Ashur studied him, frustration in his blue-gray eyes. “Where was your sister last night when Kyan was about to burn you? To make you into his slave? Did she magically appear to save you? She doesn’t give a damn about you anymore, Magnus. Perhaps she never did.”
Magnus really didn’t mean to hit Ashur as hard as he did.
But he hit him anyway.
Ashur covered his nose as it gushed blood with one hand and shoved Magnus back with the other. “I think you broke my nose, you basanuug.”
“Good. You were too perfect-looking before. It’ll give you some character.” Magnus started walking again. “I’m going to assume basanuug doesn’t mean ‘good friend.’”
“It’s Kraeshian for the arse of a pig.”
He nodded. “Fitting.”
“Don’t dare hit me ever again,” Ashur growled.
“Don’t speak ill of my sister again and I won’t have to,” he snapped back. “Lucia will return. She will help us. She won’t side with Kyan again, not after she sees what he’s done.”
When it came to his sister, Magnus needed to believe this more than anything else.
Their progress along the Imperial Road was far too slow and tried Magnus’s patience, but they finally entered Auranos.
Ashur’s tales of this witch named Valia had piqued his interest, though he’d never admit it.
Not far from the Temple of Cleiona and the end of the Imperial Road, they came upon the village and the tavern that Ashur sought. Magnus didn’t care about the name of it, only that it might serve wine and good food along with the answers Ashur wanted.
The pair entered the busy tavern and took a seat at a table in a dark corner. They ordered food and drink from a barmaid.
Ashur drew the girl closer. “I’m looking for someone,” he said.
She gave him a flirtatious smile and twisted a piece of dark hair around her finger. “You’ve found her.”
“That’s not exactly what I mean, lovely girl.” He whispered something in her ear.
She nodded. “I’ll see if he’s here, handsome.”
When she walked away, Magnus regarded Ashur with bemusement. “The world’s most sought-after unmarried prince who could have anyone he wants . . . cares only for Nicolo Cassian.”
Ashur met Magnus’s gaze without flinching. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Likely not,” he agreed.
Not long after, the girl brought them roast chicken and a bottle of wine from Agallon Vineyards. Magnus glared at the etched marking for a moment before he uncorked it and took a deep drink, squeezing his eyes shut to allow the sweet liquid to move over his tongue and down his throat.
“I didn’t think Limerians drank inebriants,” Ashur said.
“They don’t,” Magnus replied. “Except for the ones that do.”
He scanned the tavern with impatience and suspicion, waiting for one of its patrons to approach them, ready to fight or kill. But every one of them minded their own business, filing out after their meals, drunk and full.
“Amusing,” Magnus said drily.
“What is?” Ashur asked.
“Auranians have survived very nicely, given all that has transpired in Mytica this last year. They’re still hedonists to their very core.”
“People have different ways of dealing with adversities. It doesn’t mean they’re happy.”
“Ignorance is happiness.”
“Then let’s toast to ignorance.” Ashur raised his goblet. After a moment, Magnus raised his bottle. “And to my sister Amara,” he continued, “who can rot in what Myticans call the darklands—if such a place exists—where she has surely earned her spot for leaving us with such a mess to clean up.”
Magnus nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”
A man approached their table from across the busy tavern. He had white hair, a lined face, and an impossibly wide smile.
“You asked to speak with me,” the man said.
“You’re Bruno?” Ashur asked.
Bruno nodded, his smile growing even wider. “Not just one but two princes in my tavern this evening! How utterly marvelous. I wish my son were here to see this!”
“Quiet, you fool,” Magnus snarled, scanning the area to see if anyone overheard.
“Why should I be quiet about such an honor?”
“Kindly lower your voice,” Ashur said.
“Oh, your accent is just as delightful as they say it is, your grace. My goodness, yes. Lovely, just lovely!”
Magnus placed the edge of his blade against the man’s wrist. “I said be quiet.”
Bruno looked down, his white eyebrows high. “Of course, your highness.”
“I was told that you might have information,” Ashur said, “about how to contact a woman named Valia.”
“Valia,” Bruno said, nodding. “Yes, I know her.”
“I need to speak with her.”
“Valia doesn’t speak with just anyone. She values her privacy.”
“She’s an exiled Watcher? One who’s retained her magic?” Magnus asked in a hushed tone, still resistant to this possibility.
Bruno’s pleasant expression grew warier. “What interest do you have in contacting Valia?”
“I need to know if her magic might help to save a friend of mine,” Ashur said.
“Save them from what?”
“From the fire Kindred.”
Bruno twisted his hands, his face paling. “One shouldn’t speak aloud of such legends. The hawks may hear us.” He peered out the window next to them, into the midday sunshine. “Valia hates the hawks, you know. They’re her favorite meal—roasted with sour panberries. I think it’s because of what happened to her hand, you see, although she would never admit such a thing.”
Ashur let out a small grunt of frustration. “How do I contact her? Through you?”
“If you seek Valia, she will know.” He shrugged. “But she’ll also respond to a blood sacrifice along with a recited summoning.”
Magnus pushed his empty bottle of wine away from him. “I think we’re done here.”
“What kind of summoning?” Ashur persisted. “Does she live in this village? Will you let her know I’m seeking her help?”
“I haven’t seen Valia in years. Frankly, I have no idea where she is now. But if you do the blood ritual and the summoning properly, and she is curious, she will come forth.” Bruno turned to Magnus, his smile returning, especially now that Magnus had sheathed his blade. “I saw you on your wedding tour. You and the princess made quite the pair—a portrait of light and dark, night and day. The Prince of Blood and the beautiful Golden Princess. A stunning couple, truly.” He shook his head. “It’s a memory I treasure to this day, despite how much I despise your evil father.”
“Ashur,” Magnus said with an impatient sigh, “I’m going to the palace now. Are you going to join me, or do you wish to call out names while sacrificing random forest creatures?”
“You don’t believe,” Ashur said.
“What I believe is irrelevant. What I need is to get to Cleo.”
“I’ve heard a recent rumor about you, Prince Magnus,” Bruno said. “I’m so pleased to see it’s not true.”
“Oh? And what is it?”
“That you’re dead.” Bruno cocked his head. “You look very well for a dead man.”
Magnus brushed his fingers over the ring on his left hand. “Ashur?”
Ashur stood up, his face etched in doubt. “Yes, I’m coming with you. I can’t waste time chasing after useless stories, and that’s what this sounds like to me.”
Magnus heard the pained disappointment in the prince’s voice.
He couldn’t help but feel it himself.
There would be no simple solution to this puzzle. It had become a giant, complicated ice maze in which one might freeze to dea
th before they ever found their way out.
But Magnus still believed in Lucia.
And he believed in Cleo.
That would have to be enough.
CHAPTER 12
LUCIA
AURANOS
Ever since drawing the truth from Lord Gareth’s lying mouth yesterday, Lucia felt more of her magic slipping away.
She barely slept last night thinking about how to solve this crushing problem.
Other than draining Jonas of more of his strange magic—which would possibly kill him the next time—she came up with no solid answer.
Even Lyssa’s nursemaid noticed the strain and worry on Lucia’s face and told her to go outside and get some sunshine and fresh air.
Instead of ignoring her, Lucia decided to do as suggested.
She had enjoyed the palace courtyard the last time she’d been there, relished in walking its mosaic pathway through the olive and willow trees and beautiful flower gardens tended daily by a full roster of talented gardeners.
The sound of buzzing bees, the chirp of songbirds, and the warm Auranian sun on her face calmed her.
It wasn’t home, but it would have to do for now.
The king said they would stay at the Auranian palace until he found Kurtis, who, perhaps, might return to the palace seeking his father’s assistance.
So be it.
From the pocket of her gown, she pulled out the amber orb that had once been Kyan’s prison. After he’d taken corporeal form, he had kept this with him until the magic from her ring had destroyed that form.
This orb was of value to the fire Kindred.
And it was a threat to him. But only if Lucia could summon the full strength of her magic to imprison him again.
While seated upon a stone bench in the center of the courtyard, she held the small crystal sphere in the palm of her hand and tried to levitate it with air magic.
Lucia concentrated, gritting her teeth with the effort, but nothing happened.
She failed again and again to shift the object even a fraction.
Oh, goddess, she thought with growing panic. My magic is completely gone.
“Lucia.”
The sound of Cleo’s voice made her jump, and she quickly tucked the amber orb back into her pocket.
“Apologies if I startled you,” Cleo said, wringing her hands.
“Not at all,” Lucia lied, managing a tight smile. “Good morning.”
Cleo didn’t reply. She simply stood there, studying Lucia nervously.
She wore a lovely blue gown today with orange and yellow flowers embroidered along the hem of the skirt. Lucia would have envied her for it in the past. Limerians, even royalty, rarely wore bright colors. Lucia’s mother had always insisted on looking proper, polished, and well-tailored—provided the colors one wore were gray, black, or olive green.
Yet Lucia had always been drawn to brighter colors. She had hated Lady Sabina Mallius, her father’s former mistress, but envied her ability to wear red. While it was the official color of Limeros, such a color rarely found its way onto the clothing of anyone but a palace guard.
Perhaps I should have confiscated Sabina’s wardrobe after I murdered her, Lucia mused.
It seemed so long ago—her first burst of uncontrollable magic that had led to a death. How horrible Lucia had felt about it at the time.
But that was then, and this was now.
“That is a beautiful gown,” she said.
Cleo looked down at herself as if just realizing what she wore. “This is the work of Lorenzo Tavera. He has a dress shop in Hawk’s Brow.”
Lucia found she didn’t care about such things anymore, not really.
No, now that Cleo was right in front of her, she had much more important subjects on her mind. Her gaze moved to Cleo’s left hand, the one that bore the water magic symbol. She’d seen the same symbol a thousand times on statues of the goddess Valoria.
To see it in reality, on the palm on the Auranian princess, felt rather surreal.
There were more markings on Cleo’s skin—thin, branching blue lines that extended from the water symbol itself. At first glance, they appeared like veins visible through translucent skin, but they were far more ominous than that.
“I need your help,” Cleo said, simply.
Something caught in Lucia’s chest, something cold and hard and tight.
“Do you?” she replied.
Cleo bit her bottom lip, her eyes cast downward. “I know you hate me for what I did. I convinced you we were friends, and you allowed me to take part in the awakening ritual. When you confronted me about telling Jonas where to find the crystals, I denied it.”
Lucia watched her carefully, surprised by the words coming out of her mouth.
Cleo blinked hard as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I did only what I felt like I had to do to survive. But know this: I had come to value you as a friend, Lucia. If it had been another world, another lifetime, perhaps we could have been just that without any difficulties. But instead, I betrayed your trust for my own gain. And I truly apologize for hurting you.”
Lucia found herself momentarily at a loss for words. “You mean this.”
Cleo nodded. “With all my heart.”
Lucia had been terribly hurt by the betrayal. And she’d reacted the only way she knew how—with anger and violence. She’d nearly killed Cleo that day, just before she’d foolishly run away with Alexius.
Cleo had always seemed so perfect—so effortlessly beautiful, so poised . . . a girl who drew everyone’s eye and appreciation. So very different from Lucia.
A part of her had wanted to destroy this small, golden piece of perfection.
Especially when it became clear that Magnus had begun to take interest in her.
Was it jealousy Lucia had felt? Not romantic jealousy, certainly. Lucia had never loved Magnus as more than a brother. But all her life she’d had his full attention and possessed his whole heart.
Magnus had belonged only to her until Cleo came into their lives.
No wonder I’ve hated her all this time, Lucia thought with shocked realization.
She reached out a hand to the other princess. “Let me see your mark.”
Cleo hesitated a moment before taking a seat next to the sorceress and holding out her left hand. Lucia studied the water magic symbol and the lines branching out from it, her brows drawing together in concentration.
“The magic is unpredictable,” Cleo said, her voice hushed now. “And so powerful. It can control the weather. It can create sheets of ice out of nothing at all. It can freeze a man to death . . .”
Lucia quickly looked up at Cleo, searching the other princess’s face for the truth.
“You killed someone with this water magic,” she said.
Cleo nodded. “A guard who had helped to torture Magnus.”
Lucia’s grip on Cleo’s hand increased. “I hope you made him suffer.”
“That’s just it . . . I didn’t try to do anything at all. It just happened. The magic manifests when I’m angry, or sad, or in pain. I can feel it—cool and bottomless within my skin. But I can’t seem to control it.”
“When it does manifest, are these lines the only side effect?”
“My nose bled the first time, but not since. These lines appeared, yes. And I also have nightmares, but I’m not sure if they’re related. Nightmares that I’m drowning. And not only when I’m asleep . . . sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in the middle of the day.”
Lucia pondered this for a moment. In the beginning, her magic was also overpowering, lashing out when her emotions became erratic.
“So you want my help,” she began, “to rid yourself of this affliction.”
“No,” Cleo said without hesitation. “I want your help to learn how to control it.”
Cleo’s expression turned stubborn. “I’ve been reading more about Valoria in a book I found in the palace library. She also had the water and earth Kindred within her, but she could control that magic at will.”
“Valoria was an immortal, created from magic itself,” Lucia explained. “You are mortal, flesh and blood, and vulnerable to pain and injury.”
Cleo eyes grew glossy, and her grip on Lucia’s hand tightened. “You don’t understand.” She looked down at the water symbol. “I have to figure out how to use it. I have to save Nic and my kingdom. My sister, my father . . . they told me to be strong, but I”—she drew in a ragged breath—“I don’t know if I can be strong much longer. What I’ve always believed about my family, about my mother and father and the love they shared . . .” Her voice broke. “Everything has fallen away into ruin, and I’m lost. Without this magic, I have nothing left. Without this magic . . . I am nothing.”
Lucia had hated Cleo for so long for reasons she’d all but forgotten, but the princess’s pain tugged on a heart she’d thought had turned hard and black months ago.
“You’re not nothing,” she said firmly. “You are Cleiona Aurora Bellos. And you are going to survive this. You’re going to survive because I know my brother would have wanted you to.”
Tears streaked down Cleo’s cheeks, and she stared into Lucia’s eyes for a long time before she finally nodded.
“I’ll try,” she said.
“Do better than try.”
Cleo fell silent for a moment, her brows drawn together. “Taran wants the air magic out of him. He must have even less control over his emotions than I do, because the lines have gone far higher on his arm than mine have.” She stared down at them, touching the blue lines gingerly with her right hand. “He . . . he says he’d rather die than become nothing but a vessel for the air Kindred.”
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