“How many wheels are there?” Cleo asked.
“A dozen have been found and documented. Each exactly the same but in different stages of disrepair.”
“How do you know they have something to do with the Watchers?” she asked, ignoring Magnus’s curious look at her.
The lord kept his hand on the wheel as he admired the carved surface of it. “There was an old man who lived in northern Limeros. Near the end of his days, he swore to all who’d listen that he was an exiled Watcher who had left the Sanctuary never to return. Once here, he became mortal, he aged, he became senile. His children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren listened patiently to his ramblings, but didn’t think much of it. He spoke of the wheels being here for a reason. He asked to be taken to one so he could touch immortality once again.”
The stone wheel seemed so innocuous to her, something no one would ever look twice at. “And did he?”
“No. He died before that could happen.”
“Likely, just an old man who didn’t know what he was saying.” Magnus’s expression was completely unreadable. “Much gratitude for this rare and generous gift, Lord Gareth. The wheel will be the highlight of this garden, I’m sure.”
“It’s my pleasure, Prince Magnus, Princess Cleo. May you have many happy years together.” He bowed and moved back to join the others.
“Prince Magnus!” a woman with gray hair and a wrinkled face called out to him. “Might I have a word? My son is still not betrothed and I was thinking about your sister . . . well, could we speak?”
“This tour cannot come to an end soon enough,” he muttered before moving off to join the enthusiastic woman.
Now alone, Cleo touched the smooth, cold surface of the large wheel. A skilled hand had created this once, many years ago.
“It’s how they get back and forth between the mortal world and the Sanctuary in hawk form,” Tarus had told her. “They have these magical, carved stone wheels hidden here and there. Might look like nothing but a ruin to us, but without the wheels, they’re trapped here.”
But this stone had been moved from its original location. Would it still work?
After a moment, the stone, which had been cold as ice beneath her touch, began to warm.
Her heart quickened to see her ring begin to glow—and something deep within the purple stone, something that looked like sparkling, molten gold, started to swirl.
The wheel quickly grew as hot as fire beneath her touch and a tremor of energy shot up her arm. Fear got the better of her, and she yanked her hand back. The stone in her ring stopped glowing, but she was captivated by that small speck of gold still visible down deep—so deep she felt as if she might fall into it and lose herself.
A wave of dizziness swept through her and she swayed on her feet before her legs gave out completely.
But she didn’t fall. Someone was there, reaching an arm around her waist to steady her. She looked up expecting to see Nic, but it was Magnus.
His dark brows were drawn tightly together. “Problem, princess?”
A quick glance at the gathered crowd showed that no one watched her with anything more than concern over her current state of well-being. No one guessed what she’d just seen.
The noblewoman Magnus had been speaking to gawked at her. “She’s so pale. Is she well?”
“Well enough,” Magnus replied, his words clipped. “Much gratitude for your concern, Lady Sophia. I think I’ll take a short walk with my . . . with the princess before my speech so she can clear her head. Perhaps all this excitement is too much for her. Is that what it is?”
“Yes, of course. I—I need to clear my head.” Cleo swallowed hard and glanced at her ring. The swirling had stopped and the strange speck of molten gold was no longer visible within the stone.
Nic gave her a strained and concerned look as Magnus led her away and toward the labyrinth.
What would have happened if she’d been brave enough to keep her hand pressed against the wheel? Would she—a mere mortal—be able to journey to the Sanctuary? Would it offer her some glimpse as to where to find the Kindred?
If she didn’t find the answers, she would allow Auranos to continue to be held under the iron fist of King Gaius. And she’d be letting her father down. How she wished he was still alive to guide her now. Sometimes when she least expected it—like now—the bottomless emptiness of all she’d lost mercilessly pulled her downward.
“Is there something wrong?” Magnus asked. “You’re upset.”
Cleo wiped away a tear and didn’t bother looking directly at him. “Do you care?”
“I care that a sobbing princess doesn’t present a very good picture of a happy marriage.”
“I’m not sobbing.” She gave him a hard look. “Perhaps you’d prefer it if I were.”
“Such belligerence, princess. Whatever have I done to deserve this today?”
“You’re breathing.” The words were out before she could restrain them, and she bit into her lower lip. She decided to change the subject. “What is this place?”
“The Limerian palace grounds, of course.”
“No, I mean this place. This maze. Why’s it here?”
He glanced around. “Afraid of getting lost?”
“Can’t you just answer a simple question without being difficult?” Again, she bit her lip and studied the ground, fighting her constant frustration when it came to dealing with the prince.
Magnus let out a soft snort. “I don’t think you’re capable of asking simple questions. But all right. I’ll play along. This was a present for my sister six years ago. Lord Psellos wanted to garner favor for his son and an eventual betrothal, so he had this constructed as a birthday present.” His lips curved at the memory, the smile helping to soften his sharp features. “Lucia loved this maze. She’d challenge others to race through it. Often, she’d have to go back in to retrieve someone who’d become hopelessly lost. Usually it was me.”
The swift change in Magnus’s mood as he spoke of Lucia was surprising. Cleo recalled the sordid gossip Dora and Helena had shared with her about Magnus and Lucia. “You love your sister.”
His jaw tightened and he didn’t reply for a moment. “You think me incapable of such an emotion?”
“Again, that’s not really an answer, is it?”
“Perhaps it’s a question that doesn’t deserve one.”
She glared at him. “For a moment I thought . . .”
“What, princess?” He eyed her. “That you’d found more evidence of that heart you continue to question?”
As if such a discovery were even possible. “I would never make that mistake. After all, you are your father’s son.”
“Yes. And you must never forget it.” His jaw tensed. “It’s nearly time for my speech. There are certain expectations of being the son of King Gaius. Making speeches is one of them. If nothing else, it brings this tour to an end. I’ve been receiving updates and understand that Lord Aron has thus far failed to capture the rebel leader. I will join the search the moment I return to Auranos.”
That Jonas was still free was a great relief. Cleo crossed her arms, trying to block out the chill by pulling her fox fur cloak tighter against her throat. For a moment, she grappled for what to say next. She didn’t wish to discuss Jonas or the rebels. Such dangerous topics could lead her onto treacherous ground. It was best to focus on today. On Magnus’s upcoming duties as heir to the king’s stolen crown. “Your father excels at speechmaking.”
“He does indeed.”
Cleo frowned at him as she realized something very important. “Wait. You’re stalling, aren’t you?”
“Stalling?”
“You brought me for this tour of the maze not to help clear my head, but to delay your speech. It’s officially your first one, isn’t it? You’re nervous about it.”
Magnus stared at her. “
Don’t be ridiculous.”
He said one thing yet acted another way. But she could suddenly see him clearly—clearer than ever before. “King Gaius adores the sound of his own voice. But you . . . you’re different.” And here she’d believed father and son were alike in every way.
“I don’t need to listen to this nonsense.”
His steps picked up speed as he continued through the maze. Cleo was now completely lost. She had to keep pace with him or he might leave her behind to freeze to death. She pulled at her crimson skirts to keep them from dragging on the ground and getting damp from the frost.
“Public speaking should come naturally to you, given your heritage.”
He gave her a dark look over his shoulder. “Spare your breath, princess. I don’t need any words of encouragement from you.”
Annoyance flared within her, chasing away her bemusement. “Good. Because I don’t really care. I hope you make a fool of yourself. I hope they laugh at you. It would serve you right.”
The wounded look this statement received surprised her.
Cleo found it difficult to believe this horrible boy could possibly lack confidence at something so expected of royalty. Magnus effortlessly managed to intimidate everyone who crossed his path—his very presence, his height, his strength, his position and title, the harsh tone of his voice; they all ensured that anyone with less power cowered before him.
Had she managed to find a weakness?
There was an opening in the snow-encrusted hedge up ahead. They’d reached the end of the maze. Cleo let out a sigh of relief as she ran her thumb over the surface of her ring. As if to mirror her nervous gesture, Magnus ran his fingers over his scar. She’d noticed it was something he did regularly, if unconsciously.
“That happened when your family visited my father ten years ago. I remember.” Her curiosity got the better of her. She had to ask. “I assume it was an assault by a stranger, not an accident.”
The look he turned on her held nothing pleasant in it. “Neither an assault by a stranger or an accident. It was a punishment, handed forth from my father himself to forever remind me of my crime.”
Her eyes widened. His own father cut him so horribly? “What crime did you commit as a child to warrant such a punishment?”
His hand dropped to his side, his expression equal parts hard-edged and wistful. “For once in my life, I wanted to possess something beautiful, even if it meant I had to steal it. Clearly, I learned my lesson.”
Stunned, Cleo watched him rejoin the gathered crowd. Many lords and other important men waited to clasp his hand in friendship. His confusing words repeated in Cleo’s mind as their wives gathered around her, welcoming her to Limeros and congratulating her on her marriage to the prince.
They were then led back toward the castle, with the swelling crowd gathered in the palace square awaiting Magnus’s speech, cheering the very sight of the two royals. A cloaked figure parted from the crowd and began to swiftly move toward Cleo and Magnus’s entourage. He was so subtle that no one paid him any attention until he was only ten paces away, at which point he pulled a dagger from beneath his cloak and lurched forward.
Magnus lunged and thrust his arm out, catching Cleo across her chest as he shoved her back. She fell hard to the ground. The man arched the dagger toward Magnus, catching him in the arm before the prince deflected the blow and slammed his fist into the man’s stomach.
The rest of the guards restrained the man, quickly disarming him. Nic was at Cleo’s side then, helping her back to her feet. She stared at Magnus, now holding his injured arm, a look of rage on his face as he glared at his attacker.
“Who are you?” Magnus snarled.
The guards yanked back his hood. For a crazy, heart-stopping moment, Cleo was certain it would be Jonas.
But it wasn’t. It was a boy not much older than Magnus whom she’d never seen before today.
“Who am I?” he snapped. “I’m someone whose village you destroyed. Whose people you enslaved to work your precious road. Someone who sees through your father’s lies and wants to watch you both bleed and die.”
“Is that so?” Magnus stepped forward to inspect the boy with withering distaste. “It seems you’ve failed in your quest.”
“She didn’t want me to try to kill you.” The boy struggled against those who held him firmly in place. “I disagreed.”
“She? Who are you talking about?”
The would-be assassin raised his chin, his eyes cold and full of challenge. “The Watcher who speaks to me in dreams. Who guides me. Who gives me hope that not all is lost. Who tells me that that which is lost should never be found.”
Magnus’s gaze narrowed. “And this . . . Watcher . . . didn’t want you to try to kill me.”
“On that much we disagreed.”
“Obviously.”
Twisting her ring nervously, Cleo watched Magnus closely for his reaction. The prince claimed not to believe in magic and all but mocked Lord Gareth for his choice of wedding gift. Yet a mention of Watchers now seemed to give him pause.
An assassination attempt—especially one as bold and as public as this—should earn an immediate command of execution.
Silence fell as all waited for Magnus’s decision.
“Take him to the dungeon,” he said, finally. “But not the one here. Take him to Auranos where he’ll be questioned further. I’ll send message to my father today.”
“Your highness, are you certain that’s what you want?” a guard asked.
Magnus sent a cutting look in the man’s direction. “Don’t question me. Just do it.”
“Yes, your highness.”
Cleo watched tensely as the boy was dragged away, a hundred questions swirling in her mind. Was what he claimed real? Or was the boy simply mad?
Why did Magnus want him returned to Auranos for questioning? Did the prince believe what he’d said?
“Your highness,” another guard said, approaching Magnus. “My deepest apologies that he was able to get so close to you.”
Magnus’s jaw tensed. “See that it doesn’t happen again or you’ll be joining him.”
“Yes, your highness. Your arm . . .”
“It’s nothing. Lead the way to the balcony.”
“That son of a bitch shoved you,” Nic whispered to Cleo. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” But confusion still clouded her thoughts and not only about the boy’s claims. Magnus had acted instinctively at the sight of the dagger. He hadn’t shoved her to be cruel. He’d done it to . . . protect her.
Cleo was breathless as they were led to the black balcony overlooking the gathered crowd in the square below. Snow still fell in soft flakes, coating the ground with a layer of pristine white. The sky was the color of slate. The moment she and the prince came out into view, the crowd began to cheer at the top of their voices. Such a welcome would have been close to pleasant before, but after the drama that had just occurred . . .
It was an important reminder that this was all lies. A thin layer of snow that would soon melt to reveal the ugliness that lay beneath its beauty.
The prince moved to the railing, holding up his hands to silence the crowd. And then he began to speak—confident, proud, and with command . . . or so it seemed.
His mask was perfectly in place. He was Prince Magnus, heir to the throne. And he held his own, even a short time after an assassination attempt.
Even Cleo had to admit that it was impressive. That he was impressive.
“And here we are,” Magnus said, his voice loud and clear, his breath freezing in the cold air, “after much struggle and conflict. It has not been an easy path, but to achieve great change it takes great strength and fortitude. My father’s road, which will end at the Temple of Valoria, represents this change, this uniting of three lands. Beside me is another symbol of such a change to this k
ingdom. Princess Cleiona is the bravest girl I’ve ever known—one who has faced so many hardships in such a short time and weathered them all with incredible strength and grace. I’m honored to now stand by her side.”
He flicked her a glance, his gaze hard and unreadable. She returned it with one of her own. Such beautiful words, she could almost fool herself into believing he spoke from his heart.
“I am certain that for every day of happiness the princess and I will share together, this kingdom will benefit in kind.”
Oh, he was droll. And he knew it, too. There was now just the edge of humor in his gaze that he might ever refer to their forced union as a path to romantic bliss.
An uproariously loud cheer accompanied the end of his speech. His shoulders relaxed a fraction—barely noticeable if she hadn’t been looking. Her gaze moved to the tear in his shirt and the wound beneath that still bled, dripping down his arm to fall to the floor.
Red. The color of Limeros.
The crowd had started to chant something, but for a moment she couldn’t understand.
“What are they saying?” she asked.
Magnus’s jaw tensed.
“A kiss,” said Lord Gareth, who stood farther back in the shadows. As one of the king’s closest friends, he had been invited to join them on the balcony for the speech along with several guards, including Nic. “The crowd wishes for the royal couple to show their love with a kiss.”
Magnus turned his head away from the cheering crowd. “I’m not interested in such irrelevant public displays.”
“Perhaps not. But they would like it anyway.”
“A KISS! A KISS!” the crowd chanted.
“I mean,” their advisor continued wryly, “it would not be the first, would it? What difference would such a small request matter to please this hungry crowd?”
“I don’t know,” Cleo began, sickened by the thought of it. How far was she willing to go to appear agreeable? “Quite honestly, it seems like a bad—”
Magnus took a tight hold of her arm and turned her around. Before she could say another word, he put his hand behind her neck, drew her closer to him, and kissed her.
Rebel Spring Page 28
