I shrugged off his thanks. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“That you’ll keep giving Andvarian girls flowers instead of trying to kill them.” The words came out harsher and crueler than I intended, perhaps because of our shared past.
Leonidas flinched, but he tilted his head. “As my lady wishes.”
He lifted his right arm out to his side and crossed his left one over his waist, dipping into a traditional Mortan bow, although the motion was stiff and shallow. The prince straightened. He gazed at me a moment longer, then vanished into the bedroom and shut the door.
I waited a few seconds, but the lock didn’t click home. Perhaps he finally believed that I wasn’t going to murder him. Not tonight, anyway. Soft footsteps sounded, then the faint creak of bedsprings whispered through the walls.
I yanked my sword out of the dressing screen and grabbed my shield. I set the weapons within easy reach on the table beside the settee, then built a fire.
The heat warmed my face, but the continued crack-crack-cracks of the wood reverberated through my mind, just as those phantom screams had been doing all day long. I didn’t always have to be around other people in order for my magic to overwhelm me. Sometimes, a smell was enough to upset my power. A particular color. Or, in this case, a sound.
I grimaced, got to my feet, and spun away from the fireplace, trying to ignore the storm, the magic, rising up inside me.
Too late.
I took a step toward the settee, but from one moment to the next, the living room dropped away, and I found myself standing in the middle of a forest . . .
Crack.
A twig snapped under someone’s foot, and I whirled around. Three people were trudging through the woods.
The first was a short, sixty-something man. Wrinkles grooved into his ebony skin, and a generous amount of silver glinted in his short black hair, but his hazel eyes were warm and kind. Alvis, the Seven Spire royal jeweler.
The second was a woman, also in her sixties, with wavy coppery red hair, golden amber eyes, and bronze skin. A snarling ogre face with the same red hair and amber eyes that the woman herself had was visible on her neck. Lady Xenia Rubin, a famed spymaster.
The third person was a twelve-year-old girl with long, tangled dark brown hair and pale skin. Her dress was tattered and torn, and purple circles of exhaustion ringed her blue eyes. Me. Gemma Ripley. Or Gems, as I’d thought of myself back then.
The three of them approached me, but I didn’t bother hiding. They couldn’t see me, since this wasn’t really happening. At least, it wasn’t happening right now. No, this trek had taken place in the Spire Mountains about two weeks after the Seven Spire massacre.
My mother, Merilde Ripley, had been a time magier who had often seen the future. I had inherited a bit of her magic, but more often than not, I got dragged back into the past, as if I were a spectator watching previous events that had been recorded by a memory stone. Yet another frustrating way in which my power controlled me, rather than me controlling it. Because if I could have managed my magic, I never would have thought about the massacre or its aftermath ever again.
My mother and Alvis had both called this cursed ability ghosting. I could see and hear everything, even remember everything I had thought, felt, and experienced. I just couldn’t change the outcome—or ignore the pain that was sure to pummel my heart yet again.
I grabbed my gargoyle pendant and squeezed it tight. Sometimes, the sensation of the tearstone shards pricking my palm was enough to snap me back to the present and stave off the unwanted memory. I waited, but nothing happened, no matter how tightly I squeezed or how deeply the shards sank into my skin. Damn it.
Eventually, my magic would settle back down, and I would return to the real world, but for now, I sighed, released my pendant, and fell in step beside the younger version of myself, knowing that there was nothing I could do but see this unfortunate incident through to the end.
While we walked, I studied Gems. The girl grimaced with every step she took, and memories surged off her. Glasses shattering. Tables flipping over. Chairs splintering to pieces. Screams.
The phantom noises flitting through her mind matched the ones that had been ringing in my ears all day long. She was thinking about the Seven Spire massacre. Of course she was. Neither one of us could ever escape it, no matter how hard we tried.
After all, the massacre was when her, my, our mind magier magic had first manifested itself.
More sounds and images filled my mind. The shock and disbelief on Uncle Frederich’s face. The strangled gasps of Lord Hans and the other Andvarians. And perhaps worst of all, Uncle Frederich’s pain burning like a wildfire in my chest, as though Vasilia had plunged her dagger into my heart instead of his.
I shuddered, not sure if the thoughts were Gems’s or my own memories. At times like these, I thought that my magic was slowly driving me mad. Or perhaps I was already mad and just didn’t realize it yet. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in my chest, although I swallowed it before it could escape.
Alvis stepped into a clearing and turned to Xenia. “What do you think? Can we stop for a few hours?”
“Yes, we can stop and rest,” Xenia replied.
Alvis used some rocks to make a fire pit, while Xenia and Gems collected dead branches and pine cones. Eventually, the three of them sat down around a crackling fire.
“Here, Gems. Try this.” Alvis handed the girl two toasted pieces of bread. “It’s a sandwich with cheese and apricot jam. I’m afraid it’s our only option as far as food goes.”
Xenia’s nostrils flared with disgust, but she too took a toasted sandwich from Alvis.
Gems blew on the sandwich to cool it down, then took a bite. The tasty combination of crunchy, toasted bread; warm, melted cheese; and sweet, tangy jam filled my own mouth, as though I had taken a bite of the sandwich too. A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips.
“This is really good!” Gems beamed at Alvis.
He grinned at her, gave Xenia a smug look, and ate his own sandwich. Xenia rolled her eyes, but she too wolfed down her sandwich, and her inner ogre smacked its lips together in silent appreciation.
After the three of them finished eating, Alvis and Xenia started talking in low voices. They didn’t want Gems to hear what they were saying, but of course their thoughts crowded into her mind anyway.
Not much water left . . .
Not sure we lost that last group of guards . . .
We’re still miles away from the Andvarian border . . .
Even worse than their thoughts was their worry, which stung her—my—heart over and over again, like dozens of bees.
“Gems?” Alvis asked. “Is something wrong?”
She stopped rubbing her chest. “Of course not.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. I had been such a terrible liar back then.
Gems jumped to her feet. “I need to go . . . you know.” She flapped her hand at the trees. “I’ll be back soon.”
Ten feet, twenty, fifty . . . I followed my younger self into the woods until Alvis’s and Xenia’s whispered thoughts faded away, along with their stinging worry. Gems stopped, leaned up against a tree, and closed her eyes.
Even though this was just a memory, I could still feel the uneven bark digging into my shoulders, and exhaustion, fear, and worry swept through my body just as vividly as they had back then.
“What is bloody wrong with me?” Gems whispered to herself. “Why can’t I control these thoughts and feelings? Why can’t I just block them out? Along with the massacre?”
Unfortunately, those were questions I still couldn’t answer to this day—
Crack.
Gems jerked away from the tree, her eyes wide, and my own heart leaped up into my throat, even though I knew what was coming next.
Crack.
Crack-crack.
Crack-crack-crack.
The sounds came again, morphing into distinct footsteps, and flashes of movement appeare
d through the trees, along with bright silver glints. Gems squinted in that direction.
“I see footprints.”
“This looks like a path.”
“They must be right up ahead. Quiet, men. Quiet!”
Several turncoat guards came into view, all of them clutching swords.
Gems’s chest heaved, and she struggled to suck down air. My own chest squeezed tight.
“Run, Gems,” I whispered, even though this was just a memory. “Go warn your friends. Don’t be a coward like you were during the massacre.”
Even though she couldn’t hear me, even though this had all happened long ago, Gems sucked down another breath, then started running back to camp to warn Alvis and Xenia . . .
Another piece of wood snapped in the fireplace, the crack loud enough to break the unwanted spell of my magic and jog me out of the past. In an instant, the forest vanished, and I was back in the cottage, back in the present where I belonged.
I staggered over and plopped down on the settee. Then I raised a shaking hand and wiped the cold sweat off my forehead. It took me a few minutes and several deep breaths to stop trembling, but I managed it. Eventually. My magic kept roiling inside me, though, ready to lash out and drag me back into the past again.
Desperate for something else to focus on, I stared at the closed bedroom door, straining to hear what Leonidas was doing, but no noises sounded. He must be asleep. A relieved breath tumbled out of my lips. Good. The last thing I needed was for him to witness one of my ghosting episodes—or worse, grab my sword and stab me in the back when I was lost in the past.
When I was sure my magic wasn’t going to flare up again, I grabbed a blanket and a pillow from the armoire and made myself a cozy nest on the settee. Even though it had been a long day, and I was exhausted, I didn’t think I would sleep. Too many things were rattling around in my mind. But eventually, the warmth of the fire lulled me to sleep . . .
Sometime later, a soft click intruded on the quiet. For a moment, I thought my magic had gone haywire and tossed me back into the past again. Then a second click sounded, and I realized that this sound was happening in the here and now.
I jerked upright on the settee, my hand dragging my dagger out from under my pillow. The fire had burned down to ash and embers, and the first twinges of the pale purple dawn were slipping in through the white lace curtains.
My gaze snagged on the bedroom door, which was standing wide open. Inside, the bed was empty, and the blankets had been neatly smoothed back into place.
Leonidas Morricone was gone.
Still clutching my dagger, I scrambled to my feet and looked down at the table in front of the settee, but my sword and shield were sitting where I’d left them last night. I didn’t sense the prince in the cottage, but I still quietly crept around, peering into the adjoining rooms. They were all empty.
Where was he?
Finally, I reached the kitchen, and I realized what had made those telltale clicks—someone opening and then closing the front door. I hurried over to one of the windows and shoved the curtains aside.
I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting to see. Perhaps Captain Wexel and his men, getting ready to storm inside the cottage, but the yard was empty except for a lone figure.
Leonidas.
He was once again wearing his long black cloak over his riding coat and other clothes. He was moving stiffly, but he must be feeling better if he was leaving. Or perhaps he didn’t trust me any more than I trusted him and wanted to escape as soon as possible.
A shiver swept over me. I had been so soundly asleep that I hadn’t heard him get out of bed and creep through the cottage. He could have easily killed me. So why hadn’t he?
Leonidas stopped, as if he could feel my gaze and hear my thoughts. Maybe he could with his own mind magier power. He slowly faced me.
His amethyst eyes locked with mine, and a jolt shot through my chest and zinged out through the rest of my body. In an instant, my fingertips were tingling, my toes were curling, and my heart was hammering. I recognized the sensation.
Anticipation—although of what, I couldn’t say.
The seconds ticked by, softly counted out by the cuckoo clock on the wall, but neither one of us looked away. Then Leonidas bowed, still keeping his eyes on mine.
Thank you, his voice whispered in my mind.
Before I could send a thought back, Prince Leonidas Morricone straightened up, turned around, and vanished into the woods.
My mortal enemy was gone.
Chapter Eight
I stood at the window, clutching my dagger and scanning the area, but no one appeared. Leonidas had left, and Captain Wexel hadn’t tracked him here.
Welcome developments, but disappointment still filled me. I told myself it was because I hadn’t gotten any information out of Leonidas about the tearstone, and not because he had been going to leave without saying goodbye. Yes, the lack of progress in my spy mission was the reason for my sudden deflation, and not my curiosity about the Morricone prince.
A rueful snort escaped my lips. I hadn’t been a very good liar as a child, and I wasn’t particularly good at it as an adult either, at least when it came to deceiving myself.
Still, Leonidas was gone, and I had to be at work soon, so I donned a fresh set of coveralls, then made hot oatmeal topped with dried figs and toasted slivered almonds and dusted with cinnamon and chocolate flakes. I was eating my breakfast when a knock sounded on the door and a familiar presence filled my mind.
I waved my hand and unlocked the door. “It’s open!”
Topacia came inside. Her hand curled around her sword, and her hazel gaze darted around the kitchen before scanning the living room beyond. “Where’s your patient?”
“Gone. He snuck out early this morning.”
She relaxed. “Good. He didn’t give you any trouble?”
“Nope. He was actually rather . . . pleasant.”
That was the most benign word I could think of to describe Leonidas. I certainly couldn’t admit that he was intriguing. Infuriating. Intelligent. Cold. Powerful. Muscled. Handsome. My face heated at the unwanted thoughts, and I shoved another bite of oatmeal into my mouth.
“Pleasant for a Mortan means that they’ll stab you face-to-face instead of burying their sword in your back,” Topacia muttered.
There was no point arguing with her. Leonidas might have accused me of thinking that all Mortans were as evil as evil could be, especially the Morricones, but Topacia firmly believed it.
Given the myriad schemes Queen Maeven had hatched against my family over the years, I couldn’t disagree with my friend, although Leonidas seemed to be the exception to the rule, despite how he had hurt me when we were children. Either way, he was gone, and I would probably never see him again. Regret pinched my heart, but I pushed the feeling aside. The sensation was probably just gas.
I fixed Topacia some oatmeal. While she ate, I reached out with my magic, scanning the woods again, but I still didn’t sense anyone nearby. I stretched out a little farther with my power, but Lyra’s faint, feathery presence had also vanished. Of course it had. Leonidas would never leave his beloved strix behind, and he certainly wasn’t going to walk back to Morta.
Lyra’s presence might be gone, but another one filled my mind, like a rock rolling steadily in this direction. A few seconds later, another knock sounded on the door, although this sound was more of a sharp thwack, like an arrow banging off the wood. I grinned, went over, and opened the door.
Grimley was sitting on the stoop, perched on his front paws like a cat, with his long tail lashing from side to side. I scratched the top of his head, right in between his curved horns.
“Thank you for knocking this time.”
“Stupid doors,” he grumbled. “They’re only fun to crash through.”
I laughed. Grimley had barreled through his fair share of doors, much to the consternation of the wood, glass, and metalstone masters at Glitnir, who kept having to replace the ones th
e gargoyle demolished, along with windows, flagstones, and entire sections of the palace walls.
Grimley sauntered inside. I had stoked the fire before breakfast, and within seconds, he was stretched out on the rug, soaking up the heat from the flames.
I shut the door, then sat down across from Topacia at the kitchen table. “Did you find out anything about Wexel?”
“Not really,” she replied. “I was holed up in a tavern waiting for the storm to pass. Someone told me where the Mortans were staying, but by the time I got to that inn, they had already left. I staked out the inn all night, but they never returned.”
She ate a bite of oatmeal before continuing. “I nosed around this morning and even bribed a few chambermaids, but Wexel and his men were pretty tight-lipped about what they were doing here. As far as anyone at the inn knew, they were merchants conducting business, although they never mentioned what that business was. The chambermaids said this was the first time they had seen the Mortans. Wexel must use a different inn every time he comes to Blauberg. I’m sorry, Gemma, but it’s a dead end.”
Frustration filled me. “It’s okay. Wexel doesn’t strike me as the kind to be reckless. If nothing else, at least we know how careful he is and that he’s able to keep his men in line.”
Topacia nodded and returned to her food. I ate a few more bites of my own oatmeal, but I wasn’t enjoying it anymore, so I pushed my bowl aside.
Despite everything that had happened, we were still no closer to learning why the Mortans suddenly wanted so much tearstone, and especially what they were planning to do with it. All Topacia and I had done the past few weeks was chase whispers that had led us nowhere.
More frustration coursed through me, turning the oatmeal in my stomach into hard lumps, as though I’d just eaten a bowl full of opals, like Grimley was so fond of doing.
Spy the storm brewing, and you won’t get struck by lightning. Ignore the clouds, and you’ll get burned to a crisp, Xenia’s voice whispered through my mind.
Capture the Crown Page 10
