Cleo realized with shock that one of the cloaked intruders cradled a baby. The intruder pushed back the hood of her black cloak to reveal a familiar face.
Lucia Damora.
“Where is my brother?” she demanded.
CHAPTER 3
LUCIA
PAELSIA
Jonas touched Lucia’s arm. “Try to stay calm.”
She sent a tense look at him over her shoulder. What did he think she would do? Murder Cleo and Amara where they stood?
Likely, that’s exactly what he thought she would do.
“I need answers,” she gritted out.
Being met at the closed gates of this royal compound by a swarm of Amara’s soldiers, their weapons drawn, had stolen what little “calm” she had left in her reserve. She wondered if the rebel was more concerned for Lucia’s life or the lives of the dozens of armed guards that now surrounded them.
“Lucia,” Amara said, drawing the sorceress’s attention away from her far warier companion. The Kraeshian princess leaned on a wooden cane. “Welcome. It’s been a long time since I last saw you. Much has changed for both of us.”
Lucia narrowed her gaze at the deceitful, conquering empress who, by all accounts, was now her stepmother. “My brother and my father. Where are they?”
The flank of guards drew closer, jostling for position, their swords pointed in Lucia’s direction.
Jonas finally lowered the hood of his cloak. “Empress Amara, call off your guards. This isn’t necessary.”
“Jonas!” Cleo gasped. “It’s you!”
The Auranian princess had always been so brilliant at observation, Lucia thought drily.
“Good to see you again, princess,” Jonas said, a smile tugging at his lips.
“You too,” Cleo replied, her voice strained.
Jonas sounded far happier about the reunion than Lucia felt. Seeing Amara and Cleo standing side by side had raised Lucia’s ire tenfold. She’d half expected Cleo to be a prisoner here, at the mercy of the new empress whose army occupied the whole of Mytica, but clearly she wasn’t.
“Your father stood against me. He tried to murder me,” Amara said evenly. “But I assure you he’s unharmed. I’m sure you can understand why I have chosen to keep him under lock and key. He’s a dangerous man.”
That he certainly was, no argument from Lucia.
“I’m sure you’re pleased about that,” she said to Cleo.
Cleo’s glare was sharp enough to cut. “You wouldn’t have any idea how I feel about anything that’s happened here.”
Lucia tried very hard to hold on to her patience. “Where is he?” she asked Amara.
“I will take you to see him myself,” Amara replied, her tone as light and casual as if they discussed nothing more urgent than the weather. “My goodness, Lucia, what a beautiful child. Whose is it?”
Lucia looked down at Lyssa in her arms, her sweet face not showing any distress after her mother had blasted through the locked gates with air magic. In fact, the baby was currently sound asleep.
She raised her gaze to lock with Amara’s. “Take me to him now.”
Amara hesitated, glancing at the large guard standing next to her, and then regarded Lucia again. “With pleasure. Please follow me.”
“Wait here,” Lucia said to Jonas.
Her command was met with a glare. “Yes, your highness,” he said with mock sincerity.
Lucia knew that Jonas was annoyed with her tendency to issue orders at him as if he were a servant. It was a habit more than a conscious decision.
The thought that this morning he’d somehow entered her nightmare still disturbed her. He was a mystery to her in so many ways, but despite this, she’d come to trust and value him.
However, if he expected her to be sweet and polite all the time, he was traveling with the wrong princess.
Their travels together ended here. Jonas would not have to deal with her foul moods another day.
There was no reason to feel regret over this.
So be it.
Lucia sensed something . . . unusual about Cleo as she passed the other princess, but she chose to ignore it as she followed Amara to the compound’s prison area. The empress leaned against her guard as well as her cane, limping as she walked. Lucia concentrated, sending out a whisper of earth magic that helped her sense Amara’s injury.
A broken leg.
Achieving ultimate power over a newly conquered land did not come without injury, it would seem.
As they moved past the dusty villas and cottages that made up the royal compound, Lucia half expected to feel some sort of familiarity with these grounds. Her birth father had ruled from here—a madman who thought himself a god. She knew nothing about her real mother, only that she’d died as well.
Her sister by blood, Laelia, worked as a dancer in a tavern in the city of Basilia on the west cost of Paelsia. Perhaps one day she might go and ask Laelia more questions about her birth family. At the moment, though, her past was insignificant to her.
Lucia focused now on only three goals.
Reuniting with Magnus and her father.
Ensuring Lyssa’s future.
And imprisoning Kyan by any means necessary in his amber orb, which she kept with her in the pocket of her cloak.
Anything beyond these goals was an unwanted distraction.
As they entered the prison, Amara led Lucia down narrow hallways that the injured empress navigated very carefully with her guard’s help. She didn’t complain once, which Lucia grudgingly respected.
They passed many locked iron doors, but Amara finally came to a stop in front of one at the end of the hallway, which she placed her hand upon.
“If you wish to speak with Gaius,” Amara said, “I have a few rules that must be obeyed.”
Lucia raised her brows. “Do you?” She flicked her finger at the door, which swung open instantly.
Amara’s hulking guard immediately reached for his sword.
“Spare me such displays.” Lucia used another blast of air magic to send the sword down the hallway, where it embedded itself into the stone wall, but not nearly as deeply as she’d intended.
Amara’s expression didn’t shift from one of royal composure; however, her lips now formed a thin line. “Your air magic is incredible.”
Not as incredible as Lucia would like it to be. After stealing Jonas’s strange but strong reserve of elementia last night to survive Lyssa’s birth, Lucia had slowly but surely begun to feel it fading from her again.
But Amara didn’t have to know that.
“I will speak to my father in private,” Lucia said. “You should hope that he is as unharmed as you claim.”
“He is.” Amara nodded at her guard, who led her away from the door without another word.
Holding her breath, unsure what she would find within, Lucia turned toward the interior of the cell, unable to see anything within but shadows and darkness.
Amara had kept her father in darkness.
Fury rose within her at the thought.
“My beautiful daughter. More powerful and magnificent than ever before.”
The sound of the king’s strong voice was such a relief that tears sprang to her eyes. She flicked her hand to light the torches on the walls with fire magic.
King Gaius blinked against the sudden blaze of light, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Father,” her voice broke on the word. She entered the cell completely, closing the door behind her to give them privacy from curious ears.
He had a short beard on his chin and dark circles beneath his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days.
“Apologies for my appearance, daughter,” he said. “You seem to have found me in a shamefully unfortunate state.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d all
owed herself to cry. She didn’t allow it this time, but hot tears still streaked down her cheeks. Her throat was so tight it made it difficult to speak, but she forced the words out. “I’m the one who should apologize. I left you—you and Magnus. I was wrong. And because of my selfishness, so much has happened . . . I can’t fix it all, but I’m going to try to fix as much as I can. Please forgive me.”
“Forgive you? There is nothing to forgive. I’m just thankful you’re alive and well.” His dark brows drew together, and he moved forward as if to take her into his arms, but he froze when his gaze moved toward the small bundle in her arms. “Whose child is this, Lucia?”
Again, a shameful swell of emotion made her words difficult. “My—my daughter. Her name is Lyssa.”
She expected his kind expression to turn harsh, for his lips to thin, for words of strong reprimand for being so careless.
He pushed the soft cloth away from Lyssa’s face and looked down into the face of his granddaughter. “She’s as beautiful as her mother.”
Lucia stared at him. “You’re not angry?”
“Why would I be?” Still, there was a gravity to his words. “She’s Alexius’s child?”
She nodded.
“The daughter of a sorceress and an exiled Watcher,” he mused. “You will need to protect her.”
“With your help, I will,” she replied.
“This was a swift birth. I haven’t seen you in what feels like forever, but it’s only been a matter of months.”
“I visited the Sanctuary,” she said. “Something about being there . . . I’m sure that’s what quickened the process.”
“She’s a newborn.”
She nodded. “Last night.”
He looked at her, shocked. “You seem so well, considering you just gave birth.”
“It wasn’t a normal birth,” Lucia confessed, needing to share this with someone she trusted. And this man—this King of Blood who’d had her stolen from her cradle, who’d raised her as his daughter because of her prophecy—despite his choices, his reputation, his treatment of others, Lucia could not say he had ever been cruel to her. Only kind. Only forgiving.
Gaius Damora was her father. And she loved him.
“What do you mean?” he prompted.
And she explained it to him as best she could—about Timotheus’s prophecy that she would die in childbirth. About finding the magic within herself to survive.
She felt it best not to mention Jonas’s mysterious connections to the Watchers and the magic he’d allowed her to take from him.
Lucia told her father that after a wave of agony in which she’d been certain she would lose consciousness, Lyssa was simply . . . there. Lying on the rain-soaked ground, her eyes glowing bright violet in the darkness.
The same violet as Lucia’s ring.
Her father listened carefully, not interrupting her once.
“Only more proof that Lyssa is very special,” he said. “As special as you are.”
“I agree, she is special.” Something heavy in her chest that she’d been carrying for months finally eased. “Where’s Magnus?” she asked. “Is he in another cell?”
When the king met Lucia’s gaze, she saw pain in his dark eyes.
She drew in a sharp breath. “What happened? Tell me.”
And he did tell her. About finding her grandmother—a woman she’d thought had died a dozen years ago. About her father and brother’s capture by Amara’s soldiers. About Amara’s association with the fire Kindred and the sacrifices she’d placed at the bottom of a nearby pit. About Kyan’s possession of Nicolo Cassian’s body and how the ritual was brought to a sudden halt by her grandmother’s death, but not before the other three Kindred had chosen flesh-and-blood vessels: that of a Watcher Lucia didn’t know, a friend of Jonas’s she didn’t know, and Cleo.
“And Magnus?” she prompted when she could find her breath again.
“Lord Kurtis Cirillo took him away . . . somewhere. There’s a search, I know this. I don’t know anything else because I’ve been locked in this bloody prison. Useless.” There was fury in the king’s gaze now, tempered with regret. “He hates me for all I’ve done, and I don’t blame him. I tried to help him the only way I could . . .” His breath hitched, and he paused, as if trying to find his composure again. “But I fear it wasn’t enough.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him how he thought he could help, but her thoughts were stolen away by the name of a boy from her past. Someone hateful and cruel and without remorse.
Kurtis Cirillo.
Lucia had a sudden memory of coming upon a twitching, dying kitten in the corridors of the Limerian palace. Lord Kurtis had been nearby, snickering at her horrified reaction. She’d had nightmares about that poor kitten for weeks afterward.
Magnus had hated Kurtis, but tolerated him only because he was the son of Lord Gareth, a friend and advisor to the king.
“Where is Kurtis now?” she hissed.
“I don’t know. He hasn’t been located, to my knowledge. All I know is that he had reason to want revenge upon Magnus.”
Everything else she’d heard from the king fell to the background. All of it could wait.
“We need to find him together,” she said.
“I’m Amara’s prisoner.”
“Not anymore.”
She sent air magic at the door, and it blew right off its hinges. Amara had been standing just outside the room with her guard. Her expression filled with alarm as Lucia left the cell with her father beside her.
“The search for my brother?” Lucia asked. “What news is there?”
Amara’s face paled. “Nothing yet, I’m afraid. There is a search party out—thirty, forty men. They may yet find him.”
The empress feared her. They all feared her. The reputation she’d built of not only being a prophesied sorceress but one who had no difficulties slaughtering villages might serve her well for a time.
Lucia could not wait for a search party.
Her magic was still strong enough to blast through gates and doors. Perhaps she could channel it another way.
“I need a private room,” she said. “And something that belonged to Magnus—something I can get a sense of him from.”
With Alexius’s guidance, she had performed a very special location spell to find and awaken the Kindred. She’d heard of common witches who could find people or lost things with their magic, enhanced by blood.
She hadn’t tried this before, but she was a sorceress, not a common witch. Even with her fading and unreliable magic it had to be possible.
Amara didn’t try to stop her or demand that Gaius be put back into his locked cell. She became the perfect hostess, accommodating Lucia’s request in an instant.
“Follow me,” she said.
Lucia handed Lyssa to her father when they reached the room Amara led them to.
“I want to help if I can,” Amara said.
“You can’t help,” Lucia growled. “Get out.”
Amara’s eyes narrowed slightly, then she cast a dark look at Gaius but didn’t say another word. She nodded at her guard, and they left the room.
Lucia had been given something that belonged to her brother. His black cloak had been found, discarded, in a hallway. The king recognized it, said it belonged to Magnus.
It was torn and bloody.
The sight of it brought fresh panic to Lucia’s chest. Her brother had suffered at Kurtis’s hand.
I’m so sorry, she thought, clenching the rough material in her hand. I blamed you, I hated you, I doubted you. I left you when you were the one of the best parts of my entire life. Forgive me, please.
She would find him.
With her father standing close to her with her baby, Lucia took a seat on a section of the floor clear of any furniture, closed her eyes, and concentrat
ed.
Earth magic seemed to be the right element to call upon. She felt the weight of the cloak in her hand. She pictured Magnus—his tall stature, his dark hair that constantly fell into his eyes since he hated having it trimmed. His square jaw, his dark brown eyes that had gazed at her either seriously or mischievously, depending on the situation and the day. The scar on his right cheek from an injury he said he could not clearly remember.
The image of him shifted to something else then.
Blood on his face, dripping from a fresh cut under his eye. Fury in his gaze.
He strained against the chains that held his arms over his head.
“I can see him,” Lucia whispered.
“Where? Where is he?” Gaius asked.
“I think I’m seeing what’s already happened . . .” She tightened her grip on the cloak.
Kurtis’s weasel-like face came into view, a cruel smile twisting his lips.
Lucia drew in a sharp breath. “I feel Magnus’s hatred for Kurtis. He wasn’t afraid, even though the coward had to chain him up.”
“I will kill him,” the king growled.
Lucia tried to ignore him, tried to concentrate only on this vision in her mind. She’d once had another vision of the past—one of the original sorceress Eva’s death at the hands of Melenia. The moment the Kindred had made Cleiona and Valoria into goddesses a millennium ago.
She sank deeper into her earth magic and pressed it outward. Even now she could sense its growing limitations, and it frustrated her so much she wanted to scream.
Timotheus told her that Eva’s magic had also faded when she’d become pregnant. And this loss of strength and power had allowed her immortal sister the chance to end her life.
Lucia squeezed her eyes shut and focused on Magnus. Only Magnus. She hugged his cloak to her chest and followed the trail of earth elementia . . . the trace of his life, his blood, his pain . . .
Earth.
Deep earth.
Shovelfuls of dirt, one after another, hitting a closed wooden box.
“No . . .” she whispered.
“What do you see?” her father asked.
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