression of love."

My hands were over my face, my jaw tight.

"I'm not supposed to be angry?" I asked.

Leaves were touching me again, soft touches that differed from the brutal, urgent motions of the night before.

"No, child. Anger is okay. But think how much more you could accomplish if you fought now out of justice, not anger. Fear makes people run. You could walk a thousand miles, but the only thing you would be left with are blisters and exhaustion. Anger makes people careless. You could turn and face your enemy with nothing more than your bare hands, and the only thing you would be left with is your own death. Love, while beautiful, makes people foolish. Justice, however, is for the sake of many rather than for the vengeance of one."

I looked up, my eyes on the trees.

"You think I want to fight?" I asked.

The trees went eerily still, the forest unnaturally quiet. No birds chirped, no wind stirred, and no bugs buzzed.

"No, we think you want to prevail."

Chapter 7

The trip through the forest was easier now. It wasn't dark, and the trees were superb guides. Ari circled above, occasionally dipping down into the foliage to land when I rested, her dark beady eyes watching me. According to the trees, the king's soldiers had abandoned their search. Maybe they believed the predators or thieves within the forest would kill me. I hadn't seen any thieves, but I had noted the frequent shadows that slinked among the brush.

_"Wolves,"_ the trees said.

Fear made me pause, and I glanced at the thick undergrowth, at the eerie yellow eyes that peered out at me.

"Wolves?"

Leaves rustled, and I moved forward again, my eyes searching.

_"They will not harm you,"_ the trees insisted.

Strangely, despite my apprehension, the shadows were comforting somehow. Beasts I trusted. It was men I really feared.

"Are there truly bandits within the forest?" I asked.

The brushwood was thick, and I was not following a trail. Even so, the way was easy, as if the plant life anticipated my steps. Bugs buzzed near my face, but they didn't bite me. They seemed to observe me instead, flying close and then ducking away.

"There are rebels within the forest, yes. But they are dangerous only to the king's men."

Rebels? I had heard Mareth mention rebels in our carriage before Aigneis was killed. I had known Medeisia was a country of unrest, but I suppose I had been sheltered more than I cared to admit. Or maybe I had hidden, pretended as a child would, that our own king didn't want to kill people simply because their blood was different, their thirst for knowledge natural. I realized, quite wearily, that written knowledge only goes so far. Naivety was a whole different kind of senselessness.

I let my fingers skim low hanging leaves as I walked, my mind whirring. My body was stiff, sore, and my stomach churned with hunger. We had stopped once at a moving creek, free of the stagnancy of standing water. I had drunk deeply before filling the water skin I carried in my right hand, but food was harder. I still had dried meat, but I was afraid to waste it.

"Rebels. Like soldiers?" I asked

The wind seemed to chuckle. I was beginning to get used to being laughed at. It should offend me, I suppose, but it didn't. I couldn't learn anything if I didn't ask.

_"Desperation breeds armies,"_ the trees answered.

It made sense. I glanced down at my wrist. I was marked now. I was just as desperate as the rebels. Being branded was a death sentence.

"A soldier of the king told me Sadeemia is accepting refugees who survive crossing the Ardus," I said.

I may be walking through the forest now, but my journey through the woods would be over soon. I needed a plan.

"This is only rumors. The Ardus is dangerous for all except the creatures who live within it."

There was a warning in the trees' words. I lifted my head, my eyes on the blue sky. It wasn't cloudy today, and the air was a little cooler than it had been the day before. To me, it seemed strange that I had only left my home yesterday, that Aigneis had died the night before. I shook my head. It was easier to think about what lay ahead rather than dwell on other thoughts.

My calf muscles burned, and my slippers were too thin to protect me from rough ground. I wasn't used to traveling so much by foot. If I was on the trails, I could catch a ride with a Packer perhaps. Packers collected firewood and sold it to towns outside the forest.

"It is my only hope. The Ardus seems less dangerous than the king," I said at last.

The trees were quiet, almost disapprovingly so, and we traveled this way the rest of the day.

It was fairly dark in the forest, fog filtering in when I finally stopped for the night. I think the trees wanted me to continue, but my legs hurt so badly now, I felt tears threaten the back of my eyes. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want the trees, plants, and creatures that followed me to see me weak. It was easier just to stop.

If I had found it strange being spoken to by trees and followed by wolves, I had reconciled myself with it during the day's walk. I kept thinking of Aigneis, and the stories she used to tell me as a child.

"One day the forest will speak to you," Aigneis had said. "Do not be afraid of it. Embrace it. For the forest, unlike people, will never betray you."

I hadn't understood her then, although I had immediately felt a connection with Ari when I saw her as an eyas. The falcon's eyes had called to me, her frightened cries had touched my heart. I had always been that way with animals. Some I connected with more deeply than others, but I had never really connected with the forest. It surprised me now how comfortable I felt with the trees, how content their company made me feel, how easily I acknowledged their presence.

"I think I accept you too readily," I said to the trees as I settled against one of their trunks.

My feet felt immediately better, the sharp pain easing as soon as I took the pressure off. They still hurt, but not as unbearably bad. I removed my slippers and rubbed my feet carefully.

_"Your magic accepts us. That is enough. Your magic knows you better than you do,"_ the trees said, the abrasive voice softer than it had once been. Maybe trees whispered too.

My eyelids felt suddenly heavy, the exhaustion I had been fighting the last few hours finally catching up to me.

"I have never heard of a mage who spoke to trees," I pointed out, my speech almost slurred.

There was chuckling again, chuckling and soft touches from leaves that came near and then moved away.

"You are no ordinary mage, Drastona Consta-Mayria. No ordinary mage indeed."

The words made no sense. Nothing, except the need to sleep, made sense. I didn't even have it in me to wonder at the use of my name. Maybe Ari had told them.

There were so many questions I still wanted to ask, but the darkness was finally too much. It summoned me, and I answered its call.

Chapter 8

There was a heavy, comfortable weight on me when I woke next. It was warm, and I was reluctant to budge, but my legs were numb and I really needed to relieve myself.

The pressure in my bladder finally forced me to stir, but when I started to move, I was horrified when the weight on my legs actually shifted. _Shifted._

My eyes flew open, and I froze. A large grey wolf lounged contentedly over my feet, his big jaw open, his tongue lolling lazily. It took everything I had not to scream.

"By Silveet!" I whispered harshly, my hand coming up to cover my mouth, my eyes wide.

I had seen wolves from the distance. I had even seen sketches of them in the Archives, but this wolf was larger than I expected a wolf to be, and he was eyeing me as cautiously as I was eyeing him, although I was pretty sure my green eyes were nothing compared to his black ones. I was food. I wasn't the least bit intimidating. Oh, but _he_ was!

_"His name is Oran,"_ the trees said suddenly.

The raspy voice made me jump, and the wolf rolled off of me before standing, his legs apart as he faced me. His stance looked defensive enough that I backed up against the tree, wincing when I accidentally rubbed my marked wrist against the bark.

"Great," I said slowly. "It has a name. Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Leaves rustled and there was laughter. The urge to pee was more than insistent now.

"He means you no harm, child."

For some reason, the reassurance didn't make me feel any safer. I slid slowly up the tree, my eyes locked with Oran's.

"You are a petite thing to be the One."

It wasn't the trees' voice that spoke, and it wasn't mine. It was male, and it rumbled. I stared at the wolf. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible!

"No," I gasped.

Oran sat back on his haunches. "You accept talking to trees, but you deny my speech?" He licked his paw, the move sulky. "Wolves are wiser than trees, you know."

Branches swayed, and leaves waved wildly.

_"Wiser indeed!"_ the trees huffed.

I quickly excused myself, my need for privacy a convenient moment to think. The wolf had spoken. He'd _spoken._ It didn't seem possible. _None_ of this seemed possible. But it was. Everything about this whole situation was surreal, terrifying. My nurse had been murdered, I had been branded, protected by trees, and spoken to by a wolf and plant life. All within two days time. If I closed my eyes, I could almost pretend it was all a bad dream. But then there were Aigneis' screams. Those couldn't be imagined. Nothing that horrible could _ever_ be imagined.

Aigneis had told me the forest would speak to me one day. I had to trust her even now, even with her gone. Aigneis had known more about magic than I ever would.

"Why did you call me the One?" I asked the wolf once I had returned to the tree where he stood.

Oran blinked before dipping his head. He had a white patch near his ear. It stood alone, out of place among the rest of his silver fur. I concentrated on it.

"You don't know?" the wolf asked.

A large limb moved behind me, but I didn't turn to see what it was doing. I was disconcerted enough as it was.

_"She knows nothing,"_ the trees said. _"And we can't be sure this girl is she."_

Oran lifted his leg, scratching himself behind the ear, close enough to the white patch it brought me out of my reverie.

"Has any other two-leg ever understood you before?" Oran asked.

The trees grew still.

"Who do you think I am?" I insisted, my eyes meeting the wolf's gaze.

Oran stretched before lumbering into the forest, stopping only long enough to see if I followed. I grabbed my water skin, and patted my pocket where the meat still rested before I plunged into the undergrowth after him.

"Where are you going?" I called out.

Oran looked over his shoulder as he walked, the muscles in his back bunching as he moved. His footsteps were silent. He was more graceful than I assumed a wolf would be.

"To the Ardus," Oran answered. "The trees told me you have plans of crossing it, which is foolhardy in my opinion."

His tone made me bristle.

"I will die regardless. I would rather die free," I said.

Oran stopped moving, the hair on his back standing straight up. "Is that what you think? You think you will die free if you enter the Ardus? Do you not know about the Wyvers, Little Phoenix?"

I paused just behind the wolf.

"Wyvers are Medeisian natives. The trees promised me no creatures would harm me."

Oran sat, but he didn't look back at me.

"Wyvers are poisonous little lizards controlled now by Raemon. The creatures of the forest will not harm you, but the creatures of the sands beyond may not be so kind," Oran warned.

I simply stared at Oran's back. I had only one plan; survive the forest and cross the Ardus. Grief and images dominated my thoughts. Only one thing infiltrated the pain; Kye's words. Surviving the Ardus meant refuge in Sadeemia. Maybe I was seeking the wrong kind of refuge?

"Who do you think I am?" I asked Oran softly.

The wolf did look back at me then, his eyes shining in the dim tree cover. Only the occasional conversation between birds, or the snap of a twig as things moved through the foliage disturbed our exchange.

"The phoenix," Oran said finally, his voice lower than before, a growl just beneath his words. "The girl who will save us."

I was stunned into silence. The _what_ who would _what_?

"I don't understand," I whispered.

The wolf looked away, standing carefully before walking again. I followed.

"None of us understand it, Phoenix. There is nothing more told about the savior other than the phoenix will be a girl with forbidden magic."

I dug in my pocket for the dried meat. I was light headed. I wasn't sure if it was from the conversation or my lack of consistent meals. Either way, I didn't think consuming the meat would hurt. I pushed a piece of it into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It honestly tasted like dirt.

The phoenix? In the old language, phoenix meant savior. Protector. It was a word I'd learned in the Archives. It once represented a mythical creature, but was later more popularly used as a description of someone great. _I_ wasn't great.

"I have magic, yes. My nurse told me I would inherit it from my mother, but it is not forbidden unless you mean Raemon's edict. I do not bear the mark of the mage," I said around the meat in my mouth.

Oran marched steadily on.

"Many would view _forbidden_ as a girl who will bear Raemon's mage mark, but not us. Not the creatures of the forest, the creatures of our Goddess Silveet." Oran's steps faltered, but he didn't stop. "We of the forest have never been understood by humans. It is said a falcon, not unlike the one that follows you, made a pact with our goddess when humans first invaded our world. Man was _never_ to understand us. Our world was to remain our own. We like it that way. Many of the trees are old enough to remember, are old enough to know one thing . . . ."

Oran's words trailed off. My heart was beating furiously, the light headedness curbed by the meat, but the numbness traveling over me now wasn't from hunger. It was unease.

"And what is that?" I asked.

Oran glanced swiftly at me and then away.

"You are the first to ever understand us. Man was _never_ to understand us. It was and is forbidden."

Chapter 9

The wolf was a lot like the trees. He didn't speak again. He only walked, guiding me carefully through poisonous and thorny brush. He stopped occasionally, leading me to small creeks to refill my water skin or to bushes with berries he insisted were safe to eat. The food was not enough. The walking took too much energy, and I felt weak now after almost three days on foot. But I said nothing. Neither the wolf nor the trees seemed to be great conversationalists, and I didn't feel the need to fill the silence.

It was late afternoon, the sun high enough to be hot, but low enough to cast shadows when we reached the edge of the forest. The desert lay beyond. I looked for any glimpse of my home, Forticry, but there was nothing. The trees and the wolf had led me out of the forest far from the manor.

"The Ardus," Oran said.

He sat at the edge of the trees, his black eyes searching the vastness beyond. It seemed strange a desert should start only a few feet from the forest's edge, from grass to sand with no warning. According to the Archives, the Ardus was an anomaly, the only natural abnormality in the world. This is why it was believed it was _not_ natural, but created instead by magic.

Shadows moved in the sky above, far enough up that they could be mistaken for birds. I was Medeisian. I knew better. Wyvers.

Oran's gaze followed mine.

"Their senses are extremely keen. They will know you are within their desert, and they _will_ kill you. Wyvers are not known for their hospitality," Oran said wryly.

I glanced at him.

"Are you trying to talk me out of crossing?" I asked.

The wolf did not meet my gaze. "The first to understand us, you are. Tis a shame you seem so willing to die."

The remark made me angry. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because I was tired of everyone telling me who I was or what I was supposed to be. I had wanted to be a scribe, to hide my magic in the hidden bowels of the Archives until I was old and grey. It wasn't a great ambition, but it was mine, and it would have kept those I loved safe. Instead, my stepmother had used marriage as a way to fool my father and me.

I was to fulfill my duty, Taran had said. I think even Aigneis had believed it. I was to wed hastily to keep myself safe. But then in the woods, Taran's treachery had been quickly obvious. Aigneis was dead. I needed to get beyond that. I just wasn't sure I could. It was a hole in my heart I knew would never heal.

My eyes moved back to the Wyvers. They weren't especially large creatures. According to the dimensions on a sketch in the Archives, they were about the size of a horse when on the ground. They had serpentine bodies with two legs that ended in eagle-like talons. Their wings were bat-like, and they had a barbed tail that was full of poison. I shivered. I only knew them as shadows seen from my bedroom window in the skies above the desert.

"There must be some way to trick them, even destroy them," I said.

The wolf made a sound eerily similar to a snort. "Even if there were, you couldn't accomplish it."

Now I was as insulted as I was angry. How dare he pretend to know me! I glared at Oran, but he did nothing more than lick himself.

"And if there were? You have no training. What can you do? You bear the mark of the scribe. I assume that means you can read, maybe? Write? Sketch? But fight?" Oran added.

I was shaking now, from fear, anger, and maybe even failure. It was enough to make me move away from the wolf, to march toward the desert as if I knew what I was doing. There were sandstone boulders on the edge of the Ardus. I think they may have been part of the Mystic Mountains once, the mountains that sat beyond the Medeisian woods. The forest had no name. They were simply woods that belonged to the king. Everything belonged to the king. I glanced down at my mark, and it strengthened my resolve.

"And _you_ are our savior." The wolf said the words sadly, as if he was disappointed before stepping backward and melding into the forest. I glanced over my shoulder, but saw him no more.

I faced forward again, moving steadily toward the sandstone, my feet instantly hot when it hit the sand. The temperature around me was different now, too. Hotter, dryer. Everything about the Ardus was lonely, despairing. And yet it was beautiful in a barren, depressing kind of way. So stark. Even the sky looked cast off, neglected. It was a dull blue. No clouds.

The sandstone rocks loomed over the desert as if they were doorways built into ancient ruins long forgotten. There was no breeze. The air was stifling, stale.

"I will be forgotten."

There was nowhere for the words to go. No rush of breeze to snatch them away. The words hung there, resigned. The only thing worse than a place, a world even, abandoned is _being_ forgotten. I don't know why it mattered. I shouldn't care if anyone remembered me, but if I were forgotten then Aigneis would be as well. Raising me had been her mission. If I died now, she failed.

I reached the sandstone, and I crouched under the minuscule shade provided by the craggy stones, my back burning.

A shadow moved overhead. The wyvers watched.

"You tempt them, you know," a voice said.

The voice did not belong to Oran or the trees. This voice was deep, but different, almost melodic. It was male.

I hit the crown of my head against the sandstone as I stood, my heart pounding wildly. I didn't turn around. If it was a soldier, I was dead anyway. I raised my hands, placing one on the rocks next to me and the other just far enough from my body it was obvious I had no weapons. My water skin fell to the sand. The man behind me laughed.

"You think I will harm you, human?"

I paused, my eyes on the sky. He called me human. Did that mean he wasn't? Not a soldier then?

"Won't you?" I asked.

There was a hand on my shoulder before I even had a chance to react. I stood up straighter, my knees locked to keep from trembling. I would not shake. I would not feel fear. Bravery was all I had left.

"Daughter of Soren, I would not see you dead."

Soren? He knew my birth mother's name.

The hand fell away, and I looked over my shoulder, my eyes wide. A young man stood in the sand. He was lanky, but tall, his russet hair long enough it swept his shoulders. Strange, reptilian eyes narrowed on my face. I knew what he saw, but I didn't shy away from him. I had been on the run for days now. The blue gown Aigneis had put me in was in bad shape, ripped in places, the grungy petticoats beneath obvious. Dirt was smeared on my tanned skin and crusted under bitten nails, and my dark brown hair was streaked with blonde and red highlights I'd had since I was a child. My hair was an odd mix of colors for a Medeisian. It was also now wildly tangled.

"Who are you?" I asked him. His eyes were definitely _not_ human. " _What_ are you?"

"Same as you I'm guessing," the boy said, his hand gesturing at the sky."The wyvers' senses are very keen. Unless you want to be on the receiving end of one of their barbs, you best follow me."

The stranger's words almost mimicked Oran's. I didn't move.

"Who are you?" I asked again.

It bothered me that I had not heard him approach. It bothered me even more that he must have been near when Oran was here, that he must have heard our conversation. And yet the wolf had not seemed aware of the boy's presence. Or maybe Oran _had_ been aware. Maybe the wolf hadn't wanted me to know.

The boy sighed, his hollowed cheeks sucking in as he blew hair out of his face before lifting his arm. The mark on his wrist was stark against calloused skin. A mage.

The boy sported brown pants made out of a strange hide I'd never seen before, and the loose, blue tunic he wore was almost the same color as the sky. His sleeve almost covered the mark, but it was there all the same.

"Girl, I am not a patient creature. Never have been. Never will be."

His voice was harsh when he spoke, but my eyes were still on the mark. A burning star.

"Rebel?" I asked.

In a blur, the boy crouched, his hand suddenly a vise around my wrist, forcing me down next to him. His eyes were slits now, searching the skies earnestly.

"You have a death wish, girl? Is that what it is? The wyvers have claimed the desert. Choose wisely. Death at the hands of man? Or painful death by poison? If you fear me, fear me. But death by my hand would be much more peaceful than the one you bring on yourself now."

I twisted my arm, pulling my wrist from his grasp before rubbing it gently.

"They will not harm me."

My words were confident. And foolish. I was extremely weary of strange creatures and their demands, their crazy prophecies.

The boy looked down at me, his yellow eyes dilated. He was not human. No way was he human, and he had the mark of the mage. I had every reason to fear him.

"The wyvers know you are here."

I didn't flinch.

"But they will not harm me," I repeated.

A _kek, kek_ filtered down to me from the sky, and I looked away from the boy. Ari. Her calls were low, trusting. Falcons could sense danger, predators. She circled low, away from the wyvers, but she didn't seem to be avoiding the boy. There was no unease in her call. The boy was not my enemy.

"Were you planning to cross the desert?" the boy asked.

He was ignoring the falcon's call. I peered across the golden sands at the mountains of dunes that separated me from the land I knew lay beyond. Sadeemia. Refuge. Sweat beaded along my hairline as more sweat dripped down my back and between my breasts.

My eyes finally moved to the boy's, and I knew the answer was in my gaze.

He shook his head. "You wouldn't make it. Even with your power."

We were close, close enough I could see my reflection in his strange eyes.

"Who are you? What would you know about my power?" I asked.

The corner of the boy's mouth lifted, his eyes twinkling.

"Lochlen. I'm called Lochlen."

And with that, he stood and moved away from the desert's edge toward the dense forests of Medeisia. He paused a few feet away from me. In the sky, Ari mimicked his moves.

"I am safer than your desert, girl," he said.

With his back to me, he kept walking, and I sighed before following.

In the desert, I might die, forgotten. In the forest, I may die as well. But Aigneis had taught me I would one day inherit a power that would call to the forest. It had come to me now, in a time of need, following Aigneis' death. I was a stubborn girl, even foolhardy at times, but I was not stupid enough to keep ignoring signs thrust at me. Talking trees and wolves. A strange boy with reptilian eyes. The forest wasn't just calling to me, it seemed to be begging me to stay.

And so I followed Lochlen warily, keeping my distance, my weak legs stumbling over sand and rocks before I finally fell to my knees on the grass and prickly seeds of the forest beyond.

"Up, girl! I have no desire to hold you."

I made a face at the boy's back as I pushed myself up. If I had any say, he would not be coming anywhere near me much less carrying me.

"You live in these forests?" I asked as I followed him.

He didn't seem as patient as the trees or Oran, and he moved quickly. Almost too quickly. I kept stumbling, my palms reaching out to steady me. It wasn't long before my hands were scraped, some of the scratches bleeding, others just raw abrasions.

"I rule these forests," Lochlen answered.

I stumbled again. Ruled it? No one ruled it except King Raemon.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"What am I, you mean?" he asked in return.

"Riddles are not becoming," I snapped crossly.

The boy laughed. It was a sweet sound. "No? And here I thought scribes liked riddles."

My heart felt heavy. "I am not a scribe. Not a licensed one."

Lochlen didn't slow even as he talked.

"Ah, and you have magic in your blood. A predicament that."

I narrowed my eyes."You bear the mark," I pointed out. "You have magic in your blood as well."

Lochlen laughed again, the sound as confident as it was amused.

"Of course I do. The mark is an illusion, as is this body. All dragons have magic in their blood. Magic beyond what you could possibly imagine."

And just like that I froze, the late afternoon light beginning to blanket the forest causing the boy ahead of me to appear as scary as his words, covered in the orange glow of a late day sun. Like fire.

A dragon. He was a dragon.

Chapter 10

I didn't know much about dragons. The Archives said little. They were large creatures, intelligent, with a ruling king. Most people believed they didn't exist anymore. There was certainly nothing that said they could shift into human shape.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked.

My voice was calm, uncharacteristically so. I think fear like anything else had its limits. I had been in fear for days, and there was none left in me.

Lochlen paused, his yellow-green eyes on the trees ahead.

"Despite popular belief, you humans taste impossibly bad. Even if I was hungry, I wouldn't stoop so low."

I exhaled. That was good news.

"How are you doing this?" I asked. He turned to look at me, and I pointed at his body. "The human thing?"

Lochlen grinned. The smile was feral, too predatory to be human.

"Dragons can take many shapes. It is simple magic. You are more comfortable with a human, so I am a human. Would you prefer me in my original form?"

I shivered, shaking my head quickly. "No, let's take this relationship slow."

Lochlen chuckled. "I'm going to like you."

"Good to know," I muttered as the dragon boy started walking again. I followed.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked.

Lochlen exhaled loudly, and I noticed smoke curling up into the air in front of him. It was gross. It was disgusting. It was fascinating. A boy. A dragon. A _dragon_ in a _boy's_ body.

"What is it with humans, and the need to ask questions?" he asked.

I moved closer to him. Either he was slowing, or I was getting faster.

"I'm only preparing myself," I answered.

Lochlen grunted. "There is nothing to prepare for. You are where you are. The forest surrounds you, and in the trees there are eyes."

It was an obscure answer, but obscurity was something scribes reveled in. Eyes in the trees.

"Who watches us?" I asked.

Lochlen stopped again, a boyish grin on his face, his hand gesturing at the vegetation.

"I'm going to like you indeed. Welcome to a forest of outcasts."

His words were punctuated by the sudden sound of feet hitting the ground. From the trees, people fell—men, women, and children in clothes the color of the forest. I stared because I wasn't sure what else I was supposed to do. And the people stared back. Everyone wore breeches, even the women, the trousers tight against them with loose tunics in varying shades of green and brown. I was out of place in my ragged dress of blue.

But, despite our differences, one thing stood out. On every visible wrist, there was a mark, a brand, either a busted inkwell or a burning star. Rebels. The walking dead.

Someone spit on the ground, the spittle landing not far from my feet.

"Her kind is no' welcome," an older man with rotted teeth said.

I didn't move, nor did I speak. In Medeisia, King Raemon had created a chasm between the classes. My dress, even ragged, was noble attire. I didn't fault the man his remark, but it made me wary.

Lochlen merely lounged, leaning casually back against a nearby tree, an arm resting on a branch near his head. He was grinning.

"But an interesting specimen she is, no?" the dragon asked.

No one seemed to agree with him. The looks sent my way were not welcoming. They were cautious and skeptical.

"She looks weak," said a girl not much older than I.

"She looks hungry," a middle-aged woman added, her tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth. In one person at least, I had sympathy.

"She can't be the girl we're looking for. I say we leave her to the forest," another male voice intoned. I couldn't see the speaker's face, and I was glad of it. The trees had been kinder.

I had taken a step backward when a hand took me gently by the elbow.

"She has suffered enough. There is fight in the girl," a voice said from behind me.

This voice I knew. Anger coursed through my veins. My blood boiled. My back went rigid.

"I'll leave now," I said quietly.

The hand at my elbow tightened.

"She was willing to attempt the Ardus. I say that speaks for itself."

The voice was cool, confident. I could stand it no more. I jerked my arm away from his grip, stumbling slightly from weakness before I turned to face him.

Kye. The voice belonged to Kye, the king's soldier who had watched Aigneis burn, who had held me down while I was branded. The same soldier who had helped me escape.

_"You_!" I breathed.

Kye's dark eyes were dull, his stance defensive. He no longer wore the king's scarlet tunic. His attire, like most of the rebels, was green. He dipped his head, a gesture of respect, but I didn't return the favor.

"A rebel?" I asked.

My eyes moved to Kye's wrist. He bore no mark.

I turned away, my gaze moving to Lochlen. The dragon was still leaning against the tree, a smile on his face. I blinked to keep threatening tears at bay, swallowing hard against a sudden lump in my throat.

"I want to leave," I said, my tone final.

Lochlen pushed away from the tree and shrugged.

"To run?" he asked. "Where would you go, girl? There is nothing beyond these forests but the desert and the mountains."

"Let her go," one of the rebels called out.

Lochlen's daunting eyes moved to the person in question, his pupils growing thin, and the middle-aged stocky man who'd spoken looked down before taking a step backward. Beside him, a rosy-cheeked woman smiled. She was a short woman with dull brown hair plaited down her back. She had a full figure, and a kind smile. It was the same woman who'd pointed out my hunger only moments before.

"She's just a child, Warwick," the woman chided. She moved toward me. "I am Ena," she said, dipping her head slowly. It was the customary greeting in Medeisia, and I nodded back at her. Ena's eyes moved to my wrist.

"You bear a mark. Most of us do. We can help you here."

There was no bite to her words, nothing to suggest her invitation wasn't genuine, but all I could hear was Aigneis' screams, all I could feel was the punishing metal against my skin as the inkwell was etched there. The design was still stiff and sore after three days, and I curled my fingers into my palm, my eyes moving back to Kye.

"You let her die. She bore a mark too, and you let her die."

The words were strained, broken, but Kye's shadowed gaze met mine and I knew he understood.

"We can't save them all," he said simply.

I stared, my mouth agape. "She bore a mark! _I_ didn't!"

My voice was rising now, hysterical even to my own ears. Ena had moved closer, and she lifted her hand as if she wanted to touch me, comfort me maybe. But here it was, the grief I hadn't really let myself feel, the shock of that night wearing off. It left nothing but pain. Pure, unadulterated pain, and I needed someone to blame.

Kye didn't flinch. He remained stoic, his shoulders back. The scar on his temple made him look dangerous.

"She may have bore a mark, but it was you they wanted to kill. Your maid knew that. It's why she let them drag her away. If I had attempted to save her, it would have risked your life," Kye said evenly.

I think I sobbed then. Fury overwhelmed me. My throat burned.

"Then you should have risked my life. They killed her. They _killed_ her!"

I wanted to hit someone. I wanted to kick and scream and _hit_ , but there was not enough energy in my body to do it. Ena's hand finally rested on my shoulder, and I jerked.

"You're the One," the woman whispered.

My world fell away with those words. It was the same thing the trees and Oran had said. I was the One, the phoenix. Aigneis was dead, and all these people cared about was a foolish idea I'd never heard of. My eyes stayed on Kye's.

"I hate you," I said, my voice low, deadly.

I looked away, my gaze moving over the people gathered in the forest, over the amused Lochlen.

"I am not your One!"

There were tears now. I could feel the coolness on my cheeks. They were tears of anger and of loss. Kye didn't move. He simply stood, his gaze unreadable. It was Ena who turned me, who pointed at the underbrush beyond.

There, amongst the trees, sat a pack of wolves. One of them was Oran. Above him, on a low hanging limb, was Ari. Further back were eyes belonging to animals I could not make out.

Ena leaned over, her mouth near my ear.

"You may want to tell them that."

Chapter 11

_"You fight us even now, Child?"_ the trees' abrasive voice asked. It filled my ears, and I flinched.

"She is grieving, Old Ones. Humans grieve differently than we do. See her now with her tears. We accept loss. Humans have to let it go," the wolf, Oran, said to the animals gathered, to the trees rustling around us.

"And you are an expert on humans?"

The question came from behind Oran, but I didn't look to see what it was that spoke. I covered my ears instead, backing up slowly.

"Stop. Just stop," I whispered.

"She speaks with them," one of the rebels said from behind me, the male voice full of awe.

I closed my eyes, and took another step backward. My back met a warm chest and hands went to my shoulders. I jerked away, stumbling forward again. When I looked up, Kye's gaze followed me.

"No," I said.

I wasn't in denial, not really. I knew the forest was speaking to me. I even felt the connection with the trees, with the creatures hiding within the underbrush. I could feel their tension, the trees' aggravation. But I needed understanding.

And then it came.

It came in the whispering sound of feathers, a slight breeze rushing over my face as Ari landed on the ground near my feet. This was unusual for her. The falcon had never been on ground level around me before. She preferred being above me or at eye level.

I looked down at her, at the beautiful sharp eyes that watched me now.

"I loved her, too," the falcon said suddenly.

She had a deep, feminine voice. It swept over me, filling me, supporting me.

I knelt in front of her, my hand moving to rest gently against her head. Ari didn't move even though I knew this was uncomfortable for her. Falcons were loyal, but they were not affectionate birds.

I was not surprised by her speech. Not really. The trees and Oran had prepared me for this. I may want to deny my part in whatever this was, but I did not deny the forest.

"What do we do now?" I asked her, my voice low, for her ears only.

The falcon spread her wings a moment, her eyes moving over the people and creatures surrounding us, before she settled again.

"We overcome, and we prevail," she said to me.

She spread her wings and took to the air. I stayed kneeling a moment, my eyes on the ground. The soil seemed alive beneath me, and I placed my palm against the forest floor, digging the tips of my fingers into the damp earth.

I lifted my hand, fisting it around the dirt I now held.

"We overcome," I said under my breath before opening my hand, watching as the soil within fell once more to the ground. "And we prevail."

I stood slowly, fists at my side, my eyes sweeping the trees, the animals, and the rebels before coming to rest on Lochlen.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

The dragon's smile was still in place, his expression an ever constant play of varying levels of amusement.

"That's better," he said as he moved toward me. His footsteps were silent, light, and he swayed when he walked as if he would rather be slithering across the forest floor rather than walking on it.

"We've been looking a long time for you," he added, his yellowish eyes gleaming. "It was the bird that finally alerted us to the scribe girl at Forticry."

I looked up at the trees.

"She's a falcon," I said before looking back at him again. "And who is it I'm supposed to be?"

The dragon looked behind me, and I felt more than saw a presence settle in at my side. I ignored him. Kye "the king's soldier". Kye "the rebel". Ha! Rebel he may be, but this man bore no mark, and whether he had lit the fire or not, he had helped kill Aigneis. I wasn't sure I could let that go.

"Follow me, girl. I'll take you to our king," Lochlen said.

The rebels fell back into the forest, and I stared hard at the dragon's back as he began to move away.

"Your king?" I asked as I trailed after him, Kye behind me. "You said before that _you_ ruled the forest."

Kye coughed, and Lochlen threw him a look over his shoulder.

"I may have been exaggerating just a bit," Lochlen admitted slowly. "I am not the king, but I am on intimate terms with him.

Again, Kye coughed. When Lochlen's gaze moved our way a second time, his eyes were so dilated, the yellow was almost black. My own eyes narrowed.

"How intimate?" I asked.

It was Kye who answered me as Lochlen turned away again and marched steadily onward.

"Lochlen is the king's son," Kye said. "He's a dragon prince."

Chapter 12

Lochlen took us to a cave, or something similar. It was more like a tunnel, earthen, deep, nothing more than a hole in the ground really.

The forest hid it well.

A gigantic tree stood in front of us when Lochlen finally stopped, its trunk covered in moss and dangling vines. It was old, _very_ old. It was also dead. I felt no life in the bark when I touched it.

Lochlen pulled aside the thick growth of vines to reveal a narrow opening. The trunk was hollow. Inside, Kye picked up something I couldn't make out in the dark and suddenly the whole tree was full of light. In the palm of his hand, Kye held an orb that looked strangely like a small ball the servants' kids played with at the manor. Only this one appeared to be made of glass and it glowed.

"Dragon magic," Kye said, as he moved the ball from palm to palm. It was a pretty sight, the orb. I wanted to touch it, hold it even, but Lochlen cleared his throat, bringing our attention to the tree itself.

The trunk hid a slanting tunnel dug into the earth beneath our feet.

"What is this?" I asked. "Is it a lair?"

I'd heard of lairs. Dragons liked dank, dark places to live. Their preference for this made caves a suitable dwelling. And then there were their hoards. Richly manufactured things, jewels, and gold.

"A lair?" Lochlen choked. "Is that what they really call it?"

I shrugged as Kye moved to stand at the end of the tunnel.

"The dragons spent years digging this. It leads to a cave on the edge of the forest, at the foot of the Mystic Mountains. The rebels make base camp near this tree for that reason," Kye said. He avoided my gaze, his eyes on the tunnel instead.

Lochlen snorted. "We don't call our homes lairs. They are simply homes as richly or not so richly furnished as your own. And we keep no hoards. Those are a human invention to scare people. Dragons need not steal from your kind."

I watched the play of emotions on Lochlen's human face; hatred, amusement, even understanding. His human form was of a young man, but it wasn't hard to see what he must be like when he shed the mortal shell.

"I didn't mean to offend," I said quietly.

Lochlen stepped into the tunnel, his tongue silent. Kye stood back so I could move ahead of him, and I fell in behind the dragon. If other dragons were anything like Lochlen, then they were temperamental, moody creatures who were easily amused.

I concentrated on the tunnel. It smelled musty like damp soil and wet animal. I could feel things in its walls. Earthworms. Insects. I wanted to reach out and touch the hard-packed dirt to see if I could make out the creatures within, but I didn't. I walked silently instead, watching as the narrow tunnel opened up, becoming large enough for several very large creatures to walk side by side.

"By the gods," I muttered.

Lochlen fell back, his gaze looking down at the top of my head.

"Impressive, right?" he asked.

There was nothing special about the tunnel other than the size, and the orb that Kye carried in his palm. But the enormity alone was awe-inspiring.

"Why?" I asked. "Why dig it? And why kill a tree to hide it?"

Lochlen chuckled. "You noticed that, did you?"

When I didn't answer, he looked away.

"Of course you would," he said. "We needed access to the forest. If it makes you feel better the tree sacrificed itself for us."

It didn't make me feel better. It made me feel sad.

"Why sacrifice itself so dragons could have a way into the forest?" I asked.

Kye moved up, keeping an arm's length distance between us.

"For the rebels," Kye answered.

The rebels? Dragons did this to help humans? A tree sacrificed itself for humans?

"Why?"

I was beginning to sound redundant, but I just couldn't understand why creatures who normally avoided humans both sought us out and sacrificed themselves for us. Lochlen patted the top of my head. He actually _patted_ the top of my tangled, unwashed hair.

"I think you should save your questions for the king. First, a bath. Dragons have an insanely keen sense of smell, and unwashed human isn't a nice odor."

My cheeks flamed. He was right, but it didn't make it any less embarrassing.

The tunnel before us was opening up even more, and the air was turning cooler, fresher. The ground beneath my thin slippers was cold now, and I looked down to discover the soil had turned into stone. Lochlen threw his head back as if he wanted to roar, but he sighed instead, his mouth wide open, his nostrils flared. It might have been a nice look for a dragon, but it was awkward on a boy.

"The mountains are not far from the part of the forest where we camp," Kye said from beside me.

I looked over at him. He was too close to me now, his shoulder maybe an inch away from mine. Every time I saw him, I heard Aigneis scream, and yet he had helped me.

My eyes must have changed because Kye looked away a moment before his eyes met mine again.

"There are casualties in war," he said.

His eyes were a dark green, not brown as I'd seen them before in the shadowy forest when the man, Derrin, had branded me. They were just dark like the woodland at dusk, but still green. He had tanned skin, and a thin body. Muscles played along his chest and arms. They weren't large muscles, but the kind that came from fighting often with a sword, the kind I'd seen on my father's men.

_"Are_ we at war?" I asked him.

Kye glanced at Lochlen, and then away at the cavern ahead, leaving my question unanswered. My gaze had moved to the cave as well, and it left me speechless. All questions abandoned me.

There before me sat a room. It was a cave, and it smelled of stone and damp air, but it was also a room, everything in it five times the size of a human. The cavern walls and floor had been left alone, natural, but there was furniture, huge furniture. Against one wall sat a divan, a hard seat made out of dark wood. There were figures carved on it, scaly beasts with flared nostrils, exposed teeth, four legs, and a long thick tail. There were wings on the beasts' backs, magnificent wings, and a small jutting horn on their heads, just between and above their eyes.

There were other things in the room as well—more of the round, glowing orbs sitting in tall upright iron pots and velvet-covered round pallets that resembled gigantic nests and looked soft enough to be stuffed with feathers instead of straw—but I was focused on the wooden divan. I suppose, being dragons, there was really no need for a cushion on the seat. Or maybe it was merely for ornamentation. The beasts carved within had me captivated.

"They are beautiful," I breathed.

There was something about the way the dragons' sinuous tails curled behind them, the way they held their heads proud, the way their sharp claws seemed ready to attack. It was their confidence, I think, that touched me the most.

_"We_ prefer terrifying," Lochlen said, his eyes following mine to the carved designs. "We made this ourselves, you know. We have our own artisans. We can do much in our original form, but we shift to human for the smaller things."

I let my gaze move to him, at the proud way he held himself, tall, regal even. As a man, he was handsome, unique. It made me wonder at his dragon form.

"You don't have to remain human for me," I said.

His reptilian eyes met mine, and he smiled. "No, I suppose not, but where the carved designs are beautiful, the real thing is pretty overwhelming. Bath first."

Lochlen gestured at a chamber just beyond the one we stood in now. The entrance was to the side of the room, a slight step down. Beyond was a pool where the cave floor simply fell away. Steam rose from its surface.

"It's fed by a hot spring. As far as I know the temperature isn't too hot for humans," Lochlen said as we entered the other room.

"It's not too hot," Kye agreed.

So Kye had bathed in the pool before? I stared at the water, at the mist that lifted off of it, curling into the air like fingers beckoning me to come. I walked toward it slowly, and then paused.

"Where will you go?" I asked the men.

"Wait a moment," Lochlen said hurriedly, turning to walk out of the chamber. It left Kye and I alone. I stood awkwardly, staring at anything and everything but him.

"I would have saved her if I could have," Kye said suddenly.

My head shot up.

"What?"

He was not a short man, Kye. He was taller than most Medeisian men, and his rough green tunic was left open at the neck, the orb in his hand revealing another scar on his chest I hadn't let myself notice before.

"Your maid," he said. "I would have saved her if I could. There was no way to infiltrate your father's men. Even if I had fought, even if I had gotten her out, they would have killed you in her place. You were to be an example, the first marked scribe killed, the daughter of a noble, illegitimate or not. I had to make a choice. There are few unmarked rebels so we are used often to spy and rarely together. Alone, I couldn't save you both."

There was nothing I could say. He had chosen me. Was it because he believed I was the One? This phoenix?

"I only hope I am what all of you think I am. Maybe then it will not have been for nothing," I said sadly.

Kye looked like he might have said something, but Lochlen returned then. His hands were full of garments, green cloth like I'd seen on the rest of the rebels. Kye looked away.

"The dress won't do in the forest," Lochlen said, holding out the clothes. I took them tentatively. A bar of lye soap sat on top.

"Thank you," I said.

Lochlen nodded, and he and Kye ducked out of the chamber. My gaze went back to the water, and I began unlacing my dress, pulling it, and the ragged, dirty undergarments away from my body before I let them fall to the floor.

I moved toward the pool. It took a moment for my body to adjust to the heat before I could fully sink into the water, but when I did, I sighed heavily. The liquid was cleansing more than just my skin, it was melting away the stress and the tension I had been feeling now for days, and I let it.

I moved the soap through my hair, scrubbing at the tangles, before rinsing it and washing it again. My wrist burned in the water, and the soap irritated it even more. I stood now, the water just above my chest and lifted my hand.

The inkwell looked better than it had before, the redness around it still there but not as prominent. I outlined it cautiously with my finger, my skin moving over the scabs covering the design. A cracked inkwell.

In my head, I heard Aigneis again. This time I blocked out the screams from her last moment, replacing them with better memories, with greater moments.

I lifted my hand higher, watching as the water dripped from my wrist back into my temporary bath. Kye had left the orb sitting in a stone niche by the pool, and the light made the droplets still clinging to the design gleam. I stared at it.

"I'll listen to the forest, Aigneis. I'll listen to it well," I whispered.

And when I lowered my wrist back to the water, it was with a new resolve. I was alive, and I wanted Raemon dead. I would listen to the forest, and if I was this One, I would do what needed to be done.

Chapter 13

The clothes Lochlen had left me were intimidating, and I held them up skeptically. There were fitted hose with a green tunic that came down to the knees and belted at the waist. I had never worn anything other than a dress, and slipping the form fitting hose and loose tunic on made me feel naked. And strangely . . . free.

A pair of knee-length, golden brown leather huntsman boots completed the outfit. They laced up the inner side around seven brass notches. They were surprisingly comfortable, and I danced from foot to foot before looking down at the discarded dirty dress at my feet. I didn't know what to do with it so I just left it there.

"Do I meet the dragon king now?" I asked as I moved to the chamber's entrance.

Kye and Lochlen stood on the opposite side of the room near the tunnel, and they turned to face me. Kye's eyes remained impassive, his expression even, but Lochlen's face broke into a smile. I glanced down at myself.

"It feels inappropriate," I said, gesturing at the outfit.

Lochlen shook his head. "Humans," he muttered.

Kye glanced away. "The rebels are not a modest lot."

Kye's words were reassuring, and I moved further into the room. Lochlen had tied his shoulder length brown hair behind his head, and Kye had changed shirts. The tunic he sported now was a darker green than the one he had worn before.

"Dragons call their king 'His Grand Magnificence' when addressing him. He is called a rex instead of a king, and you bow by falling to your knees and placing your forehead against the floor," Kye instructed as Lochlen motioned for us to follow him. I gaped at them both.

"His Grand Magnificence? Really?" I asked.

Lochlen pulled us into the back of the chamber, and I ducked as it narrowed and then opened back up again.

"It's no more ridiculous than calling your king 'his royal majesty,'" Lochlen pointed out.

I suppose he had me there, but _His Grand Magnificence_?

Kye leaned in close. "You'll understand when you see him," he whispered.

I shuddered as the chamber grew cooler, darker. The orbs kept the room lit, but they couldn't chase away the shadows. I smelled stagnant water now, and the cavern had become so large, I couldn't see the top of the cave. There were impressive, and not so impressive, rock formations. Our footsteps were beginning to echo in the huge cavern.

I thought back on the narrow entrances we'd come through before and wondered at the vast difference between them and this massive chamber. I assumed any dragons wishing to enter the forest had to revert to a smaller shape beforehand, either human or animal.

And then I heard the roar. It shook the cave, and I stumbled backward. Kye's arm went around my waist. I wanted to push him away, but the roaring continued, and my footing was not good.

"Like our own kingdom, dragons have a type of herald at arms, although dragons simply call them announcers. The call sounds fierce, but the roar is merely a herald announcing the dragons' rex, their king. You can't see him because the rex prefers no one precede him into a chamber," Kye practically yelled into my ear.

I swallowed hard.

"I'm not afraid," I yelled back even as I shuddered.

Kye's chest shook behind me. The bellow masked all sound, but I was pretty sure he was laughing.

And then the roaring stopped.

What came next could not even compare to the carved figures I'd seen on the divan in the outer cavern. The beast that moved into the room made those figures look puny, unimpressive. This dragon was blue, a deep blue with red-tinged eyes and massive furled wings. The scales on his body were smooth, and they shone as if someone had recently polished them. A thick tail with hard ridges trailed behind him, and the horn just above his eyes was ivory and sharp.

I gawked, staring as his large eyes watched me, his oval pupils growing longer and thinner as he lowered his head. I was frozen. Smoke curled from his nose and mouth, and I was overwhelmed by the smell of sulfur.

"Drastona," Kye prompted.

He was on the floor at my feet, and I carefully lowered myself next to him, falling into a kneeling position before touching my forehead to the damp cavern stone. It was a hard move for me looking away from something that terrified me so much. If I could see the beast, I could at least run if it looked like he was going to eat me. On the floor, I was doing nothing more than offering myself to the dragon. Maybe that was the point.

"Rise," a deep, rumbling voice ordered.

I stood cautiously, Kye beside me. Lochlen had moved to stand next to his father.

The rex watched his son a moment before flicking him suddenly with a claw. Lochlen stumbled.

"You remain shifted in my company?" the rex asked. The dragon king sounded annoyed.

Lochlen righted himself, brushing off his human clothes before mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like an apology. And then he changed. There in front of us, Lochlen transformed. It was quick, so quick I'm not quite sure how it happened. One moment, he was a young man. I blinked, and the next he was a dragon almost as large as his father. The only difference was his coloring and his eyes. Lochlen was yellow, or maybe he was golden, with yellow-green eyes that shone in the dark. His horn was as white as his fathers, his scales as polished.

"Close your mouth, Drastona," Kye whispered next to me.

I couldn't take my eyes off of the gold dragon.

I exhaled. "Beautiful."

The gold dragon's head dipped, smoke curling upward.

"I really do prefer terrifying," Lochlen's voice rumbled.

I shook my head. Maybe he was frightening, but I'd seen Lochlen as a man. I'd seen his perpetual amused expression, his dry sense of humor, and I think it allowed me to see past the fear to the beauty I'd noted in the divan's carvings. Confidence, majesty, and something more. Something bigger than I had a word for.

"This is the girl?" the rex's deeper voice broke in, and I took an unconscious step backward.

The dragons' rex I feared, and by the way he cocked his head, I think he liked having people afraid of him. Lochlen sat back, his posture almost lazy.

"The forest believes she is," Lochlen answered.

The rex's head lowered again, until his nostrils and eyes were directly in front of my face. The sulfuric smell was overwhelming, and I waited for him to breathe out, to burn me into a crisp with a simple breath.

"You look like her," the rex said finally.

His words were enough to break his spell over me, and I glanced from the rex to his golden son.

My voice was strangled. "Her?" Kye cleared his throat from beside me, and I straightened. "Ummm, your grand magnificence," I added meekly.

The blue dragon's head lifted, swinging up before he sat back as lazily as his son.

"You can dispose of the formalities. You look like your mother," he answered. "Soren."

I stared. I'd only ever heard my mother's name from Aigneis and once more from Lochlen when I'd first encountered him at the edge of the desert. Even my father had never said her name. I had always hoped it was because her memory was too painful for Garod, that my father had loved her so much even her name brought heartache.

"I never knew her."

My words were sad even though there was no grief there. Aigneis had been everything I'd ever needed in a mother. I missed more not knowing the woman who had bore me, not knowing where I got the light spattering of freckles across my nose or the small heart-shaped birthmark on my ankle. But I couldn't really miss her as a mother. I couldn't miss what I had never known.

The rex watched me, his body still enough to be mistaken as a statue. Only the occasional wisps of smoke were evidence of life.

"A shame. She was an amazing woman, your mother. Quite a good friend of the dragons."

This surprised me.

"Really?" I asked. "Of the dragons?"

Lochlen moved forward, his mouth open to speak when the rex's thick, scaly body suddenly slammed into his. Blue on gold. There was more smoke and rumbling as the rex and Lochlen quickly spoke to each other in a language I didn't understand. A blast of fire shot forth, and I stumbled backward as Kye's arm once again went around my waist before pulling me to the ground. The move put me on my back on the cavern floor, my breath knocked out of me, Kye's chest was against mine, one of his arms still clutching my waist and the other braced against the stone. He had more muscle than I thought, his tunic's open neck revealing a tanned V of bare flesh.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I struggled beneath him.

"You've got to quit doing that," I said.

Kye's eyebrows knitted together.

"Quit doing what?"

My eyes locked with his. "Saving me."

It was wrong, the look I gave him, but a look was better than saying words I may regret later. He'd thrown himself on top of me just now, and he'd helped me escape King Raemon's men in the forest days before. But in doing so, he had sacrificed someone else's life to save mine.

Kye's face was too close. I could feel his breath against my cheeks, could see the white puckered scar at his temple, and a slight hump in his nose that suggested it'd once been broken. He had full lips, and his unshaven jaw was shadowed with new growth.

Kye studied my face a moment before turning his attention to the squabbling dragons, his weight shifting as he pushed himself up.

"Dragons are temperamental creatures," he said, ignoring the tense moment that had passed between us. He gave me enough space to move, but not enough space to rise. "They argue frequently, and they often forget not all of us are fireproof."

I followed Kye's lead and ignored the tension, pushing my anger aside as I lifted myself up on one elbow. It brought me too close to him again, but my fascination with the beasts before us was enough to override my discomfort.

"You can understand them?" I asked.

I could feel the weight of Kye's eyes on my face, but I didn't look at him.

"I can. Their language is too complex for the human tongue. Speaking it is impossible, but understanding it comes with time," he said.

The rex circled Lochlen as the golden dragon spat small spurts of fire at his father. The flames didn't faze the dragon ruler. They seemed to infuriate him.

"What are they arguing about?" I asked.

"You."

My startled gaze moved to Kye. "What? Why?"

"They disagree on how much you should know."

His words made me freeze, my blood turning to ice.

"Shouldn't that be my decision?" I asked.

One corner of Kye's lips rose, the wry smirk obvious as he lifted a knee before resting an arm across it. "They are dragons."

It seemed the only explanation he was going to give. The fighting had quieted, but I didn't see who'd come out the victor.

"How do you know so much about them?" I asked Kye.

A reptilian nose came close to my head, steam brushing my neck. I squeaked as I crawled away, one hand rubbing the burn. The rex's red eyes twinkled when I turned to look at him.

"The boy is a rider," the dragon said.

That got my attention. A dragon rider? I'd read about those, but the scribes had assured me the stories were myths. The scrolls containing them had been written by a scribe with a wild imagination, they'd said, who had lost his license for spreading deception rather than truth. I'd asked Master Aedan why they'd kept the man's work if it was lies. A look had passed through his old eyes, a sad look, and he'd answered with, "Written word should never be destroyed. There are facts in myths some men would rather pretend didn't exist."

Maybe that was the reason I still remembered the stories. Back during the days when Medeisians had acknowledged the dragons' existence, we'd had an agreement with the creatures. Dragons were a quicker way to travel, more lethal in battle, and a powerful ally. It was rare for a dragon to accept a human rider, as they were independent and considered themselves a superior race. And yet, occasionally, even rarely, a dragon would accept a man or woman, and they would bond for life. For even though humans eventually died and dragons lived for hundreds of years, a dragon would only ever accept one rider.

I avoided Kye's gaze, although his silence was heavy next to me.

"Riders are a myth," I said.

The blue dragon said something in his strange tongue before swinging his head toward his golden son. Lochlen looked chastened but otherwise unharmed. There was no doubt his father had won their argument.

"I think it appropriate she bear the mark of the scribe," the rex said.

If I had been an animal, I would have snarled. Instead, I leapt to my feet, my cheeks heated.

"No one should be branded."

The blue dragon chuckled. "Ah, yes. On that we agree. My words meant no offense. They simply referred to your disbelief. Why is it you can accept dragons and not riders?"

I took a deep breath, the scabbed skin on my marked wrist breaking as I fisted my hand.

"The Archives speak of dragons. They speak of possible extinction, but they do not refute your existence. The riders are only legend."

"And you only believe what you read?" the rex asked. "Do you think the talking trees and animals a hallucination then?"

My shoulders sagged, weariness I hadn't let myself feel until now settling over me. The adrenaline was gone. My body ached, my calves and thighs were sore from walking, my arm and cheek was still raw, and my hair was a drying mass of tangles.

"No," I said finally. "I-I believe in the forest. Magic isn't something that can be written. My understanding them is magic."

Well, then," the rex said, his eyes moving to Kye, "riders are magic. They are magic because we dragons rarely accept humans into our lives. Your race is fickle, your rulers many, and you are masters of betrayal."

My eyes met his. The dragon rex had seemed fierce to begin with, frightening. But now he looked old, my close inspection of his face revealing scales that didn't look as shiny as I'd first imagined them.

"Not all humans are cruel or deceiving," I pointed out softly.

The rex snorted. "Tis your only saving grace."

My eyes moved to Kye. He was standing now, his stance defensive, his legs apart, and his hands behind his back.

"A rider," I said.

His dark green eyes met mine, and he nodded, his gaze going from mine to the rex and back again.

"Yes," Kye answered, "like your mother."

My eyes widened as my heart sank. It took me a moment to process his words. My mother. A rider.

My gaze swung to the rex.

"My mother was a dragon rider?"

Chapter 14

The dragon rex settled back, his rumbling different to my ears now, almost like the moans of an old man complaining about his back.

"Your mother was a human woman we allowed to ride us on occasion," the rex said. "She was a kind human with very special abilities."

If there were formalities I was supposed to follow I forgot them as I stepped toward the blue dragon, my hands tight against my stomach.

"What . . . what was she like? What could she do? Did you meet my father?"

I was near the rex now, close enough to touch him, to feel the scales beneath my hands if I really wanted to. No one stopped me, and I didn't flinch when the rex's tail suddenly curled around me, far enough away to give me space, but close enough it almost felt like an embrace.

"I am Feras. Your mother knew me as such, and you may know me by that name as well," the rex said.

I looked up at him. "Feras," I repeated.

The blue dragon made a loud keening sound, a deep growl that seemed more pleasing than unpleasant.

"Soren was a healer. She could heal the spirit and the body. The forest called to her, but it couldn't speak to her. Not as it does to you. She was soft spoken and gentle," Feras said.

His tail drew in a little nearer, and I let the security I felt within its ridged walls make me brave. I felt strangely at home next to Feras, intimidated, a little frightened, but at home. I reached out tentatively and touched the scales on the side of his body. They were as smooth as they looked, and dry, but cool to the touch. Feras didn't move.

"Your mother fell in love inside the forests," Feras continued. "When she discovered she was pregnant, she hid it well. She worked within the villages beyond the woodland. She was a midwife to many, a physician for others. The human king, Raemon, had begun marking people born with magic. He often had midwives with the ability to sense power report any newborns with magic in their blood, and the babes would be destroyed."

I gasped. "Babies!"

"It's an appalling practice still carried out even now," Kye interjected from behind us. I didn't take my eyes off of Feras.

"I had no idea!" I breathed.

"You wouldn't. No one would except those in service to the king," Kye assured. "It isn't widely known. Adults marked are shunned, often killed, or placed in the service of nobles who can watch them and later accuse them of practice. Babies who are discovered with magic are removed from their parents' home after they are born. It's done with subtlety. They are kidnapped at night or while resting outside as the mother works, and any evidence left behind points to the forest, to wild animals or outlaws."

Feras' tail had formed a chair of sorts, and I sat down heavily. The ridges were uncomfortable against my backside, but otherwise it wasn't a bad seat.

"Babies," I said again. Raemon was killing babies. I felt sick.

"You were one of those babies."

Kye's words were gentle, careful.

I froze, my gaze traveling Feras' blue scales as I twisted to look at Kye and Lochlen. My heart was heavy.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Lochlen lifted a claw, using it to scratch at a spot on his underbelly before laying on the cavern floor so that his nose was near Feras' tail, his yellow-green eyes on me.

"Your mother was a midwife with the ability to sense power. She felt the magic in you when you were still in the womb. As a midwife, she knew the laws, had been ordered like many to report babes with power to the king. Once her pregnancy started to become noticeable, she ran and hid along with your maid, Aigneis," Lochlen rumbled.

I stared down at him, my eyes watering. I was one of those babies, one of the children who should have died. But I hadn't died. I'd lived.

I'd read of the guilt men sometimes suffered if they survived a battle where many other lives were lost. Guilt that made them question their own life, their own survival. I wondered the same thing now, and it made me think of the texts, of the recorded battles I'd read where survivors took their own lives. I'd read the leather-bound scrolls once in astonishment, wondering why these men couldn't just be happy they'd lived, to embrace the second chance they'd gotten at life. But that was then.

I'd lived when many other babies had died, I'd lived while Aigneis was burned at the stake, and I'd escaped while my father was being led to serve the king. Guilt swamped me. It was a heavy burden that settled like a mantle of lead around my shoulders. I swallowed hard.

"And my mother?"

Kye cleared his throat. "She gave birth to you on a night of power, the night of a full harvest moon. Hidden or not, your power called to other midwives. They gathered outside the hut where you were born, but Soren had taken precautions. As soon as she birthed you, you were wrapped in a swaddling cloth and Aigneis escaped with you into the forest, running to Garod's estate."

Unease made my stomach churn, and I leaned forward, my fist tight against my belly.

"My mother?" I insisted.

Kye looked away. "She was taken away by soldiers. She was too weak to run, and she was killed in Aireesi's main square."

I swallowed convulsively to keep from being sick. I would have rocked back and forth if I thought it would help. Aireesi, Medeisia's capital city. It had been a spectacular city once, full of huge arches built hundreds of years ago by King Hedron, beautiful, daunting arcs made of gold. The mountains had been rich with the precious metal until the rush for bullion had sucked it dry. The arches were in ruins now with the tarnished metal eaten away by the elements. Some arches had been destroyed completely by dragons during the Dracon War.

I sat up, taking deep breaths to get myself under control before my gaze swept the man and two dragons present.

"Why was I spared? What is so special about me?" I asked.

Feras' tail shifted, and I jumped up to keep from falling onto the cavern floor. His head lowered as Lochlen stood. The dragons' presence ate up the space in the cave, making me feel small and insignificant.

"Stay silent, Son," Feras warned as he moved past me, moving farther into the cavern. Whatever I was going to be told now, Lochlen didn't agree with.

Kye sidled up next to me, his hand coming up to my elbow and then falling away again.

"Come," he said. "He wants us to follow."

I looked up at him, noting the way his cheek bulged where his teeth were clenched.

"Who do you ride? Which dragon?" I asked.

Kye's eyes moved down to meet mine.

"I am Feras' rider."

I was stunned into silence as we fell into step behind Feras and Lochlen.

"The dragon rex?" I asked, my tone full of disbelief. "The way he spoke of my mother, I'd, um, I'd thought maybe she was his rider."

Kye's hand took my elbow then, but I didn't pull away. His touch caused a maelstrom of emotions inside me. Hatred, admiration, gratitude. I wasn't sure which emotion I felt more of, and I didn't really pursue the thought. There were too many other important things to focus on at the moment.

"Your mother was the dragon queen's rider, Feras' mate."

My lips formed an _o_ as I digested Kye's words. Of course Feras had a mate. He had Lochlen after all. I searched the cave.

"Where is she? Will I meet her?" I asked eagerly.

Kye's hand tightened on my elbow.

"She's dead, Drastona."

"Oh."

My spirits fell. So many dead over the years; so many innocent lives lost and many of them because of me.

"None of this is your fault," Kye whispered.

I glanced up at him, at the way his dark hair fell into one eye. There was pain in his gaze, scars that seemed even deeper than mine.

"If I hadn't been born, there are so many that might have lived," I said.

Kye's gaze moved to the dragons' backs as he moved closer to me, his head lowering. He was tall, but not a towering man. My head came up to his chest.

"If you had not been born, there would be no chance for any of us to live. Not now. Not during these times."

His fervent tone touched me in ways nothing else had in days. He really believed I was something special. He really believed I could help the rebels.

"People die for freedom, Drastona," Kye said. "They die so others may live."

Chapter 15

I was in awe, my eyes locked on the grooves in the cavern wall. Leather-bound scrolls filled every man-made notch within the new room we stood in now. My hand came up and then fell again. I wanted to touch them all.

"An Archive," I breathed. "It's magnificent!"

And it was. This part of the cave was no less impressive than the rest, the ceiling as high as the outer cavern we'd come from. Except for the entrance, there seemed no other way to exit it. Scrolls filled every inch of the walls.

I looked up at Feras, my eyes bright.

"Where did it all come from?" I asked.

The rex chuckled. "Dragons like knowledge as much as humans, and ours is much more extensive."

I itched to dig through the marked pages I knew lay within, but Feras had other plans.

"Kye."

Kye glanced at the rex before walking up to the row of books, moving his fingers carefully over them before pulling on something I couldn't see. Several scrolls moved aside to reveal a hollow space within the cave wall. Kye reached in, and I felt more than saw several spiders and cave-dwelling insects scurry out of the way. When his hand reappeared, he was holding an old rolled up text, yellowed and unbound.

"The Kiarian Freesonalay," Kye said as he walked to a stone ledge doubling as a table.

I was next to him before I'd even realized I'd moved, my eyes drawn to the parchment.

"The Book of Truth," I translated.

The words he'd spoken were Medeisian, but an older form of the language than we used now. The old language was strange on my tongue, but not uncomfortable. I'd learned to speak it as a child from the scribes.

"But it's not a book," I said, reaching out tentatively.

My fingers skirted the page. The move put my hand close to Kye's, but instead of drawing back, he began rolling the parchment out, his fingers brushing mine before I had a chance to pull away. My skin felt warm where his calloused fingers had met mine, and I fisted my hand.

"No, but the page you see here is the remains of the true book of truth," Feras said.

My hand lingered on the text, my fingers drawn to it. An electric tingle shot up my arm, and I gasped.

"It knows you," Kye said.

Lochlen grunted from behind me, the displeased rumble making some of the bound scrolls inside the chamber tremble.

"It's a bloody piece of paper," Lochlen mumbled.

"A _powerful_ piece of paper," Feras corrected. "Read the words."

Kye let me step in front of him, and I peered down at the page, intensely aware of the man standing at my back, one of his hands resting on the table next to mine. The words blurred and then came together. I translated them soundlessly, my lips moving with the text.

In the year of the Dragon, a kingdom will be divided. Twins will be born to the sovereign. These male heirs will be greedy. They will seek power. They will war amongst themselves, and their kingdom will be split in two.

For one son, the years will not be kind. His kingdom within the forests will suffer. Trade will be sparse. Crops will falter. There will be famine and civil war. A dictator will rise from his heirs, all semblance of a monarchy erased. There will be persecution. The old magick will be condemned. All learning will be outlawed. Those born with power will be murdered.

For the other son, the years will be prosperous. His kingdom amidst the sea will bring him wealth, and will bring his people peace. Trade will flourish. The old magick will be esteemed.

A desert will form between the two nations. The kingdoms will be divided by barren, harsh land. But it will not stop the big war from coming. It will not stop a dictator from attempting to usurp power.

The Dragons will take to hiding in their mountains. The creatures of the forest will bide their time. For out of the ashes of devastation will arise a phoenix, an omen, a child born under the Harvest Moon. This child will be born of forbidden magick, born to bring two nations together.

To the prosperous kingdom, there will be born a son to the ruler. His magick will be borne of steel, strong. His life will be cursed with hardships. His power will make others greedy, murderous. He will be plagued with death.

The girl, the phoenix of peace, will bring . . .

The words trailed off. I lifted the page carefully, turning it, peering at the back, squinting in case there were words that had dulled with time, but there was nothing more.

"The phoenix of peace," I re-read aloud, my eyes moving to the dragons before peering up at Kye. "This is a prophecy? And you believe the phoenix is me?"

"It is only words," Lochlen complained.

Feras roared, the sound loud enough to startle. "It is truth."

The rex looked threateningly at his son, and I felt Kye's free arm snake cautiously around my waist. I shook my head, and his arm loosened but didn't move.

"The books," Kye warned, and I spied the smoke that curled even now from Feras' nostrils.

The rex froze, snorting more smoke as he calmed himself.

Lochlen was sitting up, his reptilian eyes flashing. "I do not believe in soothsayers," he gritted out, his gaze locked on his father.

Feras' nose continued to billow small wisps of grey.

"It is a prediction that, up until now, has come to fruition. A scribe died for these words. Do you deny that, Son?"

I stared at them both. A scribe?

"Are you saying a scribe had clairvoyant powers?"

My question fell on deaf, angry ears. Lochlen's head lifted, his body looming over his father's, and the two dragons began to circle each other, their eyes flashing.

"I don't deny the prophecy seems to be true, but to rely so heavily on its outcome is foolish," Lochlen argued.

Lochlen's intent was clear, his words piercing my chest like a dagger. The outcome was me. Relying on me, on the belief that _I_ was the One, was foolish. By the way Feras glanced at me, I knew he disagreed.

"She's the one," Feras said confidently.

I wanted to believe the rex, but even as painful as it was, I silently agreed with Lochlen. There was something comforting in knowing that someone other than me doubted my importance.

"You believe I'm this phoenix of peace?" I asked.

Again the question fell on deaf ears. Lochlen and Feras' eyes were locked in a battle of wills I couldn't translate. Tendrils of smoke lifted from both of their nostrils.

"It looks promising," Lochlen admitted. "But don't forget the end of the text, Father."

The end of the document had trailed off, ended abruptly. _The girl, the phoenix of peace, will bring . . ._

Lochlen settled back, the submissive gesture enough to relieve the tension.

"We don't know how it ends. We have no idea what she will bring."

"It would not refer to her as the phoenix of peace if she were to bring only sorrow."

Feras' words were like a splash of cold water to the face. I had brought sorrow, _much_ sorrow. Anyone who'd ever known me, who'd ever loved me, had died to protect me. No one was that important. Certainly not me.

"I want to kill King Raemon."

The silence that followed my words spoke for itself.

"Way to calm the dragons," Kye said, the words echoing in the chamber. "Nothing more reassuring than assassination."

My statement was bold, but my anger was bolder. There was blood on Raemon's hands. Innocent blood. The blood of people I loved, people who sacrificed themselves because they believed I could save them.

I looked up, my eyes sad. "I can't save a kingdom. I can only kill a king."

Kye's hand settled on my shoulder. "Calm down, Drastona. The Book of Truth labels a girl with forbidden magic as a phoenix of peace. You may be her. There's even a chance you may not be, but either way, the decisions we make now will be profound."

"And," Lochlen added, his fight with his father forgotten, "even if you were to make it to the capital unrecognized, how would you make it to the king? Many of your people hate Raemon, but there are also many who support him. You would have to first break through his ring of power, and you won't find much support outside of the outlawed rebels living in the forest. Fear is often more powerful than hate. There would not be many who would help you."

"But there are spies," I argued, turning so that I faced Kye. "You infiltrated the king's soldiers, and you said there were others . . ."

Kye frowned. "I also said we are few."

I looked away to the books over Kye's shoulders. The familiar scent, parchment and leather, infiltrated my nose. My calloused fingers twitched. There were images transposed over the cavern, shadowy memories of brown-robed men and women leaning over scarred wooden tables. Glass encased candles burned, some of them too dim to see much with as an older man with a long, trailing beard stopped occasionally among the robes to skim a finger down a page, sometimes nodding, other times frowning. Scribes. _My_ scribes. Master Aedan. All gone now.

I closed my eyes, and the scene disappeared.

"Then how do we stop the king," I asked.

I smelled smoke as a head lowered, a claw skimming my back carefully. Kye's hand was still on my shoulder, the pressure comfortable and uncomfortable, but he didn't seem inclined to remove it.

"Revolution," Feras breathed, and when hot steam circled past my head, curling my already frizzy hair, I didn't move. The heat was nothing compared to the burn in my gut.

Revolution.

Chapter 16

"Take this."

I looked up from the log where I sat to find Kye standing behind me holding what looked like an old, well-used bow. He didn't wait for me to reach for it. He leaned over instead, both of his arms going over my head as he rested it across my knees. I stared down at it.

We were in the forest again, having taken our leave of Feras. We'd exited back into the woods through the tree after having a very long and arduous conversation about guerilla warfare, about convincing a nation to give up its king. I'd looked closely at Feras, at his old, weary ruby eyes, and I'd reached out to touch him again, to touch his cool, dry scales

"Why are you doing this? Why are you helping my people?"

The old dragon's eyes had met mine, and I'd seen my reflection in his gaze. I'd looked wild, untamed. The image didn't match the inner me, the girl hiding beneath the skin, beneath the rebels' clothes and tangled hair. And then there had been fire surrounding me in the reflection. I wasn't sure if it was a trick of Feras' or if it was my own imagination, but there had been fire.

"Because by helping you, we are helping ourselves."

It was all he'd said, and I had no choice but to accept that. For now.

The bow was heavy in my lap, and I stroked a finger down its side. Kye had removed his arms and was now kneeling next to me.

Beyond my log seat, green and brown-clad rebels clustered together in groups, some of them training, others talking. Some even laughed. There was the clash of metal against metal, and the occasional whir of an arrow speeding past. The trees were whispering amongst themselves, low murmurings I couldn't make out but only I could hear. Eyes stared at me from the foliage. I didn't have to see them to know it was the wolves.

"You should know the basic use of the sword and a bow. Using them will get easier with time, become natural, as you build muscle and experience. But we start with the basics."

Kye's words brought my attention back to the man at my side, and I had to fight not to jump when he suddenly lifted my hand, one of his fingers tracing my palm. It caused a strange numb sensation in my head that traveled to my stomach, leaving it full of angry bubbles.

"It's good that your hands are not soft," Kye said. I tried pulling away, the insult burning, but Kye held on. "It is a compliment here, having tough hands. Compared to most of us, yours are like satin. But time here will change that."

I swallowed hard because I wasn't sure if the feeling in my stomach was nice or nauseous. I pulled away again, and this time Kye relinquished his hold, replacing my hand with the bow. He lifted it, keeping it above my lap, but close enough I could make out every detail. It was simple, made out of yew wood.

"This is a war bow," Kye said. He took my hand again, and placed the bow in my palm, closing his fingers over mine on the wood. "Take this. It's yours now."

He let go of my hand, and I gripped the bow, lifting it carefully with both hands. I stood and held it in front of me. It was long, reaching from the top of my head to my waist. I'd seen longer bows than this and knew Kye had chosen it because of my size.

"Have you ever shot one before?" Kye asked.

I turned to look at him. "It's a favorite pastime for ladies. I was required to learn along with my half sister."

He nodded. "I figured as much. Is your aim good?"

I shrugged. "It's true."

He seemed to give this some thought before stepping behind me.

"The bows ladies use are useless. The draw weight is low. The force behind it enough to land a close target, but not enough to cause a lot of damage. It's a game, nothing more. I'm sure you're aware women are not welcome in the Medeisian army."

I nodded.

Kye let his arms fall on each side of me, his hands taking the bow before positioning it as if he intended to shoot even without the arrow. I let my hands drop to my sides.

"The draw weight on this bow is less than your body weight, but not by much. It can do a lot of harm close range and considerable damage long range, but it will be hard for you to pull at first. You'll need to practice often."

Words didn't seem necessary, and I nodded again.

"Since I'm assuming you know how to string and shoot a bow, I won't insult you by teaching you how. Your job will be gaining the strength to use it. This bow is meant to kill."

He lifted my hand with one of his and replaced it on the bow. He waited for me to grasp it before he released my hand entirely.

"And the sword?" he asked. "Do you have any experience with it?"

I shook my head. "None."

He looked over my head at a group of young men and women feinting with wooden swords. A few used real weapons.

"You can train with me or the others," he said.

I followed his gaze.

"I'd rather train with the others."

There was a long stretch of silence.

"I'll talk to one of the women. It will be easier training with your own sex to begin with," Kye said finally. There was no censure in his tone, nothing to suggest he was hurt by my decision to train with someone else.

There was silence again, and I watched the other rebels in the early morning light. We had passed the night in the cave, and I was tired. Kye still stood close enough, I could feel the heat of him against my back. He smelled like pine needles and wood smoke.

"Do you think I'm the One?" I asked him suddenly, my voice low.

If I caught him off guard, he didn't let it show. His voice was calm when he answered.

"If I thought you weren't, I would have done more to save your maid."

The pain I felt in that moment made me close my eyes. In my mind's eye, I was in the prison wagon again, the dark eyes of a soldier peering in at me, eerie, cold. Only days to the Ardus, he'd told me. It had been a ruse to convince me to escape. It'd worked because I'd refused to die. I wouldn't give Raemon the satisfaction.

"You are right to question yourself and the Book of Truth. Too much confidence leads to death, and a soothsayer's words are always subject to change," Kye said.

Kye had moved closer. I could feel the fabric of his tunic rubbing against mine. I wanted to step away but didn't. He'd reminded me of Aigneis, of his part in her death.

"Even if you are not her, you can become a leader, Stone. You can give people hope," Kye added.

I cringed. "Not Stone. Do not call me Stone."

I was Stone only to the people I cared about.

"Then at least embrace the power you do have, _Drastona_ , and give the rebels a reason to fight the king and not themselves. We've been too long without a home, without hope."

I gripped the bow until my knuckles were white. I wasn't afraid of being an icon. I was afraid of being a disappointment.

I stared hard at the bow, and I listened to the grunts of those fighting with the swords. I'd learn to use the weapons and I'd listen to the forest. I'd give myself hope, and in doing so, I could only pray I did the same for others.

_Give me strength, Silveet_ , I prayed as I turned to face Kye.

The line of his jaw was tight, and he stared over my head.

"You have my word. I'll give them hope," I whispered.

Kye looked down then, and I knew he saw the resolve in my eyes. He nodded.

"You're a strong one, scribe," he answered.

Kye's eyes searched mine a moment, and he leaned forward before leaning away again, his jaw tight once more. He took a step back and stopped.

"Get some rest. Ena will fetch you some food."

With those words, he turned and left, his hands fisted at his sides.

Chapter 17

I practiced with the bow while I waited for Ena, drawing it back over and over until I grew used to the feel of it. Kye was right. It took way more force than I was used to, and my arms burned after only a few draws. It was no wonder he left me no arrows.

"What do they say to you?" a young voice asked, and I almost dropped the bow.

A dark-haired child stood just behind me, her tanned skin unblemished, her green eyes wide. My gaze followed hers, and I spotted the wolf that sat at the clearing's edge, unafraid despite the humans training nearby.

"Right now?" I asked. "He says nothing."

The wolf had been watching me for a while now, his ebony eyes burning into me. Oran. I looked away.

"He's scary," the child admitted.

I looked at her. She couldn't be more than ten or eleven turns, and yet on her wrist I caught a glimpse of a mark; the burning star. Impossible.

"You? A mage?" I asked.

The girl's eyes moved away from Oran. She saw my gaze and held up her wrist.

"A midwife claims she felt the power in me at birth."

My eyes widened. "And they let you live?"

It seemed an awful question to ask a child, but the girl only lowered her head.

"Because of who I am," the girl answered. "They waited until I was five turns before they marked me."

A glance at my own wrist brought back the pain, the memories of the metal prong in my skin. And they'd done the same to a child! I didn't ask her why being who she was had spared her life. Something told me the rebels preferred to keep their secrets. I certainly preferred to keep mine.

The child's gaze was on my wrist now. "You are a scribe?"

I could see the burning curiosity in the girl's eyes, but I could also see the restraint. It made me smile. I didn't have much experience with children, but this one seemed easy enough to relate to.

"I wanted to be one, but I wasn't. The people who marked me . . . they accused me of practicing scribery, license or no."

The answer seemed enough for the child.

"The king's soldiers aren't interested in true justice."

Big words for such a small girl. Something told me she'd heard it said often.

"Are you bothering the lady?" another voice asked.

Ena approached, holding a cup of water and a carved wooden plate full of food. The rosy-cheeked, chubby woman smiled, a dimple in the side of her face making the sternness in her voice less effective. The child rolled her eyes, and Ena sat the plate down on the log I'd been sitting on earlier before swatting the girl on the bottom.

"Shoo! Off with you now, child!"

The girl shrieked, a small surprised laugh escaping her before she scurried off. Ena faced me and motioned at the plate.

"Tis a sweet thing, the child, but a more curious thing you'll never meet," Ena said. "Now, eat. Tis not much, but it will do in a pinch."

The plate contained several slices of cold meat, cheese, and a hard piece of bread. My stomach rumbled.

"Who was the child?" I asked, sitting next to the plate before tearing off a piece of the meat with my teeth. It was a little tough, but surprisingly tasty.

Ena placed her hands on her hip.

"Nikalia," she answered quietly. "She be a Lord's daughter before she come to the forest."

I stared at the space where the child had stood. A Lord's daughter?

"How . . . ?" I asked, my words trailing off, but Ena seemed to understand.

"Her mother brought her to the forest, yelled for the rebels, and begged us to take her. She was only six turns then, poor thing. I'm guessing some dignitary was scheduled to visit the Lord, probably because of the child. The mother chose not to come with her. We can only assume she is dead."

I didn't speak for a long while. I ate instead, each bite dull now in my mouth as I glanced at the people surrounding me. So many people, so many stories, too many deaths.

"I've a comb with me, miss. If you'll allow, I'll straighten out your hair and plait it."

I looked up at the middle-aged woman and smiled. She took that as an invitation and moved behind me, gathering up my hair in her hands before producing a comb from a makeshift apron she wore around her waist.

"I was a Lady's maid before, you know," Ena said. "Working for the nobility is a good place for the marked folk. It keeps us alive longer, as long as we do our jobs."

"What happened?" I asked, my interest piqued.

Ena sighed as she worked carefully at the tangles. My head hurt where she pulled too hard, but I didn't complain.

"I upset my mistress, and she placed me on a prison wagon en route to Aireesi. It was overtaken by rebels."

There was a lot she didn't say. Secrets again.

"And so you all fight now?" I asked.

The comb paused, and then continued, the bone bristles working tangles I was afraid could not be undone.

"We survive." Ena said after a moment. She nodded at the forest. "Do you speak with 'em often?"

I glanced at Oran. The wolf again.

"I do not know them well yet," I said. "I've always been told my magic would have something to do with the forest. Until now I'd not realized what that meant."

Ena considered this. "Rightly so, I suppose."

Her voice was clipped, and she glanced often to the foliage, to my silent sentry.

"Does he bother you?" I asked.

Ena somehow managed to detangle my fine hair, and she lifted it, using her fingers to break the hair into separate sections before beginning to plait it. I never wore my hair up, and whatever she was doing felt strange.

"He makes me nervous," Ena admitted. "We live peacefully among the forest's inhabitants here. And we have allied ourselves with the dragons, but other than Kye, we never see the dragons in true form, and the animals rarely show themselves."

I was careful to keep my head straight as Ena pulled pins out of her apron, placing them carefully in my head as I glanced surreptitiously at Oran.

"It's not your fault, miss," Ena assured. "It just seems a sign that things are changing. We welcome change, but we also fear it. The forest has become our sanctuary."

I didn't comment, mainly because I had no sanctuary. My home had been ripped away, my nurse murdered, and I had discovered a magic I still needed to explore.

_"The creatures of Silveet have always been unknown to man. We live amidst them. They use us, sometimes they abuse the natural way of things, and yet there is always fear. They walk among us confident, and still they stare up into our limbs warily as if we mean them harm._ "

I wasn't prepared for the trees' abrasive voice, and I jumped. Ena dropped her hands.

"Did I hurt you, miss?"

I looked up at the trees before my gaze moved to her face. A worry line had formed between her eyes.

"No," I said quickly. "No, you did not hurt me. I had a sudden chill is all."

Ena sighed, her relief obvious as she finished quickly with my hair before stepping away.

"You'll be given a bedroll to sleep on. Most of the men and some of the women sleep in the open, except in winter. The rest of the women and children are provided a small shelter, simple tents. We've placed yours close to the men. Lochlen and Kye agree you should be placed near them."

I gawked at Ena.

"I'd rather not," I said, my voice low.

Ena smiled.

"Kye is a good man, I swear it to you. Young to be a leader. Only 21 turns he is, but he has been spying for the rebels for a long while now and knows the dragons and the woods as well as the animals. And Lochlen . . . well, he is Lochlen."

She laughed at the last, and I found myself fighting a smile. Lochlen was certainly the type to leave an impression. Ena's face grew serious as quickly as it had grown warm.

"Your magic is great, miss. The king employs sorcerers. He may outlaw magic, but he still keeps a select few who practice it with him, and there will be no doubt they will find you eventually. You are not safe."

Ena left with those words. She gave me no chance to reply, and I doubt I could have if I wanted to. The food I'd eaten was a heavy weight in my stomach.

"Fear not. The forest will always warn you."

I didn't have to look to know it was the wolf, Oran, who'd spoken.

"You can speak to me, and the trees can speak to me," I said. "What else can I do?"

"Do you think that not enough?" the wolf asked.

I sensed the humor in his rumbling tone, and I looked at him, a wry smile on my face. "Aigneis once told me a girl should never settle for less when she can always have more."

"A wise woman your maid," a voice cut in, and I straightened.

"Does the same philosophy work for female dragons?" I asked.

Lochlen moved into view. He was a man again, but his eyes gave away his true form. I couldn't see him now and not think of the magnificent gold dragon.

"Our females are strong and assertive, and yet much less temperamental than the males. It takes much to anger our females but once angered, they are terrifying."

Lochlen nodded at the wolf. It was obvious they understood each other, and it seemed only natural they should. Both were creatures of their domain. The wolves had the forest, the dragons had their mountains.

Lochlen sat next to me, one long leg stretched out in front of him.

"You should be scared, you know," he said. "Scared, or at least a little intimidated having seen what I really am. Even those we choose to ride us are uncomfortable at first."

I watched him, his strange eyes, and the way he moved his foot from side to side in the soil as if he wished it were his tail sliding back and forth.

"I _was_ scared," I argued.

Lochlen laughed. "Maybe a little at first, but not normal fear. It's a gift you inherited from Soren. You will always feel at home and comfortable among the trees, among non-human beings."

I gave this some thought, leaning over to place my cheek against my knees as I played with the small blades of grass at my feet. Lochlen was right. I had accepted the animals and trees easily. I had assumed it was because Aigneis had warned me the forest would one day speak to me, but I knew that was more an excuse, a way to explain away the unease I felt at my own behavior, at my easy acceptance.

"It's good the power in your veins is so quick to make you feel at home, Stone," Lochlen said. I didn't correct his name choice. "Because learning to fight is going to be a priority for you now."

I turned my head so that I was looking up at him.

"And so you assume I have decided to fight with you?"

Lochlen shrugged. "Haven't you?"

The sound of metal against metal seemed appropriate just then, a backdrop to a significant moment.

"I will fight because I owe so many who sacrificed themselves for me."

Lochlen smiled. "And words like that make me think my father may be right about you."

I sighed and closed my eyes. "Why do you stay in human form when you obviously hate it so?"

"Hate it?" Lochlen asked in surprise.

"It's the way you move, the way you constantly look around, the way you breathed in the cave when we entered it last night as if it was the best thing you had ever smelled."

I felt Lochlen shift.

"You're wrong."

I opened my eyes. "Am I?" I asked. "Why do you do it? What are the dragons fighting for?"

Lochlen peered down at me, his reptilian eyes bright. "Because Raemon has something we want."

He didn't mince words or try to avoid my question as Feras had, and I sat up.

"And that would be what?"

Lochlen looked me in the eye, his gaze steady. "Remember the text you read? In the year of the dragon, a kingdom was divided. Twin heirs were born to the sovereign and greed divided the kingdoms."

I nodded, and Lochlen leaned back, his leg moving faster now in the soil.

"The dragons flew freely then," Lochlen said. "And Medeisia was a beautiful kingdom, free of turmoil. The king and the dragon rex were good friends."

I watched Lochlen, watched the anxious way he moved his foot.

"You remember this?" I asked.

Lochlen laughed. "I have been around a long time. Dragons have walked these lands long before humans. The dragons have always laid claim over this country. We share it with the humans because we have no interest in your politics or the way you live. But we do find your kind fascinating. We are drawn to you."

Lochlen glanced at me, and I inclined my head, encouraging him to continue. "Your king then was a kind man, headstrong, and a great leader. Feras gifted him a pendant in the shape of a dragon, made of gold, and forged by dragonfire. It was meant to strengthen his rule, and it brought an era of peace until the king bore twin sons."

I didn't like the direction Lochlen's story was going, but I didn't interrupt him.

"When the twins came of age, they fought mercilessly over who would one day rule the throne. The king chose the oldest twin. It was, after all, the human custom, but out of anger the younger son attempted to murder his own father. The pendant saved the king, deflecting the blade of a sword meant to end his life, but in the process the golden dragon fell apart, into two pieces. In the chaos that ensued, the oldest twin was able to procure one half of the pendant, and the younger twin stole the other. The kingdom fell apart, one twin securing his own kingdom by the sea, and the other, the kingdom by the forests. By separating the pendant, a desert formed between the two nations."

I stared. So the Ardus _had_ been created by magic!

"And this is the reason you are willing to fight with the rebels now?" I asked.

Lochlen gestured at the people training and talking around us. "Raemon has forced humans and dragons alike into hiding. There is blood flowing in Medeisia, turning the forests and villages red. Because the twins of the past once owned a piece of the pendant, the halves have been passed on generation to generation. Raemon, like the rulers before him, still wears his half hidden against his chest. But, unlike the rulers before him, he is not happy ruling only Medeisia."

What Lochlen didn't say made my blood run cold.

"He wants the other half of the pendant," I breathed.

Lochlen didn't answer. He didn't have to. Raemon was planning to invade Sadeemia. It was suicide. Sadeemia was rich in resources and in warriors. By fighting them, most of Medeisia would be destroyed. All because our king wanted power over it all, wanted a pendant that could throw two kingdoms into the darkness we lived in now.

"If Raemon succeeds," Lochlen warned. "The dragons will be forced out of hiding. We will fight."

The threat was not an empty one. I had not been alive for the Dracon War, but the casualties had been devastating, the records dismal. If Raemon succeeded in his venture, there would be a second Dracon War, and there was no guarantee our nation would survive it.

Chapter 18

"Are you ready to learn how to use the sword?"

Kye's voice startled me, and I looked away from Lochlen.

"Now?" I asked.

Kye glanced between Lochlen and I before nodding at a young woman I hadn't seen before. She didn't appear much older than I, her hair as dark as most Medeisians, her skin olive and clear. She leaned casually against the hilt of a sword, her expression more curious than hostile.

"This is Maeve," Kye answered. "She'll be training with you."

I nodded at the girl, and she nodded back. She didn't look strong enough to be a fighter, but her eyes were hard, and her arms were thin but well defined.

"I'll just take my leave now," Lochlen said, his sing-song human voice full of amusement. He stood and moved past me, pausing a moment when he neared Kye.

"You couldn't find a less brutal opponent?" Lochlen asked.

Brutal? That didn't bode well for me.

Kye raised his brows. "Maeve is the best of the females. There is no better teacher."

Lochlen's lips quirked. "There is that," he said before nodding to Maeve as he took his leave. He never looked back at me.

Maeve glanced over my shoulder at the edge of the clearing, and I knew she was noting the wolf.

"Am I that bad to look at?" Oran joked from behind me, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. If I answered him now, it would only disturb the girl more.

Maeve's eyes met mine before traveling over my person.

"Should I start with the basics then?" Maeve asked.

She had a pretty, sweet voice, and I found myself hoping it meant she was an easy going teacher. Other than games with the bow, as Kye referred to it, the only physical history I had was copying text or reading books.

"The basics," Kye repeated sternly as he held up a sword he'd been holding down at his side. A second sword hung from a scabbard at his waist, and I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before. I was almost certain he hadn't worn it in the cave.

Kye gripped the blade and held the extra sword out to me, hilt first. I stared at it a moment before finally wrapping my hands around it. It felt funny in my grip, foreign. The way Maeve scowled at me, I was fairly certain I was holding it wrong.

"I leave it to you," Kye said before nodding.

As he walked past, he paused a moment, his eyes on my face, my hair. I avoided his gaze, but I couldn't stop the flush I knew was creeping up my neck. My eyes went to Maeve instead, to the way her gaze followed Kye as he finally moved on. She wore a wistful expression.

There were no words between us, and when she finally spoke, her tone was short, clipped.

"You're holding it wrong," Maeve said as she stepped in front of me, repositioning the sword in my hand.

I nodded, but I still didn't speak. She took it as an excuse to teach, steering clear of any intimate conversations.

"In battle, the sword needs to become an extension of your body, as if the metal were forged to your skin. We rebels own no horses, and we fight by foot. This means we train harder, running every day, working a post we have set up with wooden swords, using our bows, and learning how to camouflage ourselves among the forest."

"Do you fight often then?" I asked.

Maeve lifted her sword. I noticed it was metal like mine. No wooden swords for either of us. This made me uneasy.

"It's fight or die here," Maeve answered, pushing my feet apart none to gently with her own.

I was still sore from the three days of walking I'd done before coming to the rebels' camp, and I grunted without meaning to. Maeve paused, and I knew by the flash of fear on her face that Oran had moved closer. I barely knew the wolf, but he watched me as if I were a wolf pup. I glanced over my shoulder. Oran had approached the log and was standing, paws apart, the skin around his teeth pulled back.

"Hold," I ordered, and the wolf sat on his haunches, his teeth still bared as he stared between us. I looked to Maeve. "He won't harm you."

The girl didn't look entirely convinced, but she turned back to our swords.

"The weapons are good, and being skilled with them can often mean the difference between life and death. But sword play is also about wrestling and grappling, gripping the blade to use it at half sword so you can disarm your opponent. I'll show you how to do this after I've showed you how to hold and use the sword."

Maeve moved closer to me, her eyes on the wolf. She lifted her sword, talking to me in low, easy tones as she showed me how to attack and how to deflect a blow. My arms hurt from pulling on the war bow, but I grit my teeth and worked through it. Maeve saw the pain in my gaze, but she didn't comment on it, and I didn't make her stop. A new respect formed in her eyes, and we fought. She corrected my foot work, my grip, and the way I moved often, but it wasn't long before I caught on.

Once I'd mastered the basic things she thought I needed to know, Maeve moved away from me and lowered her sword. I had sweat dripping down my temples.

"You're a fast learner," she admitted.

I smiled, leaning over to place one hand against my knee, my chest heaving.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to walk tomorrow," I gasped.

Maeve laughed. "Then I've done my job." She paused, her gaze on me, the wolf, and then on a figure in the distance. It was Kye. "Are you interested in him?" Maeve asked quietly.

I looked up, surprised, my eyes moving from her to Kye and back again.

"In Kye?" I asked. I stood a moment, maybe too long, before I shook my head. "No. I am interested in no man."

My life had just been turned upside down, Kye one of the spectators and players of the worst moment of my life. Maeve heaved a sigh. I wasn't sure if it was of relief, but she smiled more readily now. Her eyes moved back to Kye's stooped form as he spoke with a group of men. They were drawing figures into the soil, and I found myself more curious of the things they were discussing than I was of the men themselves. Maeve noticed.

"You bear the mark of the scribe. Are you a scholar then?"

I didn't take my eyes off of the men. "I'd like to think I am. Do you know what they are talking about?"

Maeve shook her head. "Raemon. His laws. Weak spots in the palace. Sadeemia. It could be anything."

One of the men looked up, his eyes catching mine, but I didn't avert my gaze. His eyes narrowed. I recognized him as Warwick, the middle-aged man who'd wanted me gone just yesterday. I didn't belong here, he'd said. But if I didn't belong here then I didn't belong anywhere.

Kye's head came up, and he followed Warwick's gaze. Once again, I didn't look away. Instead, I nodded before I turned and moved to my log. Oran had retreated back into the foliage. Maeve followed me, her breathing quick and heavy. I got some satisfaction out of knowing she was breathing hard, although she wasn't breathing near as hard as I was.

"How did you come here?" I asked Maeve.

I knew I was being nosy, but I was beyond caring. Unlike Ena, Maeve didn't seem to mind my question. She held up her wrist; the burning star.

"I was sixteen when I suddenly lit a market on fire in Drannon. Neither one of my parents had magic in their veins, but my grandmother did." She shrugged. "The fire burned down several shops and caught the attention of the king's men. One of his sorcerers traced the power to me. I was dragged to the main square, branded publicly, and sentenced to death. A rebel spy was among the crowd, and she helped me escape."

I sat and Maeve followed, digging the tip of her sword into the dirt and grass in front of us. Drannon was a small village not far from the capital. The town was well known in Medeisia for its blacksmiths.

"And your parents?" I asked.

Maeve stared at her sword. "They live. Per orders, they have disowned me. To them, I never existed."

Sympathy for her plight overwhelmed me, but I also felt envy. She'd been marked, outlawed, but no one she loved had died for her. She fought for herself now. No one else. I shut my eyes and shuddered at the scenes that flitted in the darkness behind my lids. I fought for ghosts.

"You're tired," Maeve said. "You should rest. Ena will be lighting the fires soon for the evening meal. Soup tonight, I hear."

I nodded.

"Keep practicing," Maeve added.

I opened my eyes. "Thank you, Maeve."

She smiled, standing quietly before moving away.

A _kek, kek_ filtered down through the trees, and I glanced upward. Ari was circling in the skies above. She lowered when she noticed me watching, her wings beating as she alighted on a limb far enough up she wouldn't be seen by those in the camp.

"Your father and stepmother have made it into court," Ari said suddenly. I almost stood but didn't.

"My father is okay?" I asked.

Ari made a low _kek_ sound I took to mean yes.

"The king has been in meetings with him since he arrived at the palace. Your sister and Taran are enjoying the balls while the king gathers a council."

This caught my attention.

"A council?" I asked, but I was afraid I already knew what she meant.

The falcon danced on the limb.

"A war council," she said.

Lochlen had been right. It had begun. I couldn't help but wonder how long the rebels had lived among Medeisia's forests preparing for war.

Chapter 19

Aside from the mumbling trees, Ari, and Oran, I ate my soup alone. I had been too keyed up to rest after Ari informed me of the war council. And so I sat for hours on the same log, observing as the sun set, watching the crackling flames from three different lit fires. Rebels surrounded the small pyres. It was that time of year when it remained warm, even muggy during the day, but cooled considerably at night. Crickets chirped and frogs warbled. Lightning bugs blinked in the darkness, and the full moon was just noticeable through the trees' canopy. I had attempted twice to speak to Kye and Lochlen following Ari's revelation, but they had been deep in discussion with other rebels.

"You worry," Oran said, and I looked over to find the wolf sitting next to me. I enjoyed his company, even though I barely knew him, but he brought attention to me. Even now, rebels were glancing in my direction, whispering behind their hands.

"I'm in the middle of a war that was only hinted at while I was living at Forticry. Even our Archives do not mention the depth of turmoil in this country. Yes, I am worried."

I didn't hide my moving lips from the rebels still watching me. They knew I could speak with the forest, even if they were disturbed by it. Oran made a low growling noise in his throat as he suddenly laid his head in my lap. It startled me, and I brought my hands up, gaping down at him.

"Wolves are affectionate with their pack. You need comfort. Take it now."

Oran's voice snuck its way into my heart, and I fought against the melting sensation in my chest. I was afraid if I let myself feel anything for anyone, I would kill them.

"Fear not," the wolf repeated.

I lowered my hands slowly, carefully sinking my fingers into the soft fur on Oran's neck. Oran didn't move. I think he knew I was more skittish than the animals. If he'd even so much as flinched, I would have pushed him away.

"You have a plan in your head," the wolf said, and I looked down at him.

"It's nothing."

A wordless rumble moved up through my hand and along my knees where the wolf rested.

"What runs through your mind, Stone?"

I looked up, meeting the occasional stares from the fires beyond. Children ran among the groups, laughing, tripping often. A few of the adults danced even though there was no music. Ena had not been exaggerating. The forest was the rebels' sanctuary. What I had in mind would threaten that.

I dug my fingers farther into the wolf's fur. I didn't answer him, and he didn't pursue it. I just stared, my eyes moving over the groups in the night until the fires began to burn low. The running children had grown tired, some of them leaning now against each other, their eyes drooping. The rebels were beginning to thin, many of them moving to tents along the side of the clearing while others set out bedrolls near the fire. One tent was nearer the flames than the others, the flap facing away from the fires. By the figure stooping near it, I knew the tent was mine.

"Do you need anything, miss?" a voice asked, and I shook my head, my gaze moving to Ena in the darkness.

"No," I said, smiling gently. "Thank you. You need not call me miss, Ena. Aside from my father, I was more a servant than I was a highborn lady."

Ena returned my smile, but didn't reply. I gestured at the tent. "Is that where I will sleep?" I asked.

The woman nodded. "Those assigned on watch have already moved into the trees. One fire will be left burning low, although we usually douse them except in winter. You may find your bed when you are ready."

I nodded at her, and she moved away, her eyes darting to the wolf in my lap even as she backed up into the darkness just outside the fires' light.

Oran lifted his head. "Sleep now," he said as he stood. "The forest never sleeps. Where your human protection may occasionally fail, ours never will."

I watched him as he slunk toward the trees.

"Mighty words," I teased.

The wolf's eyes caught the low firelight, causing his pupils to become an orange-yellow mix, eerie in the darkness.

"Mighty indeed," he said before turning, his silver fur disappearing into the foliage. I shivered, listening as the trees whispered. Ari spread her wings, lifting into the sky, her flight taking her across the moon.

I stood, my legs instantly full of pins and needles where I'd sat in one position too long as I moved across the camp. Kye was near the tent, and I considered speaking to him, but Warwick approached him, and I slid into the tent instead.

The tent was bare with the exception of a bedroll, and I climbed beneath it, turning to my side. The braid and pins Ena had put in my hair earlier made it impossible to lay on my back, but I was loathe to remove it. And so I turned, my gaze on the crack between the tent flap and the camp outside. My eyes found Kye again, deep in conversation with Warwick, his green-clad tunic pulling tight against his back as he gestured while he spoke. Eventually, his tunic took on a darker hue, growing duller and duller until I saw nothing. I gave in to the darkness.

***

Maybe it was the trees that woke me next or maybe it was the odd, disoriented feeling in the pit of my stomach that still wouldn't let me feel comfortable in a place I did not feel at home. But either way, I awoke, the trees' murmuring both reassuring and annoying. Had I really lived my life until now never noticing the way the trees spoke, almost continuously?

A movement outside made me freeze, my heart beating rapidly as I peered out into the night, my hands fisted against my stomach. There was no bright, burning fire now, although I could hear the occasional crackle from the dimly glowing timbers in the pyre behind my tent. But the darkness was offset by the full moon in the sky, the glowing orb shedding enough light to fill the clearing.

There, beyond my tent, Kye stood shirtless, his trousers the only clothes he wore. His feet were bare, his hands slack where they hung by his sides. There was another scar on his back, silver in the moonlight where it ran from his left side down to the waistline of his pants. He was full of scars, Kye.

I edged closer to the tent flap, noticing the way Kye stood, motionless, his eyes on the sky. My gaze followed his. A black shape moved across the moon. A dragon.

My head was outside the tent now. I pushed myself upward, standing awkwardly, flinching when Kye's gaze moved from the moon to me. I may speak to the forest, but I had yet to learn how to move as soundlessly as the rebels surrounding me.

"Feras?" I asked, my hands motioning at the sky. I didn't really know what else to say.

Kye's dark eyes seemed to glint, the moon's reflection in his gaze.

"He flies often at night," Kye explained as I moved closer to him, keeping just enough distance so that I wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

"And you watch him often?" I asked.

Kye shook his head. "No. It is my time on watch."

He didn't say anything more, although he looked at the space I left between us before scanning the forest.

_"All is well,"_ the trees' voice said, and I shivered.

"The forest is clear," I muttered, and Kye's gaze moved back to me.

I gestured at the trees. He understood and nodded, his shoulders relaxing. Without his shirt, the hard planes of his arms stood out in the white light, the scars a stark picture of his history. I fidgeted under his gaze.

"The king has gathered a war council," I blurted out.

The words broke the tension.

Kye stepped toward me, his eyes narrowed, his hands coming up to take me by the arms. I didn't move.

"What? Where did you hear this?" Kye asked.

I looked down at his hands, and he released me.

"Ari. The falcon," I answered warily. Kye no longer touched me, but he hadn't lowered his arms either. "She says Raemon meets with a council that includes my father."

"By Raheet," Kye swore, one of his hands clenching as he cursed the God of War.

My gaze moved back up, and I realized Kye's eyes were watching my face. I didn't look away.

"Why don't you seek out help from Sadeemia?" I asked.

It was the one thing that had been invading my thoughts since Ari's arrival into camp. If Raemon wanted to attack Sadeemia so badly, why didn't the rebels seek their aid?

Kye's eyes moved over my face. "Because we have no proof, nothing to show them that Raemon intends to invade."

"Then we get it," I said.

Kye laughed, the sound harsh, finally releasing my arms and running his hands through his hair. "I've been trying. Raemon's inner circle is impossible to infiltrate."

I swallowed hard. "Maybe not. How long would it take him to invade Sadeemia, you think?"

Kye's eyes had narrowed again. "Not as long as we'd like. Less than a year, maybe. Once he has a war council, he'll need to gather troops, train spies—"

"He'll need plans, supplies. He may even need to make alliances with outside countries," I cut in. "That will all take time. Maybe just enough."

Kye nodded. "I forget you bear the mark of the scribe."

I scowled. "It does not mean I am one. But I have lost many friends who were."

Kye grew silent. "We've all lost people."

I didn't argue with him. I knew I wasn't the only one who had suffered, but my loss was new. Fresh. Unbearable. He ought to know that. He'd been in the forest with me, in the employ of the king's army, a rebel spy. But I didn't say these things aloud. I may be having a moment of self-pity, but I was not a selfish person. I knew everyone here had lost something or someone in their lives. It was our right to pity ourselves only in private.

"Raemon will need to create weaknesses in Sadeemia's alliances, find ways to damage their imports, to create need there," I said, steering away from any more intimate conversation. Kye's gaze stayed on my face. "We need proof of Raemon's plans or there will be no way to stop him, to alert Sadeemia."

Kye must have seen something in my eyes because he leaned down, his face too close to mine. Pine and wood smoke invaded my senses.

"What have you in mind, Drastona?" he asked.

I swallowed. "I'll train. Give me one month to learn to use the sword, for my arms to get used to the bow. And then let Raemon's men take me prisoner."

Kye's eyes widened, his cheek jutting where he clenched his jaw.

"No!" he said. "You have no idea what he would do to you. I've seen what he does to the marked. You grieve your maid, I even dare say you are haunted by her death, but her death is nothing compared to the torture I have seen. _Nothing_."

My eyes burned at the reminder. He was right. I was haunted. I could still hear Aigneis' screams in the back of my head, still thought of her when I stared into fire. I kept trying to think of good memories, but my mind seemed trapped in that desperate moment.

"It would take longer than a month to get you ready for any kind of battle," Kye added. "Do you understand me?"

I nodded, holding my tongue because I'd known what kind of reaction I'd get from him. It would be the same with Lochlen. I had no doubt.

"Give me a chance," I said.

Kye stared down at me. "It would be worse for you now, Drastona. His sorcerers would feel your power. You not only bear the mark of the scribe, you have the blood of the mage. You would die a hideous, gruesome death. And then he would go after your father."

He was right, but it still didn't deter me. I had more than one plan.

"Then let me spy. You can't infiltrate his inner circle, but maybe a mage could. He wouldn't have to know me. I could go disguised."

Kye grabbed me by the arms again, his nose almost touching mine.

"No. Do you understand me?"

I let his eyes search mine, and then nodded. Four weeks. In four weeks, I would do something even if I had to do it alone.

I pulled at Kye's hands, but he didn't release me. If anything, he pulled me closer.

"One day you will forgive me, Drastona," he whispered, his breath moving over my face. I inhaled sharply, my stomach tied in knots. My face was so close to his.

"You watched her burn," I whispered. "You held me down while they dug into my skin."

Kye shut his eyes. I was close enough to make out the delicate blue veins on his eyelids in the moonlight.

"One day," he repeated. "One day you _will_ forgive me."

Behind us, someone stirred in their sleep and Kye released me. He took a step back. He was still too close, but neither of us backed away. Once again, I noted the moon's reflection in Kye's pupils, and in the reflection I could just make out a dragon as he flew across the moon.

Part II

Revolution

Chapter 20

A peaceful month had passed within the rebels' camp. I was one of them now, or I should have been. I'd spent the past few weeks in hiding, sitting away from the rest of the rebels, crying occasionally, and practicing as much as I could. Healing. Only Lochlen, Maeve, Ena, and Nikalia had dared approach me. Many of the rebels were more afraid of the prophecy than they were of me, and others couldn't forget who my father was. And then there was Kye.

Kye had disappeared the night after I'd spoken to him under the full moon. Four weeks he'd been gone. He was spying, Lochlen had told me. I felt a pang at the thought of him traveling once more with the king's army; dressed in the red surcoat, watching as more mage-fires were built, observing as scribes were marked and sentenced to death.

His disappearance bothered me. I found myself wondering if he had left because he was afraid I'd do something foolish or if he'd left because staying too long from the army would make people suspicious. It didn't help that since Kye's disappearance, Lochlen had been entering my tent every evening—sleeping beside me—his back to me, and I had no doubt Kye had ordered the dragon to do it.

I didn't understand Kye. I even felt uncomfortable with him considering how we'd met, and yet I found myself thinking often of his eyes as he watched me through the prison bars the night Aigneis had burned. He'd been tortured. That look somehow connected us.

I shook myself, releasing all thought of the past. For now, I practiced.

"Easy," I said under my breath as I held up the bow, my eyes narrowing on the target. All background noise faded. There was only the mark I'd placed on a post in the distance and me. I pulled the arrow back, my arm steady.

A release.

A _whir-swish_.

The arrow was embedded perfectly in the center of the black circle I'd made using left over ash from the evening's fire.

"You do well with that," Maeve said.

Grinning, I looked up. Now it was easy for me to draw back the bow; a month of practice had strengthened my arms. And although I had bested Maeve twice in sword play, she was still stronger than I and more graceful. A month of training could not make up for years of fighting.

"It's gotten easier," I admitted.

"Easier?" another voice broke in, and I glanced up to see Ena standing nearby, a spoon in her hand. The afternoon sun shone through the canopy onto her dark head and flushed cheeks. "I'd say you're better than most of the men and women here."

I smiled. The bow took a lot of concentration, and an incredible amount of strength, but it was also healing.

"I do not aspire to be a great warrior," I said.

Ena waved her spoon at a big iron pot full of water. There was a creek near the camp, and the rebels took advantage of it.

"Then maybe you and Maeve here could aspire to be washer women," Ena teased, and Maeve grumbled.

I grumbled with her. Kye had been right when he'd said my hands were satin compared to the other rebels, but not anymore. My skin was now as calloused, red, and chapped as the rest of them. There wasn't much room for idleness at the camp. Men and women alike shared in the washing, the hunting, and the cleaning. Some disappeared for days, either on a mission to attack the king's men or to rescue _marked_ folk. There were new faces in the camp now.

"Come now, get to it," Ena said, a smile in her voice.

I leaned my bow against a tree as I moved with Maeve to the pot. Two bars of lye soap lay nearby, and we pushed up our sleeves before grabbing a pile of dirty tunics and trousers.

"I'd rather fight than wash any day," Maeve groused.

The soap burned my already sore hands, but I didn't complain. I'd fallen from grace, been branded and afraid. I'd loved and lost, I'd grieved, I'd sworn vengeance. I'd woken up needing comfort that wasn't there. My life would never be the same, but I'd finally come to terms with that. Washing seemed nothing compared to the transition I'd made.

"Washing is good for the soul," Nikalia sang as she danced into view. The child was filthy as usual; her cheeks streaked with dirt as she ran around us.

Maeve scowled. "Mimicking Ena does nothing more than get you extra food, little sprite, and you need a bath!"

Nikalia stuck out her tongue before disappearing behind a small group of people at the cooking fires. I shook my head, my eyes skirting the familiar faces. I'd finally begun to feel comfortable here, but I still didn't know many of the people by name. It didn't seem right. Maeve must have noticed my expression because she bumped me with her shoulder.

"Many of us avoid getting to know each other. It's not just you. We fear getting close and then losing someone we've come to care for," Maeve said.

I looked at her. "It doesn't really make me feel any better to hear that."

She shrugged. "Maybe not, but it is the truth of things."

We both turned back to the washing, the chilly water making us shiver as we scrubbed. I got lost in the monotonous chore, the splashing clothes and the chatter from beyond the pot almost making me miss the words from the forest.

_"A boy is injured_ ," the trees called out.

I looked up, my eyes on the limbs above my head. "What?"

Maeve glanced at me, but didn't comment. She was used to me talking to things she couldn't hear.

_"Not far from here, there is a young man injured._ "

I dropped the soap.

Maeve reached over and touched my shoulder, her dripping hand soaking my tunic.

"Stone," she said.

"Where?" I asked the trees, ignoring her.

The trees shook, and Oran appeared, his silver fur contrasting with the trees as he emerged from the foliage.

"Follow me," the wolf said. "Bring help."

I rubbed my hands down my trousers.

"There's been a man injured!" I shouted as I took off at a run behind Oran.

I could hear shouts from behind me as I grabbed my bow before crashing into the undergrowth. There were footsteps in my wake, and I knew some of the rebels followed.

We hadn't been running long when I heard the moan, and saw the stooped figure, the flash of a familiar face as the man leaned against a tree, one hand against his side. A step closer, and I gasped. He was wearing the king's red surcoat, but there was no doubt who it was.

"Kye," I breathed as I neared him.

He looked up, barely glancing at my bow before looking down at his hand. He held it out, and I realized it was covered in blood.

"By the gods," I said, my eyes coming up to meet his. There was pain there, but he didn't make a sound.

"A sword," he said through clenched teeth.

I was next to him now, but there was no way to get a close look at the wound without removing some of his clothes.

"Ho, Kye!" a man yelled as rebels fell in behind me.

Maeve was past me and wrapping Kye's arm behind her neck before I'd even had a chance to blink.

"What happened?" she asked.

Kye leaned on her, his eyes still on my face. It was the first time I noticed how flushed his cheeks were, how distant his gaze. My palms tingled, and I fisted them against my sides.

"Help me," Maeve called.

She barely glanced at me as a man shoved past me to grasp Kye's other arm. I didn't know this man. He was a little shorter than Kye and young with the same dark hair and eyes as the rest of the men in our country.

"Be careful, Daegan," Maeve admonished when Kye tightened his jaw. "Let's get him back to the camp."

My palms were on fire now, and I found myself wondering if I had grown a sensitivity to lye soap.

_"He shouldn't be moved. Do not let them move him!"_ the trees yelled. The sound caused my head to ache, and I braced myself on the tree Kye had vacated, my hand going to my forehead.

"He needs help," I whispered, knowing the trees would hear me no matter how low I spoke. Ari had circled down into the trees and Oran had moved next to me.

"The trees are right, Stone," Ari said. "They would know. He should not be moved if they say he shouldn't."

I looked up at the Falcon above me. "Are you sure?"

She didn't answer, but somehow I knew she was right. I turned abruptly.

"Stop!" I yelled. Maeve and Daegan had made little ground, and Kye had slumped between them, his breathing loud. "He shouldn't be moved!"

Maeve looked over her shoulder. "How do you know?"

There was anger in her voice. It was obvious she cared about Kye, and seeing him hurt had her cross and afraid.

_"Be firm,"_ the trees encouraged.

I stood straight, my eyes on Kye. "Lay him down. We should check the wound."

It was hard to sound confident when my burning hands were shaking. I clasped them behind my back.

"We need to get him back to the camp," Maeve argued.

Daegan looked up. "He doesn't look so good, Maeve. The girl may be right. We should see how bad it is."

The trees swayed above me even though there was no wind.

"You are no physician or wise woman!" Maeve pointed out, angry pink spots developing on her cheeks.

I could feel myself weakening, but Ari made a loud _kek, kek_ that caught everyone's attention. She plunged off of the limb she sat on, diving toward Kye before using her talons to pull at his surcoat. Daegan waved his arms at her, and she flew upward again. Another rebel placed an arrow in his bow, aiming it at the falcon. I pulled my own bow up, an arrow instantly in place.

"Shoot her, and I will kill you!" I screamed. I'd watched Ari grow. No one would take her away from me. Not now.

The man lowered his bow, but I kept mine raised.

"Let me lay down," Kye's low, pain-filled voice murmured.

Maeve quickly complied, her eyes finding mine. "We'll do it your way, but if he dies, I will... I will.... " her words trailed off.

I clenched my jaw, my palms on fire as I stepped toward them. Daegan and the man who'd drawn the bow were next to Kye now, pulling daggers from their waists to cut at the red surcoat. There was chain mail beneath, and Maeve lifted it carefully over Kye's head before Daegan began cutting at a padded shirt beneath the mail.

And then there was the wound.

It was an angry wound, a long, deep gash in his right side. Maeve was right. I was no physician or wise woman, and I had no battle experience, but from the gasps emanating from the others, I knew it was bad. And then there was the odor.

"It's full of infection, it is," the bowman said.

Maeve glared at him. "Hush, Brennus!"

Kye's eyes were closed, and he was moaning now. Low moans, delirious sounds as if he wasn't even aware of his surroundings.

"What do we do?" Daegan asked, his eyes on Maeve.

"It's too far gone," Brennus said.

Maeve shook her fist at the group. "No!"

The trees swayed again, and I felt Oran stiffen beside me.

_"It's only the dragon,"_ the trees assured, and the wolf relaxed.

Lochlen walked out of the trees, his eyes skirting our group before landing on Kye. Maeve stood.

"He's badly wounded," she said as Lochlen moved toward her before leaning over to inspect Kye's side. "Will he make it, Lochlen?" Maeve asked.

Lochlen looked up, his eyes finding the tree where I stood.

"Daughter of Soren," he said, "come."

I stepped toward them carefully, kneeling when Lochlen gestured at the ground. He grasped me by the wrist, turning my hand so that he could see my palm. He sighed.

"You have the gift," Lochlen said. "Do they burn you?"

He indicated my hands, and I nodded.

Lochlen glanced at the group. "Back away! All of you!"

No one argued with the dragon. He pulled at my hand.

"You remember my father telling you Soren was a healer?" Lochlen asked. I nodded, and he lifted my hand higher. "Your palms burn now because you have the same gift. Lay your hands on his wound, Stone. You can heal him where the rest of us can't."

I stared. "What? Touch it?"

It was true the closer I got to Kye, the more my palms burned, but I didn't have much experience with battle wounds and blood. The sight was making me nauseous. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was a bad idea. I gagged when the wound's odor infiltrated my nose.

"Stone," Lochlen said gently. "You will have to do nothing more than touch it. Your magic, like all mages, needs no prompting. Training can make it stronger, but even without it, magic is bred into you. Touch the wound. Your magic will do the rest. We have no healers in the camp."

I took a deep breath and held it before leaning over Kye slowly.

_"Your magic comes from Silveet, child. Your healing comes from the forest. In your hands, you hold a connection to us all. We will not fail you._ "

The trees' soothing, confident words were the push I needed. I grit my teeth as I lowered my hands, touching Kye's wound tentatively. He bucked off of the ground, and I gagged, closing my eyes against the feel of his blood against my hands. My palms heated, growing so warm I'm pretty sure I whimpered. And then . . . _fire_ , a raging flame in the palms of my hands. It was unbearable, excruciating.

There was screaming.

In the end, I wasn't sure if it was Kye or me.

Chapter 21

"You shouldn't have let her do it," an angry voice snapped. Kye.

It was pitch black, and I was frozen, my body completely paralyzed. It took a moment for me to realize my eyes were closed.

"You would have died if she hadn't," a gentler voice argued. Maeve.

I tried to move, open my mouth, my eyes, _anything_.

"She's a healer, Kye. Her powers come from the forest, from Silveet. She would have done the same for anyone else. She would have had to. Her magic will not be denied."

Lochlen was calm when he spoke. I knew it was him by the sing-song tone, by the current of amusement that seemed to always flow beneath his words.

There was a sigh, the sound of footsteps as if someone paced, and then silence. I could smell pine and wood smoke. A breath fanned across my face. Again, I tried to move and couldn't.

"You could have warned her," Kye said finally.

"There was no time."

Lochlen again.

"What happened, Kye?" Maeve asked.

The figure next to me shifted.

"There is war in the air in Aireesi. Raemon has not only gathered an army, he has also begun killing marked men and women in droves. There are public hangings, mage-fires, and tortured confessions. Daily. The king is using imprisoned scribes to write out proclamations and lies about Sadeemia, rumors he hopes to use to incite public anger."

The sound of paper rustling filled my ears.

"I can't read," Maeve said quietly.

"And the people believe this?" Lochlen interjected.

"Yes," Kye said. "They believe it and more."

"And what happened to you?" Maeve asked.

Kye grew quiet a moment. I knew he was still next to me because his scent invaded my senses. As much as I hated to admit it, there was something soothing about pine.

"Raemon ordered his soldiers to kill a group of marked folk. He sent us down into the palace dungeons, all the while telling us the prisoners were too dangerous to be killed in public." Kye paused and inhaled deeply. "It was a room full of children."

"By the gods!" Maeve breathed, her voice full of horror.

His words made my heart break, and I tried to fight the darkness, tried to fight the frozen feeling that had overtaken my limbs. Nothing.

"I attempted to break them free. In the process, I was run through with a sword," Kye finished.

"And the children?" Lochlen asked.

I tried moving again. Anything. A whimper filled the room, and I realized it came from me. A hand touched my forehead.

"Drastona?" Kye's voice said.

I fought harder.

"Give it a moment, Stone," Lochlen's voice broke in. "I know you're there. All is well now. You are fine."

I knew he was right. Even now, I could feel the pins and needles in my arms and legs, but the paralysis still had me panicked. If I could heal people, then would this happen every time I was near someone injured?

Lochlen seemed to read my mind. "It only happens the first time, Stone. Give it a moment."

The pins and needles were becoming too much, and I tried moving my arm. It lifted. Something warm was suddenly against my hand.

I was touching someone.

I blinked.

My vision was blurry at first, but when it finally cleared, my eyes found three faces leaning over me. Kye, Maeve, and Lochlen. My hand was against Kye's semi-bare chest, and I dropped it, my cheeks burning.

I turned my head away. I was in a tent. It was larger than the one I usually slept in, and I was lying on a bedroll with my head on a straw-filled pillow. Maeve moved so that she stood in my line of vision.

"How do you feel?" she asked, kneeling next to me. When I didn't answer, her face fell. "I'm sorry, Drastona. I shouldn't have gotten angry with you."

I shook my head. I wasn't upset, and I touched my mouth with my fingers to show her I wasn't able to talk. Relief flooded Maeve's face.

I tried sitting up, but quickly realized the lower portion of my body was still useless. Kye's face was next to Maeve's now. I wasn't sure how much time had lapsed since I'd placed my hands against his wound, but he was clean and wearing a pair of rough, brown trousers with a green tunic he'd left untied at the neck. It fell open halfway down his chest. A white bandage was just visible where the tunic finally closed. My eyes moved from Kye's open tunic to Lochlen.

Lochlen saw the question in my eyes, and he nodded at Kye."Wounds that severe cannot be healed completely, but he will need no stitches."

I lay there. I knew from seeing my palm on Kye's chest there was no more blood on my hands, but I could still feel it there against my skin, could still smell the stench of rot. That was what war was like. Blood, rot, death. Those were the scars I'd seen often in Kye's eyes, in the eyes of the other rebels. I'd lost Aigneis. I'd thought seeing her burn, hearing her scream was the worst thing I'd ever face. I was beginning to realize I might be wrong.

And Kye had said something about a room full of children.

I turned my head again, motioning at Kye, mimicking holding a sheet of paper before pretending to read it. Kye's eyes narrowed a moment before it dawned on him.

"You heard us talking then?" he asked as he pulled something from the waistband of his trousers. It was the proclamation he had been discussing with Lochlen and Maeve. I took it from him, scanning it quietly.

Kye was right. Raemon was blaming Sadeemia for Medeisia's current state of affairs. According to Raemon, King Freemont of Sadeemia was blocking the import of goods over the Medeisian border. It only got worse. According to the document, King Freemont was also the reason Raemon was being forced to exterminate all mages. Sadeemia, he accused, had schools to educate their mages, to teach them to kill with their magic, to disguise themselves so they could enter Medeisia and do away with its citizens. But it was the final line that caused my blood to run cold.

I, King Raemon Berhest VII, ruler of Medeisia and all of its provinces, do hereby declare a period of unrest with Sadeemia and its accompanying territories.

I stared. It was lies. All of it. But it wasn't hard to see the strategy in Raemon's plan. Most of Medeisia's citizens were powerless, illiterate, and famished. What better way to incite rage and save face than to blame Sadeemia for starving Medeisia's people, to claim that Freemont was the reason why Raemon was being forced to kill anyone born with magic in their blood.

My eyes moved to Kye's.

"T-the . . ." I struggled. My voice was hoarse, but it was working now. Kye leaned closer. "The children?" I finally managed.

Kye's face fell, and he looked away a moment before his gaze finally met mine again.

"Dead," he said finally. "All of them."

The paper I'd been holding fell from my grasp, the scrawled words illegible as it floated to the ground.

Chapter 22

_Dead. All of them_. _Children._ I couldn't shake the thought.

"Did you learn anything of import while you were gone?" I asked Kye.

Maeve had been summoned out of the tent not long after I'd read the proclamation and Lochlen had followed. There were soldiers in the forest, and some of the rebels had been sent out to lead them away from our camp. I wanted to go with them, to do _something_ , but my legs still hurt. I could move them now, but not well enough to walk.

Ena had entered the tent when Maeve exited, and she sat now in the corner, her head down as she stitched a pair of leggings. A chaperone, I realized with surprise.

Lochlen slept near me every evening, and no one had ever bothered with a chaperone until now. But, then again, Lochlen wasn't a man.

Kye sat down next to me, one leg up, his arm resting across it. His jaw tightened as he pulled a loose strand of straw out of my pillow.

"Nothing more beyond what the proclamation reveals," he muttered.

I thought of the parchment I'd read only moments before.

"It's evidence," I said. "Couldn't we take the proclamation to Sadeemia?"

Kye shook his head.

"It's not enough," Kye answered. "It blames Sadeemia for our problems and even claims unrest, but it doesn't declare war. It's not enough. We need something that shows Medeisia means Sadeemia harm."

One month in the camp had taught me I was such a small thing compared to the seasoned warriors here, and yet Lochlen and Kye both talked to me openly. If I asked a question, they answered it. Maybe it was the prophecy. Or maybe . . .

"I want to spy on the king," I said.

Kye looked down at me, his face still. A month ago, he'd stood outside, the full moon behind him and told me I wasn't ready. And then he'd disappeared.

I pulled myself up on my elbows. It brought our faces closer, but I didn't turn away.

"Up until a month ago, I don't think I truly realized how bad it had gotten in Medeisia. And then... and then I lost Aigneis and was told I was a phoenix of peace," I said, my gaze moving over his face, concentrating finally on the scar near his temple. "I can't be a phoenix of anything sitting inside this camp. I don't know anything about true fighting other than the lessons I've received from Maeve." Kye knew I was right. I could see it in the way he lowered his head, his shoulders slumping.

Kye's chin had lifted, his lips beginning to part when someone stepped into the tent. It was the bowman from the forest, Brennus.

"Excuse me, sir," the man said, his gaze moving between us before resting on Kye.

Kye stood. "Something wrong, Brennus?"

The man's head lowered. "It's the child, Nikalia."

Darned clothes fell to the ground as Ena stood up abruptly. "Nikalia?" she asked, her face pale.

Kye moved around me, and I struggled to my feet. My legs were still weak, but they held.

Brennus nodded. "She is missing, she is. We think she followed Maeve's group into the forest."

Ena gasped as Kye reached up and tied the ties on his tunic. "Bloody hell," he murmured.

I took a step forward, breathing a sigh of relief when my legs cooperated. I felt stronger now. The weakness that remained felt more emotional than physical, although my legs still had a heavy feeling I wasn't used to. I ignored it, brushing past Kye until I stood in front of Brennus at the tent flap.

I gave Brennus a look, and he stepped aside.

"Where is she?" I asked the trees when I moved through the opening, the late afternoon sun making the forest appear more golden than green.

The trees swayed. _"The king's men have the child."_

I froze. No!

A hand landed on my shoulder. "What do they say, the trees?" Kye asked, his mouth near my ear.

I didn't look back at him. "Taken," I breathed.

He swore again, and I fisted my hands.

"I could be the best spy here," I pointed out. "The trees, the animals . . . I can see for miles, and I have ears in the smallest places. I know it. _You_ know it."

Kye didn't say anything for a moment. And then, "We'll need to do something about your appearance."

I looked up at him. "What do you suggest?"

Kye touched my hair with one of his hands before suddenly pulling out some of the pins I kept in it. Ena had taught me how to plait my own hair, and I'd begun doing it often. Bright strands of highlighted brown curls began to fall around my shoulders.

Kye leaned over and deftly pulled a dagger out of his boot.

"I'm not sure you're going to like this," he warned.

It suddenly occurred to me what he planned to do, and I let my gaze move to his face.

"Do it."

Chapter 23

"This is a ridiculous idea!" Lochlen said.

The rebels had returned from the forest to find me with short hair and Kye showing me how to walk, talk, and stand like a boy. Nikalia was not with them.

Kye crossed his arms, his eyes on the dragon. "Then _you_ talk her out of it," Kye muttered. "She makes a good point, Lochlen. We bring her here, regale her with stories of her mother, with a document we believe proves she's a bearer of peace, and then we leave her here to sit out the rebellion in a camp."

I looked at Lochlen expectantly. I knew what he was going to say, and I was prepared.

"Maybe you and my father believe she is the phoenix, but I'm not convinced. _This_ is ridiculous," Lochlen argued.

I fought not to scratch my chest where I'd used a length of cloth to tie down my breasts. Sadly, it hadn't taken much cloth. I had more hips than I did breasts.

"Maybe I'm not the One," I broke in. "But I deserve to be as much a part of this fight as anyone. I've lost family, and my father is being used to help the king."

Lochlen approached me.

"Do you really believe your father is being forced to do it, Stone. Because I can guarantee he isn't."

My cheeks heated.

"What are you suggesting, _dragon_? That my father wants to help the king?"

Lochlen shrugged. "The possibility remains."

I could feel my body tense, a headache forming as my heart beat faster. Lochlen was trying to rile me. I knew it, and yet I was still falling for it.

"Okay, say my father _is_ helping the king," I said. "Then I have even more reason to fight."

Lochlen frowned. "And what help is a phoenix of peace if you die?"

I heard Ari's wings before I saw her as she flew down from the trees to land on a post nearby.

"Then she becomes a martyr. Let the girl fight, dragon," the falcon said.

Lochlen turned on her.

"You say that with such ease, bird. Do you not know what losing her would do to the forest? You'd lose all human connection."

"Wonderful," Kye murmured. "And now the war goes to the birds."

I grinned because I knew Kye was frustrated by his ignorance. Only Lochlen and I could understand the forest.

"We didn't have human connection before," Ari stated, ignoring Kye. "I know the girl. I've been with her since I was barely a hatchling. She may appear meek, but she's as stubborn as a mule."

Lochlen sulked, but he didn't argue. He turned to me instead. "You want to pass as a boy?" he asked, laughing. "A young boy at that."

I nodded. "Let Raemon take me prisoner. I can prove I am invaluable to him."

Maeve had been sitting quietly at the edge of the group, a sword in her hand, and she stood suddenly.

"What can you do the rest of us mages can't?" she asked.

I looked away from her because I didn't want to see the hurt my words would cause in her eyes.

"I can read, I can heal, I can write. And I can also read, write, and speak the same language as the Sadeemians. Even my father is unable to do all three."

Maeve was quiet a moment. I knew from the tent earlier she was illiterate. "But the king has imprisoned the scribes. Any of them can do what you can," she argued.

I shook my head. "No, they can't. Only Master Aedan could read and write the Sadeemian language. He was the master of our Archives, but he wasn't a mage. I am both mage and scribe."

Kye leaned against a nearby tree. "The king will find her . . . er, _him_ , interesting. Drastona is right. He will find someone with both skills invaluable. He will attempt to use her. Whether he'll allow her in the inner circle is arguable. But he won't kill her. He'll use her skills first."

"And you know this?" Maeve asked.

Kye looked at her, his eyes shadowed. "I've been fighting in the king's army for two years. I know this." Maeve looked away.

Two years? Kye had been in the king's army for two years? Spying or actually fighting for the king?

"And what about you, Kye?" Maeve asked. "Will you go with her? _Can_ you?"

She indicated the part of his tunic covering his bandage. Maeve had a point. Kye had turned on his men to try to rescue marked children. It was traitorous, but I knew what he was going to say next. We'd planned it well.

Kye pushed away from the tree.

"The king may be willing to forgive a soldier with such a valuable prisoner."

Maeve gasped. "You! _You_ plan to be the one to take her prisoner!"

Kye avoided Maeve's gaze. "It's worth the risk. We need to know what the king has planned."

"And what if the king doesn't forgive you?" Maeve fumed. "Are you willing to risk your life on chance?"

The look Kye gave Maeve was dark. "Two years, Maeve. I've watched a lot of people die in two years." Kye glanced briefly at me. "The girl is willing to risk her life on the idea the king may need her. I'm willing to risk he has the same need for trained soldiers. Especially now in a time of war."

Maeve's gaze moved between us, her eyes full of emotion, before she turned and stomped away.

Lochlen cleared his throat. "So that's that then? You really want to go through with this?"

Neither Kye nor I answered him. Our silence was answer enough.

"So be it," Lochlen muttered.

He followed in Maeve's wake, but he didn't stomp. He moved silently, each step measured, calculated, as if he was marching in a funeral procession. Ari mumbled something about silly human emotions and temperamental dragons before she took to the air, and I nodded at Oran where he stood partly concealed in the forest. The trees whispered.

I looked to Kye. I should thank him for backing me, for risking himself by escorting me to the king, but I didn't. I didn't thank him because it felt like he was doing it for absolution. For what, I wasn't sure. Aigneis maybe? Or maybe the lives he'd said he'd seen taken.

"How long have you been with the rebels?" I asked him.

Kye ran a hand along the back of his neck. His hair had gotten longer while he'd been away. It made him look wild, unkempt, his scars more dangerous.

"A little over a year," he answered finally.

He'd been double-crossing the king for a long time. I looked over my shoulder, my eyes finding a frantic Ena being consoled by Maeve. The older woman had grown attached to the child, Nikalia. It was one of the reasons I wanted to go into Aireesi. Maybe Nikalia was still alive. Maybe she could be saved.

Maeve pointed at the cooking pots, helping Ena move toward them. I knew she was trying to find something to keep the older woman busy, distracted.

"She's in love with you, you know," I said suddenly.

I looked at Kye, but he avoided my gaze.

"I know."

It was all he said. I was more curious than I should be and I persisted.

"You don't care for her?" I asked.

Kye's eyes did meet mine then, the green irises eerily old for his age.

"Maeve is in love with a hero, an idea. She sees me leading the rebels against the king," he watched me closely, "but she hasn't seen me when I work for Raemon. She hasn't seen me turn my back on those in need because doing so gives me more time in the army, more time to spy."

I knew what he left unsaid. I'd seen that Kye. I'd seen him watch a woman burned by mage-fire. I'd felt him hold me down while I was branded like a cow. I hated him for it in many ways, and I felt sorry for him in others. But I'd also seen Kye the rebel, and I respected him for what he did for the marked cause. And yet... that night in the forest. I shook my head.

Kye stepped toward me. "Are you willing to watch people die, _innocent_ people, so you can save a country?" he asked. I knew by the way he searched my eyes he saw the turmoil there. "Because you will, Drastona. You will watch people die, and you won't be able to do anything to stop it. If you try to, you risk a whole country rather than a few people. We can't save them all."

I could see the image his words portrayed in my head.

"That's callous!" I breathed.

Kye laughed, the sound harsh. "That's truth."

He was in front of me now.

"If you think you can't do this, now is the time to step away. All you've lost is your hair. Going to Aireesi could mean losing your soul."

I stared up at him, our eyes locked. I didn't look away even when the stare became uncomfortable because I read in his eyes what his words didn't say. I was going to die, if not physically then most certainly emotionally.

"Are you prepared for that, Drastona?" Kye whispered.

I leaned up, letting the tips of my toes bear my weight. It brought me closer to Kye's face. His eyes were dead in so many ways, alive in others. Tortured.

"Stone. You can call me Stone."

Chapter 24

"Damn these trees," Kye complained as he pushed his way through a mass of brambles.

I coughed into my hand to conceal my laugh as I slung the bow and sheath of arrows I'd been carrying on my back. The trees were purposely making the way hard for him. They liked my plan about as much as Lochlen did, but instead of punishing me, they were taking it out on Kye.

I looked back at him, at his dark hair against his hastily mended uniform. He had donned the king's surcoat again before we left, his sword at his hip, a water skin and pack slung over his shoulder. There hadn't been much time to prepare after our decision to let Kye take me into Aireesi as a prisoner. Because of that, we'd left the camp at dawn the next morning, saying goodbye to no one. I'd seen Maeve standing next to a tent, her shoulders slumped, and I'd seen Lochlen slink into the forest. I kept catching glimpses of someone in the thick undergrowth with faint whispers of _dragon_ from the trees, and I knew we were being followed.

"Make way," I whispered to the trees, and Kye's path suddenly became a little easier. He looked up at the foliage and scowled. I slowed so that I walked next to him.

"I wouldn't curse them if I were you," I warned when I noticed his lips part. "They'll only make it worse on you."

Kye's gaze moved to my face. "Is it me they don't like or your idea?"

I finally gave in to the grin. "The idea, but you went along with it."

Kye mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like the curse I'd warned him not to make. I saw the twisting vine before he did, slinking along the ground and snaking its way across his foot before wrapping around his ankle. He tripped.

"Bloody hell!"

I looked down at him. "I warned you about the cursing."

Kye sighed. "Fine. I'll play nice if they will."

The vines unfurled, and Kye grabbed his foot.

"By Silveet! Those things are much stronger than they look!" he complained.

I held out my hand, and he took it. The contact made my skin tingle, and I suddenly felt self-conscious about my chapped and calloused palms. Kye didn't seem to notice, his fingers tightening around mine as he stood and scowled once more at the vegetation. His skin was warm and rough, and I had to remind myself to let go. The contact felt better than it should. I missed being close to someone.

Kye noticed my silence, and he looked down at me. "You okay?" he asked.

I didn't answer him. I turned instead and began walking again. I really didn't know where I was going, but Kye did. I knew he'd correct me if I strayed too far in the wrong direction. He'd been gently guiding me since we'd left the safety of the camp.

It was a warm morning, but not overly warm, and the forest smelled like fresh dew and flowering plants. I ran a finger over the petals of a large, pink flower I didn't know the name of as I passed it, my mind searching for distraction.

"How did you meet Feras?" I asked Kye.

He had been moving silently behind me, his swearing only mumbles now. Either the trees were being more forgiving or Kye was dealing with it. I didn't look back to see.

"It's a long story," Kye said.

I stared up into the canopy, at the gentle golden rays falling through the trees. It made the dew on the plants sparkle.

"We have a long walk," I answered.

Kye laughed. "Maybe not so long if I could convince Feras to take us both to the edge of Aireesi. I met with him last night in the cave tree."

I almost paused but didn't. It shouldn't surprise me that he'd met with Feras. Feras was the king of dragons after all, and he had a large say in what we were doing.

"That still brings me back to the question of how you met him."

Kye quickened his step, gently taking me by the arms before turning me to the left. I ducked under a low tree limb and followed the new direction. I expected Kye to let go then, but he didn't. He kept his hands on my arms. I swallowed hard. I wanted him to let go, and I didn't.

"I was a young boy," Kye said. "I'd been playing in the fields beyond my home when a farmer's bull broke loose from his pasture. I saw him coming, his head down, his horns sharp."

Kye paused, his hands tightening. My tunic kept his skin from touching mine, but it didn't make the touch any less effective.

"I was only ten turns, but I knew I was going to die, and then there he was... a massive, beautiful blue dragon. He lifted me in his claws, and I wrapped my arms around what I could of his leg, my eyes closed. When we landed, he spoke to me, calmed me. I wasn't afraid of him. I'm not sure why, but I wasn't afraid. Something about him called to me..."

Kye's words trailed off, and we walked awhile. One of his hands finally fell away, but the other remained on my arm, lowering some as if he wanted to take my hand but didn't think I'd welcome it.

"And yet you became a king's man?" I asked. "How could you be a king's man and have a relationship with a dragon?"

Kye's steps faltered. "I knew no other life except court. I met with the dragon, flew on him, trusted him, but I didn't understand all of the problems the Medeisians were facing until I'd joined the army. And then came my first mage-fire..."

Mage-fires were a reminder neither of us needed at the moment. It had been a little over a month since I'd lost Aigneis. The pain and the grief hadn't gotten much better, just easier to handle. There was still that empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, the tears in the middle of the night, the kind of tears that made no sound but soaked my pillow. How arbitrary my grief seemed compared to others, to the rebels who had lost entire families, but Aigneis _had_ been my entire family in many ways.

Kye's hand fell even more, skimming my wrist now as we walked.

"It was Feras who eventually introduced me to the rebels inside the forest, Feras who enlightened me to the true depth of horror in Medeisia. My position in the army worked in my favor then. For spying. There are others, too; men and women who do not bear the mark, but abhor the laws, and help the rebels in any way they can."

I absorbed this.

"Were you born near the forests?" I asked.

Kye finally dropped his remaining hand, and I missed it immediately. It seemed crazy that I should. I didn't know Kye well at all, and yet I knew him better than most in my life.

"Within view," Kye answered. "But I didn't grow up part of these forests as most villagers have."

He didn't elaborate.

"I grew up in view of the forests, too," I said when it was obvious he was going to say no more. "But I never entered it. There was never any reason for me to leave my father's manor."

Kye slowed.

"You'd never know you had no connection with the forest before."

I looked up at him. "Oh, I think I had a connection even inside Forticry. I just never had a chance to explore it."

Kye's brow was furrowed, his green eyes worried, and I felt my heart sink.

"Stone, I think there is something I should tell you," he began.

A large limb suddenly came down in front of us, barring our path.

"King's men less than a day ahead. They have the child with them."

My hand went to Kye's arm. "Nikalia. The trees see Nikalia."

Kye looked up. "Where?" he asked.

"The same direction you go now, headed for Aireesi. They have three marked folk with them. They are discussing a mage-fire."

I repeated the trees' words to Kye, and he took a deep breath before releasing it, his eyes hard and sad.

"They won't wait to reach Aireesi then. They must have a sorcerer with them."

My hand gripped his arm.

"So they'll do what they did to Aigneis?" I asked. "Kill them at nightfall?"

Kye nodded, and I turned away, my hand going over my mouth. I hadn't developed the same type of connection to Nikalia as Ena. I hadn't allowed myself to develop much of a connection to anyone since that night in the forest when Aigneis was killed, but I could see Nikalia's face in my head, could see the dirt-streaked little imp begging extra food from Ena and irritating Maeve.

"We can't let them do it," I said.

Kye didn't argue. "We must hurry. They've got a lead on us, but they'll be slowed down by wagons and by the people they escort."

I let him push me forward. The trees and plants made it easier on us, their unease for my plan forgotten in our haste. No words were said between Kye and I. Speed was important.

I was panting after we'd traveled only an hour or two. I had been training hard in the rebel camp, running like the rest of the men and women with a pack or my bow slung across my back, but a month suddenly didn't seem enough.

"Stop," Kye ordered.

I paused, resting a hand against a tree as I leaned over, gasping. A water skin was placed in my palm.

"Here. Drink," Kye said.

I nodded and turned the skin up to drink deeply before handing it back to him. He did the same, his adam's apple moving as he took his fill.

"We'll eat while we walk. The soldiers will break for the noon meal. We won't. It should give us just enough time to catch up with them."

Kye took the lead, and I struggled to keep up. I knew I could have asked for help, and Kye would have accommodated, but I needed to prove I was capable of keeping up with him, of fighting for a cause the rebels had been fighting for years. I needed to prove it to myself, and strangely enough, I needed to prove it to him.

Occasionally, Kye glanced back at me, his eyes searching my face for strain. I scowled at him, and he turned away, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Whoa," Kye said a while later. I almost moved past him, but he placed a hand against my arm and pulled his pack over his head. "We can slow down some now, but we'll still walk while we eat."

He pulled out a piece of the hard bread I'd grown used to eating in the rebel camp and broke it in half. I took my share, along with some fruit Ena had allowed to dry in the sun. We walked again, the pace easier; quick, but no longer on the verge of a run.

"Ask the trees how far," Kye requested, as he peered up through the foliage. Kye had shadows under his eyes. It reminded me of his near fatal wound the day before. He may be healed, but I knew he was tired.

I looked up, but the trees didn't wait for my question. They gave me a description of the soldiers' location. The forest didn't understand human distance. Description was the best they could give me. I relayed it to Kye.

He nodded. "That isn't far from here. A few miles maybe. We should catch up with them soon. And then we'll need to bide our time until nightfall."

I sidled up next to him. Sweat glistened at my temples, and I was still breathing harder than I would have liked. The cloth around my breasts itched like crazy.

"What will we do when we get there?" I asked him. "Should you turn me into the king's men and then release the prisoners as you did me?"

Kye shook his head. "No. If I turn you over to the king's men, the captain will only claim credit for capturing you in Aireesi. _If_ he took you in at all. I couldn't guarantee the captain wouldn't kill you. Especially if he is a sorcerer. Sorcerers do not like to share their power."

"Then what do we do?"

Kye sighed. "We find a way to release the prisoners, and then we run. We'll take an alternative route into Aireesi."

If Kye had a more developed plan, he didn't share it with me. We ate our food, and we walked until the sun was high in the sky above the trees' canopy. It was warm, but not hot. Fall was beginning to descend on the forest. In a month or so, the leaves would begin to drop, leaving the pines the green sentinels of the woodland.

Voices were suddenly audible in the distance, and Kye pulled me deeper into the trees. We knelt to the ground. Beyond the undergrowth, the king's soldiers had made camp. It wasn't dark yet. We had hours until then, but the soldiers didn't appear urgent to move on.

"They are no longer in the part of the forest most plagued by rebels," Kye whispered into my ear. "And, most likely, they are ahead of schedule. If so, they may camp here the rest of the day. They are forced to speed through the dangerous parts of the forest with little rest. If schedule permits, and they are escorting people of import, many soldiers will choose a respite before entering Aireesi."

I looked over at Kye. Our faces were incredibly close.

"Do we attempt to rescue them now, then?" I asked.

Kye's hand rested unexpectedly against my hip.

"Not yet, Stone. Sleep or rest. When the time comes, we'll need to find a way to distract the soldiers quickly and then run."

I turned back to the camp. People moved lazily within it. A group of red-coated soldiers were playing cards, their laughter loud. Some of the soldiers napped, leaning against trees with their mouths hanging open. On the edge of the camp, a young lady lounged with her maids on feather stuffed pillows while eating rich, dainty foods with her fingers. I could see the prison wagon beyond that. One face caught my attention. Nikalia, her dirty cheeks flat against the bars, her hungry eyes watching the rich women.

"Relax," Kye breathed into my ear. "We'll find a way to get them out."

I had to trust him. Even the part of my heart that still found it hard to accept Kye as a rebel had to trust him.

I leaned away, my back going to the tree as Kye pulled a hooded green cloak from the same pack holding our food. He wrapped it around his shoulders, and I realized he was worried the red surcoat he wore would be too visible to the camp's occupants, even as hidden as we were among the brush. He leaned next to me, his breathing easier than mine.

"Rest," he prompted again.

I relaxed.

I had no intention of falling asleep, but the longer we sat there, the more my eyes drooped. One moment, the world was green and golden, the next it was black and filled with the distinct scent of pine.

Chapter 25

"Stone," someone whispered.

A hand moved me, and my eyes sprang open. My head was against Kye's shoulder, and he was shaking me gently.

"It's time," he breathed into my ear.

I sat up, my eyes going to the camp. It was almost dark, fog weaving in through the trees where the cooler air was meeting the warm. Fires were being lit in the camp beyond, a larger pyre in one corner quickly catching my eye.

I shifted. My legs felt damp where they'd rested on the ground, and I knew it wouldn't be too long before I'd need to relieve myself. We'd stopped often on our run through the forest to meet our basic needs, but there was no time now. I wondered if my current urge to pee was more out of fear or an actual need. I held it.

"What now?" I whispered.

Kye fastened the green cloak he'd pulled on earlier and pulled the hood up over his head. It looked almost black in the darkening forest, and his figure mysteriously disappeared among it.

"We'll be ghosts," he whispered back. "I need a distraction. Can you climb into the trees?"

I nodded. The month he'd been gone, I'd gone up into the trees often with my bow, but even if I hadn't, I knew the trees would help me.

"Good," Kye said. "Climb high. I'll signal the trees when I'm ready, and once they alert you, I want you to shoot an arrow into the camp. Create a distraction, and then move to another tree. Don't stop, keep moving. Shoot another arrow if you can, but if the soldiers get too close, just keep moving. I'll use the distraction to release the prisoners, and then I'll find you. Understand?"

I nodded, my heart beating rapidly.

Kye found my hand in the dark and grasped it.

"We'll get them out," he promised.

I believed him.

"Go," Kye ordered. "There will be no time once the pyres are built."

He released my hand, and I moved away, scrambling up a tree a few feet away from him. I was still groggy, and I slipped once in the darkness. A limb came up behind me, urging me farther upward. I cursed Kye in my head for waking me so late, but I understood why he did it. This way I had no time to be afraid, no time to second guess myself. I was running now on adrenaline.

_"Stay focused,"_ the trees advised.

Their words were easier said than done. Anxiety ate away at my gut. Sweat beaded up along my brow and upper lip.

"This is good," I told myself once I had a decent view of the camp.

Soldiers were gathered around the pyres and wagons. I waited, my eyes searching. I needed to shoot when no one was looking and low enough into the group below, no one would immediately suspect the trees.

"Kye is ready."

I crouched low on the thick limb that held me, removing my bow before reaching for an arrow. I strung it, my focus on the camp. I couldn't make a mistake now.

It was only my breath, the soldiers, and me. All of them were distracted, a few laughing with the ladies who were gathered to watch the night's entertainment. The rest were building the second of three pyres meant to burn the mages or scribes within the prison wagon. I clenched my jaw and pulled the arrow back, my eyes narrowed. The only light came from swinging lanterns and small cook fires.

I found my target. My arrow flew. Chaos ensued. Women screamed and soldiers shouted.

"It came from there, it did!" a man yelled. I didn't look to see where he pointed.

I looked up into the trees.

"Help me," I breathed.

Immediately, I was lifted, branches and limbs moving me quickly three trees away. I held tight to my bow as soldiers ran through the brushwood below.

"I swear it came from here!" the voice from before yelled.

I sat still, holding my breath as I prayed to Silveet for Kye and the prisoners. _Please let them get away!"_

"Run!" someone called out.

The screams from the camp grew louder.

"What is it?" one of the soldiers cried.

"A pack of wolves! By the gods, it's a bloody pack of wolves."

Oran. I gripped the tree where I hid. It was growing quieter below me, and I was lifted into the air again.

_"We must hurry,"_ the trees said.

I struggled. "Kye . . . Nikalia . . ."

"They are free."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"It came from the trees, it did. I know it did!" The soldier below, but slightly behind us, was insistent.

And then I heard it, the low, menacing voice of the sorcerer captain who'd ordered Aigneis burned. I'd know his voice anywhere.

"Then burn the trees!" the captain ordered.

A cold sweat broke out across my forehead as my body went numb. The trees! No!

I was lowered to the ground some distance away. A leaf covered branch swept the top of my head.

"We'll be fine, child. Go."

I stumbled backward, my eyes wide in the darkness. Hands fell to my shoulders.

"Stone," Kye said in my ear.

A pent up sob escaped me.

"The prisoners?" I asked.

His hands tightened. "They are safe. The wolves have them. They are leading them to the rebel camp. You did well. We must go."

I turned on him. "They are going to burn the trees. They are going to burn them to find me!"

I whisper-yelled the words, and one of Kye's hands came up to take my chin in his palm.

"Remember what I told you before in the rebel camp? The innocent will die for the innocent, Stone. There is nothing we can do to stop it."

There were tears on my cheeks now. I could feel them, and I didn't answer him. I couldn't. My heart broke as he released my chin and took my hand, pulling me into the forest away from the soldiers. Nikalia was safe. I was grateful for that.

We began to run, the forest helping us when it could.

And then the first tree's screams tore through my head, and I stumbled, my hands going to my temple.

"No!"

I dropped my bow. Kye picked it up and threw it onto his back before placing an arm around my waist.

"We have to go, Stone."

The trees were screaming. They were screaming! They were in pain all because they'd hid me, sheltered me.

"Stone!" Kye insisted.

I let him guide me away, the screams causing my head to throb. It was agony. Pure agony. It brought back other memories. Aigneis. Screams. _So_ many screams!

"Stone," Kye said again, but this time I didn't move.

I stood planted to the ground, my anger palpable.

"How many will the captain burn before he is satisfied?"

My voice was cold. The night lit up. Lightning tore across the sky.

Kye watched it. "There's a storm coming, Stone. We need to go."

The trees' screams continued. I still didn't move, my eyes following Kye's to the sky. Anger coursed through my veins, and I thought, _"No, I won't let them do this!"_ More lightning lit the night. My anger. Lightning. My eyes widened. Could it be?

"Rain," I whispered. "Make it rain."

A drop of water hit my nose. Kye moved closer.

"Stone?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

"Harder!" I cried. "Rain _harder_!" Sorcerer or no sorcerer, fire could not be maintained in a downpour.

Rain pelted down, soaking us to the skin in seconds. Relief flooded me. I'd made it rain. The trees' screams were quieting, the water extinguishing the fire. _I'd_ made it rain!

"By the gods," Kye whispered. "You _are_ the One."

Chapter 26

"Stone, we've got to go!"

Kye pulled on my hand, and I ran with him, the rain soothing but cold. It was slowing, and I knew if we didn't go now, the king's soldiers would find us.

"There's a village not far from here. A baker there safeguards rebels," Kye revealed.

I gripped his hand as we ran.

"Wouldn't it be safer to stay in the forest?" I asked.

Kye looked back at me. It was too dark to see much of anything, and there was little moon. Lightning afforded us the occasional glimpse of our surroundings, but it was the trees that ultimately helped us.

"Not for you," Kye said. "There's no doubt in my mind Captain Neill felt your power tonight."

Captain Neill? So that was the name of the captain who'd ordered Aigneis burned, who'd used his powers to help control the fire that killed her.

And so we ran. We ran until I thought I could run no more. Several times I stumbled, the rain and dark too much. If anyone followed, I never heard them, and the trees didn't speak. They were eerily silent, helping us, but not murmuring as they usually did. My heart felt funny, heavy, the same way it did the first few days after losing Aigneis.

"I am sorry," I whispered.

Kye didn't look back at me. I think he was giving me my moment with the trees.

_"We will endure,"_ the trees assured.

Their words reminded me of the first few conversations I'd had with them following Aigneis' death and my escape. _"Such a funny thing death is for mortals,"_ they'd said. _"You cry. You mourn. You grieve. You get angry. But death is not always tragic, dear one. Sometimes death is the ultimate expression of love._

Death is not always tragic. No. No, it _was_ tragic. And yet, in some instances, it did say something about love, about sacrifice. A leaf touched my cheek, and I leaned into it in the dark. I wasn't quite sure which one of us was seeking comfort from whom.

"We're almost there," Kye said.

I looked up, my eyes big, as if widening them would help me see in the dark. It did nothing.

"How do you know?" I asked Kye.

My hand was still in his, the grip awkward since he walked in front.

"I would know these forests blindfolded," Kye answered.

And then I saw it. Lights. The closer we moved toward them, the more visible they became. Houses, huts really, with lights visible through the windows. Most of them were from small fires lit for warmth. It made me realize how cold I was. The adrenaline was wearing off. With fall approaching, it was cool enough without being wet. I shivered.

Kye stopped at the edge of the forest, his eyes searching. The town we found ourselves in was small. I could just make out a blacksmith's shop, the hunched figure of a man inside working late at his forge. It was too dark to tell if the rest of the buildings were shops or houses. I didn't have much experience with towns. My father hadn't allowed me to travel.

"Where are we?" I asked Kye.

He looked down at me. "Rendoh."

I knew the name. Rendoh was one of four villages bordering the forest. There was another village separating Rendoh from Aireesi. Drannon.

"Come," Kye said as he slunk into the shadows behind a nearby home. A dog barked, but it quieted when it saw me. We stayed low.

I was covered in mud by the time Kye stopped for good, lifting something that looked suspiciously like a storm cellar hatch behind a modest two-level dwelling. He lowered himself into the dark pit and held up his hand. I took it, following him into the pitch black hole. I pulled the door closed behind us.

As soon as the latch on the door _clicked_ , I was suddenly blinded by light.

"Who enters my home?" a woman demanded.

I blinked, my eyes focusing on a grey-haired portly woman holding a lantern below us. Kye and I were on steep, slick stone stairs. My soaked clothes dripped onto Kye below, and a trail of water rolled down the steps.

The woman raised the lantern, her eyes narrowed.

"Kye?"

Kye stepped down, his arms lifting so that he could grasp me by the waist. I didn't fight him as he helped lower me.

"Jule," Kye answered. "I need help."

"By Cameet, boy! You startled me," Jule exclaimed, her free hand resting against her chest, her cry amusing me. The Goddess of the Hearth was not known for her fierceness or protection.

Kye had the grace to look sheepish. "I'm sorry, Jule. I was in a bind. There was no time to contact you by the usual channels."

The woman motioned us farther into the cellar. I looked around me. The underground room was cool and full of sacks of flour. There were jars of all shapes and sizes and thick bags full of stuff I couldn't identify. I could smell bread and something sweet. It made my mouth water.

Jule's eyes skirted me as we approached her, her gaze quickly scanning the mark on my wrist.

"Who is the boy?"

I just barely remembered not to finger the short curls lying wet and flat against my ears. Kye looked back at me. After all of our careful planning, we hadn't thought to come up with a name.

"Sax," Kye said quickly. "The scribe is called Sax."

Jule's eyes narrowed further, but she didn't question us.

"It's a bad night to be on the run," she said instead. "Come, I'll get ye a hot meal and dry clothes."

Kye grinned. "Thank you, Jule. I will find a way to repay you."

The woman harrumphed.

"It's the same as always, boy. Ye can thank me by taking down the king."

She led us up a set of wooden stairs into a small shop full of cloth covered baked goods. A coarse wooden counter separated the kitchen from a small, mostly barren area reserved for customers. Kye had said the person who would be sheltering us was a baker. My stomach growled.

Jule glanced back at me, and I blushed.

"It's been a while since you've eaten then?" she asked us.

"Aye," Kye answered.

I didn't speak. I wasn't ready to say anything yet, my fear of discovery strong. I focused on the shop instead. Jules seemed a tidy woman. Cookware hung above a stone hearth with a small fire still burning low within. A few wooden tables and chairs sat beyond the scarred counter, and a flour-riddled apron hung by the door. There was a large window to the side of the room, but we avoided that lest we be seen, climbing up a simple staircase to a room above.

Jule set her lantern on a table before hastily covering the only two small windows in the room with dark cloth. It was obvious she had done this often.

Kye lowered his pack, my bow and sheath of arrows, and undid the cloak's clasp at his neck as I surveyed Jule's living quarters. It was more furnished than the shop room below. There was another hearth, smaller, the wood inside glowing orange and two rocking chairs, both with padded seats of homespun cloth and beautiful embroidery. A simple bed, no more than a cot really, sat along the back of the room. A curtain separated the bed from the main living space, but it stood open as if Jule rarely used it. A small table with a wash basin sat next to the bed with a chamber pot pushed up against the wall beneath it.

"Quite the bind ye must be in if ye came here in your reds," Jule noted, her piercing gaze running over Kye's damp uniform. Kye unfastened the surcoat and pulled it off so that only the mail shirt beneath was visible.

"I released some prisoners tonight. With the chaos, I'm thinking I won't be overly missed until the morrow."

The lie he told was smooth. I wondered at it. Since the woman before us worked with the rebels, it didn't seem likely she'd care that Kye had turned traitor to his men when he refused to murder children. But I was going to follow his lead. Kye knew these people better than I, knew which truths to tell, which secrets to keep.

Jule gestured at a decent sized armoire. It was locally made, noticeable by the arched markings on the front, the Medesian emblem along the bottom, a wolf resting in front of two crossed swords. It reminded me of Oran.

"There are dry things within, some of my husband's old things. They'll be too short on ye, Kye, and too big on the boy but they are dry. Ye can hang your things by the fire for the night. I've tea in the kitchen and some meat pies and honey cakes. Reckon it won't hurt to eat 'em now." Jule nodded at us. "Now get changed and rest. If the king's men come looking, ye may be spending the night in the cellar."

Jule moved past us then and was just stepping onto the staircase when Kye stopped her.

"Thank you, Jule."

The woman snorted, waving a dismissive hand before disappearing into the room below. Kye rifled through the armoire, holding out a pair of trousers and a loose white tunic.

"You can change behind the curtain," he said.

I took the clothes, my cheeks flaming.

"What about . . ." I pointed at my chest. The cloth tying down my breasts was as wet as the rest of my clothes.

Kye's brows raised, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"What?" he asked.

I indicated my chest again. "The cloth. It's wet."

I was mortified, and when Kye didn't say anything, I headed toward the small sleeping area.

"Never mind."

Kye laughed. "Stone, wait. I'm sorry. Here, take this."

I turned to find him holding what looked like an old turban-like headpiece.

"Women haven't worn these for years. Unwrap it. It should work."

He walked over to me.

"Won't she miss it?" I asked upon taking it.

Kye stared down at me, his gaze searching my face. I was stiff and cold, my clothes wet, but my short hair was drying quicker than it used to when it was long. I could feel it curling madly around my ears.

"She won't miss it," Kye murmured. "I'll replace it if she does."

Kye was close, the stubble on his face obvious. I'd never seen Kye shave, but I knew he did because he always had a shadow by late afternoon, and he was clean shaven by morning. His longer, wet hair dripped onto the chain mail he wore.

"You did well in the forest, Stone. More than well," Kye said.

I reveled in the praise, even as I withered at the thought of the trees and their loss.

"Sax," I corrected. "You'll have to start calling me Sax."

Kye grinned. "I have a hard time thinking of you as a boy."

I squirmed under his gaze. It had grown intense, intimate. He leaned closer, but the sound of feet on the stairs made him pull away.

"Go and change," he said brusquely. "Your lips are turning blue."

I gazed at him a brief moment longer before ducking behind the curtain, pulling it closed just as Jule reappeared, her voice mingling with Kye's. She disappeared again, and I heard Kye pulling off his clothes. It was disconcerting thinking of him stripped down in the same room as me, and I waited.

It was the smell of food that finally made my fingers move as Jules returned. I shucked the wet clothes and made more noise than usual to mask my quick use of the chamber pot and wash basin before donning the turban cloth and clothes Kye had handed me. They were incredibly loose, and I had to hold the pants up as I pushed past the curtain into the room beyond.

Jule looked up, giving me a cursory glance before retrieving a belt.

"You're a skinny boy, ye are," she teased.

I did what I expected any boy to do if he was told he was scrawny. I scowled.

Jule laughed. "Ah, how I miss having boys under foot."

She pointed at a plate holding a steaming meat pie and several honey cakes. My mouth watered as I sat down, eating daintily at first until I saw Kye from the corner of my eye, his brows lifted. It was then I realized Jule was staring.

"You've got manners for a boy, ye do. Where ye come from?" she asked.

Her dialect was a little different than what I was used to while living at Forticry, but I'd noticed this at the rebel camp too. Dialects tended to reflect the town people came from. Kye's voice was formal. Sometimes, it even made mine seem inadequate.

"From Treeton," I said, lowering my voice. It wasn't a lie. Treeton was a village within walking distance of Forticry. "Just outside the Ardus."

I was unused to speaking so low, and my voice cracked. Kye winced.

Jule seemed amused. "You're still going through the voice change, then? Young to be on the run from the law, but it is the way of things now. 'Tis a shame what we must be afraid of."

I looked away, finishing my food more greedily now before laying the plate aside. It felt good to have warm, fresh food.

Kye stood, grabbing our clothes to lay them by the fire while Jule handed me a mug of warm tea. I sipped it, my eyes growing heavy. The nightmares were there, just beyond in the realm of dreams. I wanted to fight them but didn't.

There was a creaking noise as Jule reached into a drawer on the armoire to grab an old, folded comforter.

"It'll have to do for tonight, I'm afraid," she said. "You two can sleep near the fire."

It was the last thing I remembered.

Chapter 27

There was vague conversation. I was under a blanket on the floor, a pillow under my head, and I was warm and drowsy.

My eyes drifted shut and then, "What will ye do with her, boy?" Jule asked.

Kye sputtered. "Her?"

The old woman laughed. "Ye think me a fool, Kye? I've raised three boys, I have. I can tell the difference between a he and a she."

Kye grew quiet. "Do you think the king would be able to tell?"

Jule gasped. "Ye can't be serious!"

I struggled to hear what they said, but my eyes were too heavy, the darkness beyond my lids too comfortable. I slept.

And then, "She's a strong girl. She fights more than well for a beginner, especially with the bow," Kye said.

"And ye think that will be enough?" Jule asked.

"Yes," Kye said after a moment. "I think it will. She is smart, decisive, even if she is a little timid at times. She observes everything and absorbs it. And she rarely complains."

Jule laughed. "I find that hard to believe considering her rank."

"She is an illegitimate child," Kye argued. "Children like her are treated differently than high bred ladies, even if they share the same rank. It bears no difference. I was part of Captain Neill's group when the Lady Consta-Mayria accused the girl's companion of abusing magery."

I was awake now, still drowsy, but awake. I kept my eyes closed, my breathing even.

"And her companion?" Jules asked.

I tensed.

"Dead," Kye murmured. "She was burned by mage-fire that night. Neill's doing. The king has created a monster in Neill."

"The king _is_ a monster," Jule said, her voice full of pain.

Kye shifted. I opened my eyes just enough to see through my lashes. Kye sat across from Jule in a rocking chair, the dry clothes he'd borrowed too short in places and tight against his back.

Kye took the old woman's hand.

"Your son is fine. Brennus is a hard worker and contributes to the rebel camp."

Brennus? The same man who'd told us Nikalia had disappeared in the woods? Brennus the rebel?

Jule patted the top of Kye's clasped hand where it rested on hers.

"Good to hear, it is."

She paused, and I shut my eyes again before her gaze could find my face. "The girl is important then?" she asked.

Kye was quiet. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me now.

"She could mean a lot to Medeisia," he answered.

The old woman snorted. "Only to Medeisia?"

Kye stood then, and I could hear his booted feet as he paced across the floor.

"You overstep your bounds, Jule."

"Do I?" Jule asked. "Ye respect her, do ye not?"

I glanced through my lashes again. Kye had one hand braced against the hearth, one boot lifted on the stone base, and he was staring into the glowing embers.

"I barely know her, Jule. She's intelligent, but she's young and innocent in many ways."

Jule harrumphed. "I didn't ask if ye loved her, boy."

Kye smirked at the fire. "True, old woman. You didn't. I do like her."

Jule started rocking, her chair creaking as I stared at Kye, his admission ringing through my ears. Did _I_ like him? We'd spent little time together, and what time we had spent had been intense moments colored by emotion, hatred even. At least on my part. But did I truly hate him? Or did I hate what he represented in my dreams? Aigneis. Ash. Death.

Kye stared at the flames for a long time, and I stared at his profile, at the way his lips tightened, his eyes narrowed. There was conflict in his gaze. Was it the war that bothered him or me?

Kye suddenly shifted, his gaze swinging my way, but I didn't move. I kept my eyes open, watching. When his gaze met mine, he paused, but he didn't say anything. A lot could be said with a stare.

I saw things in that look. I saw the forest, I saw Aigneis, and I saw a soldier with an overwhelming decision to make. It was the same decision I'd had to make in the forest with the trees to save Nikalia and two people I'd never met. Maybe a month ago, I could not have forgiven him, maybe there was a part of me that would always see devastation when I saw Kye, but there was a larger part of me that saw liberation.

"I need to go out," Kye said abruptly, his gaze moving from mine. "I'll be back shortly."

Jule kept rocking, and I closed my eyes again.

"Be safe and quick, boy," Jule murmured as Kye's booted feet moved to the stairs. "If her power is as strong as ye say, there will be sorcerers about."

I wanted to get up, to follow Kye down the stairs and out into the night, but I'd seen where he wanted to go in his eyes. I'd seen that look before when he'd watched Feras fly across the moon.

I rolled over, my back to the fire, and let sleep take me away again. Sometime in the night, I felt warmth against my back and an arm across my waist. But when I woke, I was alone, left with only the lingering scent of pine.

Chapter 28

I sat up, my body sore, my head pounding. The run through the forest, the rescue, and our own escape from soldiers the night before had taken its toll.

"Dress quickly," I heard Kye say, and I turned to find him once again in his red surcoat, the green cloak fastened securely at his neck.

He gestured at my dry but wrinkled clothes from the night before.

"We'll be riding Feras to Aireesi," he said.

That woke me up. I stood, my eyes wide.

"We'll be riding the dragon?" I breathed. Excitement coursed through my veins even as fear made me shiver.

Kye grinned. "It's not as exciting as it sounds. It's actually fairly uncomfortable. Go. Dress."

He disappeared down the stairs. I didn't see Jule, but I could hear her moving around below. Wonderful scents wafted upward through the slotted, wooden floor. I changed quickly, running my fingers through my short curls and splashing water onto my face before finally rushing downstairs. It was still dark outside.

Kye stood at the entrance to the cellar, Jule next to him. She was placing a wrapped parcel in Kye's pack, and I knew by the smell it was food. He smiled when he saw me, holding out my bow and sheath as I approached. I took them and slung them both onto my back.

"We'll need to hurry. Dawn is only a couple of hours away," Kye said.

I nodded, blinking the morning grit from my eyes as Jule leaned in close to Kye, one hand patting him affectionately on the face.

"Stay safe, boy. Both of ye, ye hear?"

Watching her made my stomach turn, memories of Aigneis' hand against my hair assaulting me. I looked away.

"Thank you, Jule," Kye murmured, and I saw him pat her hand where it rested against his face before he stepped away. His palm went to the small of my back.

It was chilly, the air damp when we climbed out of the cellar into the street above. No sound came from the houses and shops surrounding us. Even the barking dog from the night before was silent. The ground was soggy and muddy, grass almost nonexistent where people trod day in and day out through the village. I could see a fire from the forge in the blacksmith's shop, but no man worked diligently. By the smoke lifting from a nearby chimney, however, it was safe to say the blacksmith wasn't far.

"This way," Kye whispered, his hand slipping down to take mine in the dark.

I let him pull me forward through the maze of dark empty roads to the edge of the forest. There among the trees, his red eyes glowing, was Feras. The dragon rex had looked large inside his cave, but in the forest, he appeared massive, his head reaching as high as the tree top he stood next to now.

"Ready, child?" Feras asked, his rumbling voice low and full of amusement.

I couldn't see much of him in the dark, but by the tone of his voice, it wasn't hard to deduce he had _no_ trouble seeing my wide, nervous eyes.

Kye guided me forward. "I'm going to help you up, and then climb up behind you."

His hands were suddenly on my waist, lifting me, and I grabbed for Feras' scales, my fingers looking for any hold as my legs went over the dragon's back.

A rumble went through Feras' chest, and I could feel it vibrating up through my legs. Kye swung up behind me, his arm going around my waist as his other hand felt for mine in the dark, guiding my palm to a ridge on Feras' back.

"He's never taken any rider aside from me," Kye said against my ear. "If he seems grumpy, ignore it."

The feel of Kye's hand against mine was different today, terrifying and real.

"This is going to be fast, isn't it?" I asked him.

I didn't mean the ride on Feras, and I think Kye knew that.

"It's not too late to turn back," he answered.

I thought of the rebels at the camp. Most of them I didn't know but understood in many ways. I thought of Aigneis tied to the pyre, and I thought of the screaming trees.

"Yes, it is," I said.

Kye's arm tightened around my waist.

"Ga'tho," he said.

Feras moved out of the tree cover before unfurling his wings. Even in the dark, I knew they were impressive.

"Ga'tho," I repeated, testing the word on my tongue.

"It means 'go forth.' It's the only dragon word I can speak," Kye murmured, his breath fanning my neck as Feras suddenly lifted.

I gripped the ridge on Feras' back, my stomach plummeting as the world fell away beneath us. Kye leaned forward against me, and his hand flattened against mine.

"Relax, you will not fall."

I glanced down, my eyes on the village as it grew smaller. The only light was the blacksmith's forge. I blinked. Just inside the shop's doorway, there stood a shadow, a face looking upward. I blinked again, and it was gone.

"We'll land on the far side of the palace at the edge of the forest, out of view of the guards," Kye revealed. "It is one of the few weak spots in Raemon's fortress, but it won't be long before he'll realize we're there."

The wind buffeted my face as Feras flew, the cold icy fingers playing along my cheeks before reaching down into my clothes. Below, the temperature had been warmer, but here among the clouds, it was cold enough I could see my breath on the wind. Winter would come soon. Two, maybe three, moon phases from now, we'd get our first snows.

"You'll turn me in, then?" I asked.

In the dark, as far up as we were in the sky, I felt alone, cloaked in a blackness broken up only by the stars and a moon covered mostly in clouds.

"Yes. You'll be on your own then. I'll do what I can if the king allows me to live, but what he does to you will depend on you."

His words made us both silent. _If he lets me live . . . what he does to you will depend on you._

"For Aigneis," I whispered. "And for the trees."

Kye's arm was a vice-like grip around my waist, and I thought I heard him say, "Nothing can make up for what I've had to do."

I turned back to the sky, closing my eyes against the cold, the massive void feeling that made my stomach roll.

"And my mother used to do this? Ride dragons?" I asked.

Kye laughed. "From what I hear, Feras' mate was a much smoother flyer."

A rumble went through my legs again, and I knew Feras was feigning displeasure. Kye released my hand long enough to pat Feras.

"Humans should always feel honored when we allow them to fly with us," Kye recited.

I grinned. "How many times did you have to repeat that as a boy?"

This time the rumble through my legs was mightier. Kye threw back his head and laughed. It was a pleasant sound.

And then nothing. Only silence. Silence and wind. I leaned back against Kye as he leaned forward, my free hand going to his arm on my waist. And then it was silence, the wind, and this man. This man I barely knew. This man who'd stared at me through prison bars. This man who'd knelt with me in front of dragons, who'd cut my hair, and ran with me now to spy on our king. I think I liked this man, the man who offered me comfort simply with his arm, this man who at any time I may never see again, who could be killed as fast as Aigneis had.

In war, I was beginning to learn that like could happen as fast as death. Was it worth it? Was it worth it to care about people if you were going to lose them?

I tightened my grip on Kye's arm, a single tear coursing down my cheek only to be whipped away by the wind. I could feel my chest burning.

It was worth it. It had to be. Getting to know people, loving the rebels I fought with, and loving the people I lost was worth it. It simply had to be. Otherwise, what reason did I have to fight?

Chapter 29

Dawn was creeping across the land, the dull pinkish light moving slowly to cover the fields and forests below us. It stole over scattered homes and thick trees before edging on the more densely populated villages surrounding the capital. And then there were the ruins, the magnificent golden arches as they rose into the air, the rising sun glinting off of the tarnished metal. Jagged pieces reached into the sky like misshapen fingers, beckoning or warning us away, I knew not which. Feras flew beneath them, lowering until he was in the cover of the forest at the city's edge. We'd arrived in Aireesi.

Shops and small homes cluttered crude cobblestone streets just beyond the trees. There seemed no particular order in the city. Clothes lines hung out of second level windows. Packers moved quietly in the early morning, their horses loaded down with wood for forges, pottery kilns, and ovens. Small pots sat along the streets waiting for men to urinate in them, for the dyemakers to collect the waste to make their dyes. There were nice odors mingled with foul ones, and I scrunched my nose as Feras finally landed.

We slid off of the dragon just inside the treeline outside the palace, and I gawked at the fortress beyond, at the box-like stone turrets and wooden draw bridge. It was two times the size of my father's manor, but it wasn't as massive as I'd pictured it in my head. The stories about Aireesi were largely exaggerated.

"I put much faith in you, phoenix," the rex rumbled. "We will be waiting and watching."

His head lowered, allowing Kye to rub his snout before he stepped back, his reptilian frame moving into the trees. And then he was gone.

Kye unclasped his cloak, letting the green garment fall to the ground before he straightened his abused surcoat.

"It's now, Stone, or never," he said.

He took my hands in his, removing my bow and sheath of arrows before using a length of rope he pulled from his pack to tie my hands firmly behind my back. His eyes met mine as he tested the knots.

"I hope I'll have more time to get to know the girl behind the prophecy," he said.

And with that, he leaned over, his lips brushing my forehead. I closed my eyes. Things about Kye that made me wary of him also fascinated me. His scars, his career in the army, his link to Feras.

Kye hid my bow among the trees before spinning me around so that my back faced him, his hands closing over my arms. I took a deep breath, and he pushed me. I marched forward, my face even. A guard on top of the palace walls looked down, his attention caught by Kye's uniform as we neared the gates. I struggled to feign rebellion and Kye shoved me again. This time I went down on one knee in the mud.

"Forgive me," Kye breathed just as a guard from above called down, "Ho! Account!"

Kye's knee went into my back, keeping me low to the ground. "Kyenar Grenville Berhest."

I would have stood if Kye's knee hadn't secured me to the soil. Berhest? Kyenar Berhest?

"Kye?" the guard called down. "There's a price on your head, prince."

Kye unsheathed his sword, plunging it into the ground next to me. It was so close, I could see where it'd been sharpened repeatedly.

"Tell my father I bring him a gift. A prisoner he will be more than interested to meet. Then let him decide what he wants to do about the price on my head."

My heart broke, my face falling, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

No!

Kye, a prince? The son of Raemon Berhest himself? I wanted to cry, but bit my lip until I tasted blood instead, struggling on the ground where I lay beneath his knee. He exerted more pressure as the palace drawbridge began to lower.

The Prince of Medeisia? But there was no record of a son. None. Everything I'd ever read in the Archives had said Raemon was childless. He'd been married once, yes, but his wife had died mysteriously. An accident, the records said, but it had never gone into detail.

Kye, a prince . . . and yet the rebels trusted him, Feras allowed him as a rider, and his own father, the king, had placed a price on his head. A double-crossing prince.

"What is this?" a helmeted guard asked as he walked onto the bridge flanked by two other guards. All of them bore plated metal helmets with the wolf and crossed swords emblem etched in the center above a longer metal piece that sat over the guards' noses.

"Allow me passage," Kye demanded. "I _will_ see the king."

Above us in the sky, a falcon called.

"Stay strong," Ari yelled.

I struggled again, and Kye used enough force to send my elbows into the mud. I let some of it splash up onto my face.

"It's just a boy," one of the guards said, his voice incredulous. "What would the king want with a boy?"

Kye reached down, twisting my wrist so that it faced the soldiers. "He bears the mark of the scribe," Kye said. "Let me pass. Anything else worth knowing will only be revealed to my father."

Kye's insistence seemed to make the guards nervous. They finally moved aside, allowing Kye to drag me onto the wooden drawbridge.

"Walk, boy!" Kye ordered, and I stumbled forward as he shoved me yet again. I kept my balance, my head down, a few short curls brushing my forehead as I marched.

All I could see were my muddy legs. My throat burned with unshed tears, with anger, and with doubt. Kye, a prince? And yet the dragon king would not trust him if he was not on the side of the marked folk. Would he?

The wood below my feet came to an abrupt end, and I was standing once more on mud. I glanced up only once, and then stared at the ground again. I was in a court yard, a large one with horses whinnying along the palace walls. A group of soldiers stood in formation, their stares on us as we were escorted forward. A flock of geese ran wildly past, a harried, red-faced girl in pursuit.

"Be calm," I whispered as we passed.

The geese slowed. Kye's hand jabbed me in the back, the gesture a warning.

"What have we here?" a voice asked.

All I saw were shoes and stone floors, mud streaking the entrance as we moved into the palace. Sunlight was replaced by shadows. Torches hung along the hallways and the occasional ray of light slanted across the stone from thin, defensive windows. The atmosphere felt violent in the palace, dark and tense.

The shoes kept marching forward. They were big shoes with thick soles and caked in dirt. They stopped in front of a large oak door with tarnished brass hinges that creaked as it opened.

"We need to see the king."

It was Kye who spoke.

There were more shoes. All well made.

A new pair stepped in front of us. "Kye," a voice said, the sound low and menacing, and I had to bite back an exclamation.

Captain Neill! The captain had beaten us into Aireesi! How was that possible? Hatred burned through my gut. I wanted a sword, a bow, _anything_ as long as I could pierce the man through the heart.

But then there was another pair of shoes. These were boots, black, polished, and expensive.

"And so my son has returned," the voice behind the shoes said. It was a smooth voice with little inflection. No feeling.

The king.

Fear coursed through me.

"Give me one reason not to kill you now," King Raemon demanded. "You have been nothing except trouble since your bastard birth. I made sure you were well taken care of, and you repay me how? By killing four of my soldiers! Four of them!"

Kye's hand tightened painfully on the ropes that bound me.

"They were children, Raemon."

There was no respect in his tone.

"And you were part of my army. Orders are orders. Chain him!" the king yelled.

Soldiers flew into action. I went to my knees on the stone as Kye was jerked away. I could hear him struggling, and I glanced up to see them pulling Kye's head up by his hair, a knife going to his throat. He went still, allowing two guards to fasten his arms behind his back. My heart screamed. It was all falling apart.

Kye's eyes found mine.

"You would kill me now, Father, when I seek clemency," Kye called out.

The hall went silent. The king stepped forward. It was my first real look at King Raemon Berhest VII. He was taller than I'd pictured him, his large frame wrapped in a red silk tunic and black leather pants with knee high boots. His rugged face was covered in a thick, black beard. But it was his eyes that terrified me. They were cold, empty, and deadly.

"Your blood is enough clemency," the king said.

I flinched, but Kye stood tall, his dark green eyes meeting the king's evenly. If Kye was shorter than his father it wasn't noticeable from where I kneeled on the floor.

"I think I've found you something worth more than my blood," Kye said, and his eyes moved to me again. I looked down before the king could find me staring.

Raemon's heavy gaze settled on my back. "A boy?" the king snorted. "You brought me a child."

I stiffened.

"A scribe," Kye corrected. "I brought you a scribe."

A rough hand found my wrist, and I almost gagged when I realized it was Captain Neill.

"He bears the mark," the captain confirmed.

"A scribe," the king said, laughing. "I have plenty of scribes." He pointed at his son. "Take him away!"

There was scuffling and then, "A mage, too!" Kye yelled. "He is also a mage who can speak, write, and read the same language as your enemy."

The deafening silence that followed was as heavy as armor on my back.

"You lie!" Captain Neill snapped. "I know of no scribe with the powers of a mage."

I could hear something his voice, unease maybe. Kye had said sorcerers didn't like to share their power. Was Neill afraid of me, of my risk to his power at the side of the king? It brought a new awareness... hope.

The king's boots were now in front of my eyes. His hand was suddenly in my hair, jerking my head backward until I was staring up into the cold, dead eyes of my sovereign. I prayed hard to Silveet that my disguise would pass muster.

"Speak to me as if you were my enemy," Raemon ordered in Sadeemian.

For a moment, I said nothing. Raemon's use of the Sadeemian language surprised me, rendered me speechless.

The king's eyes narrowed, and he threw me down hard against the floor. Pain shot through my arm, and I rolled to my side, my knees coming up to my chest.

"Kill him!" Raemon ordered, and I knew he meant Kye.

I lifted my head.

"I would see you dead," I said suddenly in Sadeemian, being careful to keep my voice low but loud.

The king's back was to me, but he stiffened. Silence again, and confusion. It was obvious the king, and Kye by the look on his face, were the only two present who could understand the Sadeemian language. I allowed myself only brief surprise over Kye's knowledge of it. He was continually surprising me.

The king turned slowly, his fierce gaze coming down to meet mine.

"Did you threaten me, boy?" the king asked in Medeisian.

So his knowledge of the Sadeemian language was sketchy after all? I kept my expression even.

"You asked me to speak to you as if I were your enemy, Your Majesty," I pointed out. I had to tread carefully. I could feel Kye's eyes on my face, but I didn't look his way. "Your enemy would not have kind words to say."

Silence. Deafening silence. I was beginning to hate silence.

The king took a step toward me.

"Are you a mage?"

I remembered Aigneis in the woods, and I channeled her words.

"I confess nothing," I said.

The corners of the king's eyes crinkled as his eyes narrowed. Somewhere in their depths I saw a resemblance to Kye, but it was small.

"Would you rather die?" the king asked.

I wanted the king to see as much defiance in me as he did reservation. He would not want a mage who was weak willed, but he also wouldn't want a servant who would stab him in the back.

I stayed quiet just long enough to let the king think death may not terrify me as much as he hoped.

"I can heal," I confessed.

The king's silence wasn't as long as mine, the hall echoing as he unsheathed a dagger he had at his waist. As deftly as he pulled the knife, he sunk it into the skin of the nearest guard. The man went down on his knees, his hands going to the wound, his eyes wide, terrified.

I cried out.

"Prove it!" the king said, his eyes bright as he watched the blood flowing from the guard's wound onto the stones below. It was black rather than red in the shadowed hall. I crawled toward him desperately, my hands burning.

"My hands!" I called out. "I need my hands!"

The guards looked at the king, and he nodded, drawing a sword before resheathing his bloody dagger. It cut through the ropes at my wrist. As soon as they fell away, I dove for the guard.

"Please," I begged Silveet as I placed my hands against the guard's wound.

The guard was on his back now, his eyes glassy, and I closed my eyes against the nausea as my burning hands found the blood on his side. As soon as I touched him, the burning increased but not to the excruciating level they had when I'd healed Kye.

The guard below me writhed, grew still, and then suddenly took a deep breath. I opened my eyes.

"He did it," one of the guards said, awed.

It took me a moment to realize he was referring to me as the wounded soldier on the floor sat up, his wild eyes searching his side as he groped at the now phantom wound. The fright I saw in his gaze when his eyes met mine spoke for itself. The king had gained another enemy. I would remember that.

The king approached me, the point of his sword resting between my shoulder blades. I lifted my blood covered hands in submission.

"Son, you may have finally done something worth your station. Where did you find the boy?" the king asked.

I didn't look Kye's way.

"He was in the forest outside Drannon," Kye answered.

"And he can write and read Sadeemian as well as he speaks it?"

"Yes," Kye answered without hesitation.

"Stand, boy!" the king ordered, and I came shakily to my feet, my body too bruised to move quickly.

The king looked at his guards.

"Take my son to the dungeons. The boy comes with me."

My eyes widened, my gaze going to Kye. What he saw in my stare made him shake his head imperceptibly. " _Don't_ ," his eyes said. " _Keep with the plan_."

I wanted to run to Kye, to pull the guards off of him. They had killed children in the dungeon. Would they do the same to him now? My lips parted.

_"No,_ " Kye's eyes said again.

I kept my tongue. There was nothing I could do as the guards dragged Kye backward, pulling him roughly down the hallway until the darkness swallowed them alive. I wanted to sink to my knees, to cry into my hands at the injustice.

But then, "We should not keep the boy."

It was Captain Neill's voice, and it was enough to harden my resolve, the fire of vengeance igniting in my blood. I would see this man's ashes floating away in the breeze as Aigneis' had. I would see the king fail.

My eyes came up to meet Raemon's. His eyes narrowed.

"No, I see something useful in the boy. Bring him."

Hands gripped me again, shoving me forward into the same palace abyss that had taken Kye.

Chapter 30

The king took me to a richly furnished study. A sturdy, well polished desk sat in the middle of the room, a carved, high back chair with a red velvet padded seat sitting behind it. There were maps hung along the walls, and scrolls thrown onto a small table to the side of the room. Men surrounded it.

All of them stood, bowing stiffly when we entered the room, their eyes grazing my face only briefly before focusing on the king. There was no doubt Raemon ruled with fear.

"At ease," the king said, waving his hand dismissively. "I need the most recent interception brought in from Sadeemia."

One of the men at the table broke away from the group, his eyes averted, his hands gripping a piece of parchment. I stared at him. His brown hair was longer than I was used to, the front of his face thick with facial hair, but there was no doubt it was my father.

"I can only translate certain words, Your Majesty," Garod said quietly. "Without Aedan, translating anything written is impossible."

He handed the document to the king before lifting his eyes. His gaze moved over my face, and I stiffened, my heart pounding both from fear and sadness. My father looked like a broken man, his gaze distant when it met mine. I waited for him to recognize me, but he didn't.

"No matter. I have found someone who can translate it all," the king announced as he held the document out to me. I rubbed my bloody hands down the sides of my trousers before taking the document carefully.

This time when Garod looked at me, there was new interest in his eyes. Still, he didn't recognize me. I wondered if it was the mud on my face or if the clothes and hair changed my appearance that drastically.

"Let's see what you can do," the king said smoothly. There was a dangerous edge to his voice I didn't miss.

I lifted the document, my eyes skirting the scribe's mark on my wrist. My father and the men behind him noted it as well. It seemed ironic. Almost two months ago, I'd begged my father to let me be a scribe. Now, here I stood, dirty, my hands covered in smeared blood, holding a document that could mean life or death for me and for a country. And on my wrist I bore a busted inkwell, the mark of the scribe clearly embedded in my skin.

"I need more light," I said confidently.

The king stood back, his brows raised as he motioned at the table surrounded by his council. The war council maybe? It seemed possible considering what Ari had told me in the woods.

I moved next to the men, my head down, spreading the parchment out before me. There was a candle in the middle of the table, throwing a dull glow over the paper. The words jumped out at me.

I, Freemont Horan Bernhart VIII, do hereby give consent for my second son, Prince Cadeyrn Forsen Bernhart, of Sadeemia to marry Gabriella Bell-Senth Trellon of Greemallia . . .

I scanned the document quickly and looked up.

"It's a marriage contract between the second son of King Freemont of Sadeemia to the daughter of Greemallia's sovereign. It also outlines a treaty between the two nations, import opportunities, and a military alliance."

The men at the table stared at me. The king looked pleased.

"Ah, for once my son _has_ done something right." He pointed at the document. "Does it say anything about the marriage itself? When is it supposed to take place and where?"

I glanced back down at the parchment.

"In four months, Your Majesty. The Greemallians are sending the princess by ship to Sadeemia with an escort and a rich dowry."

The king smiled, the look more feral than human.

"We have our war, gentlemen," the king said evenly, his hands clapping once.

Captain Neill stepped forward. "Your highness?"

The king took the paper from me. "We cannot allow the princess of Greemallia to make landfall in Sadeemia. She must die."

No one said anything. I gaped at the king. Here it was, the proof we needed.

"What do you propose we do, Your Majesty?" Captain Neill asked.

Raemon rolled the parchment up and paced a moment, his eyes moving insanely around the room.

"We find a way to place the blame for the Greemallian princess' death on Freemont."

Again, no one said anything. No one had to. If Gabriella died and Freemont was blamed, war would be declared between the two nations. It was a disadvantage Sadeemia could not afford. Not while Medeisa watched in the wings waiting to prey on any weaknesses.

Raemon's eyes found mine, and I lowered my head.

"Boy, you say you can write in Sadeemian?"

I shook my head. "I never said, Your Majesty."

A sword was suddenly directly under my eyes, the tip piercing the sensitive skin on my chin. I froze.

"Let's try this again. Can you write in Sadeemian?"

I couldn't nod because of the blade at my neck so I lifted my eyes instead, meeting the king's glare evenly.

"I can," I answered.

"Good," the king said, satisfied. "Then I want you to outline a document written by Freemont."

"What will it say?" I asked.

The king picked up an empty sheet of parchment and handed it to me.

"It will be a direct order from Freemont to one of his men, a Captain Blayne Dragern, to assassinate Gabriella Trellon of Greemallia."

I stared.

"Now!" the king ordered.

I jumped, my hands searching quickly for a quill pen and an inkwell on the table. Someone slid them my way.

I began to write, my hands moving quickly and efficiently across the page. The pen felt good in my hands, the smell of ink a comfort I'd missed, but the words I wrote now left a bitter taste on my tongue, made my heart pound. Words were mighty, there was no doubt. They could pierce a heart and destroy a country faster than any weapon.

When I was finished, I looked up, my eyes hard.

"Read it to me!" the king demanded, and I did. Each word brought new hatred into Raemon's eyes, made his cheeks flush with excitement above his beard.

"Good, good!" the king cried when I finished. He took the document, being careful not to smudge the words. His eyes moved to Captain Neill. "Gather the sorcerers. We have a ship to destroy, a princess to capture and kill. And when we're done, we'll leave this for the King of Greemallia. And then," he paused for affect, lifting the document high, "We watch the walls of Sadeemia's cities come tumbling down."

From the inside of his shirt, Raemon grasped a chain, pulling forth a gold pendant of a dragon with ruby eyes. One half of it was missing. My eyes widened. It was the dragon pendant Lochlen had told me about, the same one Feras had gifted King Hedron many years ago.

Captain Neill took red wax from the king's desk, and accepted the parchment from Raemon. He rolled it carefully.

A candle was lifted. The wax was heated, and I stared as the red drops fell to the paper like blood. So many deaths. So much destruction.

"For Medeisia," King Raemon said as he used the pendant to seal the document for good.

Raemon's bright eyes lifted, his gaze coming to meet mine.

"The boy knows too much now. Send him to the dungeons. Hang him alongside my son."

Chapter 31

I didn't struggle when the guards were summoned to drag me to the dungeons, and I didn't struggle as they dragged me through the halls and down into the dark bowels of the palace. Struggling would only get me killed, and I couldn't afford that. Not now. Not when I knew exactly what the king planned to do to the Sadeemian monarchy. And so I let them drag me, my head lowered, my eyes watching.

There was filth in the dungeons. I could smell it before we'd even made it to the bottom of the stairs.

"Halt! Who passes?" a guard called out.

A sentry came into view, but upon seeing the guards escorting me, we were waved on with no interrogation. Another set of soldiers approached, replacing the ones at my side.

"He's to be hanged," one of my guards instructed.

There was a nod from the other watchmen, and they dragged me onward. The smell, human filth and rot, overwhelmed me, and I swallowed convulsively against the need to vomit. Moans filtered through the dark, reaching out at me from all sides. I wanted to cover my ears but couldn't.

"Here you go," the guard said.

He pulled out a ring full of jangling, heavy keys, using one to unlock a cell before kicking me into the room, his boot against my rump. I sprawled face first into the floor. My head spinning.

_Clang_!

I was alone now, and I pushed myself up, my eyes searching the darkness. The only light came from two torches burning just beyond the cell. The stone room I was in was bare with the exception of a nasty looking pot for defecation and two mice running into a small crack in the stone. I didn't even attempt to communicate with them.

"Sax?" a male voice asked.

Only one person would know that name. I crawled to the bars.

"Kye?"

"In the cell next to you," he answered.

I almost cried with relief.

"They're going to hang us," I told him.

"I know."

"Do you know when?"

"At dawn," he answered

We were both silent.

"I'm not sure I should trust you," I said finally.

More silence.

Finally he spoke. "What would you have done if I had told you who I was?" he asked.

I didn't hesitate. "I would have run. I suppose in that regard you were right not to tell me. Do the rebels know?"

"No," Kye answered. "They wouldn't have trusted me if they did. Only Feras and Lochlen know."

I leaned against the bars. "Why is there nothing about you in the record books? There's no mention of an heir. Nothing."

"Because I'm not legitimate," Kye answered.

So the woman the archives listed as Raemon's deceased wife was not Kye's mother. It didn't surprise me. I pressed my face against the iron. It felt good against my skin. I stared out into the darkness. I knew what being an illegitimate child was like, but it was different for royals.

"You still have claim to the throne," I whispered.

Kye laughed. "Not here. Not in this country. All I have hope of is stopping my father from destroying our people."

His vehemence touched me. Bastard son of a king he may be, but he'd taken up his people's cause, watched innocent people die, and bore the scars of the trauma he'd faced on his skin. At twenty-one turns, he'd been carrying a dying nation on his shoulders.

I thought of him at the rebel camp, his shirtless torso, and the scars that shone silver in the moonlight. Lies. He lived on lies. I'd lost Aigneis, my home, and the Archives. But I knew who I was. Even the prophecy didn't change that. Kye, on the other hand, had no true identity.

My hand snaked beyond the bars.

"Kye."

His hand met mine in the space outside our cells, my fingers entwining with his.

"I know what the king has planned for Sadeemia."

His fingers tightened.

"Hush, Sax. Speak now, and you'll get yourself killed before morning."

He was right. I knew that. There were ears in the dungeon, even if we couldn't see them. The king's plans were burning holes in my brain, but speaking them now would cause more harm than good.

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

For a long time, he didn't speak. When he did, I wished he hadn't.

"We die," he answered.

Chapter 32

Kye's hand stayed clasped with mine long after we'd fallen silent. It was much more than an intimate touch. It was reassurance, a lifeline in a dark world where the marked, and those who helped us, died lonely, painful deaths. The clasped hands meant we weren't alone, meant there was someone out there who cared if we lived or died.

I felt myself sagging against the bar, listening as the mice ran back and forth along the back of my cell.

_"Quick, quick,"_ the mice called out. In such a hurry, these creatures.

My hand must have started going limp in Kye's because he squeezed my fingers gently.

"Sleep," he whispered.

I shook my head. "I'm afraid to," I admitted.

He squeezed my hand again. "Sleep."

It was almost as if my body were waiting for his permission. One moment, I was clasping Kye's hand, the next there was darkness. Sweet darkness.

But in darkness, there are nightmares. In my dreams I saw Aigneis again, first smiling and then screaming as fire overtook her. Ash. Fire. Aigneis. And then I saw the king, his feral grin watching as more fires were built, more people I knew led to slaughter.

"No," I mumbled.

There was a cry in the darkness. It was a male cry. It was Kye, and it woke me. The cells were dark, the torches extinguished. My hand was no longer in Kye's and there was a figure outside the bars; a broad, hooded figure, eerie eyes staring at me from the dark.

"Are you ready to die, little boy?" the figure asked.

I squinted. Kye pounded on the bars.

"We're to be hung together," Kye protested.

The figure stood. "Are you so eager to die, prince?"

The sleep fog had worn off, and the voice sounded familiar. Phantom cold fingers caressed my skin. This voice I would know anywhere.

"You're stooping low, Neill, if a man of your position must amuse yourself in the dungeons," Kye said.

The captain laughed. If he meant the darkness and hooded cloak to be intimidating, he'd succeeded.

"No lower than a prince who will hang in front of his people. First, the boy."

I pulled myself up on the bars even as Kye pounded again.

"Together, Neill. We hang together."

Neill paused.

"I'm increasingly intrigued by your interest in this boy," the captain said. "What is it about him, prince, that has you so defensive?"

Instead of answering him, Kye spit through the bars, the spittle disappearing inside the cloak's hood. The captain lifted his hand.

"You _will_ pay for that," he growled.

Kye was calm when his next words came.

"Then make me pay."

Captain Neill shouted and several guards came running down the corridor, torches raised high. It illuminated the cloak Neill worn, and he pulled back the hood slowly.

"This prisoner here," Neill gestured at Kye's cell, "take him. Forty lashings. Make him bleed, gentlemen, and then hang him to die beside the young one."

Kye's cell door creaked as it was opened, and I gripped the bars hard. No!

"Hide the wounds when you are finished," Captain Neill ordered.

Kye was thrown onto the prison corridor beyond before one of the guards gripped him by the neck, dragging him upward. Kye's surcoat had been stripped off of him and replaced with a coarse, grey wool tunic and black leather pants. He wore no shoes.

Captain Neill leaned in close, his eyes staring directly into Kye's.

"You're going to get your wish. You'll hang alongside the boy and others as well."

Spit hit Kye in the face, but he didn't flinch. I pounded on my bars.

"Please!" I begged. "He meant no harm!"

The captain looked over his shoulder, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"There's something about you, boy. I'm not sure what, but I'm going to enjoy watching it choked out of you."

With that, he turned and marched away, two words floating on the air behind his back, "Flog him!"

My eyes met Kye's only briefly. There was no fear in his gaze, only resignation. I was hysterical now, and when the guards began pulling him away, I screamed.

"No!"

One of the guards kicked Kye, and he went down on his knees.

"Keep making noise, little boy, and we'll make it worse on him!" the guard called.

I stuffed my fist into my mouth, crying around my hand as the torchlight moved away. At the end of the corridor, they stopped. I could tell by the way firelight danced on the stone in the distance that Kye was to be an example, not only to himself and to me, but to the rest of the prisoners incarcerated. There was the sound of chains, and I heard Kye cry out. I couldn't see what they did, but I knew they were chaining him to the wall. I was biting my fist now, tears coursing down my cheeks.

No! I couldn't stand by helplessly anymore while someone else I knew, someone I was beginning to grow fond of was tortured or killed.

I pounded on the bars.

"Please," I begged. "Punish me instead."

There was a laugh from beyond.

"For that, boy, the first lashing will be for you."

A whip sounded, followed by a scream. It was an ungodly scream full of pain. I jerked on the bars, my nose and eyes dripping. I couldn't cry hard enough for the agony I was feeling.

_For me!_ People were always being punished for _me_! Another lash. Another scream.

I began kicking at my cell.

"Silveet!" I cried. "Forest, _please_!"

Another lash and another. The scream that followed was no less loud, but it was weaker.

I swallowed convulsively, going to my knees on the stone, my hand against the rock.

"Please," I whispered. "Please help me."

I didn't know who I called to. I didn't care. All I cared about were the lashings at the end of the corridor. All I cared about was trying to stop them from murdering the prince.

I pounded on the stone.

_"Quick, quick!"_ I heard, and I turned abruptly, my tears cold on my face.

Behind me on the floor, hundreds of piercing eyes stared at me. Mice and something smaller . . . roaches maybe?

I stared at them.

Another lash. Another scream.

"Attack," I said, my voice cold and even, calm. "Attack."

I closed my eyes as the rodents ran past me.

_"Quick, quick. Attack, attack!"_ they muttered.

Another lash. Another scream.

And then, "Bloody hell!"

"By the gods!"

And then there was screeching, screams, and shouts. This time it wasn't Kye. I pulled on the bars again.

"I need out!" I cried.

Scurrying feet moved along the prison corridor, the sound of metal rubbing against stone. Two mice appeared, dragging the large ring of keys the guard had used to lock me within the cell. They dropped them at my feet and scurried away.

I blocked out the horrified, painful shrieks from beyond as I leaned down and swept the keys into my hand, desperately going through them as I fitted each one into the lock.

"Below!" I heard a man yell from above, and I knew the guards' screams had garnered attention. My hands flew through the keys, my heart pounding. When the wonderful _click_ finally came, I almost sagged with relief. There was no time.

I jerked the cell door open, my feet pounding against the stone. At the end of the corridor, I stopped, my heart plummeting. There was Kye, shirtless, his back covered in criss cross gashes. Blood dripped from the wounds, winding its way to the waistline of his pants and beyond. They were deep gashes, and he wasn't moving.

There was more blood and silent guards lying along the stone. I didn't look at them. I didn't want to see what I'd done. The mice and bugs were gone, although I could hear the faint, _"Quick, quick"_ as they scrambled away.

I moved to Kye, slipping once in the guards' blood before finally gripping Kye's leg.

"Kye!" I sobbed.

He turned his head, his weak eyes opening as he looked down at me. I pulled on him, but the chains were strong.

"Move it!" I heard someone shout, and I knew I didn't have long.

I looked frantically around the corridor, my eyes catching on the glinting metal of a nearby sword. I grabbed it, raising it high before bringing it down on the chains above. Sparks flew.

"Again, Stone," Kye said, his voice faint. "This metal is weak."

He pulled on his arms as I hit it again. More sparks.

"Is there a key?" I asked.

Kye shook his head. "No. Try again."

It was all he could say, and I put everything I had into hitting the chains. One broke loose. I cried out but didn't give myself time to celebrate more. I moved to the next.

There was the sound of boots against stone when the final chains fell, and Kye collapsed. I caught him against me, his blood on my hands.

Instead of pulling away, I hugged him, placing my palms firmly against the wounds on his back. Kye gasped. My hands burned instantly. I could feel the flesh beneath my palms closing, and I gagged against the feeling.

Kye's breath was against my ear. "We won't make it," he said.

I could hear the boots directly behind us now.

"No," I answered him. "But you won't be hung in blood now."

And with that, I swept the scar on his temple with my lips just as I was grabbed roughly from behind. Kye fell to the floor.

"By the gods," one of the men holding me exclaimed.

I held my head high, my heart bleeding inside my chest. I'd saved Kye, but I'd killed men in the process, men with families.

"What are you?" a guard asked.

I didn't answer him, my stare straight ahead as soldiers bent to look at the men on the floor. Kye was in custody now, a shirt forced over his head as they held him securely by the arms. One of the soldiers on the floor looked up.

"He was a friend," the man growled. "His wife just had a baby."

The tears I hadn't wanted to shed burned the back of my eyes. My gaze met Kye's. His eyes were full of understanding and something more, something deeper. Hair swept his forehead, the stubble on his cheeks stark against pale skin. He'd lost a lot of blood. Even my healing couldn't replenish that.

"Go!" the guard on the floor yelled. "Take them and hang them!"

The guard next to me stuttered, "B-but sir, shouldn't we—"

"Take them!" the man ordered again. "Captain Neill's orders. Do it! And hang the others, too."

With that, I was dragged backwards, my feet against the stone. My head hung.

Chapter 33

The sky was a light grey brushed with pink and yellow when we stepped out of the castle. We were once again in the courtyard we'd entered when we'd first arrived, but it had transformed from the mud-covered stomping ground of horses and soldiers to a public arena. Hastily built scaffolding sat in the center of the yard with a line of barrels rolled beneath it, at least twenty in all. Villagers crowded into the area, their faces pale and quiet.

There were no cheers as we were dragged through the mud. No one called for our deaths or spit in our direction. No rotten food was thrown. There were only lowered heads in the crowd, many of them avoiding our gaze.

Upon reaching the barrels, the guards lifted us, placing a noose around our necks before backing away. The rope was coarse and rough against my skin, sharp in places, and I fought hard not to wince.

I looked to Kye where he stood next to me. His shoulders were back, and his head was high despite his weakness. Dark, purplish shadows rested under his eyes. And still he stood tall, his gaze fixed on the castle walls. My gaze followed his, and I froze.

There on a balcony just above our heads sat King Raemon, Captain Neill, and a group of other noblemen and women. My father, my stepmother, and my half sister were among them. Taran was whispering something into another woman's ears while fanning her face with yellow silk-gloved hands. Beside her, my half sister peered down at Kye and I, her eyes narrowed. I stared back.

Mareth's eyes widened. I looked away. Out of all of my family, it hurt that Mareth was the only one who may have recognized me. I didn't care if she had. There was nothing to be done about it. I was going to die anyway. I bore the mark of the scribe.

"Ho! Make way!"

The guards' voices caught my attention, and I looked down into the yard to find a group of the king's soldiers leading a bevy of marked prisoners through the mud to the barrels beside us. One of them was Jule of Rendoh. I gasped.

"Kye," I breathed.

The old woman's head came up, her gaze meeting mine before slipping away. She'd been treated roughly. A bruise bloomed along one cheek, and she walked stiffly as if she'd been beaten.

"By the gods," Kye muttered.

I turned my head, my pain filled eyes mirroring the gaze that met me. Kye glanced back up at the balcony, his face hard.

A _kek,kek_ filtered down to me from the sky, and I looked up, my eyes searching.

"Be strong," Ari called down.

Her words held something beneath them, her tone odd. A promise maybe? Stay strong. Much easier said than done. Even if I called out to the forest for help, I wasn't sure it would come in time.

A drum began to beat. I wanted to reach out and take Kye's hand in mine, to feel one final connection to another human being, but our wrists had been tied together in front of us. I looked to the sky. Blue, pink, and yellow. Such beautiful colors.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, memories of those I'd lost and memories of those I'd killed flashed through my mind. I'd wanted more out of this life. I'd wanted to _do_ something more, but I didn't regret where I was now.

If I'd never left Forticry, I never would have met the rebels, the dragons, or Kye. I'd never know what it was like to be one of them, to be part of something, to be connected to someone by a mark even if I didn't know their name. I wouldn't know what it was like to love a country I'd only thought of as a place before rather than a home. I wouldn't know the truth behind the Archives. I wouldn't be able to put images with words I'd only studied before. And I never would have known Medeisia had a prince who was willing to die a martyr for the minority.

The drum stopped beating. I opened my eyes.

Before us stood a black hooded man, the white of his eyes the only thing visible through his headpiece. His hands lifted.

"By order of King Raemon, these men and women are criminals of Medeisia. Bearing the mark of the shamed, they will hang here today an example of what we should strive not to be."

I, like Kye, held my head high. I was a girl. I was a young woman. I was a child who had once run through a manor with hidden pens beneath my dresses, crawling under dressers and tables to draw my name on the furniture or secret codes in Sadeemian I knew only I could read. I was a mischievous little imp who'd stolen cakes from the kitchen only to split them with Ari in my room or pass them under the table to a novice scribe in the Archives. I was Drastona Maree Consta-Mayria of Medeisia. I was the illegitimate daughter of Garod Consta-Mayria, once ambassador of Sadeemia. I was Aigneis' charge and Aedan's pupil. I was not the mark I bore. I was not ashamed.

The drums beat once more, and then silence. I squeezed my eyes shut. The first barrel was shoved away, the sound of gagging audible from where I stood. The scaffolding shook as the victim struggled. My eyes burned.

"Stone," Kye whispered.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was gazing at me, his lips parted when the shadow fell over the courtyard, a large shadow that blocked the early morning light. People screamed.

Kye's eyes widened, and we both looked away, our gazes going to the sky. There, his beautiful body glowing almost bronze in the soft hues of dawn was Lochlen. His scales gleamed as he dove, his wide mouth open, smoke curling from his nose.

There was shouting everywhere.

"Shoot it!" Captain Neill yelled.

"Dragon!" a woman shrieked.

"Run!" someone cried.

Arrows were loosed into the air, but Lochlen merely shook himself as they struck his scales, rumbling laughter filling the courtyard as he landed.

"Amateurs," he roared. "You've forgotten how mighty we are."

And with that, he spit fire at the scaffolding. I felt my noose break free, the ends of the rope burning as it fell. I felt the burning fibers against my tunic.

"The mud!" Kye shouted.

I jumped to the ground, landing on my back in the sludge below, and the burning rope was extinguished. Soldiers ran toward us, swords pulled. Lochlen swung his tail, sweeping many of them out of the way.

I rolled as a sentry grew too near, using my foot to catch him behind the knees. He went down, and I scrambled for his sword with my bound hands.

The guard recovered quickly, flipping abruptly, his fist connecting with my face. Blood spewed from my nose as he grabbed me by the throat.

"You fiend!" he hissed. It was the guard from the dungeon. "He was my friend!" He pulled his sword, lifting it up to strike. I didn't look away. The sword hissed downward.

Another blade met his, the _cling_ deafening.

"Not today, soldier," Kye's voice cried out. I fell aside as Kye's blade withdrew before making contact with the guards' arm.

I brought my bound hands to my nose, staunching the flow of blood.

"Here," Lochlen called.

I looked up to find the dragon looming over me, a claw extended, and I reached up to rub the rope against the sharpened tip. The fibers fell away.

"Now, come! We must go!"

Lochlen's insistence fed my urgency, and I scrambled to my feet. Soldiers were pouring now from the palace. Another shadow fell over the courtyard. Fire shot down from the sky. I knew who it was without looking. Feras.

"Climb up!" Lochlen bellowed.

I stared at him.

He lowered his head. " _Now_ , Stone!"

"You want me to ride you?" I asked. "Me?"

Smoke curled up from Lochlen's nostrils.

"Now is a bad time to act all humbled by it. Get on!"

I used Lochlen's horn to scramble onto his back, my legs scraped by his uncomfortable scales. Kye was right about one thing. Riding dragons was not comfortable.

Lochlen spread his wings as I scanned the courtyard. Most of the spectators had scattered, and Kye was standing in the open, his arms raised, his hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword. His eyes were on the king.

"I will destroy you, Father. This promise I make you now. For Medeisia!"

And with that, the sword hissed downward, sticking solidly in the mud in front of the balcony. An archer was poised nearby, and his arrow flew. I opened my mouth to scream just as Feras flew down, using his claws to pull Kye up into the air. The arrow moved through empty space.

"The other prisoners!" I cried.

I leaned over Lochlen's neck, my eyes going to the scaffolding. Three people still stood there, the nooses loose around their neck. A fourth hung dead. It was a young man, and I turned my head away.

"We have to give them a chance," I begged.

A rumble moved up through my legs.

"I had to get the rider with a conscious," he complained, but he flew down anyway, fire burning the remaining ropes.

"Hold tight!" he growled.

I laid flat against his scales, my cheeks digging into the rough surface as I hung onto a ridge on his neck. Lochlen dove, legs first. A loud crack, a jerk, and the castle drawbridge was torn open. It fell to the ground, the mechanism holding it closed, broken. People poured out of the courtyard and into the villages beyond.

Lochlen lifted and Feras flew beneath us, Kye on his back. Somehow he'd scrambled upward.

"It's the best I can do," Lochlen said before taking to the skies.

"To the forests!" Kye yelled down to the prisoners.

I glanced behind me. The palace was in chaos. The scaffolding was on fire. Bodies lay on the ground, some of them unmoving. The king stood, his face black with rage. And there in the midst of it all stood Kye's stolen sword, standing firm in the soil, a symbol of defiance.

Chapter 34

Two full days later we were back in the rebel camp, scrubbed clean from a quick stop at Feras' cave. The hot water from the pool within the cavern had felt good against the bruises marring my skin, and I'd scrubbed hard, tears pouring down my cheeks. No amount of scouring could erase the scars. Kye spoke not a word.

Another week passed inside the forests, and new marked folk entered the camp, their faces ashen. Some of them had been prisoners in the same courtyard Kye and I had escaped. Jule was among them, and she ran to her son, letting Brennus lift her into an embrace that melted my already wounded heart. News spread fast after that, and Kye's heritage was soon revealed, his royal blood a bone of contention among the rebels. Many trusted him, others didn't. Still, Kye didn't speak, his face hard. He had occasional conversations with small groups of rebels, but often he disappeared among the trees. I didn't seek him out. I was licking my own battle wounds and suffering my own nightmares.

Still another week passed. I sat now within the small tent in the camp, my bed roll unused next to me, my abused face no longer swollen but still discolored. I wore a new green tunic, my short, curly hair a wild halo on my head. My tent flap was open, and I sat with my knees up, my eyes watching as the sun rose on yet another new day. Pink and yellow sunlight lit up the dew, and mist curled along the ground. The wind blew, carrying a crispness that lifted my curls and brushed the abrasions on my face.

_"We are with you_ ," the trees whispered.

_Kek, kek_ , a falcon called.

A shadow moved along the tent's fabric, and a wolf's snout was suddenly visible through the flap followed by the undeniable white mark on his silver pelt as Oran pushed his head through. He crawled forward, his fur brushing my tunic as he laid his nose across my knees. He was offering comfort, and I took it. I closed my eyes as I dug my fingers into his coat, lowering my face so that it rubbed against his fur.

There were footsteps beyond the tent.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Kye standing before the trees. He wore black leather breeches, and a white tunic that fell open, untied. He stood out in a forest full of green-clad rebels. Brennus walked past him, his gaze going to the prince, but Kye didn't look up. His head was down.

Another brisk wind crept through the clearing, and I watched as Kye's tunic lifted, the new criss cross scars on his back clearly visible before the shirt rested again. My magic could heal wounds, but scars would always remain. The prince and his map of scars.

Kye finally moved then, his gaze sweeping the men and women who'd begun walking through the camp. I could hear fires being stoked, the smell of food wafting through the area as Ena scolded Nikalia for stealing bread. An arrow hissed. Two swords met, the _clang_ both comforting and terrifying.

I closed my eyes again, my fingers playing softly with Oran's ears.

"The forest is always with you. We share your pain," the wolf promised.

I exhaled. The trees whispered.

When I opened my eyes next, it was to find Kye turned, his gaze on the tent flap, on me. I stared back. Neither of us moved. Kyenar Grenville Berhest, son of Raemon Berhest VII, tyrant king of Medeisia. His face was shaved, his black hair just brushing the collar of his white tunic. The scar on his temple was stark, his high cheekbones shadowed by weariness. Scars ran along his chest, the most prominent on his lower right abdomen.

"Kye!" a high voice yelled. Maeve.

The prince looked away, his gaze moving to the sweet-faced girl running toward him, a smile plastered on her face.

"The rebels are gathered just as you asked."

Kye nodded, and he stepped away without another backward glance. I stirred then, my legs stiff, my muscles sore.

"Come," I told Oran.

We moved beyond the tent. In the open, Kye stood before a group of weapon wielding rebels, a sword in the ground near his hand. He leaned on it.

"Our country suffers," he said. "More people are marked daily. Children are being taken away from their parents, and the king is spreading lies that will start a war with a nation much larger than ours. It is our job to stop them now."

I moved quietly through the camp, skirting the clearing, the wolf beside me.

"And what do we do?" Warwick asked.

Kye looked at him.

"We train, we gather more marked folk, and we fight. Thanks to a rebel among us, we know now what the king plans to do to start war with Sadeemia. We stop him."

"How?" another man asked. I made a mental note to introduce myself to him, to find out if he had a family.

Kye began making marks in the dirt with the sword at his hand, his words echoes in my brain. His plan would take all of us on a journey we may not return from. It would take us out of the protection of the forest. It could kill us. It could redeem us.

"We go to war," Kye said finally. "Win or lose, we will return from it free."

His eyes moved over the people before him, searching each man and woman before pausing on a new face. It was the face of one of the prisoners who'd stood on a barrel next to us in Aireesi.

"Ludwick," he said.

The man nodded, moving through the rebels, a pot of ink and a metal prong in his hand. My eyes widened as Kye knelt, his arms held out in front of him.

"On one wrist, I take the mark of the scribe. On the other, I will bear the mark of the mage," Kye announced.

There was no sound. There was only astonishment, wide eyes, and a new acceptance. In Aireesi, a king sat on the throne, his people ruled by fear. But in the forest, a new king was being initiated. A king of the people, his crown a tattoo.

Ludwick knelt next to him, the metal prong dipped in ink. Kye stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched. He didn't make a sound when the point pierced his skin.

I moved closer, my eyes on the prince's wrist. An inkwell began to appear, lines drawn through it, cracks.

The marked folk in the camp who bore the mark of the scribe knelt, their heads low as Ludwick removed the prong. He moved to Kye's other side.

Again, ink met skin, a burning star beginning to materialize. Blood dripped onto the ground, mixing with the soil below Kye's hand.

I inched closer.

The marked folk in the camp who bore the mark of the mage knelt, their heads lowered. Silence reigned.

I stood behind the prince now, my eyes meeting Ludwick's. He was an older man with grey hair beginning to appear at his temples. He was short, his otherwise brown hair thin on the back of his head. He clung to the pot and prong, his expression unsure.

I lifted my wrist.

"I bear the mark of the scribe," I said suddenly.

Heads lifted. Kye stood, his teeth clenched against the pain I knew he was feeling now in his arms. His gaze moved down to meet mine, and I raised my right hand.

I inhaled. "I'm now asking for the mark of the mage."

I didn't look at anyone as I knelt, my hand held out. I think I was afraid I'd be refused, but Kye must have nodded because Ludwick knelt next to me.

A hand settled on my opposite shoulder. I knew it was Kye's without looking up. The metal prong dug into my skin. I stared hard at the ground, my jaw tight.

"A scribe," Kye said softly, "with the powers of a mage."

When the prong finally lifted, I exhaled, but I didn't stand.

"What makes you think we could win this war?" someone asked suddenly.

Kye's hand tightened on my shoulder.

"Because we have something the king doesn't have," Kye answered.

"What's that?" the same person asked.

Kye didn't hesitate, his gaze heavy now on my back.

"We have the phoenix of peace."

About the Author

R.K. Ryals makes her home in Southern Mississippi with her husband and three daughters. Admittedly addicted to old black and white movies, history, sweets, and coffee, she spends her time writing and reading whatever she can get her hands on.

Other Works Available

The Redemption Series

Redemption

Ransom

Retribution

The Acropolis Series

The Acropolis

The Labyrinth

The Thorne Trilogy

Cursed

The Scribes of Medeisia Series

Tempest

The Singing River

Coming Soon

Possessed: Thorne Trilogy Book 2

Fist of the Furor: Scribes of Medeisia Book 3

Retaliation Bridge

Revelation: Redemption series book 4

