Frozen Tides

  Lucia shot Laelia a sharp, withering look, and the dancer withdrew her hand, as if burned. “Apologies,” she said, clearly frightened. “Perhaps I misinterpreted your intentions. . . .”

  “You certainly did.”

  “Another time perhaps.” Laelia composed herself, leaning back leisurely in her seat and placing a fresh smile on her red lips. “So. Why, then, did you lure me over to your table with a gift of more coin than I can earn here in a month?”

  Kyan remained silent and focused on his meal, letting Lucia take the lead.

  “I was told you might know something about a prophecy,” Lucia said.

  Laelia’s smile wavered. “A prophecy?”

  “Yes,” Lucia said, humoring the girl’s feigned ignorance but growing impatient. “A prophecy about a child said to wield the magic of a sorceress. When this prophecy came to fruition, two witches stole that baby from her cradle and murdered the mother. This happened somewhere in Paelsia, nearly seventeen years ago.”

  “What a tragic story,” Laelia said, the skin above her mask now nearly as pale as her cold-blooded companion. “But I’m sorry, I don’t know how I can be helpful to you.”

  “How old are you?” Lucia said. The girl was obviously lying. “Nineteen? Twenty? You would’ve been very young at the time, but I imagine a tale like that—of murder and kidnapping all in the same night—would have been passed around Paelsian villages for many years. I know you know the story I speak of.”

  Laelia stood up, her breath quickening. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “Because I’m the child from the prophecy,” Lucia said, her eyes steady on the girl’s.

  “What?” Laelia dropped back down in her seat, then stared at Lucia for several moments. “You’re the stolen child?”

  Lucia nodded in silence, waiting for Laelia to put together the pieces and say more.

  Finally, Laelia spoke again, her voice raspy. “When I was three years old . . . my mother was murdered right after two thieves stole my baby sister from her cradle in the night. My father searched everywhere, but no one knew anything—or else, they chose not to say what they knew. Soon after, he married again, and it was as if he forgot all about it, as if the loss of his daughter and wife no longer mattered to him.” Her expression grew haunted. “But that prophecy . . . it wasn’t about my sister. It was about my father. That’s what he always told us. He believed he was a sorcerer, and that one day he would save Paelsia from its dark curse. He believed that to be true his whole life, right up until the day he died.”

  Lucia’s chest tightened with every word Laelia spoke. “Who is . . . who was your father?”

  The girl scanned the tavern, as if suddenly afraid they might be overheard. “I try not to talk about him anymore. I don’t want anyone to blame me for all the things he did. That’s why I wear this mask when I dance.”

  Lucia squeezed Laelia’s hand, hard, forcing her to snap her eyes back to hers. Eyes, she now realized, that were the exact same color as her own.

  “Who was he?” she pressed.

  Lines of pained concentration settled into Laelia’s face as Lucia forcibly pressed for the truth with her magic. “The former chieftain of Paelsia. Hugo Basilius.”

  A stab of shock sliced through Lucia. She released the girl’s hand.

  Chief Basilius. A foolish, ignorant man who taxed his people to death while he lived like a king. Murdered by King Gaius after being tricked into helping him conquer Auranos.

  His people had believed he was a sorcerer. They’d believed he was a living god, when he was nothing but a fraud. A selfish, delusional, lying fraud.

  Laelia’s snake slithered, wrapping itself tighter around her neck, as if trying to give its mistress a reassuring hug.

  “You’re my sister,” Laelia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Lucia stood up. “I must leave. Now.”

  Laelia grabbed her hand, stopping her. “No, please. Please stay. We need to speak further. You’re my sister—and you have money. You need to help me.”

  Lucia shut her eyes and summoned fire magic to her hand. Laelia gasped and yanked her hand back, her skin red and blistering. “Stay away from me,” Lucia hissed. “I want nothing to do with you.”

  Finally, Lucia had the answer she’d been seeking for so long. And it only made her feel emptier than she ever had before.

  She had no real family. And she never would.

  • • •

  Kyan followed her outside. “Lucia, stop.”

  “It’s funny, really.” Lucia laughed, but it sounded as humorless as it felt. A storm was brewing inside of her, one she couldn’t wait to unleash. “What was I expecting? To discover a nice, normal family, with a mother and father and siblings who would be happy to have found me again? How ridiculous.”

  Kyan took her by her shoulders. “I know your frustration and disappointment very well. You need to use it to make you stronger. Use everything you feel—both the good and the bad—to give you power.”

  “I’m utterly alone. In a world that I hate. I hate it so much.”

  “You’re not alone, little sorceress. You have me.”

  Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. Instead, she looked up into his face. “I do?”

  “Of course you do. You think you and I are so different, but we’re exactly the same. I want all the same things you do—a family, a home. A real, passionate life. But those things are always just out of reach for us. And because of that, we both harbor an uncontrollable rage that needs to be released. And when we release that rage, others join in our suffering. Do you know what that means?”

  She neither nodded nor shook her head, instead keeping her gaze on him steady and resolute. “What?”

  “It means we’re family.”

  He said it with such certainty, such confidence, that she knew he meant it. The heavy weight that had settled on her heart lifted just a little. “You and I. Family.”

  Kyan smiled. “Yes. And once we reunite with my siblings, we’ll be a fearsome sight for these flawed, lowly mortals.”

  “But I’m a mortal.”

  “Oh, that’s nothing but a bit of a hindrance, a small dose of fragility that we needn’t think about just yet.” He stroked her dark hair, tucking it behind her ears. “Now, I’m going to go see a witch about a wheel. You stay here and explore the market. Clear your mind. Enjoy yourself until I return.”

  “My mother used to do that—go to the market to make herself feel better.” Lucia frowned. “The queen, I mean. Not my mother. The queen used to take me to Ravencrest to buy me things she thought a proper Limerian princess should wear. Dresses, slippers, jewelry. But all I wanted was books.”

  Kyan smiled and nodded toward the busy market. “I’m sure there are all sort of books over there. Go. Buy whatever pleases you. And I’ll see you soon, all right?”

  “All right.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and the unexpected gesture made her smile.

  Lucia walked to the market in the center of the village, immersing herself into the crowd buzzing around hundreds of vendors selling their wares from colorfully painted stalls and tents. Anything she could have wanted—wine, vegetables, dried meats, beaded jewelry, embroidered gowns, beautiful quilts—was available to buy.

  A man seated behind an easel called out to her. “Lovely young lady! Please do me the favor of allowing me to draw you. It would be my pleasure. Only five silver centimos.”

  “I have only limmeas.”

  “Very well. A portrait for only ten silver limmeas, then.”

  “You would ask for twice the price in Limerian currency? That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve used my coins in Paelsia without problem up until now.”

  The man spread his hands, as if to suggest he had no control over his prices. “Centimos are accepted everywhere in Mytica without question, but limmeas are not. That is just the way it is. But all right, how about eight silver limmeas?”

  “Your work is not worth that p
rice,” she scoffed. She continued on, leaving the foolish artist behind. What a lowly, peasant-like thing to do—bargain with customers to make a sale.

  Next she passed a stall strung up with small, skinned animal carcasses hanging. The seller waved at her. “Come, sample my spiced warlag shavings on some freshly baked bread. Or perhaps some chaeva seeds, just the thing to relieve one’s dreaded monthly cramps?”

  Lucia caught a whiff of the strongly spiced warlag, a common animal native to Paelsia that looked like a cross between a rabbit and a rat. Her stomach lurched.

  “No, thank you.” She quickly passed the stall.

  Having escaped the vendor and the overpowering warlag odor, she came to a stall adorned with scarves, all hand stitched with elaborate floral patterns. She stopped to run her hand along a pretty blue and violet one.

  “Yes, lovely choice. That would go very well with your eyes.” The old vendor smiled, stretching her gaunt, lined face and revealing several missing teeth.

  “It’s beautiful,” Lucia acknowledged.

  The woman took the scarf and draped it around Lucia’s shoulders. “I knew it. This was made for you. You were meant to have it, no one else.”

  The sumptuous material alone was worth far more than any quickly sketched portrait, let alone the time and skill that went into the tailoring and intricate embroidery. She reached into her bag of coins. “How much is it?” she asked. “Fair warning, I have only limmeas with me.”

  The vendor nodded. “Two silver limmeas, then.”

  Lucia’s brows shot up. “So little?”

  “It would be my pleasure to know my creation will be worn and appreciated by a lovely girl like you.”

  Lucia handed the woman three gold coins instead. “Take these and know I will wear it with pride.”

  All the old woman could do was stare after her, a gleam of delighted surprise shining in her eyes, as Lucia continued on in her new purchase.

  Next, she lingered at a busy stall displaying beaded tunics, all of them far too eye-catching and colorful for anyone in Limeros to wear in public. Still, she found herself drawn to one in particular, soft and tailored to look like a hawk’s silhouette, and ran her fingers along the seam.

  Someone bumped into her, and she turned to see a handsome young man with wide shoulders and sparkling eyes. “Oh, apologies,” he said.

  She tried to ignore him, turning back to the hawk tunic.

  “Lovely shirt,” he said. “Don’t you think? A bit too Auranian for my tastes, though.”

  “I don’t much feel like conversation today. You can be on your way.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s a beautiful day . . . not as beautiful as you, of course.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Very well, as you wish. But before I go, I need something from you.”

  She turned to glare at his smiling face. “What?”

  He nodded at her drawstring purse. “That.”

  She sighed, feeling sorry for the aspiring thief who chose to bother with her today. “You definitely need to—”

  But before she could finish, the man yanked the purse right out of her hand with nearly painful force. She gasped, and he covered her face with his hand and shoved her backward, sending her crashing into the tunic stall.

  Then a familiar shroud of darkness descended over her.

  She looked up to see the sky quickly clouding over as she rose to her feet, then scanned the crowd for the thief, ready to light him on fire and watch him burn.

  He thought he could steal from her?

  He would never steal from anyone else ever again.

  She had him clearly in her sights, but before she could unleash her magic, the thief tripped and fell, hard, to the ground. Lucia rushed over and joined the crowd forming around him.

  A young man wearing a black eye patch stood over the thief, the sole of his boot pressing against the man’s chest. “You know,” he said, leaning over to snatch the purse from the thief’s grip, “you’re the sort of scum who gives all of us Paelsians a bad reputation.”

  Lucia’s purse in hand, the young man lifted his boot from the thief’s chest.

  “You should learn to mind your own business,” the thief growled as he scrambled to his feet.

  “I’ve always been terrible at that. Now go. Before I change my mind.” He removed a dagger with a jeweled hilt from a sheath on his waist and showily spun it around on his hand.

  The thief took one brief look at the knife before running off in the other direction.

  Lightning crackled in the darkening skies.

  The young man with the eye patch looked up then brought his gaze down to Lucia, who drew closer to him. “Seems we’re due for a storm,” he said to her. “You can never tell here in Paelsia. They always come upon us without warning, as if by magic.”

  He was young, not much older than her, with dark hair like Magnus’s, though much shorter than her brother’s. His skin was deeply tanned, and his visible eye was a cinnamon shade of brown.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, frowning at her silence.

  The darkness within her continued to swell, still craving a release.

  “Here.” He handed her the drawstring purse, and she hesitated only a moment before taking it from him and tucking it beneath her cloak.

  “I suppose you want a reward,” she said.

  “Of course not. Assisting a lovely young lady such as yourself is reward enough.” He gave her a toothsome grin.

  And then it hit her like a thunderbolt. She knew exactly who he was.

  “You’re Jonas Agallon.”

  He blinked. “Sorry, what—?”

  “You’re Jonas Agallon. The rebel leader wanted for the murder of Queen Althea.” She’d seen his wanted posters, heard rumors about his crimes, though she couldn’t recall ever seeing him in person before. Surely, she would have remembered. “Apologies, but your disguise is a disgrace.”

  “Oh, you mean this?” He pointed at his eye patch. “An accident involving a pitchfork. Very gruesome. And sorry to disappoint, but I’m not this Jonas Agallon person.”

  His attempts at denial were very nearly comical. “Don’t worry, I won’t turn you in. I’m grateful for all you’ve done in your fight against the king. Why did you stop?”

  The boy glanced up at the sky again. “Seems the skies are clearing. No storm after all.”

  “Very well. Can I ask you a question that perhaps you will answer?” Lucia said, her tone free from anger.

  “You can certainly try.”

  She fixed a steady smile on her lips. “Where is the earth Kindred?”

  The stunned look on his face confirmed Lucia’s long-running suspicion: Cleo had fed this rebel information about the crystals, allowing him to claim it first.

  That lying princess did deserve death.

  Lucia was suddenly distracted by the sight of someone striding through the crowd, shoving people out of her way, heading right for Lucia. The strange girl, who had dark, curly hair, and wore a very ugly yellow dress, came to stand next to Jonas. She held a bow and readied it with an arrow, pointing it directly at Lucia’s face.

  Jonas eyed the girl with alarm. “Put that down, Lys. You’re going to hurt somebody.”

  “Shut up,” the girl hissed. “Have you completely lost your mind? Do you have any idea who this is?”

  Jonas turned away from the wild girl and looked again at Lucia.

  “Of course I do,” he said, his voice hard. “She’s Princess Lucia Damora.”

  CHAPTER 18

  JONAS

  PAELSIA

  Before today, Jonas had seen Princess Lucia from a distance on three separate occasions: on a horse, regally riding next to her father and brother into Auranos; at the Temple of Cleiona, just after he’d claimed the earth Kindred; and on the royal dais at Lysandra’s scheduled execution.

  It had taken him a moment to recognize her, what with her plain frock and her hair worn as loose and free as a Paelsian girl’s, but as soon as
he saw those piercing blue eyes and their knowing gaze, he was reminded of exactly how unforgettable the beautiful princess was. However, the busy Basilia market was the last place he’d ever have expected to spot her.

  Nic and Olivia caught up with them, and now stood next to Jonas and Lys. After Lys drew her bow and arrow, the rest of the crowd had backed away, and now the five of them stood, isolated in the middle of the market, as a hundred vendors and customers looked on with both interest and wariness.

  “Be careful, princess,” Nic said to Lucia. “I’ve seen what Lys can do with that thing.”

  “Nicolo, isn’t it?” Lucia said. “Of course I remember you. Cleo’s little trained pet she keeps around to amuse her. What did you think of the entertainment my friend and I provided during my recent visit to the palace?”

  Nic just scoffed, eyeing Lucia with a mixture of hatred and fear. This was a rare moment, seeing Nic at a loss for words. Nic’s talent for talking was what had gotten them past the guards manning the gates at the Limerian palace. He’d insisted, as the princess’s closest confidant, that he and his friends had every right to leave the grounds to go to Ravencrest to find a gift for Cleo’s upcoming birthday. Jonas had been rather impressed when the guards had then readily stepped aside without further questioning.

  Lucia sighed, then fearlessly shifted her gaze to face the sharp arrow again. “And you are . . . Lys?”

  “Lysandra,” she hissed.

  “Lysandra, darling, I strongly suggest you stop pointing that weapon at me. It’s very rude.”

  “Put it down, Lys,” Olivia gritted out through clenched teeth.

  “Why should I?” Lysandra snarled. “This is the same snotty royal who looked on, as if watching a puppet show rather than an execution, while my head was about to be chopped off.”

  “Ah, yes. Of course,” Lucia said, her tone calm and even somewhat sweet. “I know you. You’re the savage little rebel girl who slipped away from the execution stage, as free as a bird. I really must congratulate you. Do you know you’re one of a very small group of prisoners who’ve managed to escape King Gaius’s punishment?”

  “My, what confidence you have. Even right before I kill you.”