The dream continued to haunt him, refusing to let go.
“There was,” Maddox answered Liana. “Well, she was a friend. A good friend.” He swallowed hard. “She’s gone now, though. A long way away from here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. But it was for the best. It couldn’t have ended any other way. I realize that now.”
“You never know what the future holds,” she said half-brightly, half-mysteriously.
Maddox smiled. “Ah, yes. How could I forget you’re a fortune-teller?”
“Well, that bit about me being a fortune-teller? That was a lie. Very few people can actually see the future—you should be much more wary of those who claim they can. Barnabas was right to chide you about that. But what I am is an optimist, even at times when it seems that all hope is lost.”
Maddox let himself feel a bit of lightness at Liana’s words, and the rest of the walk through the village was much more pleasant. It wasn’t long before they reached a tavern, which they all agreed was the most popular destination they’d passed. The name of the establishment was carved above the entrance.
Maddox squinted at the sign. “What does that say? Pa-lace? Palacia?”
“Paelsia,” Liana said, eyeing it uneasily. “It means beware strangers in a very old Mytican dialect.”
“Oh, now you’re an expert in old Mytican dialects?” Barnabas said.
She gave him a smirk. “I have many hidden talents.”
They entered the busy tavern, which was full to the brim with men and women so thirsty that Maddox instantly felt sorry for the exhausted-looking barmaids running back and forth with tankards, mugs, and goblets. They stood in the entryway, taking a moment to gather in their surroundings.
Maddox had been in many taverns in his life, but never one like this. There was not a single window. The “floor” consisted of tightly packed hay. Large rocks served as the seats, which were arranged around rough blocks of wood that approximated tables. The walls were carved with words and numbers. As they entered, a man was carving a message into his table with a knife the size of his arm.
The mood of the place was so rowdy it felt like a fight could break out at any moment. Maddox noticed a scowling man who wore a necklace strung with what looked like human teeth. He met Maddox’s gaze and gave him a cold grin, showing that he was completely toothless.
Maddox immediately averted his gaze, which fell upon a woman who appeared to have a full mustache. She hissed at him.
“Everyone in here looks like they just murdered somebody,” he whispered to Barnabas under his breath.
Barnabas scanned the large room. “Welcome to Central Mytica, home of heathens, thieves, and wanted criminals. Don’t be scared, my young friend. Just be careful about whom you speak with. In fact, leave the speaking to me.”
“I’m not scared,” he replied hastily, offended that Barnabas would assume such a thing, especially after all they’d been through together.
Although, to be honest, it was really just that he’d gotten much better at hiding his fear.
“Glad to hear it,” Barnabas said good-naturedly as he led the trio toward the bar. “And you, Liana? A sweet young girl like you probably finds the prospect of being in the center of a tavern full of thugs rather dangerous. Shall I protect you?”
“What a big, strong, brave man you are.” She gave him a cold smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I can protect myself, but much gratitude for the offer all the same.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, his grin fading as he turned to slap his hand down on the wooden slab of a bar. “Three ales, kind sir,” he said to the barkeep. “And some information, if you please.”
The barkeep gave Barnabas an unpleasant look. “Well, aren’t you a polite talker. What do we have here, some sort of lord looking for an adventure, come to slum with our rough lot for a night?”
“If you take me for a lord who would happily bow down before a goddess,” Barnabas leaned forward, “you are dead wrong.”
The barkeep gave him another sour look and then threw an appraising glance toward Maddox and Liana. Finally, he grabbed three tankards and filled them with golden-brown ale. “Here,” he said gruffly, pushing them forward. “And as for your other request, I don’t know what kind of information you’re looking for, but whatever it is, I’m not going to give it away for free.”
“I’m more than happy to pay.” Barnabas slid a gold coin across the bar, which Maddox knew was part of the purse he’d stolen from a man in the last village they’d passed through.
The barkeep eyed the sparkling coin greedily. “Talk.”
Barnabas leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We’re looking for a girl, about sixteen years old. She would have the brightest red hair you’ve ever seen. A color you wouldn’t forget if you were lucky enough to encounter it.”
“Bright red hair, you say?” The barkeep narrowed his eyes. “This girl is important to you?”
“Very important.”
“Why?”
“That’s not relevant to this discussion. But if it helps your memory, I will tell you that the future happiness of all of Mytica relies on me finding her.”
“And what do I care about the future happiness of Mytica? As long as those two goddesses sit upon their thrones at either end of it, I don’t see how any of us has a say in what goes on in this land.”
“Would you say the same thing if I told you there was a way to get them off those thrones? To stop them from making all the rules and punishing anyone who disagrees with them?”
“Perhaps not,” the man said, less bite in his voice now. “What business is it of yours where my politics lie?”
Liana, still holding tight to Al’s canvas sack, pushed her way up close beside Barnabas and presented the barkeep with a charming smile. “She’s my sister,” she said sweetly. “The girl we’re looking for.”
Barnabas turned and stared at her, a slight glimmer of appreciation in his eye.
“Is she now?” The barkeep eyed her skeptically. “Yet your hair isn’t red.”
“No,” she said, reaching up to touch her hair with a bashful grin. “I wasn’t lucky enough. She gets that from our mother’s side.” Liana paused and let her smile drop, her eyes grow big and sad. “She was kidnapped long ago, and it’s been my mission for years to find her.”
Maddox watched her, both horrified and fascinated at how bold a liar she was. It seemed to come so easily to her.
“And what are you to them, then?” the barkeep said to Barnabas. “Their father?”
Liana laughed.
Barnabas glowered at both of them. “No,” he growled with such displeasure that the barkeep knew better than to press him.
“And who’s the boy?” the man jutted his chin toward Maddox.
Maddox crossed his arms, still trying to suppress his amusement that the barkeep assumed Barnabas was Liana’s father. “Never mind who I am. Do you know this girl or not? We haven’t got time to waste here. If you don’t know her, we’ll continue our search elsewhere.”
The barkeep’s lips stretched thin, and he reached forward and covered the gold coin with his large mitt of a hand. “I may know something about a redheaded girl.” The barkeep looked up and signaled to someone across the tavern.
A mountain of a man walked up to the bar, his scarred and mottled face like something plucked straight from a demon’s nightmare. His left eye was covered by a black eye patch.
Maddox watched him approach warily, the bravado he’d felt with the barkeep dissipating like mist at dawn.
“What?” the nightmare mountain man growled.
“These three are seeking a girl. Sixteen, with bright red hair. This one”—he nodded at Liana—“says she’s her sister.”
“Is that so?”
“The old man here even offered me gold for information. Gold with the northern goddess’s face stamped on it.”
“Old man?” Barnabas grumbled.
“We’re not known for b
eing kind to strangers here,” the mountain said. “Especially ones who flash their northern coins around and ask questions about Cassia.”
At the mention of the name, Maddox’s breath caught in his chest.
“Where is she?” Barnabas demanded, taking a step away from the bar.
The nightmare man was in front of him a moment later, shoving him backward and down to the ground. “You don’t move until I say you can.”
Barnabas glared up at him from the floor. “Then I see we’re going to have a problem.”
“I won’t. But you will.” The thug, lightning-fast for his size, lunged down and, with one hand, picked up Barnabas by his throat. In his other hand he held a long, sharp knife.
Maddox stepped forward. Without any semblance of conscious thought, he summoned his magic.
“No, Maddox!” Barnabas growled. “Just wait.”
“Wait until you get killed?”
“They know where Cassia is.” Barnabas eyed the thug fearlessly. “Don’t you?”
Pulling his blade back, the thug pushed Barnabas toward the door. “All of you. Let’s go.”
Maddox knew he could knock this guy out without much effort. His emotions were already high—a dizzying mix of anger and fear—so a little concentration was all it would take for his magic to bubble over the edge. In fact, it took a great deal of effort not to act, to instead channel his efforts toward keeping calm and waiting.
Barnabas nodded from the door, and the three of them followed the thug out of the tavern. Without a word of explanation, the thug led them to a nearby cottage where six more men, each one more grizzled and hulking than the last, were waiting.
“You still want me to wait?” Maddox whispered to Barnabas as they stood in the threshold, the three of them—and Al—being glared at by the nightmare mountain’s six friends.
“For now,” Barnabas replied. “But perhaps not much longer.”
“Seven is a lot.”
“I can help too,” Liana said.
“Happy to hear it.” Barnabas’s expression was grim, his eyes narrowed, as he assessed the group of men surrounding them.
Suddenly, they heard the door behind them open. They turned to see a short, slim person dressed in a hooded gray cloak enter the cottage and close the door. The nightmare mountain leaned over and whispered something in the person’s ear. The person nodded, then drew closer to Maddox and his companions.
“The barkeep told me that you’re looking for me.” The mysterious person reached up and pushed back the hood of her cloak. A tumble of bright red hair spilled forth, and Maddox let out an audible gasp.
“I knew it,” Liana said under her breath. “Al was right.”
Barnabas grunted in agreement. “Perhaps I won’t throw him in the fire after all.”
Wisely, Al remained silent.
Princess Cassia. Maddox regarded her, not even attempting to hide the shock on his face. It was a time to believe in true miracles: Only days into their quest, they’d already found their princess, before Valoria could.
“Your Highness,” Barnabas said. He bowed his head. “It’s an honor to be in your presence.”
The princess laughed. “Your Highness? Is that the customary way a father addresses his long-lost daughter?” Barnabas faltered and squirmed as if looking for a response that simply wasn’t there. “Yes, they told me who you claimed to be at the tavern. Not a terribly imaginative lie, I’m afraid.”
Barnabas groaned. “I never claimed to be your father.”
“I’m afraid it was I who came up with the uninventive lie, Your Highness,” Liana said. “I claimed to be your sister. It was only assumed that he was your father. Due to his . . . advanced age.”
“Why are you here? What do you want with me?” Cassia asked.
Barnabas raised his gaze to meet hers, his expression resolute. “First, Your Highness, we are here to ensure your safety and comfort. And second, we need to know if you’ll soon be ready to claim your rightful throne.”
The princess frowned. “What does it matter? There is a goddess currently sitting upon that throne, the same goddess who murdered my father.”
“Not for much longer. I have dedicated my life to ending Valoria’s undeserved reign and to returning your family to power.”
Princess Cassia regarded him thoughtfully. “Dedicated your life, have you? That’s quite unfortunate to hear,” she said sadly.
Barnabas looked back at her with confusion. “And why is that, Your Highness?”
“Because your life is about to end.” Cassia flicked her gaze to a pair of her nightmare men. “Kill them all,” she said coolly. “Start with dear old Dad.”
Maddox was just summoning his magic when—
“No!” Al shrieked from his sack. “Don’t! You can’t!”
Stunned, Maddox’s gaze darted between the bloodthirsty princess and the sack in Liana’s hands.
The thug froze in place. “Princess?”
But Cassia looked just as shocked as everyone else. “The bag,” she ordered. “Bring it to me.”
Liana glanced at Barnabas. He nodded, and when the thug reached for the sack, she didn’t resist.
“The contents,” Cassia said. “Show me.”
The thug peeked into the bag and immediately recoiled, a disgusted grimace on his face. Then, closing his one good eye, he reached in and pulled Al out by his hair.
Cassia gasped.
There was a moment of shocked silence. Maddox and Barnabas shared a pained look.
“Your Highness,” Al said, dangling pitifully, “I do apologize for my current condition. And for interrupting your royal order of execution. Please forgive me.”
She stared at him for another long, horrified moment, then drew slightly closer to get a better look. “This is the work of dark magic,” she whispered.
“The darkest magic,” the thug agreed.
Cassia shot her gaze to the three of them, first assessing Barnabas and Liana and then ending on Maddox. “I know who you are,” she said warningly. “I’ve heard the legends of the witch-boy—the boy who can summon the dead from their graves. The boy who has the attention and interest of Valoria herself. It’s you, isn’t it?”
Maddox forced himself not to flinch. This princess was just a girl, he had to remind himself. No older than him. Not a witch, not a monster. She was surrounded by a wall of muscle ready to kill him at the flick of her wrist, but he would not allow himself to be intimidated.
“Yes,” he said, raising his chin. “And I advise you to treat us with respect, or you can be sure you will feel my wrath.”
She stared at him coolly for several more moments, until finally a smile stretched her lips. “This is good. Very good. Welcome to my village, witch-boy.”
Chapter 18
CRYSTAL
Watching Becca leave the ballroom was the single worst moment of Crys’s life. Even worse than when the Codex sucker punched her sister into a magic-induced coma.
She must have gone temporarily insane to ask Farrell for help. In a matter of moments, he’d made it totally clear that everything he’d said during their dance was a lie. He was too selfish to help anyone but himself.
All Crys remembered after Becca was taken was Jackie grabbing her and pushing her out of the ballroom and into a taxi that took them back to Angus’s.
Now the door was clicking shut behind them, and she was surrounded by the familiar furniture of the penthouse.
“Angus, are you screening?” she heard Jackie say, dimly realizing her aunt was on the phone. “This is my second message. You need to call me. It’s urgent. I have to talk to Julia, got it?”
She hung up and went to the kitchen, leaving Crys standing alone in the foyer. A couple of moments later she returned with two bottles of water and handed one to Crys.
“I know you’re freaking out,” she said. “So am I. That was rough—very rough—but we can deal with this.”
Crys just stared at her, feeling the cold condensation from the pl
astic bottle against her skin.
Dr. Vega emerged from the study, rubbing his eyes. “Crystal, there you are. I was wondering where you and your sister disap—”
“How could you?” Jackie nearly spat at him.
He regarded her with shock. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
“Crys and Becca! How could you let them leave? Follow me there?”
“I . . .” He shook his head, looking to Crys before ducking his head and putting his glasses back on. “I . . . I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t realize they’d left until half an hour ago, when I took a break.”
“Seriously, Uriah? You were the adult in the house. I left you in charge.”
“It’s not his fault,” Crys said. “We sneaked out.”
Jackie ignored her. “Imagine, I’m standing there with Markus King, and suddenly I look up, and there they are, in the middle of the ballroom! And now everything’s gone to hell! They have Becca.”
“Oh.” Dr. Vega’s mouth dropped open, his ruddy expression turning pale in an instant. “Oh no. This is horrible. Markus is going to use her to bargain for the Codex.”
“No.” Then Jackie swore loudly, raking her hands through her long blond hair. “Someone else—some enemy of Markus’s—was there. It has to be the man Angus mentioned . . . all those rumors about a new magician or whatever he said. Damn it! I wasn’t even listening to him go on about that, and now he won’t call me back. And this guy, this Damen Winter—somehow he knew about Becca. That she’s Markus’s daughter.”
“She’s what?” Dr. Vega exclaimed.
Crys must have been shocked into sheer hysteria, because she started to laugh. Vega’s cartoonish reaction to this news was far too comical for her to observe straight-faced.