Then her view of the city was replaced by the face of Cleiona Bellos—her skin was pale and the rims of her eyes red, but she held her chin high.
“Yes?” Lucia prompted when she didn’t immediately speak.
“The nursemaid who looked after my sister and me is still at the palace,” Cleo said. “She was wonderful—kind and sweet, but not weak in any way. I would highly recommend her to look after your daughter.”
Lucia looked down at the face of her baby for a moment. Lyssa blinked, her otherworldly purple eyes shifting in an instant to a more normal blue.
A shiver went down Lucia’s spin. She didn’t know why that happened or what it meant.
“Much gratitude for the suggestion,” she replied.
Cleo nodded and went to join her attendant as they entered the palace.
Once inside, Lucia asked for Cleo’s nursemaid and found her willing and able to attend to Lyssa. She held back any threats she was tempted to make about her daughter’s well-being.
After kissing Lyssa’s forehead in the cradle the nursemaid had swiftly readied, Lucia went to join her father for their audience with Lord Gareth.
The kingsliege wished to meet in the throne room, which had once held golden Auranian decorations and embroidered banners emblazoned with the image of the goddess Cleiona and the Bellos family crest, but which now held only a few small reminders of the time when King Corvin had ruled.
Her gaze lifted to the familiar walls, the stained glass windows. An expansive marble floor and columns lined the hall, leading to the dais and golden throne.
Lord Gareth waited for them in the center of the room. His beard had grown thicker and bushier and more streaked with white than the last time Lucia had seen him.
He held out his hands to the king and Lucia. “Welcome, my dear friends. I hope your trip here was pleasant.”
The sound of his reedy voice, reminiscent of his hateful son’s, made Lucia’s blood boil.
“As pleasant as a trip aboard a Kraeshian ship could be,” the king replied.
Lord Gareth laughed. “The empress hasn’t kept any Limerian vessels for such an occasion?”
“It seems she’s had most of them burned.”
“And now we are all Kraeshians, as it were. Let’s hope only for brighter days ahead, yes?” His gaze swept over Lucia. “You have grown up to be an incredibly beautiful young woman, my dear.”
She did not meet the compliment with a smile or a nod or a blush of her cheeks, as would have been expected of her in the past.
“Where is your son, Lord Gareth?” she said instead.
Lord Gareth’s pleasant expression dropped. “Kurtis? I haven’t seen him since I left Limeros at your father’s command to come here.”
“But you’ve exchanged many messages with him,” the king said. “Even after he became one of Amara’s most loyal minions.”
The lord’s expression became more guarded. “Your majesty, the occupation has been difficult for us all, but we’re trying as well as we can to adjust to the choices you’ve made for Mytica’s future. If anything my son has done seems disloyal, I can assure you he has only tried to fit in with the new regime as best he can. News reaches me only today that many of the empress’s soldiers have been called back to Kraeshia. I wonder if this means that the occupation will slowly and steadily be scaled back to next to nothing.”
“That is very possible,” the king allowed. “I think Amara has lost her interest in Mytica.”
“Good.” Lord Gareth nodded. “Which means we can all get back to business as usual.”
“Did Kurtis tell you that he recently lost his hand?” the king asked casually, moving toward the stairs leading to the throne. He glanced over his shoulder. “That my son sliced it from his wrist?”
Lord Gareth blinked. “Why, yes. He did mention that. He also mentioned that it was as a result of your orders, your majesty, that he came upon such an unfortunate injury. You asked him to deliver Princess Cleiona to you, and it seems that Prince Magnus . . .”
“Disagreed,” the king finished for him when he trailed off. “Rather strongly, yes, he did. My son and I have not seen many issues quite in the same way. Princess Cleiona is most definitely one of them.”
Lucia watched on, suddenly fascinated. She hadn’t heard any of this before now.
“Magnus chopped off Kurtis’s hand . . . to save Cleo,” she said aloud, bemused.
“It was an impulsive choice,” Lord Gareth replied, a thread of distaste in his tone. “But it cannot be undone, so let’s put it behind us, shall we?”
“Have you heard from Kurtis recently?” the king said as he sat down upon the magificent, gilded throne and leaned back, gazing down at Lord Gareth at the bottom of the stairs.
“Not in more than a week.”
“So you don’t know what he’s done now.”
Lord Gareth frowned deeply, his quizzical gaze moving to Lucia for a moment. “I do not.”
“Not even a rumor?” Lucia asked.
“I have heard many rumors,” Lord Gareth replied thinly. “But mostly about you, princess, not my son.”
“Oh? Such as?”
“I don’t think there’s any need to indulge the whispers of peasants.”
She hated this man, had always hated the simpering manner he used around the king, pretending to be friendly and helpful when she saw the deviousness behind every word he uttered and every move he made.
“Perhaps they are the same rumors I’ve heard,” the king said. “That Lucia is a powerful sorceress, one who has reduced many villages across Mytica to ash. That she is a demon I summoned from the darklands seventeen years ago to help me strengthen my rule.”
“Like I said”—Lord Gareth watched the king as he stood up from the throne and began to descend the stairs again—“the rumors of peasants.”
“A demon, am I?” Lucia said under her breath, tasting the word and not finding it as unpleasant as she would have thought.
People feared demons.
She had quickly learned that fear was a very useful tool.
“Your majesty,” Lord Gareth said, shaking his head. “I am your humble servant, as always. I sense that you are unhappy with Kurtis and, perhaps, with me as well. Please tell me how we can make amends.”
The king’s face was a mask, showing no hint of his emotions beneath. “Your majesty, you say. As if you haven’t pledged your devotion to Amara and only Amara.”
“Only words, your highness. Do you think she would have let me stay here without such a promise? But I have no doubt your power will be restored now that she has departed these shores.”
“So you admit that you’re a liar,” Lucia said.
He frowned at her. “I admit no such thing.”
“Where is Kurtis?” she bit out, her patience swiftly waning.
“Right now? I don’t know.”
Lucia glanced at her father, who nodded. She returned her attention to the weasel before her. “Look at me, Lord Gareth.”
The man shifted his gaze to hers.
She concentrated, but found it difficult for a moment to summon her magic. Difficult, but not impossible. “Tell me the truth. Have you seen your son?”
“Yes,” Lord Gareth said, the word shooting out of his mouth as swiftly and heavily as a cannonball. His forehead furrowed. “What did I . . . ? I didn’t mean to say that.”
Lucia kept his troubled gaze locked with hers, while grappling to hold on to her own magic, which felt like sand slipping from between her fingers. “When did you see him?”
“Earlier today. He begged for my help. He said he’d been tortured—that Nicolo Cassian had burned him. And he confessed to what he’d done to Prince Magnus.”
Gareth clamped his mouth shut so hard his teeth made a crunching sound. Blood began to trickle from his nose.
&nb
sp; The blood helped.
Even a prophesied sorceress could use blood to strengthen her magic.
“Don’t try to fight against this,” Lucia said. She couldn’t focus on the jarring mention of Nic Cassian right now. That could wait for later. “What did Kurtis confess to you?”
“He . . . he . . .” Gareth’s face had turned red, nearly purple, as he strained against Lucia’s magic. “He . . . murdered . . . Prince Magnus.”
The confirmation was a blow, stealing her breath. She fought to hold on to the magic she used to draw the truth from the lord’s lying lips. “How?”
“Buried him alive . . . in a nailed wooden box. So he . . . would . . . suffer before he died.”
Lucia’s throat constricted, and her eyes began to sting. It was just as she’d seen during the location spell. “Where is Kurtis now?”
His eyes glazed over, and the blood from his nose dripped to the white marble floor. “I told the little fool to run. To hide. To protect himself however necessary. That the king’s heir wasn’t someone to be thrown away like the contents of a chamber pot, that there would be ramifications.”
“Yes,” Lucia said, her expression one of sheer hatred. “There most definitely will be.”
With that, she released her tenuous magical control of the man. He produced a handkerchief from the pocket of his overcoat and wiped at his bloody nose, his gaze frantically moving to Gaius, who had silently listened to his confession.
Trembling with outrage, it took every last ounce of Lucia’s control not to kill Lord Gareth where he stood.
“I’m glad you’ve spoken the truth, even if it had to be under duress,” Gaius said, finally, when all had gone silent.
Lord Gareth gasped. “Your highness, he’s my son. My boy. I fear for his safety even though I know he’s done such horrible and unforgivable things.”
The king nodded. “I understand. I feel the same”—a small muscle in his cheek twitched—“felt the same way about Magnus. I know my own reputation for being unforgiving when crossed. I’m not ignorant to the fears I raise in others and how strongly they would want to avoid punishment.”
“And I have stood by your side as you’ve doled out those punishments. Approved all . . . all until now. And now I must beg you for lenience.”
“I understand why you did it—why you’d wish to help your son. What’s done is done.”
Lord Gareth straightened his shoulders. “I am so relieved that you understand my position in this unfortunate matter.”
“Yes, I do. I would have done exactly the same.”
Lord Gareth let out a shuddery sigh as he clamped his hand down on the king’s shoulder. “Much gratitude, my friend.”
“However, I find I cannot forgive you.” In one swift motion, Gaius pulled a knife from within his surcoat and sliced it across the lord’s throat.
Lord Gareth’s hands flew to stanch the immediate flow of blood.
“When I find Kurtis,” the king said, “I promise that he will die very, very slowly. Perhaps he’ll even scream for you to save him. I look forward to telling him that you’re already dead.”
Lucia couldn’t say she’d been surprised by her father’s actions. In fact, she wholly approved.
Lord Gareth fell to the floor by her feet in a growing pool of his own blood while Lucia and Gaius moved toward the exit.
Gaius wiped the bloody blade of his knife on a handkerchief. “I’ve wanted to do that since we were only children.”
“We will find Kurtis without him,” Lucia said calmly.
He eyed her. “You aren’t upset by what I just did?”
Did he expect her to feel the same horror of a small girl coming upon a dying cat left for her to find?
“If you hadn’t killed him,” Lucia said, “I would have.”
The look in the King of Blood’s gaze then as his daughter admitted her desire for murder wasn’t one of approval, she thought.
It held a whisper of regret.
“So the rumors about you are true,” he said solemnly.
She swallowed past the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “Most of them, I’m afraid.”
“Good.” He continued to hold her gaze when she wished she could look away. “Then be a demon, my beautiful daughter. Be whatever you need to be to put an end to the Kindred once and for all.”
CHAPTER 10
CLEO
AURANOS
Her childhood. Her family. Her hopes and dreams and wishes.
All were contained within these golden walls.
“If I pretend hard enough, I can almost believe that it’s all been a horrible nightmare.”
She said this aloud to Nerissa as her friend brushed the tangles out of her hair before the same mirror where she’d gotten ready for countless parties and banquets in the past.
The silver hilt of the brush only served as a painful reminder of a time when Magnus brushed her hair, uncertain whether such a strange act was befitting of a prince, but willing to try because she’d asked him to.
He’d loved her hair. She knew this because he’d never failed to mention how annoying it was that she wore it down, rather than pulled back from her face.
She’d learned to interpret Magnus’s particular way of speaking. He rarely said exactly what was on his mind.
But sometimes he did.
Sometimes, when it counted the most, he said exactly what was on his mind.
Nerissa placed the brush down on the vanity. “Do you want to pretend it’s all been a nightmare?”
“No,” she answered immediately.
“I am here for you, princess. Whatever you need.”
Cleo reached for her friend’s hand, squeezing it, wanting something to help anchor her here. “Thank you. Thank you . . . for everything you’ve done for me. But can you do me one huge favor?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Call me Cleo.”
A smile touched Nerissa’s lips, and she nodded. “I can do that.” She turned Cleo’s hand over, studying the mark on her palm. “The lines haven’t changed since we left Paelsia.”
“I haven’t used the water magic again.”
Not since freezing the guard, she thought, shuddering at the memory.
“Have you tried?”
Cleo shook her head. “Amara thought I should try to control this magic, but I haven’t yet.” She was afraid to try, although she didn’t admit this aloud. “And the weather . . . I’m not even sure I’m responsible for that. Not consciously, anyway.”
Storms had followed them from Paelsia, sudden downpours of rain that seemed to correspond to Cleo’s darker moments of grief.
“What about Taran?” Nerissa asked. “The lines spreading from his air magic marking are more extensive than yours. They’re all the way up his right arm now.”
Cleo’s gaze snapped to hers. “Really?”
Nerissa nodded. “His air magic saved Felix’s life, but after that . . . I don’t know if he’s been trying to control it. Enzo is worried about him. He’s worried about you too.”
Cleo wanted to focus on something else, anything else. “Is Enzo worried about you?”
Nerissa gave her a small smile. “Constantly. He’s the jealous type, I’m afraid.”
“He’s in love.”
“That would make only one of us, unfortunately.” She sighed. “He was fun in the beginning, but now he wants something from me that I don’t think I can give him.” She visibly grimaced. “Commitment.”
“Perish the thought.” Cleo very nearly laughed out loud at that. “So you’re saying that you’re not ready to get married and have a dozen babies with him.”
“That would be putting it mildly,” Nerissa replied. “No, unfortunately there’s someone else on my mind lately. Someone I’ve come to care about more than I’d lik
e.”
Such talk, despite what it meant for poor Enzo, had helped to brighten Cleo’s dark mood. It reminded her of a simpler time when she gossiped with her sister about the love lives of their circle of friends.
“Who?” Cleo asked. “Do I know him?”
Nerissa’s smile grew. “Why do you assume it’s a him?”
“Oh.” Cleo’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s certainly a good question, isn’t it? Why would I assume such a thing?”
“I’ve found in my life that love and attraction can take many forms. And if one is open to unexpected possibilities, there are no boundaries.”
That certainly was true, Cleo thought. It had been for her and Magnus. “You’re not going to tell me who it is, are you?”
“No. But don’t worry—it’s not you, princess.” Nerissa frowned. “I mean Cleo. Using your name rather than your title might take some getting used to. Now, I will wish you goodnight. You need sleep. And tomorrow, if you want to begin channeling this magic within you, I will be readily available to help you practice.”
“Perhaps,” Cleo allowed.
After Nerissa left, Cleo pondered Nerissa’s seemingly overcomplicated love life as she tried to fall asleep and think about anything other than Magnus.
She failed.
The lines spreading out from the water magic symbol on her palm glowed in the darkness, pulsing with the beat of her heart. She pulled up the sleeve of her nightgown and traced her fingers along the lines, like branches of a tree . . . or veins.
Or scars.
Scars like the one on Magnus’s cheek.
Cleo forced the thought of his face away from her. It hurt too much to dwell on everything she’d lost.
She had to focus on what she still had.
This magic—this water goddess residing within her . . . what did it mean?
Could she use it to regain her power?
Magnus would approve of that, she thought.