[English] FALLING KINGDOMS (Vương Quốc Suy Tàn)

Falling Kingdoms
Page 10



“She’s just a girl. Nothing more. But you believe?”

Ioannes could communicate with the others mentally while in the mortal world, even in hawk’s form. He turned his sharp eyes from the dark-haired princess who had emerged from the tall and ominous stone castle to his right to see his friend Phaedra, perched on the branch next to him.

“I believe.”

“And what does it mean if she is?” Phaedra asked.

“Everything.”

It meant that the Sanctuary could be saved, that they would finally have a chance to reclaim the Kindred for themselves before it fell into someone else’s hands.

The Sanctuary would continue on well after the mortal world faded completely, but it wouldn’t last forever. What had become their prison would soon become their grave.

Without elementia, everything eventually faded away. Especially that which was created from magic itself.

“And what if she isn’t?” his friend persisted.

“Then all is lost.”

Sixteen years ago, Ioannes had seen the signs. Even the stars themselves aligned in celebration of this beautiful girl’s birth. He’d watched as she was stolen from her cradle, the witches—descendants of one exiled from the Sanctuary itself—snatching her from her birth mother’s protection.

It was true that the mother had no idea what she’d given to the world, but the common witches were not right to take the child and hide her away, spilling so much blood in the process. One witch—the one with goodness in her heart—had perished at the hands of her darker sister.

That sister still lived, watching over this girl as Ioannes watched over them both.

Patience was one gift a Watcher prized above all. But even Ioannes felt a flutter of nervousness in his chest. He believed, he’d watched, and he waited for a sign that he was right. That she was the one. He hated to say that his belief had begun to wane and that his patience was drying up.

Within him was now an unfamiliar stirring of anger that this wisp of a girl could become a disappointment to him, nothing more than a regular mortal—at best, another common witch. Being in this world too long was a danger to a Watcher. This growing anger was a sign that he needed to return to the Sanctuary soon to cleanse himself of such burgeoning and unhelpful emotion.

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he’d wasted all his time studying this girl whenever she came outside. Whenever she stood on her balcony, gazing down into the frozen garden beneath her chambers. Watching her lips as she read to herself out loud, as she prayed to a false goddess who did not deserve such deep devotion.

Ioannes wanted to turn away, to spend his precious hours in the mortal world in other pursuits, but he couldn’t leave her.

Perhaps soon. But not yet.

He pushed off from the branch and flapped his wings, soaring high into the sky. From the ground, the beautiful dark-haired princess glanced up at him. For the briefest of moments, their eyes met.

All she would see when she looked at him was a golden hawk.

For some reason, this realization pained him.

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Lucia stood outside, her breath forming frozen clouds in the cold air with each exhale, watching the hawk fly high up into the bright blue sky. She could have sworn that it looked directly at her.

Lucia stood outside, her breath forming frozen clouds in the cold air with each exhale, watching the hawk fly high up into the bright blue sky. She could have sworn that it looked directly at her.

She brushed aside the thought and scanned the grounds, searching for any sign of her brother’s return. After weeks of keeping her horrible secret hidden deep inside, she was ready to unburden herself, come what may.

Of course, the one time she desperately wanted to find Magnus was the one time he was nowhere to be found. She’d searched the halls of the castle for an hour only to learn from a kitchen maid that he was accompanying their father on a hunt but was expected to return soon.

It was strange, though. Magnus had never shown much interest in hunting with their father before. Magnus had never showed much interest in hunting at all. She wondered uncomfortably if the recent death of Tobias, whom she knew though she wasn’t supposed to was her half brother, had anything to do with this change. He’d been buried quickly and quietly, with no explanation given for his sudden demise.

To clear her head of her swirling thoughts, Lucia had gone outside and into the cold air and sunshine, determined to go for a brisk walk around the palace grounds and ready herself for her afternoon classes—art, geography, and, unfortunately, embroidery. She could rarely get through an entire class of needlework without stabbing herself. Magnus didn’t seem to think she was clumsy, but her sore fingertips would claim otherwise.

To her far left, she caught a glimpse of a boy she knew—Michol Trichas. She raised her hand to wave at him, but he didn’t seem to notice and turned away.

She picked up her pace to catch up to him, drawing her fur-lined cloak closer to block out the icy chill.

“Michol!” She greeted him with a smile, the frozen ground crunching under the leather soles of her shoes. They’d taken an art class together here at the palace a few months ago. Her father had wanted to abolish the subject entirely, but Lucia had begged him to reconsider, promising that the study of art was not simply a frivolous pursuit of aesthetic beauty, but one of history and heritage.

Michol was the son of local nobles who were also friends of the king. She liked him very much—had enjoyed talking to him about sculpture. They’d spent an hour discussing a sketch of a mysterious carved stone wheel located in the northern-most frozen reaches of Limeros, an area that never thawed. It was said to be originally from the Sanctuary itself—a legendary place of magic hidden in the Forbidden Mountains from which eternal mystical beings watched over the mortal world. Some more obscure texts that Lucia had read said that to encounter such a wheel was to discover a location marked by Watchers as a clue to find the lost Kindred—which could be a blessing or a curse, depending on the myths one believed.

Michol had attended her birthday banquet, and he’d promised to come back so they might go for a walk together and do some exploring of the palace grounds. He’d never returned, and she didn’t understand why. Now he turned to face her with a sheepish expression. He raked a hand through his messy hair. “Princess Lucia, a pleasure to see you again.”

She pushed away her nervousness and decided to be as straightforward as possible with the boy. “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“No.”

“Are you trying to hide from me?” She tried to smile, but the thought that she was right was disturbing. Still, she was curious to know the truth. “Did I say something to offend you?”

He made a strange snorting sound, which might have been a nervous laugh. “Hardly.”

“I’ve been waiting for us to go on that walk.”

Michol stared at her as if perplexed. “Then I—I don’t understand.”

Lucia tucked her hands into the sleeves of her cloak to keep them warm. “That makes two of us.”

“Your brother told me that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I was here before to call on you and he made sure I knew that my presence was unwelcome. That you said I wasn’t to be encouraged. That you, well...that you were interested in taking walks with other boys, but not with me.”

Confusion gave way to clarity and a hot surge of anger. “Did he?”

“He did.”

She struggled to breathe normally and not let her emotions get the better of her. Lately, strange things tended to happen when they did . . . things that she had to keep secret in case anyone found out.

She let out a long, steady breath and looked directly at Michol. “He shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Really?” His expression turned hopeful.

“And you never should have believed him without speaking with me. My brother does not control who I see and when I see them. I do.”

He blanched. “I didn’t know.”

“This isn’t the first time this has happened.”

Magnus had developed a bit of a habit of deciding who was deserving of his younger sister’s attention. But she didn’t need his opinion or his help in weeding out the unworthy. She was quite capable of doing that herself.

“Honestly,” she muttered. “How dare he interfere in my life like this?”

“Does this mean we can have that walk after all?”

Lucia turned her gaze on the boy, studying him closely for the first time. At first glance he was handsome enough, a few inches taller than she, his skin pale and perfect.

It was too bad that he’d been born missing a backbone.

She forced a smile to her lips, one that brought a light of optimism back to the boy’s eyes.

“Perhaps another time. Good day, Michol.”

She returned to the castle without a backward glance, anger toward her brother swelling with every beat of her heart as she quickly made her way through the shadowy halls. Magnus was interfering, overprotective, deeply annoying, and incredibly vexing. She turned the next corner.

“Lucia,” Queen Althea said, with no warmth in her voice. Lucia froze in place at the sight of her mother.

“Yes, Mother?”

The queen’s dark hair had turned gray in streaks. Her face was pale and drawn, and she seemed to peer down her nose at her daughter even though they were the exact same height. “What mischief are you up to this afternoon? And why are your cheeks so red?”

“No mischief. I was outside. It...it’s cold.”

“It’s the dead of winter. Of course it’s cold. Why were you outside?”

It always seemed to be the dead of winter in Limeros. Lucia cleared her throat, immediately on guard under her mother’s close scrutiny. “I’m looking for Magnus. Do you know when he’ll be returning from the hunt with Father?”

“Soon, I’m sure.” Her lips thinned, and her eyes scanned the length of her daughter with distaste. “Your hair is a mess. You really shouldn’t leave your chambers looking so slovenly. Someone might see you.”

Lucia grimaced and touched her tangled hair. “I didn’t think I looked that bad.”

“Well, you do. I’ll have a maid sent to your room immediately to help you look decent again.”

Her cheeks felt tight, her insides turning hot as lava. “That’s . . . so kind of you, Mother.”

“Think nothing of it.”

It was never a question of telling the queen her secret. While her mother had given Lucia life, she’d never given her a moment’s kindness since. Lucia wondered if the woman was capable of showing love to anyone. She’d never seen evidence of it, apart from a few moments of motherly preening in front of company. Lucia had learned at an early age to seek approval elsewhere since it would never come from the queen herself. So she’d turned to books and learning. Any praise she received had been from her tutors. From Magnus. And, occasionally, from her father. She didn’t go out of her way to seek her mother’s approval, nor would she ever.

“Go back to your room, daughter,” the queen said, her voice clipped. “Don’t delay. We can’t have anyone see the Limerian princess looking like you do.”

“Very well.” Despite her disinterest in her mother’s opinion, Lucia had rarely felt as ugly in her entire life as she did at that very moment. She turned away from the queen and began to head toward her room, dreading the visit from the maid to help with her appearance. If her mother sent the usual one, she would be rough and pull her hair, leaving Lucia with a headache for the rest of the day.

In pain, but looking presentable. Just as the queen wishes. After her frustrating conversations with both Michol and her mother, she felt utterly annoyed. And tangled. And, admittedly, a bit frizzy.

“Lucia,” a voice greeted her before she reached her destination. “Darling, is there something wrong?”

Sabina Mallius stood in her path, blocking her path to her room. And now this, Lucia thought.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Lucia said evenly. “But...

Falling Kingdoms
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Cleo was absolutely certain her father would say yes. She waited until he was alone in his study and launched into a nonstop explanation about everything—although she didn’t touch on the topic of Emilia being romantically involved with Theon’s father.

The king didn’t interrupt. He let Cleo speak for as long as she required.

Finally, she summed things up as simply as she could.

“No healer seems able to help her, and she’s only getting worse. I know I can find this woman—the one who’s an exiled Watcher. She holds the magic to save Emilia. But I have to leave soon, before it’s too late. Theon can go with me for protection. I don’t think we’ll be gone very long at all.” She wrung her hands. “I know this is the answer, Father. I know it. I can save Emilia’s life.”

The king regarded his youngest daughter for an entire minute of silence with a bemused expression.

“An exiled Watcher,” he said. “Who possesses magic healing seeds.”

She nodded. “Someone in one of the villages must know where to find her. If I must search every village in Paelsia, then that’s exactly what I’ll have to do.”

He templed his fingers and watched her through hooded eyes. “The Watchers are only a legend, Cleo.”

For the first time since she’d entered the king’s meeting room, she felt a twinge of doubt about the outcome of their talk. “Well, that’s what I thought too, but if there’s a chance . . . I mean, you don’t know that for sure.”

“That there are those who watch us through the eyes of hawks, searching for their precious Kindred is a story that helps keep children in line and fearful enough to behave themselves lest they be witnessed acting naughty.”

Her gaze flicked to the royal coat of arms on the wall, which bore two hawks, one golden, one black, beneath a single golden crown. It was as familiar to her as her own name and she knew it had to mean something. It was a sign she was right. “Just because you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’ve been wrong to take that stance until now.”

He didn’t look angry, just weary. His face was etched in more lines than Cleo remembered. “Cleo, I know how much you love your sister—”

“More than anything!”

“Of course. I love her too. But she is not dying. She is simply ill. And this illness, while severe, will pass if she gets enough rest. She will recover.”

Frustration twisted in her chest. “You don’t know that for sure. You have to let me go.”

“I have to do no such thing.” The king’s expression only grew more tense. “It’s unwise for you to even consider visiting that place again for any reason. Troubles have increased, not decreased, in the time that has passed since the Agallon boy’s death.”

“What kind of trouble?”

He sighed. “The kind that you need not concern yourself with, Cleo. I’ll deal with it.”

She squeezed her hands into fists. “If there’s trouble growing, then I need to leave soon or I might not get the chance later.”

“Cleo.” There was a warning growl to her father’s words now. He’d tolerated her up until now, but she knew he was tired and in no mood for anything he considered a waste of time.

But saving her sister’s life wasn’t a waste of time.

She crossed her arms over her chest and began pacing the grand room. “I mean, if I’m wrong, then I’m wrong. But I have to try. Why can’t you see that?”

The king’s lips thinned. “All I see is my sixteen-year-old daughter making up far-fetched stories so she can escape from her new fiancé’s attentions.”

She sent a look of horror at him. “You think that’s what this is about?”

“I know it’ll take a while for you to get used to this. By the time the wedding is planned, all will seem better. By then, Emilia will be well again and she can help you prepare.”

That wasn’t at all what this was all about. But since he’d brought it up...

“You didn’t make Emilia marry someone she didn’t love.”

He hissed out a long breath. “That was different.”

“Why was that different? Because she threatened to kill herself? Maybe I’ll do the exact same thing!”

The king just looked at her patiently, seemingly undisturbed by the threat. “You’d never do such that.”

“I wouldn’t? I—I could do it tonight. I could throw myself down the stairs. I could stop eating. I could...well, there are many, many ways I could end my life if I wanted to!”

He shook his head. “You wouldn’t, because you don’t really want to die. You don’t just live, Cleo. Life itself sings from your existence.” The smallest smile appeared on his lips. “I know one day when you’ve finally outgrown this tendency to be overly dramatic to gain attention, your true self will come forth. And that Cleo will be a remarkable woman—one who deserves to bear the name of a goddess.”

She glowered at him. “You don’t even believe in the goddess!”

His expression shuttered. He’d been patient with her up until now, but she’d gone too far.

Ever since her mother had died in childbirth, the king had turned his back on any kind of prayer or worship, and his subjects soon followed suit. Emilia was the only religious one left in the Bellos family.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You’re young and you speak before you think. That’s how it’s always been with you, Cleo. I expect no better.”

She ran a hand under her nose. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. I do. I worry about you constantly when compared to your sister. You’ll get yourself in trouble one day, Cleo, and I just hope that you’ll be all right. It’s one of the reasons I think a marriage to Aron, even at your young age, is a good idea. The duties of a wife will give you some well-needed maturity.” When she flinched, his gaze softened. “I’m trying to help you.”

“How is this helping? By reminding me that I have no control over my own destiny?”

He reached down to take her hand in his. “You need to trust me, Cleo. Trust me to make the right decisions for you, for our family.”

“Family is the most important thing to me. That’s exactly why I need to go to Paelsia,” she said softly. “Please say yes.”

His cheeks tightened. “No, Cleo.”

Her eyes burned. “So instead you’ll sit back and watch Emilia die? How is that making the right decisions for your family? You don’t care about her. You don’t care about me. All you care about is this hateful kingdom.”

He sighed wearily as he sat down at the table and turned his attention to the papers in front of him.. “It’s time you left, Cleo. I have work to do. This conversation is over.”

Cleo’s heart slammed against her rib cage. “Father! Please, don’t be like this. You can’t be so cruel and uncaring that you’d deny me this!”

When he shot a look at her of barely bridled rage, she staggered back a step.

“Go to your chambers. And stay there until dinner. Theon!” Theon stepped into the room a moment later. He’d been waiting just outside. “See that my daughter returns to her chambers and please ensure that she makes no foolish attempt to travel to Paelsia in the coming days.”

Theon bowed. “Yes, your majesty.”

There was nothing left to say. There was more that Cleo wanted to say, but even she knew when to hold her tongue. All that could be gained from more arguing was *****mmon her father’s anger even more. He might move up her wedding to Aron to a week from now as a punishment. Or even tomorrow.

The king didn’t believe that Emilia was dying. But Cleo believed more than she had before. She felt the truth of it deep in her heart. Only something magical could save her.

“I’m sorry, princess,” Theon said under his breath as they left the king’s presence.

Cleo’s cheeks were hot and her feet thudded against the floor as she unconsciously made her way through the labyrinthine halls and back to her chambers. She thought she’d been out of tears before, but there were buckets left. She cried them all when Theon left her, closing the door behind him.

But when her tears finally dried, their departure brought a slow and steely resolve.

The whole world—including her father—could repeatedly tell her no. In the end, it made no difference to her.

Cleo would fix this. No matter what it took or where she had to go, she would save her sister’s life before it was too late.

? ? ?

After dinner, Cleo gathered her closest confidents together—Nic, Mira, and Theon. “I’m going,” she said after she explained everything to them.

Nic blinked. “To Paelsia.”

“Yes.”

“To find an exiled Watcher to beg for some magical grape seeds.”

She knew it sounded absolutely preposterous, but it didn’t...

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It had taken well over a month of trying, but Jonas had finally been granted audience with Chief Basilius.

“Color me impressed,” Brion said under his breath as they were led along the dirt path leading to the chief’s gated, guarded compound. “You need to give me a few lessons from the Jonas Agallon school of charisma.”

“It’s easy.”

“Says you.” Brion glanced at the gorgeous girl who had her arm around Jonas’s waist. The one who’d finally promised the two of them that they could meet the chief. Also known as her father.

Jonas had quickly realized that the only way he would ever get a chance to see the reclusive Paelsian leader was through his family. And Laelia Basilius was more than willing to help Jonas when he’d casually approached her at a tavern. She’d been performing there. The chief’s daughter was a dancer.

And what a dancer she was . . .

“Snakes,” Brion had said to him with surprise as they’d watched her perform to a crowd of over a hundred a week ago. “She’s dancing with snakes.”

She was. She really was.

“I never liked snakes before,” Jonas replied. “But I’m starting to see the appeal.”

Laelia was a stunningly beautiful girl—a couple years older than he was. And she danced with two snakes, a white and black python that writhed and slid over her shapely body. He felt mesmerized watching her, her hips swaying, her long black hair—to her knees—flowing with the movements of her tanned body.

But he wasn’t really seeing her.

All he could see was a beautiful golden princess with eyes the color of the sea standing over the body of his dead brother and next to his murderer.

Even though Jonas had been diverted from his original plan to sneak into the palace in Auranos to kill both Lord Aron and Princess Cleo, he remained fixated with the memory of her. He hated the royals and everything they stood for with every fiber of his being. But he had to focus. He had no choice. He tried to plaster a smile on his face as he and Brion drew closer to the Paelsian chief’s daughter.

Before, when Jonas and Tomas had gone to taverns and made conversation with pretty girls—performers or otherwise—after a backbreaking day of work in the vineyards that added calluses to both their hands and spirits, Tomas had been the more popular one. Older, maybe a fraction better-looking. He was a born flirt. Jonas received plenty of attention to brighten his nights after difficult days, but he couldn’t help but think the girls had preferred his brother.

With Tomas gone, that had definitely changed.

When he’d finally caught Laelia’s eye that first night, her gaze slid over him with appreciation. After the music stopped, she slipped a sheer, gauzy wrap over her curves and waited coyly for his approach.

“Nice snakes,” he said, offering her a wicked grin.

The grin didn’t fail him.

She was his.

Laelia Basilius had no calluses on her hands or sunburnt face like the girls he was used to spending time with. When she laughed, it was from pure amusement and not edged in weariness from a hard day of manual labor. She liked Jonas. A lot. And a week later, she wanted to introduce him to her father.

“Come closer,” the chief beckoned as they came into view. He sat before a large bonfire. Several topless girls danced for him until he waved his hand at them dismissively. They moved off to the other side of the campfire.

Sparks from the fire danced in the air. Stars speckled the black velvet sky. The carcass of a goat sat on top of the fire on a spit, roasting for a late dinner. The smell of scorched flesh hung in the cool night air. Laelia tugged at Jonas’s hand. He kept his expression neutral, but he was found he was intimidated. He’d never met the chief before. He’d never known anyone who had. Basilius had been in seclusion for years. So this was the ultimate honor a Paelsian could have and he felt deeply honored to be here, no matter what steps he’d had to take to make this possible.

One thing that had deeply surprised him within the compound was its opulence. While the rest of Paelsia worked endlessly in the vineyards and struggled to find scraps to eat, it seemed that on the other side of the chief’s compound’s walls there were no difficulties at all. Part of him believed dutifully that the chief should be held to a different standard than a common Paelsian—and he was more than entitled to use part of his steep wine tax to make a private home for himself as leader. The other part felt an uneasy ache form in the pit of his stomach over this revelation.

He sank to his knees next to Brion and they both lowered their heads in deference to their leader.

“Rise.” The chief smiled, the darkly tanned skin at the corners of his gray eyes fanning out in dozens of wrinkles. He wore his hair long and some of it near his face in texos, thin braids, which was the tra***ional hairstyle for men in Paelsia. Jonas had cut his hair when he turned thirteen. Short hair was easier to manage. Brion’s hair was longer but not quite long enough to braid. Since the land had begun to fade, many tra***ions had started to fade as well.

“Papa,” Laelia purred, running her hand over Jonas’s chest. “Isn’t he pretty? Can I keep him?”

The chief’s lips curved to the side. “Laelia, my beauty. Please give us a chance to talk. I want to get to better know this boy you’re so taken by.”

Her shoulders slumped and she pouted. The chief waved his hand at her in dismissal until she finally retreated to join the other girls at the far side of the fire.

Jonas and Brion exchanged a mutually wary glance.

They were in. Now what?

“Chief, it’s an honor—” Jonas began.

“Are you in love with my daughter?” the chief asked. “Have you come here to ask to be bound to her?”

Someone brought him a plate of food, turkey legs and venison and roasted yams, piled higher than any plate Jonas had ever seen in his life. His family frequently went hungry, and he’d been driven to illegally hunt in another land to keep his loved ones alive, but there was enough food in the chief’s compound to feed his village for months.

A part of him deep down inside turned frosty and brittle at the realization.

Brion jabbed his elbow into Jonas’s arm when he didn’t answer right away.

“Am I in love with your daughter?” Jonas repeated, unsure how to answer this.

“Yes,” Brion hissed under his breath. “Say yes, you idiot.”

But that would be a lie. Jonas couldn’t lie about matters of the heart. He’d tried before and failed miserably. There was a great difference between lust and love.

“I think Laelia is a beautiful girl,” he said instead. “I’ve been very lucky she gives me any attention.”

The chief studied him. “She doesn’t bring many boys here to meet me. You’re only the second.”

“What happened to the first one?” Brion asked.

“He didn’t survive,” the chief said.

Brion’s face fell.

The chief laughed loudly. “I jest. He’s fine. My daughter grew weary of his attentions; that was all. I’m sure he still lives. Somewhere.”

Or maybe Laelia fed him to her snakes, Jonas thought morbidly.

But none of this was why they were here. He wanted to get to the point immediately.

“Chief Basilius, I’m very honored to meet you tonight,” Jonas said. “Because I need to talk to you about something very important.”

“Oh?” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “And you choose my celebration feast to do so?”

“What are you celebrating?”

“A union with an ally. A partnership that will help create a much more prosperous Paelsia in the future.”

This wasn’t expected at all, but was an excellent thing to hear. Jonas’s discomfort at witnessing the expanse of the chief’s comfort eased a little. “I’m glad to hear it. Because that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Basilius nodded, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “Please, say what you came here to say.”

“My brother was killed recently by an Auranian lord. His name was Tomas Agallon.” Jonas’s throat tightened. “It was a sign to me that things have to change. That Paelsia’s current difficulties are not acceptable. I believe Auranos is an evil land filled with devious people. Years ago they tricked us into planting only grapes, so that today they can pay us a pittance for our wine while charging the moon for their crops. Yet they have so many resources, all of which are closed off to us. If we even tread a foot past the border, we risk our very lives. It’s not acceptable.” He took a breath and let it out slowly, gathering his courage. “I’m here to propose an uprising against them, to take what’s theirs and make it ours. It’s time we stopped waiting for things to change on their own.”

The chief studied him for a long, silent moment. “I completely agree with you.”

Jonas blinked. “You do?”

“And I’m very sorry for what happened to your brother. It was a tragedy to lose one of our own in such a senseless way. I had no...

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More than a week had passed since his private conversation with the king and Magnus still didn’t know what troubled Lucia. The thought was a constant distraction to him.

Distractions weren’t recommended in the midst of his swordsmanship class. He winced as a blunt wooden practice sword landed a painful blow to his chest.

“What’s wrong, Prince Magnus?” his opponent asked with mockery edging his words. “Would you really let me win as easily as this?”

Magnus gave him a withering look. “I won’t let you win at all.”

Andreas Psellos was his complete opposite in looks despite their similar tall statures and leanly muscled builds. Where Magnus was dark, Andreas was light with fair hair and pale blue eyes. Where Magnus could never be described as “cheery,” Andreas had an easy manner and a constant smile on his handsome face that rarely held malice—

Unless he was talking to Magnus.

They’d moved away from the rest of the class, consisting of four teams of two and an absentminded tutor who tended to wander off in the middle of their sessions leaving them to practice without supervision.

“The years haven’t change you a bit,” Andreas said. “I still remember that set of painted wooden blocks we battled over when we were only five years old. I believe you threw them out of a window so I couldn’t get the chance to play with them.”

“I’ve never enjoyed sharing my toys.”

“Not with anyone but your sister.”

“She’s an exception.”

“Indeed she is. A beautiful exception.” Andreas cast a wistful look toward the black granite castle that stretched high into the blue sky. “Do you think Princess Lucia will be coming out to watch us spar like she did last time?”

“Unlikely.”

Magnus’s dark mood intensified. Not only had Andreas shown romantic interest in Lucia, but he was also the one boy who’d been mentioned several times by Queen Althea herself as a potential match. The Psellos family was rich, Andreas’s father one of the king’s royal council members, and their expansive villa, which sat only a few miles from the palace, was the finest on the western coast of Limeros.

The thought that Lucia could become betrothed to this golden boy with his easy smiles sent a rush of icy poison flowing through Magnus’s veins.

Andreas snorted. “Come on, then. I won’t hold back if you don’t.”

“Fair enough.”

As their wooden swords clashed, Magnus now paid very close attention to the swordplay, trying hard not to let his mind wander again.

Andreas’s lips thinned. “I heard that you ran Michol Trichas off when he showed interest in your sister.”

“Did you?” Magnus said with disinterest. “Are you offended on his behalf?”

“Just the opposite. He wasn’t right for her. He’s insipid and cowardly, hiding behind his mother’s skirts when any opposition presents itself. He’s not worthy of spending time with Princess Lucia.”

“We finally agree on something. How delightful.”

“However, you’ll find that I’m not quite so easily dissuaded as he was.” Their swords met and held, and Andreas’s gaze turned icy. Magnus’s muscles burned with the effort of taking the point and not allowing his rival to win. “You don’t intimidate me.”

“Not trying to.”

“You chase off all of Lucia’s suitors as if no one in Limeros is worthy of the princess’s precious time and attention.”

Magnus’s gaze snapped to Andreas’s. “No one is.”

“Apart from you, of course.” Andreas’s eyes narrowed. “I think the attention you lavish on your sister compared to any other girl is...unusual.”

Magnus went cold inside. “You’re imagining things.”

“Perhaps I am. But know this, Prince Magnus, when I want something, I get it. No matter what obstacle might present itself.”

Magnus glanced toward the castle. “It looks like I was wrong. Lucia is coming out to watch us after all.”

When Andreas’s attention moved away from Magnus, he struck. He knocked the wooden sword out of Andreas’s grip and then slammed the boy to the ground where he lay on his back looking up, temporarily stunned.

Magnus pressed the blunt tip of his practice sword to Andreas’s throat hard enough to bruise. “Actually, Lucia’s in her embroidery class right now and won’t be able to talk with you again until...well, I’m sure it’ll be quite some time. I’ll give her your regards.”

Lesson over, he threw his sword to the side and turned from the boy still sprawled on the ground to return to the castle.

Some victories didn’t taste quite as sweet as they should.

The idea that anyone, especially someone like Andreas, could guess that Magnus might have forbidden feelings for his younger sister had put a sick feeling into the pit of his stomach. He resolved to force himself to spend more time in the company of other girls to help stave off any future rumors.

And not girls like the one who approached him along the hallway with a smile stretching her rosy cheeks.

“My prince,” Amia greeted him cheerily.

He cast a look around to check if anyone was watching. Speaking openly with a servant—especially such a low-ranking one as Amia—was frowned upon by his father. To imagine King Gaius’s outraged reaction to his son doing more than talking with her was almost as humorous as it was foreboding.

“What is it?” he asked, his words clipped.

“You wanted me to keep an eye on your sister.”

With this, he grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her around a corner and into a shadowed alcove. “Speak.”

Amia twisted a piece of nut-brown hair around her finger. Her brows drew together. “It’s the strangest thing. I was sent with a tray of food up to her room for a late lunch when she returned from her class just now. Her door was ajar. I should have knocked, but since my hands were full, I didn’t. And I swear I saw...”

“What? What did you see?”

“Your sister stood before three candles and I watched as each was lit.”

Magnus stared at the girl. “That’s all? You watched my sister light some candles and you thought it worthy of mention to me? There’s nothing unusual about that.”

“No, my prince. It’s just that—I swear, I...” She shook her head, her expression one of deep confusion. “I swear that Princess Lucia didn’t light them. They lit all by themselves as she looked at them, each in turn. I was startled by this but cleared my throat to let her know I was there. She seemed disturbed that I might have been watching her, but I didn’t give her any indication of what I saw. Possessing such an ability *****mmon fire could mean that she’s a—” Her words cut off immediately at Magnus’s sharp look. She bit her bottom lip.

Magnus grasped the girl’s chin and looked down into her eyes. “Thank you, Amia. I want you to continue to tell me anything at all, no matter how seemingly insignificant. But know this—my sister is no witch. This was only your imagination.”

“Yes, my prince,” she whispered before he slipped away from her and began moving toward Lucia’s chambers on the third floor of the castle without another word.

Lighting candles seemed like such a common practice, but not so common if the wicks caught flame all by themselves. Once at Lucia’s door, he took a deep breath and then twisted the handle. It wasn’t locked. He slowly pushed the door open.

Lucia sat on her plush lounge, her legs folded under her, holding the head of a daisy on the palm of her hand. The frivolous gift of flowers had been sent the previous day by another random Limerian boy interested in the princess. Her concentration on the flower was so complete that she hadn’t heard the soft creak of the door.

Suddenly, the bright pink bloom rose from her hand and floated in the air as if suspended by invisible strings.

Magnus gasped out loud.

The flower dropped to the ground and Lucia’s startled gaze snapped to where he stood at the open doorway.

“Magnus.” She stood up, brushing off the front of her skirt. Her expression was tense. She beckoned to him. “Please come in.”

Hesitating only a moment longer, he pushed the door open all the way and entered her chambers.

“Close it,” she instructed. He did as she asked.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You saw what I just did?”

He nodded, his throat tight.

Lucia wrung her hands, pacing to her window to look outside just as a hawk flew away from its temporary perch on the edge of her balcony, its large golden wings flapping against the bright blue sky. He continued to wait, afraid to give voice to his racing thoughts.

This must be what he’d heard his father and Sabina talk about the night of her birthday banquet—of prophesies and elementia and signs held by the stars themselves. This was what he’d been asked to watch for.

“Lucia is now sixteen,” Sabina had said. “The time is drawing closer for her awakening, I know it is.”

...

Falling Kingdoms
Page 15



Theon Ranus had experienced anger, grief, sadness, and desire many times. But not fear.

Theon Ranus had experienced anger, grief, sadness, and desire many times. But not fear.

Not until today.

“The princess isn’t in her room. She’s nowhere to be found!” The maid’s cry quickened his steps as he made his way down the hall, the maid who was supposed to be stationed outside Princess Cleo’s room during the hours that Theon slept and couldn’t keep watch over her.

Cold fear crashed over him.

He knew immediately where she’d gone. She’d done exactly what she’d threatened. She’s escaped the palace to go on her journey to Paelsia. Even after he’d refused to accompany her, she’d gone anyway.

Foolish girl. Strong-willed, foolish girl.

It was as if his heart had been wrenched from his chest. Then, close on the heels of his fear for her safety, came a hot line of rage that she’d do this, blatantly ignoring his warnings.

The king had to be told. And Theon knew he had to be the one to deliver the news that Cleo and Nic had disappeared from the palace.

That was when he began to feel another glimmer of fear. This time for himself.

“How could you let this happen?” the king raged, his face bright red with anger.

Theon had no worthy answer. He knew Cleo wanted to do this. He knew she was stubborn and single-minded when it came to her sister’s fading health. He should have anticipated this.

“I’ll go to Paelsia myself and search for her.”

“Damn right you will.” There were dark shadows beneath the king’s eyes as if he hadn’t slept well. He looked much older than his forty-odd years today. “Of all the things I need to concern myself with, this only troubles me more. You were supposed to keep her safe. You failed me.”

Theon could argue that he couldn’t be by Cleo’s side all the hours of the day or night apart from sleeping in the princess’s bed with her, but he held his tongue and studied the floor obediently. King Corvin was not a cruel king, but he doled out punishment when necessary. Failing an assignment to keep the princess safe was not something that could go unanswered.

Why would she ever do something so foolhardy as this?

Even he didn’t have to think too far on the subject. She did it because she was absolutely convinced that she could save her sister’s life by chasing after the legend of an exiled Watcher. Breaking every rule to save Princess Emilia was both idiotic...and brave. Pure-hearted and courageous. Only Cleo would do such a thing, Theon thought.

“I’ll leave immediately,” he said, his eyes still lowered. “With your permission I’ll take a few more men.”

“No more than two. We don’t want to draw attention to this embarrassing situation.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

When the king didn’t say anything else, Theon looked up to see that his face was now more pale and haunted than angry.

“Sometimes I feel as if I’m cursed,” he said softly. “A slow, hungry curse that has worked its way across my entire life, stripping me of everything I love.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “I met a witch once...in my youth. She was very beautiful.”

Theon was surprised at the seeming non sequitur. “A witch? A real one?”

The king nodded with a sharp jerk of his head. “I hadn’t believed in magic until I met her. She had her sights set on becoming my queen, but I . . . well, I met Elena, and that was it for me. The witch was but a momentary dalliance of a youth who enjoyed the attentions of pretty girls before his wedding to the woman who would become the true love of his life.” He let out a slow exhale. “When I ended things with this witch, she was furious. I believe she cursed me. I lost my beloved Elena moments after she’d given my youngest daughter life. Now Emilia is so unwell. I fear Cleo was right when she said she’s dying. And Cleo herself—” His voice broke. “She has a mind of her own, one that will get her into trouble. More than she even realizes. You must find her.”

“I will, your majesty. I swear I will.”

“See that you do.” The king raised a dark gaze to Theon’s and a chill went down his spine. “Fail me again and you’ll pay with your life. I’ll kill you myself with my bare hands. Do you understand me?”

Theon nodded. He expected no less. He left the meeting room, his steps rushed, his heart beating hard.

He should have said he’d go with the princess. She was stubborn enough to go by herself—with only Nicolo Cassian to protect her. But he was no more than the king’s squire, with no training, no strength, no carefully honed survival instincts. It wasn’t nearly enough. Theon was the one who should be by Princess Cleo’s side no matter what was to come. Today and always.

The king would kill him if he failed. And if something happened to Cleo...he’d want to die. The thought of her bright eyes extinguished, her merry laugh silenced . . . he broke into a cold sweat and had to lean his forehead against the marble wall of the hallway.

I’m falling in love with her.

The realization hit him like a sword plunged through his chest.

There could be no real future for them. He wasn’t royal—not even a knight. And she was already betrothed to another.

But he’d seen something in her eyes—a joyful alertness when they argued. A catch to her breath. A flush to her cheeks. He’d come to enjoy spending time with her more than he ever would have believed or been willing to admit, even to himself. He wanted to be by her side and not only as her bodyguard.

He wanted her.

But he couldn’t give in to these feelings. Even admitting them to himself was dangerous. For now, all Theon knew for sure was that he would find her and bring her back safely to Auranos. The future was uncertain, but this much was crystal clear. He would not fail.

Falling Kingdoms
Page 16



The king had summoned Magnus to his throne room.

Goddess forbid that his father actually visited his son’s chambers. No, instead he had to be summoned quite officially like a servant.

Irrelevant.

He took his time to arrive. He would obey, of course. He had no other choice, but even with the king’s seemingly newfound appreciation for his son’s existence, Magnus wouldn’t rush to do so.

He had spent two days with Lucia coaching her on a variety of exercises to help hone her control and skill. A lot of it seemed to depend on his sister’s fluctuating emotions. When they argued—especially about the subject of her suitors that Magnus tried to discourage—her rising temper helped bring forth her magic. When her confidence wavered, it faded.

Therefore, he’d made sure that they argued frequently. It didn’t take very much at all to bring a flush to her cheeks.

It would still take her a while to open herself up to her magic completely. Even if she wouldn’t readily admit this, she feared it. That which one fears, one typically won’t embrace with open arms.

Magnus felt similarly toward his father.

“You summoned me?” he said drily when he was finally in front of the king in his throne room.

King Gaius raised his gaze from the papers he studied and honed in on Magnus like an eagle spotting mildly interesting prey. “It took you long enough to get here.”

“I came as quickly as I could.”

The lie slid smoothly.

“What have you been up to, Magnus? You’ve been keeping to yourself a great deal the last few days. You missed an opportunity to go out hunting with me again just this morning.”

“I’ve been reading.”

The king smiled at this, but the warmth of it didn’t reach his eyes. “I find that difficult to believe.”

Magnus shrugged. “Did you just want to get an update on my hobbies or were we to discuss more important matters?”

The king leaned back in his iron and black leather throne and regarded his son. “You remind me so very much of myself at your age. It’s truly uncanny.”

Magnus wasn’t sure if this was meant to be taken as a compliment or an insult.

“How go your plans with Chief Basilius?” he asked, wanting to shift the focus off himself.

“Everything is lining up. Don’t worry, my son, I’ll keep you informed of every important step. And I’ll be requiring your assistance in larger matters very soon.”

Since the position of the king’s valet was currently vacant due to the unexpected death of Tobias, Magnus was certain the king would need a new personal assistant to bridge such a gap. It sounded as if it would be him.

“As the king wishes, I obey.” It was nearly impossible to say without noticeable sarcasm. Old habits died hard.

“I did call you here for a specific reason.” The king studied him for a moment. “What of Lucia? Have you noticed anything unusual about her?”

Magnus knew this was coming, so he was prepared. He glanced briefly off to the side to see the Damora coat of arms, bearing the familiar words Strength, Faith, and Wisdom. “I’ve been watching her very closely, but she seems just as she’s always been. If she appears distracted to you in some small way, maybe she just has a crush on some insipid boy.”

“No, it wouldn’t be something as meaningless as that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know exactly what I should even be watching for, would I? You refuse to share any details with me.”

So much for him being a part of the king’s important future plans for this kingdom. Perhaps those were only words. The thought was oddly disappointing.

The king leaned forward from his plain but intimidating iron throne—the ornate golden, jeweled one Magnus’s grandfather had ruled from had been permanently removed years ago. He pressed the tips of his fingers together. “I think you might be ready to learn the truth.”

Magnus raised a brow, surprised. “So tell me.”

“I keep forgetting that you’re not only a boy anymore. You are very nearly a man and as such should be included in everything I do. Honestly,”—the king stood up from his seat and walked a slow circle around Magnus, his gaze sweeping the length of his son with an odd mix of criticism and approval—“it’s like looking into my past. Sabina mentioned this to me only the other day.”

“Sabina mentioned what?”

“How very alike we are. You know, I met her when I was not much older than you.”

Magnus’s stomach soured. “How nice for you. Was she already married back then or did you wait until after her nuptials to bed her?”

The king gave him a thin smile. “Your tongue is tipped with spikes. But that’s all right. A future king needs every weapon he can get at his disposal. Trust me, when you’re on the throne, there will be very few you can trust.”

“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....

Falling Kingdoms
Page 17



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...

Falling Kingdoms
Page 18



“I had to escape,” Sera said later at the tavern. With its dirt floors and dirty glasses, it wasn’t much and wasn’t large enough to accommodate more than a couple dozen, but it served its purpose. It was a place for the work weary to find a cheap drink and some company.

“Really. Why’s that?”

A smile played on the lips that half the boys in a ten-mile radius were well acquainted with. “My grandmother’s taken in a couple of strays for the night. Had *****ffer through her stories again. Immediately thought of you when they were introduced to me. The girl’s name is Cleo—just like that hateful princess. I’ve never known anyone else with that name.”

Jonas stared with shock at the girl seated next to him at the small wooden table in a darkened corner of the tavern. He’d never heard of anyone else with that name either. “What did she look like?”

“Looked like a princess, if you ask me. Blue eyes. Fair hair. Around my age. Pretty thing, I suppose.” Sera twisted a piece of dark brown hair between her fingers.

“You said her name was Cleo.”

“That’s right.”

Blondes weren’t that common in Paelsia. They weren’t common anywhere, really, but there were still a few, more often from northern Limeros. Jonas remembered Cleo’s hair, bright as the sun, long and flowing down her slim body.

He’d dreamed of tearing that hair out a piece at a time while she begged for mercy.

Jonas cast a glance to the other side of the tavern to see Brion sitting by the warmth of the fire, his eyes already closing. They’d been busy for days scouting and had stopped for a nightcap before spending the night at his sister Felicia’s and her husband’s, a short distance outside of the village. Chief Basilius’s men were way ahead of them. All eligible men—and boys—on the west coast had been signed up to join the Paelsian army. In their travels, they’d found no sign of any troublemakers or spies. Unless this girl Sera, whom Jonas knew casually from his visits to Felicia and Paulo, spoke of was the Auranian princess herself.

“Maybe I’ll tell you more later.” Sera boldly scooted her chair closer so she could slide her hand down Jonas’s chest and over his abdomen. He grabbed her wrist and she flinched.

“Tell me now.”

“You’re hurting me.”

“No, I’m not. Don’t exaggerate.”

She bit her bottom lip and looked coyly at him, her feigned distress forgotten. “Maybe we should go somewhere a bit more private where we can discuss anything you like.”

“Not tonight.” He wasn’t the least bit interested in going anywhere private with her tonight or any other night. No, he was only supposed to have private time these days with Laelia, a girl he was already tired of spending time with. But until everything worked out with the chief and Jonas’s hope for a successful rebellion against Auranos, he thought it best not to end things between him and the snake dancer. It might backfire on both himself and Brion if they offended Chief Basilius’s daughter. Being kicked out of the chief’s trusted circle would be the least of their worries then.

“You said this Cleo girl is at your grandmother’s cottage?” Jonas said very quietly and very firmly.

“That’s what I said,” she replied, now sullen. “She and her friend are staying there overnight.”

“This is impossible.” He let go of her completely. “She wouldn’t be stupid enough to show her face around here.”

“You don’t think it’s actually the princess, do you? She didn’t act much like a princess.”

If the blonde was Cleo—and he had a sickly gut feeling that it was—then she had a specific reason for being here. But what was it? Was she a spy for her father? He’d seen intelligence and cunning in her eyes that fateful day at the market, an ugly maliciousness that betrayed her outward beauty. He wouldn’t underestimate her. “Who is she with?”

“Some boy named Nicolo. He seemed harmless.”

He relaxed by a fraction. If Sera had said that she was here with Lord Aron, he wouldn’t have been able to control his rage a moment longer.

Jonas’s jaw was so tight that it made it difficult to speak. He pushed back from the table and got to his feet. “Thank you for telling me this, Sera.”

“You’re leaving? So soon? Just because this girl might really be Princess Cleo?”

Jonas flinched as if his brother’s death had happened only minutes ago rather than over two months. His grief was as raw and bloody as it had been that very first day.

Revenge. That’s what he’d wanted. But now with his newfound association with Chief Basilius, he wasn’t sure that was the best course of action. He needed to talk to the chief and find out what to do next. By horse, the chief’s compound was only a two-hour ride away.

He glanced over at Brion. His one hard-earned mug of dark ale sat untouched while he slept, his face lit by the crackling fire.

Jonas would let him have his rest. He’d go and see the chief alone. Only then would he decide what the princess’s ultimate fate would be.

Falling Kingdoms
Page 19



Magnus stood on the balcony of his chambers, staring off into the darkness. He’d stayed in his room tonight, opting to take dinner there instead of trying to deal with his family downstairs. He still didn’t think he could look his father in the eye after their private conversation earlier that week.

There was a knock at his door and he moved off the balcony toward it, certain it would be Amia come to pay him a visit. He wasn’t sure if he was in the mood to appreciate the maid’s particular talents tonight, no matter how enthusiastic she might be.

But it wasn’t Amia.

“Magnus.” Sabina leaned against the edge of the doorway when he opened it. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” he said without any feeling. This was a surprise. Sabina had never knocked on his door before. After what he’d learned about her from his father, he watched her warily, but with interest.

Everyone had secrets.

“Everything all right?” she asked. “I was worried when you didn’t come down for dinner tonight.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“I wondered if I might speak with you.”

“About what?”

“A private matter.”

He tensed. Sabina and the king were such close confidants that he worried what this might entail. However, he didn’t think he could refuse. He was certain she wouldn’t be deterred if he simply tried to ignore her.

“Of course.” He opened the door wider. “Please come in.”

She did, her silky red dress hugging her body. He’d have to be blind not to notice her beauty. While his mother, the queen, was quite plain and showed her age with every passing year, Sabina looked the same as he ever remembered. Tall, willowy, with long dark hair and amber-colored eyes. Her lips were always turned up in a smile that never looked entirely friendly.

“Close the door,” she said.

With only the slightest hesitation, he did as requested.

She moved toward the window, trailing her fingertips over each piece of furniture she passed including the wooden posts at the foot of his bed, each carved to resemble a serpent. “Goodness, it’s cold in here. You should close your window and have someone light a fire.”

“Perhaps later. What do you want to talk about?” If he could move this along, he’d be happy. If Amia wasn’t going to stop by tonight, he’d rather spend the rest of the evening alone.

Sabina slowly turned to look at him. “The king told me about the conversation you had together.”

He couldn’t find his breath for a moment before he managed to shift his invisible mask of indifference back into place. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“He’s very sharing.”

“He can be when he’s in the right mood.” She smiled at him. “So you know.”

Magnus weighed his words before speaking. “Can you be more specific? I know lots of things.”

“Not that many. Just enough to cause trouble. But I think we can trust you, can’t we?”

“With what?”

“Don’t be coy, Magnus. It doesn’t suit you. With the secret about Lucia, of course. Of the prophecy of her being a sorceress. Of the magic that I’m sure she’s already shown to her trusted brother.”

He looked at her sharply. “You’re mistaken. She’s shown me nothing of the sort.”

She laughed. “Oh, Magnus, you do amuse me. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that you’re Gaius’s son. The resemblance is uncanny, of course, but you have a much softer heart. Especially when it comes to your sister.”

He knew she meant this not as an asset, but as a fault. “It’s not nearly as soft as you might think.”

“Isn’t it? But perhaps a heart takes experience and time to harden. When you will not flinch to learn shocking truths. I hope to be here when that happens. I think you have the potential for greatness, even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

He’d rarely noticed before how much he utterly disliked this woman.

“Thank you for your opinion, Sabina. Now, what exactly was it you wanted to see me about? Or was it just to rehash part of my conversation with Father that, really, is none of your business?”

“I thought I’d come for a visit. We so rarely get to spend any time alone together.”

“Ah,” he said blandly. “And I so enjoy your company.”

She watched him with that predatory look he’d noticed her give other people when they weren’t watching. She was the most intimidating woman he’d ever known. Her dead husband, on the other hand, had been the kindest man who had ever stepped foot inside the palace. But he’d always had a look on his face as if he constantly expected someone to strike him. Perhaps his wife.

Magnus hoped very much that he didn’t share the same look. Those who appeared to be victims were always the easiest to victimize.

“You know, without that scar, you’d be a flawlessly handsome young man.” Sabina cast a leisurely glance over him. “Even with it, you’re still very attractive.”

He absently brushed his fingertips against his scar. “I appreciate the compliment,” he lied.

“Aren’t you going to compliment me in return?”

“I grow weary of games, Sabina. Either get to the point or leave.” He gave her a piercing look. “Unless you want to demonstrate your magic. My father said you’re a witch, but I’ve never met a real witch before and I must say I’m curious.”

“A real witch would never blatantly use her powers in the open for anyone to see. That would be risking exposure to those who might mean her harm.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“You’d best tell Lucia the same thing.”

His chest tightened. “My father believes she’s a sorceress, but I’ve seen no evidence of anything unusual.”

“Are you sure?” Sabina eyed him with open amusement. “I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not. What I am sure about is that I’d like you to leave my chambers.” He forced a smile. “If you please.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all. But I’m tired and I wish to sleep.”

That annoyingly amused look remained on her face. It was as if nothing he said had any effect on her. “I like you, Magnus.”

“I’m deeply honored,” he said drily.

She moved closer to him, sweeping her gaze over his tall frame from head to toe and then slowly back up again. “Your father has become obsessed with this drive to conquer Auranos. He hasn’t had much time for me lately, except to seek guidance on certain decisions. He’s spent today organizing a meeting in Auranos with Chief Basilius and King Corvin himself to discuss matters before they escalate.”

“He’s a busy man.”

“I grow lonely.” Again she walked slowly around him. Her gaze felt weighted and uncomfortable. “And I know that you’re also lonely. You haven’t yet chosen a future bride, even though you’re only weeks from turning eighteen. And you spend so very much time all by yourself. Whatever do you do with your days and nights, Magnus?”

“Nothing that would interest you.”

“I know you enjoy the attentions of a pretty kitchen maid, don’t you? But she’s the only one I’m aware of. I don’t believe for one moment that you’re interested in such a girl as anything more than a short and meaningless distraction.”

He hated that she knew so much about him. “It might be meaningless, but it’s not always short.”

He tensed when he felt her hand brush over his back, trailing across to his shoulders as she circled him. “You are very nearly a man. And a very fine man at that. A bit soft around the edges still, but I think the right handling would help sharpen your edge. You could become a fine weapon in many ways.”

Magnus stared at her, unclear about her meaning. But not all that unclear. “What are you suggesting?”

“The same thing that I suggested to your father when he was not much older than you. I’m offering myself to you as a lover.”

“Is that so?” His words were measured, quiet.

“Yes.”

“You’re old enough to be my mother.”

This finally helped her smile to slip at the edges. “Age can be an asset, Magnus. With age comes experience. You are young and, apart from that maid and perhaps a handful of other meaningless girls, you have no experience.”

“You have no idea how much experience I have.”

“Not nearly enough. It’s clear in every move you make. You want to feel wanted. Needed. Desired.” She trailed her fingertips over his chest. “I can make you feel those things.”

Magnus couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“And what does my father have to say about this offer of yours?”

“Gaius doesn’t know, of course. Nor does he need to know.”

“Sharing a mistress with my father doesn’t sound...