Falling Kingdoms Page 17

  “And yet you trust Sabina?”

  “I do.”

  The only way to get answers from this impossible man was to ask questions directly—while not appearing to really care about the answers, of course. If he seemed too eager, he knew his father would continue to withhold the truth from him indefinitely.

  “What prophecy is it that relates to Lucia? What are you waiting to see from her?”

  The king didn’t say anything for a long time. His eyes narrowed. “You know how I feel about those who listen in on my private conversations, Magnus.”

  He cringed internally. Sometimes even he knew not to speak so bluntly unless he wanted his father to lash out. It was difficult to remember sometimes. But he was on edge and having a difficult time controlling himself. His mask of indifference usually served him much better than this.

  Learning that Lucia was a witch, however, had knocked his world off balance. He’d found that the mask he’d depended on had shifted. It was difficult to set it back into its proper position without great effort.

  Magnus was certain his father would not answer him. Perhaps he would send him away without any new information. That would be fine since he could go immediately to Lucia’s chambers and continue with her practice.

  Finally the king spoke. “If I admit something like this to you, Magnus, we’re treading on very dangerous ground.”

  “The truth is only dangerous if it can inflict injury.” He pretended to be more interested in a platter of apples and cheese on a nearby table than on every word his father uttered.

  “Lies can make harsh truths less painful. But I believe pain is essential for growth.” The king’s gaze was unflinching. “Do you think you’re ready for such honesty?”

  Magnus looked his father right in his eyes, which were the exact same color as his own. As he studied his father’s face, he couldn’t help but see the coldness there. The king had reminded him of a serpent for as long as he could remember—just like the cobra that adorned the family crest. A slippery one with venom and fangs.

  “I want to know about Lucia,” Magnus said firmly. “And I want to know now.”

  The king stood up from his throne and paced to the other side of the room so he could look out a window down the sheer, frost-covered cliff side to the sea far below. “Many years ago, Sabina and her sister studied the stars looking for a sign of a special birth. A child to become one of legend and magic.”

  “Magic.” The word itself was dangerous.

  The king nodded slowly. “Sabina is a witch.”

  Magnus felt himself pale. He’d never cared for Sabina, but he’d never seen any indication that what his father claimed was true. “You took me to see a witch burn when I was twelve years old. It was a lesson on what happens to them should they try to work magic here in Limeros. And yet you say that your mistress is one? I didn’t even know you believed in such things other than making examples out of those who might spread evil and lies.”

  The king spread his hands. “There are hard choices one must make as king. For a long time, I didn’t believe. But it’s true, Magnus. Magic is real.”

  “You would condemn one woman to death for being accused of witchcraft yet consider Sabina your closest advisor? One you also take to your bed?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand, only to accept that what I’ve done—what I’ve always done—has been for the benefit of my kingdom. Sabina is a rare exception for me.”

  His mind reeled. “What does this have to do with Lucia?”

  “There was a prophecy of a child born who would one day possess the power not of a witch, but of a sorceress.”

  Magnus went very still. “And you believe it’s your own daughter.”

  The king grabbed Magnus’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “I have waited a very long time to learn if it’s true. But there’s been no sign that Lucia is anything as extraordinary as this. Sixteen years, Magnus. I grow frustrated.”

  His stomach clenched. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You’ve seen nothing. Nothing? Truly?”

  Magnus chose his words wisely. “Truly. There is nothing for me to report. She is as any other sixteen-year-old girl might be. To think she could be a sorceress—” His throat tightened. “It’s ludicrous.”

  Lies did soften the painful truth a great deal.

  “I refuse to believe that,” the king said through clenched teeth. There was a sheen of perspiration now on his father’s brow. “She’s the key, Magnus. She’s essential to my plans. I need all the help I can get.”

  “What? You mean with Auranos?”

  “Of course. Nothing else matters right now.”

  “Surely our army combined with Basilius’s, though . . . ”

  “Basilius’s? Ha. Untrained, underfed youths who’ve never held a sword before. Auranos, for all their lazy lifestyle, has an impressive military. No, we need a guarantee.”

  A chill went through Magnus. “What about Sabina? If she’s a witch as you say she is, can’t she use her magic to help you?”

  The king’s expression soured. “Whatever power she might have possessed as a younger woman has faded. She’s useless to me in this regard. No, it must be Lucia. The prophecy said she’d have endless magic—drawn from all four elements.”

  All four. Magnus had only seen evidence of two so far—air and fire. But this meant that the other two, earth and water, might manifest later.

  “With magic like that I could crush King Corvin and burn his world down all around him.” The king’s fists were clenched at his sides. “I could end him in a single day and take Auranos.”

  Magnus swallowed hard. “Maybe Sabina was wrong about Lucia.”

  The king cast a glare so sharp at him that Magnus’s scar began to sting. “I refuse to believe that.”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to be patient.”

  The anger faded from his father’s gaze and he regarded his son again carefully. “You love your sister, don’t you?”

  Magnus crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course I do.”

  “She’s a true beauty. She’ll make some man an excellent wife one day.”

  His core turned hot as lava with immediate jealousy. “I’m sure she will.”

  The king’s mouth twisted into a sinister smile. “Do you really think I don’t notice how you look at her? I’m not blind, my son.”

  Bile rose in his throat, bitter and unexpected. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Play innocent if it makes you feel better, but I see it. I’m a very smart man, Magnus. It doesn’t take only courage to be king, but intelligence as well. I observe because then I can use what I see to my best advantage.”

  Magnus’s jaw tensed. “How nice for you.”

  “And I see a brother who cares deeply—very deeply—for his beautiful younger sister.”

  Magnus eyed the door, seeking escape as soon as possible. “May I be excused, Father? Or do you wish to continue playing games with me?”

  “No games, Magnus. I shall reserve my games for the battlefield or the chessboard. Do you honestly think I don’t know why you haven’t shown interest in any other girl who might one day become your bride?”

  Magnus felt ill at the direction of this conversation. “Father, please.”

  “I know, Magnus. I see it in your eyes every time she enters a room. I see how you watch her.”

  Magnus felt the sudden need to run away from here, far away. A desperate urge to hide his face from the world. He hadn’t shared this truth with anyone; he’d keep it buried deep, so deep inside that he barely glanced at it himself. He’d been appalled at the merest hint that Andreas might have some inkling of his darkest secret.

  But now for the king to pull it out and flaunt it like some sort of prized animal
he’d shot on a hunt, bloody and raw. Like it meant nothing.

  “I need to go.” Magnus turned to the door.

  His father clamped his hand down on his shoulder. “Ease your mind. I’ll tell no one of this. Your secret will remain safe from this day forward. But if you do everything I ask of you, I can promise you one thing. No man will ever touch her. If nothing else, you’ll be able to take solace in that.”

  Magnus didn’t say anything else. The moment his father let go of him, that was exactly what he did—bursting from the room. He practically ran down the halls toward his chambers, where he sank down to the floor, his back pressed against the cold gray wall. He couldn’t bear to face Lucia again tonight.

  Finding an exiled Watcher in Paelsia was not proving to be as simple a task as Cleo had hoped. And stowing aboard a cargo ship carrying wine back and forth from Auranos to Paelsia wasn’t as luxurious as being aboard her father’s lavish yacht. But she and Nic had successfully arrived.

  Cleo carried a bag of necessities, including a change of clothes and a small sack of gold and silver coins, generic currency rather than recognizable Auranian centimos stamped with the face of the goddess, which might draw attention to their travels. She kept the hood of her cloak over her sun-swept hair most of the time, but it was more to keep out the cold breeze than to remain incognito. There would only be a small handful in this goddess-forsaken land who’d have any idea who she really was.

  And they walked. And walked.

  And walked some more.

  The journey to find Aron’s wine the last time she’d been here felt as if it was an endless trip. It was but a glimpse of this.

  Each village was a half day’s journey from each other—at the very least. A couple times they’d managed to catch a ride on the back of a horse-drawn cart, but mostly they walked. Each village looked the same as the last. Small, poor, with a cluster of cottages, a tavern, an inn, and a market selling various modest wares, including small, sad-looking fruits and vegetables. These food items didn’t grow so well in the cold soil as the grapes did. It was only more evidence that the vineyards and the grapes themselves were specifically touched by earth magic. This realization helped Cleo remain optimistic as the days dragged on.

  Shortly after their arrival, they wandered through the vineyards themselves, wide expanses of green vines planted in neat rows, the ground frosty, the pale green grapes cold to the touch but large and plump and sweet.

  Before anyone could see them, catch them, they’d gathered as many bunches of grapes as they could and ran away. It wasn’t a perfect meal served by servants in front of a blazing fire, but it filled their bellies—especially since Nic had proved useless at catching a quick-moving rabbit for dinner. They’d come upon an awkward and slow-moving turtle, but neither of them had had the heart to end its life. At the time, they hadn’t been hungry enough for turtle meat. Instead, they ate the remainder of their dried fruit.

  Beyond the west coast, where the harbor hugged the rocky shore and the vineyards grew, they traveled farther east along narrow dirt roads, stopping in each village to ask if anyone knew of the legends—and if there were any rumors of an exiled Watcher living amongst the peasants.

  To anyone who asked, Cleo and Nic introduced themselves as a brother and sister from northern Limeros who were traveling together to research such stories. The thought was humorous to Cleo and she could barely keep the grin off her face whenever Nic told his tale—each time it became more grand. Before long, they were the son and daughter of a famous Limerian poet who’d asked them with his dying breath to complete his life’s work—a book about the Watchers of the Kindred.

  Nic had an incredible imagination and an inviting way about him that set everyone’s mind at ease. Paelsians were not open to visitors from other kingdoms, but they made an exception for the two once Nic got talking. He rarely failed to bring a smile to their weathered faces. Children especially loved Nic, gathering around him at a campfire beneath the stars for more stories that he made up on the spot. Before they left a couple of the villages, a few children followed them, begging Nic to stay just a little while longer so he could continue to entertain them.

  Cleo had hoped to find the answers she sought quickly, but it was stretching into nearly a week since they’d arrived and she began to grow weary. Some days were better than others. They had gold that paid for rooms in village inns so they could get a semi-comfortable night’s sleep on straw-packed beds. The meals served in the taverns weren’t nearly the same as the ones in the Auranian palace but were far from horrible.

  But tonight, after leaving such a tavern and beginning their walk to the inn to rent a room, they were cornered by a few large, rough boys who took her weighty sack of coins and left them with only a precious few found at the bottom of Nic’s pockets.

  Cleo cried for the first time since they’d arrived. It was a clear sign to her that their trip to Paelsia would get worse before it got better. Barely any money meant she’d soon have to return to Auranos, admitting failure and accepting punishment for running away from home to chase after myth and magic.

  Not wanting to waste what little coin they had left, they slept in a dry, dusty riverbed, Nic’s arms wrapped tightly around Cleo to stop her shivering. Her large, baggy cloak was drawn around the both of them for warmth.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You’re right; I don’t. But I can hope.”

  “We haven’t found anything. Nobody believes there’s a Watcher living here.”

  Maybe there wasn’t.

  She let out a long, shaky sigh and pressed her cheek against Nic’s chest to listen to his heartbeat. The stars above them were bright in the black sky, the moon a shard of silver light. She’d never studied the sky for so long before, only looking up now and then in an absent kind of way. But she’d never seen it, not like this. So clear and vast and beautiful even in such a hopeless moment.

  “Why would a Watcher be exiled from their home, anyway?” she asked.

  “They say that some fall in love with mortals and they leave voluntarily. Once they leave, they can never return.”

  “To do such a thing for love. To leave paradise.” She swallowed. “It seems like a waste.”

  “Depends who you’re in love with.”

  This was true.

  As Cleo looked up at the stars, she thought about Theon and wondered if he too might be looking up at the same moment. She knew he would have been furious to learn that she’d left and that she’d lied to him. At the time, she hadn’t worried about it, thinking she’d return victorious before too much time had passed and all would be forgiven.

  I’m sorry, Theon, she thought. I wish you were here with me.

  As much as she adored Nic, the thought of instead having Theon’s arms around her to keep her warm made her heart begin to race. She’d run away from him, from his stern looks and serious words—but now she missed him desperately. There was nothing about Theon she would ever change, not even the fact that he wasn’t royal. She hoped that he understood why she’d had no choice but to come here. That he’d forgive her. Eventually.

  “What do Watchers look like?” she whispered. “I never paid attention to the legends.”

  “Hardly anyone believes them anymore. The Watchers are all young and beautiful. Light shines from their golden skin. They spend their days in endless green meadows surrounded by splendor.”

  “But they’re trapped in that paradise?”

  “That’s what the legends say. Since the Kindred was lost, they don’t possess enough magic to leave. It’s their punishment for losing what they were supposed to guard.”

  “But they can still watch us through the eyes of birds.”

  “Not everyone, I’m sure. Some they’d find quite boring to watch. Aron, for
instance. All they’d see is him drinking wine all day long and admiring himself in a mirror. How dull.”

  She laughed despite herself. “You might be right about that.”

  “I just had a thought.”

  “Uh-oh. What is it?” She looked up at his face.

  “Imagine what Aron would say if he saw us like this. Sleeping in each other’s arms. Would he be jealous?”

  She grinned. “Insanely. Especially of the fact that we’re broke and starving and freezing to death, with not a drop of wine between us.”

  He closed his eyes, his lips quirking at the edges. “For the chance to die in the arms of Princess Cleiona, it might just be worth it.”

  He constantly made silly comments like this. She normally brushed them off as only humor, but sometimes she wondered if her sister had been right—that Nic might be a little bit in love with her.

  The worry drifted away as she fell asleep and dreamed instead of Theon.

  • • •

  “This is it,” Nic said the next day when they resumed their search. “If we find nothing today, then we need head back to the harbor and go home tomorrow. Agreed?”

  Disappointment and weariness thudded with every step she took. “Agreed.”

  Nearly out of money and with no clues to give them hope, it was time for this adventure to end and for Cleo to accept defeat.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as they walked and said a rare prayer to the goddess for assistance in their search.

  Her stomach grumbled unhappily as if in reply. They’d found some dried-up fruit on some dried-up trees that morning, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy her.

  “Yes, excellent,” Nic said. “We’ll follow your inner gurgle like a compass. I think it’ll help.”

  She smacked his arm and tried not to grin since it was the last expression her face felt like making. “Don’t tease. I know you’re starving too.”

  “We’ll have to choose between a tavern or an inn tonight. Can’t have both.”