“Go on, then,” the guard urged. “Whoever wins gets to eat today. Let’s see some blood.”
The other girl’s gaze snapped to Lysandra’s. Then, with a cry, she charged at her, clutching the knife.
Lysandra was hungry and weak, but she hadn’t lost her mind—not yet. She’d arrived here two days ago with three other rebels who’d survived the battle—Tarus, Cato, and Fabius.
She knew King Gaius had ordered them here to be publicly executed, to be made an example of. She didn’t expect to be pardoned for her crimes. And she didn’t expect anyone in shining armor to break in to rescue her.
But those had been her expectations her entire life. She was different from other girls who dreamed of strong husbands and a houseful of drooling babies. She’d been a warrior from the beginning. She would be a warrior till the end.
And that end was not going to be today.
She dodged the knife easily and shoved the girl away.
“What’s your name?” Lysandra asked.
“My name?” the girl said, her gaze narrowing. “Why?”
“I’m Lysandra. Lysandra Barbas.” Introductions could make friends of strangers, and this girl—she wasn’t her enemy. They were both prisoners here; they had common ground.
“I don’t care who you are.” The girl lacked skill but was determined in her attempts to stab Lysandra.
“Need a little help, rebel?” The guard opened the door and shoved another prisoner in. He was short and skinny and wore a fearful expression.
Before Lysandra had a chance to say anything, the unmarked girl attacked and cut Tarus’s arm.
Seeing the gash on his flesh was enough to incite Lysandra. She launched herself at the girl and punched her in the stomach, making her grunt with pain.
“Are you all right?” Lysandra barked at Tarus.
He clutched his injured arm. “Yeah. I think so. Be careful!”
The tip of the blade darted at Lysandra’s chest. She dodged it, and this time she punched the girl right in her face. Blood trickled from her nose.
“Stop it,” Lysandra hissed. “You’re better than this! Don’t give them the show they want. Don’t let them win!”
The girl’s eyes were red with tears of rage. “I haven’t eaten in days!”
“Take her down,” the guard snarled. “Kill her. I’ve put my silver on you, rebel. Don’t make me a loser.”
The girl continued to strike at them relentlessly until Lysandra finally knocked the blade out of her hand and grabbed it for herself. The girl fell hard to the ground and scrambled back into a corner, raising her hands to shield her face as Lysandra drew closer.
“Please! Please, no. Spare me. I’m sorry—I’m sorry!”
“Kill her!” the guard demanded.
Lysandra shot them a look of hatred. “No.”
“She would have killed you.”
“Perhaps. But she doesn’t deserve to die just for trying to survive another day in this cesspit.”
The guards stormed into the cell and disarmed Lysandra, then dragged her back to her original cell, throwing Tarus in with her.
“You can keep each other company while you wait for your turn to die.”
In the darkness, Lysandra pressed herself up against the wall with Tarus next to her. He began to sob softly; she put an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.
“I know this is hard,” she whispered, “but I’ll get us out of here. I promise I will.”
“How?”
That was a very good question. “Working on it. Give me time.”
“If Jonas can find us, he’ll save us. I know it.”
“Jonas is dead.” The words tasted as bitter on her tongue as they felt in her heart, the cold, painful thought making her eyes sting with endless grief. “If he wasn’t killed in the battle, he’d have been captured just like us and we would’ve seen him or heard about it.”
Tarus’s eyes hardened. “I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t want to believe it either, but holding on to hope that he’s going to find us . . .” She let out a shaky sigh. She wouldn’t let herself believe in Jonas because she knew she couldn’t handle the disappointment if he didn’t show. No, she’d rely on herself only, just as she always had.
Silence fell upon them and remained until Gregor was finally brought back, staggering, into the cell. He fell to his knees and Lysandra rushed to his side, taking his face between her hands to make him look at her.
He was dazed, his face bruised and bloody.
Fury ripped through her at the sight of someone she loved so horribly abused.
“Damn it.” She tore a piece of cloth from her shirt and tried to clean his wounds. “Damn them! I’ll kill every last one of them!”
“It’s all right, little Lys. It’ll be over soon.”
Tears began to stream from her eyes and she angrily swiped them away. “Don’t say that! We’re getting out of here and we’ll leave this stinking place far behind us. We found each other again for a reason. We’re not going to die here. Just tell them what they want to hear so they’ll stop hurting you.”
“There aren’t enough truths in the world to get them to do that.”
It pained her to hear the defeat in his voice. This was so unlike the brother she’d grown up with—her rock, someone who showed strength even during the hardest of times. She’d always envied him that, ashamed of her own weaknesses.
“What did they want today?” she asked.
“Same as every other time.” He leaned against the stone wall. “The king wants to know what Phaedra told me about the Kindred. He asks me the same questions again and again, but my answers never satisfy him.”
Not so long ago Lysandra wouldn’t have hesitated to tell Gregor he was a fool to believe in immortal creatures from a different world or magic crystals. What a laugh.
But no one was laughing now.
“She’ll visit me again,” he whispered. “I know she will. And then she’ll tell me what to do.”
Lysandra lowered her voice. “Did you tell them what Phaedra said about the sorceress?”
It pained her even to say such a thing aloud, but it was what Gregor believed. Helping him hold on to his beliefs might give him the strength he needed to hold on to life.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I tried to say as little as I could. I need to be patient. Phaedra will visit me again. She wouldn’t abandon me like this.”
If this Phaedra really existed, then Lysandra hated her for what she’d done to her brother. For what she’d said to him.
“When the sorceress’s blood is spilled, they will finally rise. And the world will burn.”
Who would rise? There was no such thing as magic, only foolish people who believed in foolish things to better explain what they didn’t understand.
“So tell the king that—about this sorceress and her powerful blood,” Lysandra whispered. “Let him scurry off to find some girl to blame! Get the attention off you.”
“You’d wish something horrible like that on someone else?”
She flinched. Would she wish for something cold and brutal to happen to some innocent girl, all to save someone she loves?
She wasn’t sure anymore.
Gregor touched his forehead, then brought his hand in front of his face and looked at the smear of crimson on his fingertips. “Blood is the key to all of this, little Lys. Remember that. Blood is life. Blood is magic.”
“If you say so.” She tried to keep her frustration out of her voice. Gregor had been through so much; she only wanted him to rest and regain his strength and his mind. “Do you know the identity of this sorceress your dream-girl told you about? Any idea at all?”
“No,” he admitted. “But she exists.”
Lysandra let out a shaky sigh. “That doesn’t help us very muc
h.”
Tarus spoke up from the corner. “My grandmother once told me of a prophecy about a sorceress. One who can wield elementia more powerfully than anybody else. She’s the one who can recover the Kindred.”
“Your grandmother sounds like a great storyteller,” Lysandra said.
Tarus shrugged. “Maybe it’s not just a story. Maybe it’s fate.”
Paelsians might not believe in magic, but they did believe in fate. They believed in accepting the harsh realities of life in a land that was wasting away day by day—empty stomachs, dying children—as if such horrors could not be prevented.
Lysandra had never subscribed to such fatalistic beliefs. She knew there was only one person who could change your destiny, and that was yourself.
“Phaedra will visit me again. She’ll tell me how to help her.” Gregor’s eyes shone with tears, then he squeezed them shut again. Lysandra’s heart ached.
“Watchers visit mortals’ dreams,” said Tarus, getting Lysandra’s attention. “Sometimes. Rarely—I mean, it doesn’t happen a lot. But it’s possible.”
He must have seen the skepticism written all over her face. Still, Gregor seemed so certain. She couldn’t just dismiss his words as the ramblings of an insane person. She might not believe in much, but she believed in her brother.
And all of this was clearly important to the king, which made it important to her as well.
“Why do you think it’s possible?” she asked.
Tarus’s expression grew pensive. “I met a witch once, an old friend of my grandmother’s. She could light the fireplace just by staring at it.”
Lysandra had heard similar accounts but had never witnessed anything like that for herself. “How old were you?”
“Five? Maybe six? But I know it happened.”
Childhood memories wouldn’t help them. They needed facts. They needed action, a plan of escape.
Her brother had fallen asleep. Perhaps he was dreaming of beautiful immortals, but she was left awake with a thousand questions and doubts.
“Forget about Watchers, Lys. Jonas will save us,” Tarus whispered. “I know he will.”
She wasn’t so sure. But if there were any magic in this world for wishes, that was exactly what she’d wish for.
CHAPTER 4
CLEO
AURANOS
Cleo was regarded with uncertainty by the people who had lived in the palace before, when times were good, who hadn’t given King Gaius reason to cast them out or kill their families. They remembered what it was like when King Corvin sat on the throne, a kind king who would never rule with an iron fist clenched around the throats of his subjects.
Cleo saw the confusion in their eyes, questioning how she could bear living on in her father’s palace with a smile on her face only a few short months after his death. How she—a self-indulgent girl once known for her love of parties, friends, and wine—could be forced to wed the son of her enemy without constantly, desperately looking for a way to escape.
But these people had never really known Cleo. And they had no idea how far she would go to reclaim what had been stolen from her.
Some sought revenge against their mortal enemies with the edge of a sword. Her plan for vengeance began with the edge of a smile.
And if she was careful, no one, not even the man who’d crushed everything and everyone she loved into dust, would ever think of her as a true threat. .
She’d recently begun to believe that the handsome rebel who’d both kidnapped her and kissed her might be able to aid her. She hadn’t seen Jonas in over two months, but she thought of him often and worried about his fate. She had no idea whether he lived or died.
But she knew she couldn’t rely solely on him.
Cleo emerged from the palace and found Lucia in the palace garden. She forced herself to remain calm, to ignore her racing heart as she steeled herself and approached the other princess, who was cutting red roses from their stems and placing the blossoms in a basket.
What an ordinary pastime for a secret sorceress.
“Good day,” Cleo said as she came up alongside her.
Lucia’s shoulders stiffened, but she continued to pick her flowers. “Good day.”
There was no friendliness in the greeting, which sent a whisper of worry through Cleo. They’d parted as friends only a few days ago, but, what with Magnus’s return and the lavish victory banquet, Cleo hadn’t had a chance to speak with her alone and solidify their bond since.
No matter. Cleo had decided. They would be the best of friends.
Cleo conjured up her natural talent for being social and charming—a skill she hadn’t required in some time.
“Is there something you wish to say to me?” Lucia’s tone was alarmingly suspicious.
This would not be easy.
But Cleo remained composed. “Only that I hope I’ve said nothing to offend you. I was under the impression that we’d grown close after . . . what happened the other day.”
Lucia’s expression darkened. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“I understand how difficult it must be for you.” To wield elementia so powerful that you can kill a living creature, Cleo thought. “But I’m here for you. I know I can help you.”
Lucia’s eyes shone icy blue beneath her raised brows. “Do you honestly believe you can help me?”
Oh, no. A short separation was all it had taken for Lucia to raise up her walls against anyone who might potentially be untrustworthy. Cleo would have to work very hard to break them down, stone by stone.
“I know what I saw,” Cleo said gently. “And I helped you. Just my presence was enough to help you contain your magic.”
Lucia wouldn’t look her in the eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You saw me with a dead rabbit, that’s all. It means nothing.”
A dead rabbit frozen in the middle of a warm room by deadly water magic. That certainly meant something to Cleo. In fact, it meant everything to her.
The pursuit of magic and the power it promised had become the central purpose of her life.
“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone and I haven’t. We’re sisters now, Lucia.”
“Sisters.” Finally Lucia turned to face Cleo, her eyes flashing. “Why? Because you’re married to Magnus? You can barely look at each other. You loathe him and he you—I don’t care what you would have others believe.”
Venom rose in Cleo’s throat at these poisonous words, no matter how true they were. She wanted to strike back with her own poison, repeat the rumors she’d heard of Lucia and Magnus’s incestuous feelings for each other.
But she swallowed it all down instead.
She put on a mask of deep concern. “Is your magic troubling you again today?”
An edge of desperation flitted across Lucia’s eyes.
“I feel . . .” Lucia’s voice broke and she turned toward the rosebush. “I hate this. I hate being here. I hate these flowers and these trees and all I want is to go home to Limeros.”
But she wouldn’t be of any use at all to Cleo in Limeros.
“Because you felt more under control there?” she asked.
“Hardly. But it—it’s home.” Lucia let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a hiccup. But the lightness vanished as soon as it arrived, and she once again looked harshly at Cleo, a frown creasing her brow. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to be your friend.”
“Why?”
Because I need your magic to destroy your father, she thought.
“Because in you I see someone who understands my world,” she said. “You’re the daughter of a king. Like me, you’ve had responsibilities and expectations thrust upon you your entire life. Very few understand how that feels. You do. And the other day I knew you needed me as much as I need you.”
“You need to forge
t what you saw,” Lucia whispered. “It’s too dangerous.”
A shiver coursed down Cleo’s spine. This sounded much more like a pained warning than a threat. “Dangerous for you? Or for me?”
“For both of us.” Something beyond Cleo caught Lucia’s gaze, and her expression soured.
Cleo turned to see Princess Amara approaching along the winding cobblestone pathway as two Kraeshian guards in dark green uniforms hung back near the castle entrance.
Cleo couldn’t be more annoyed. This uninvited guest was interrupting her precious private moment with Lucia. She’d only met Amara briefly at the banquet, but the girl hadn’t made a good impression. She was too eager, too familiar in her greeting, and Cleo had instinctively recoiled from the girl.
Her brother Ashur had made a similar first impression on Cleo. Were they friends or foes?
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you two,” Amara said brightly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”
“Certainly not,” Lucia replied. The faint uncertainty in her tone had been replaced by a confident crispness. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. Where is your brother?”
“Out exploring the area around the villa King Gaius is preparing for us.” Amara sighed and glanced at the flowers. “Ashur loves exploring the countryside. Alone, no less. He refuses the company of guards.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Cleo said.
“It does, doesn’t it? That’s my brother. An adventure seeker at any cost. Cleo, we barely had the chance to speak last night before you disappeared. Were you unwell?”
“Yes,” Cleo lied, happy to agree with this ready-made excuse. “My stomach couldn’t handle another bite of food.”
Amara raised her brow. “Are you with child?”
Cleo opened her mouth to immediately deny any possibility of this. Since, thankfully, it was absolutely not possible she was pregnant. She and Magnus had not . . .