“So he wins?” he growled. “The king spills more blood and gets exactly what he wants?”
“This time, yes.” She absently rubbed her hand, wishing she could feel her ring. It might give her the strength she needed to face what was ahead.
“And you’ll marry the prince so the King of Blood can distract the masses with a shiny ceremony. I don’t like that at all.”
Distraction. Shiny ceremony.
Cleo gripped his arm and looked up at him, his words sparking another plan in her mind like flint to a stone. “The wedding.”
“What about it?”
“The Temple of Cleiona—that’s where it will be. Father took me there as a child and let me explore to my heart’s content. I used to look up at the statue of the goddess, stunned that I was named for such an incredible, magical being. My sister and I—we played hide-and-seek there, just as we did at the palace. But there are even more places to hide at the temple. This could be the perfect opportunity for the rebel cause—a chance to get close to the king. Closer than anyone is able to get on a normal day. He means to use my wedding as a distraction—but he too will be distracted that day!”
Jonas didn’t speak for a long moment. “What you’re suggesting, princess . . . it could work.”
“It’ll be dangerous.”
The edge of a grin appeared on his lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Wait—no. No!” What a horrible suggestion she’d just made! What was she thinking? “There will be too many guards—it’s far too risky. It’s not worth it.”
“You can’t take back your words that easily. This—it’s an incredible idea. I should have thought of it myself. Of course, the wedding! The Temple of Cleiona . . . the crowds will all be outside distracting the guards. Inside . . . it’s the perfect opportunity to assassinate the king and the prince. We remove the king and his heir. We take control. Paelsia is freed from oppression. And you could have your throne back by nightfall.”
She could barely breathe.
Assassinate the king and the prince.
Well, of course, Magnus would have to die as well. He was next in line to his father’s throne. “You really think this could work?”
His grin widened. “Yes, I do.”
“You’re mad.”
“Hey, you’re the one who suggested it, your highness. Perhaps we’re both mad.” His gaze swept the length of her. “Such ruthlessness in such a petite package. Who would have guessed it?”
This was truly insane. But what other choice did they have? Sometimes, to regain sanity, one had to acknowledge and embrace the madness.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get my throne back,” she said.
At that moment, she meant every single word.
“Then we’re in agreement. It’s time for my rebels to make a decisive stand, even one that comes with great risk. I will be at your wedding, invitation or not. And the king and the prince will both fall beneath my blade.” He raised an eyebrow. “The only question is, can I trust you to say nothing of this plan?”
Her heart raced like a wild thing. “I swear on my father’s and sister’s souls I will say nothing.”
He nodded. “Then I suppose it’s time for you to go back to the palace.”
Silently, they left the cave and made their way through the dark forest until they came upon the guards’ camp. They had a large fire lit—the sight and scent of it noticeable even at a distance. No reason to hide from predators when these men were the worst and most dangerous this forest currently had to offer.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a hawk—was it the same one from earlier?—take perch in a nearby tree.
Jonas drew Cleo to a halt. “I still don’t like this.”
“I don’t like it much, either. But I need to go.”
When his gaze locked with hers she remembered their kiss all too clearly. Her lips still tingled from it. They stood for a moment, not speaking.
“Be ready on your wedding day,” he said. “Ten days from now everything changes forever. You understand?”
She nodded. “I understand.”
Jonas squeezed her hand and finally let her go. With a last look, she turned from him and walked confidently into the guards’ camp.
CHAPTER 16
QUEEN ALTHEA
AURANOS
Just before dawn, Queen Althea left the safety of the palace to emerge into the warm night air. She wore a commoner’s cloak to hide her identity, just as she’d done a handful of times before. No one would ever guess who she really was.
The witch was also cloaked and waiting in the usual spot. Althea approached her, heart pounding.
A necessary evil. I’m only doing what I must.
Witches were said to be descendants of exiled Watchers. When these immortals entered the mortal world, they too became mortal. They were able to breed with other mortals and have offspring, some of whom could channel small amounts of magic—or so the legend went.
This witch, placed in the Limeros dungeon by a word from Sabina, the king’s former mistress, was capable of more than that. Sabina had allegedly seen her as a threat since her own magic had faded over the years.
Even before her family had left to mount the siege upon the Auranian palace, Althea worked swiftly and secretly to free this witch from her prison. She found a sickly, bone-thin woman who could barely speak. She had her hidden away at the castle, fed, bathed, and clothed, then offered her freedom—for a price.
She was to help the queen learn more about Lucia’s elementia.
The witch agreed, and Althea learned the true prophecy about Lucia that Gaius had never shared with her. She learned stories about the Watchers, about the Kindred, about Eva, the original sorceress. About Cleiona and Valoria, who envied their sister Eva’s power so much that their greed drove them to steal the Kindred for themselves—an act that resulted in their total corruption by a power so vast they had no chance to control it. In the end, neither won. They destroyed each other.
As a devout worshipper of the Goddess Valoria, Althea had been stunned and sickened by all this. She wanted to deny the truth of it but found the more she learned, the more she could not. The witch was an Oldling, one who kept these stories, passed down from generation to generation; one who worshipped the elements themselves as if they too were gods and goddesses.
If this witch was to regain her weakened power, blood magic was the only option, and she would need more than a sacrificed animal.
And the queen needed her magic.
No common mortal was good enough, the witch said. It had to be someone with strong blood, a pure heart, a bright future. Althea found a boy named Michol, one of Lucia’s suitors. He had come by the castle one day looking for the princess shortly before she departed with Gaius and Magnus for Auranos. He was so young, so alive. The queen enticed him into her chambers with the promise of a betrothal to her beautiful daughter.
There, the witch was waiting with her dagger. The boy’s blood ran red and true.
Instead of inciting pity, however, Michol’s dying screams only fueled the queen and gave her much-needed strength. The boy had to be sacrificed so Lucia could be saved from the darkness of her magic. And saved Lucia must be—even if it eventually meant the girl’s own death.
Any good mother would have done the same.
Althea remembered that night only too clearly.
The magic had shimmered in the air, making the queen catch her breath as the fine hair on her arms stood up.
Michol dropped to the ground, dead, his cheeks wet with tears. The witch’s hands were coated in his blood and she pressed them to her face. Her eyes glowed so bright—like the sun itself.
“Is it working?” the queen asked, shielding her eyes. “Do you need another? I can find a servant.”
“I can see,” the witch said, a smile
of joy stretching her lips wide. “I can see everything.”
“Then tell me what I need to know about my daughter.”
The room sparkled as if stars had fallen from the night sky to hang in midair around the witch and the fallen boy.
“She’s not your daughter,” the witch whispered. “No, not of birth.”
“In my heart she is my daughter.”
“She is very dangerous. Many will die because of her magic.”
The queen already knew that Gaius was set on Lucia being a part of his war—that this was his whole purpose for bringing her into the castle sixteen years ago. He wished to use her elementia for his own gain.
“Tell me more,” Althea urged.
“The sorceress will die,” the witch said. “After many others have fallen before her. But this is very important: her blood cannot be spilled in death—if it is, great pain will rise from the earth itself. Pain unlike anything this world can endure. Her bloodless death is the only way to stop this.”
A chill went down the queen’s spine. “When will she die?”
“I can only touch the future right now, not see it clearly. But she will die young.”
“She’ll be corrupted by her magic.” The words hurt the queen’s throat. “And there’s nothing that can be done to save her.” The truth was far harsher than she expected. But instead of fear, Althea’s heart ached for the girl she’d claimed as her daughter for sixteen years.
“The sorceress Eva was rumored to wear a ring that controlled the battle of power within her. Otherwise it’s like a tearing, dark against light, a balance that cannot be contained forever. One will always try to dominate. Darkness will always try to extinguish the light. The light will always try to repress the darkness. There is no true hope to control this without the balancing magic of the ring.”
Finally, a glimmer of optimism took seed in the queen’s heart that this did not have to end with more death. “Where can I find this ring?”
“It was lost at the same time as the Kindred.” The witch shook her head. “I don’t know where to find it, but I know it still exists.”
“How do you know?”
“I didn’t before, but . . .” Her eyes glowed bright. “I know now. I can see it, but I know not where it is. Alas, there isn’t much time to find it before the girl will lose herself to her power.”
Althea wrung her hands. “If we can’t find the ring in time, how can Lucia control her magic?”
“She must be kept from using her elementia. The more she uses it, the more she will be consumed by it.”
“How can I stop her?”
The witch had suggested the sleeping potion, each batch of which required the blood magic gained from three sacrifices. It put a mortal into a deep sleep, the witch promised, one that couldn’t be explained. One that couldn’t be detected, not even by another witch.
Once the potion was made, Althea and the witch had left for Auranos by ship, arriving only to learn that Lucia had been injured in the explosion. The queen rushed to her bedside to find Lucia surrounded by three medics. They’d covered the girl’s pale arms with leeches meant to drain any poison from her blood.
Lucia was so weakened and dazed that she couldn’t speak, and the healers said she’d been conscious for only moments.
Althea had arrived just in time. The queen shooed away the medics, marking each of their faces so she would remember who had witnessed this. They would each have to die.
Without delay, she put the potion into a glass of water and held it to Lucia’s lips. The girl drank. And then she fell deeply asleep.
Every day since, the queen had visited her daughter’s bedside to check on her, looking for the signs that she would soon awaken. She secretly met with the witch under the protection of darkness every seven days to receive another dose of the potion—knowing full well that three more had to give their lives to buy another week.
Althea had lied to Magnus and to Lucia. The girl had not wakened again since the very beginning. But when she’d found him with Lucia, she knew it was important to plant a seed in her son’s mind. Magnus hadn’t taken the news that his sister had fallen unconscious once again well, but he couldn’t claim to be surprised it happened.
The grief etched into her son’s features alarmed even the queen. The boy was normally so controlled, so restrained. Lucia’s condition had stripped that away. Althea supposed she should feel guilt, but she didn’t. All she felt was certainty that what she did was justified. Was essential. More important than anything else.
The queen had assigned the witch the task of finding the sorceress’s ring, but the woman had had no luck in locating it.
If they didn’t find it soon . . .
There would be no choice but to quietly end Lucia’s life. This would effectively put a stop to Gaius’s plans. It would stop a monster. And it would prove to Althea that she’d finally exerted true strength of will against a husband who believed she had none at all.
This added a drizzle of sweetness to an otherwise bitter decision.
The witch stood up from her seat on the bench in the public gardens, her gray cloak masking her identity perfectly. The shadows of the night wrapped themselves around her like a second skin. The queen scanned the area to see if there were any witnesses, any guards patrolling the area.
There were none. She breathed a slow sigh of relief.
“The potion’s hold is weakening,” Althea said, her voice hushed. “I’ll need it more often. But she’s asleep again, and for now, that’s all that matters.”
The witch reached into the folds of her cloak.
The queen drew closer. “You will be well rewarded, I promise. I’m very grateful for all you’ve done so far. You should know I’ve come to consider you a valued friend.”
To her right she glimpsed the outline of a body on the ground.
Her gaze snapped back to the cloaked figure before her.
“Who are—?” she began, but got no further.
The sharp tip of a dagger sank into her chest. She gasped out in pain as her assailant twisted the knife. A cry died in her throat and she fell to the ground.
The taste of failure and of death. Both so very bitter. Without the love of a mother, Lucia’s destiny was now set.
“I’m sorry, my daughter,” she whispered with her last breath.
Above her, the cloaked figure turned away and swiftly moved back in the direction of the palace.
CHAPTER 17
MAGNUS
AURANOS
Magnus tossed and turned all night. His dreams were plagued with images of Lucia crying and begging for him to save her from shadows that moved toward her like clawed hands. He finally reached her and pulled her into his arms.
“I love you,” he whispered. “And I will never let anything hurt you.”
He slid his fingers through long silky hair, which unexpectedly changed from ebony to pale gold.
He woke, lurching himself up to a sitting position, coated in sweat. It was dawn.
“Enough,” he mumbled. Enough of nightmares. They arrived so regularly of late that he should be used to them by now. Each horrible dream seemed to revolve around the loss of Lucia. His continued obsession with his adopted sister was driving him insane.
He needed to leave the palace, to clear his head. It had become a prison for him these last few weeks. He rose and dressed hurriedly in riding clothes before making his way to the stables. There, he saddled a black stallion the stablehand warned him had a fierce and untamed reputation. But he wanted a horse that would give him a challenge—anything to take his mind off his troubles. He set out on horseback alone.
Magnus rode hard for hours, far out into the green countryside of Auranos. By midday he had reached an isolated stretch of hills known as Lesturne Valley. He continued west until he arrived at the coastline just south of Hawk’s B
row and dismounted so he could stand at the edge of the shore and look out at the Silver Sea. The ocean was calm and blue, its waves lapping gently at his feet. It was the same body of water, but here it was so different than the gray, rough waters the castle in Limeros overlooked from on top of its cliff.
How long would he be forced to remain in this land? If Cleo was dead . . . that would certainly end the betrothal and then he could perhaps return to Limeros. Even still, he could summon no joy from the thought of the princess’s death. She hadn’t asked for this fate any more than Amia or Mira had.
Irrelevant. Why did he even waste thought on such things he had no control over?
And standing here, staring out at the water, was a pointless waste of time. Plus, his boots were getting wet.
Without further delay, Magnus climbed back on the horse and headed back in the direction of the castle.
By mid-afternoon, he was still a few hours southwest of the City of Gold when he came upon a village and realized he was hungry—starving, actually. After only a moment’s hesitation, he entered the village. He’d chosen to wear a simple black cloak that didn’t easily give away his royal identity. He kept the cowl up over his head, effectively shielding his face. And it seemed to work. From under his cloak he glanced at the villagers milling about the busy little town; no one seemed to recognize him. Very few even glanced in his direction.
It did not surprise him. Only a handful from this kingdom had ever seen the prince up close or away from the side of his more infamous father.
He could work with that.
Magnus tied his horse to a pole outside a busy tavern and entered the dark interior, wasting no time before he approached the barkeep. He ordered cider and a plate of meat and cheese, sliding three pieces of silver across the counter in payment. The barkeep, a man with a thick beard and bushy eyebrows, set to filling his order. While Magnus waited, he looked around. There were two dozen others in the tavern, eating and drinking, laughing, and making conversation.