Mark of the Mage: Scribes of Medeisia Book I Page 11

  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 s
tayed 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.”