Cleo reached out and took his hands in hers.
“You loved him,” she said, “because you’d begun to have hope.”
Magnus turned his face away so Cleo couldn’t see the bottomless pain in his eyes. “If so, that was very stupid of me.”
She placed her hands on either side of his face and guided his gaze back to hers. “To love a father like Gaius Damora meant that you were brave, not stupid.”
“I hope you’re right.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. Cleo’s skin was cold against his lips. He placed his hand on her cheek. “You’re struggling today.”
Cleo smiled up at him. “I’m fine.”
“Lies.”
Her smile turned into a scowl. “I’m fine,” she said more firmly.
Magnus eyed her for a moment in complete silence. “Your hair, while stunning as always, looks like it hasn’t been properly attended to. Is your current handmaiden lacking in such skills?”
“Nerissa is the best when it comes to making sense of my hair,” Cleo said, twisting a long lock of it between her fingers. “I miss her very much. I hope she returns soon.”
“Hmm.”
Before she had the chance to stop him, he swept her silky hair back over her shoulder. She gasped and clamped her hand down on her exposed skin.
But he’d already seen the painful truth.
The blue lines that had been working their way up her arm were now visible on the left side of her throat.
“When did this happen?” he demanded. “When did you have another incident?”
That was what they’d started to call the drowning spells that seized her unexpectedly at any hour.
“Recently.” Cleo glared at him, as if angry that he’d discovered her secret.
He swore under his breath. “I’d counted on Lucia to help you, but she’s nowhere to be found.”
“She’s searching for her daughter. That is her priority right now, and I don’t blame her. She’s seeking a solution to all this, just not here, trapped within these walls. You saw what Kyan did to the nursemaid!”
The memory of the charred corpse returned to him, the smell of burning flesh. The thought that his newborn niece was in the clutches of the fire Kindred made Magnus’s blood boil.
Strength and power. The only things that mattered. He would find Lyssa and his sister. He had to.
“I need to find answers myself,” he muttered.
“I’ve been reading,” Cleo said.
“Books won’t help.”
“I don’t know about that. The right book, the right legend . . . there are so many in the library, and it seems as if the accounts of what happened a thousand years ago vary from scribe to scribe. We might find the answers in one of these books if we keep looking.”
Magnus shook his head, uncertain. “Have you learned anything tangible from these books you’ve been reading?”
“Well . . .” She twisted her hands. “One of the books reminded me about Lucia’s ring—the ring that belonged to the original sorceress. It controls Lucia’s magic, keeps it from overwhelming her. I was going to ask her if I could try it on to see what would happen now that I have this magic inside me, but she left before I could suggest it.”
Magnus stared at her. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before now.”
“If she returns in time, perhaps—”
“No, not her ring. Mine.” He pulled the bloodstone off his finger, took Cleo’s right hand in his, and slid the ring onto her slender index finger. Then he looked into her eyes. “Well? Do you feel anything?”
“I . . . I’m not sure.” Cleo held her hand out in front of her, shaking her head. Then her skin went deathly pale, and she began to tremble. “No . . . it hurts. It hurts! Magnus . . .”
Death magic. Lucia had been repelled by the same magic that was now hurting Cleo.
In a flash, he wrenched the ring off Cleo’s finger and watched in horror as she had another incident, choking and gasping for breath as if she were drowning in a deep, black ocean and he couldn’t do a damn thing to save her. He gathered her in his arms, rubbing her back and praying for it to be over soon.
A moment later it passed, and she collapsed into his arms.
The magic in this ring had affected Kyan the night Magnus had crawled from his grave. And now he’d proven that it hurt Cleo.
It was the last thing he’d ever want to do.
“I hate this,” she said, her words coming out in gasps. “I wanted this magic. I wanted it so badly that I would have given anything for it. And now I have it and I hate it!”
“I hate it too.” He kissed the top of her head, so sick of feeling powerless and weak when it came to finding a solution that would save her from this fate.
He knew only one thing for absolute certain: He would not lose her.
Magnus accompanied Cleo back to their chambers, and when he was certain she’d recovered and she’d fallen peacefully asleep, he went in search of Prince Ashur.
He found the Kraeshian with Taran Ranus in the palace courtyard.
Taran had his shirt off, and Ashur inspected the white lines that covered his entire arm and half of his chest.
More lines than Cleo had.
“What are you proposing?” Magnus asked when he reached them. “That we chop off your arm in hopes of delaying the progress? Seems too late for that, but I’m willing to give it a try.”
Taran cast a dark look at Magnus, with equally dark circles beneath his eyes. “You think this is amusing?”
“Not even slightly.”
“I want this poison out of me, by any means possible.” Taran pulled his shirt on again. “Ashur knows things, knows magic. I thought he might be able to help.”
Magnus looked at Ashur. “And?”
The prince’s gray-blue eyes were stormy with uncertainty and doubt. “I’m trying to find a solution. But so far I’ve failed.”
Magnus already knew that Taran’s air magic manifested itself in frightening moments of suffocation. And after each incident, the white lines continued their progression.
It didn’t take an expert in ancient magic to tell him that this was a sign that the elemental god was trying to break free and take control of Taran’s body.
Taran snorted, a sound without any humor. “It’s amusing, really.”
Ashur looked up at him. “What?”
“My mother . . . she was an Oldling. She knew all about the Kindred, or at least the tales that had been passed down from generation to generation. She worshipped them. My mother was as powerful a witch as I’d ever known or heard of. It’s possible she could have helped me now.”
“Where is she?” Ashur asked.
Taran shared a look with Magnus before returning his gaze to Ashur. “She’s dead.”
Magnus knew this was only part of the truth. Taran had killed his own mother when she’d attempted to sacrifice him in a blood magic ritual.
Magnus also knew without a doubt that Taran’s mother would have been no use to them, only a help to the Kindred, but he chose not to say this aloud.
“If I had half the resources I used to have,” Ashur began, pacing back and forth in short, frustrated lines in the shadow of a tall oak tree, “I could find a way to help you. Help Olivia and Cleo . . . and Nicolo. But my hands are tied. If I show my face in Kraeshia again, I have no doubt that Amara will have me executed on sight.”
Magnus winced at the name.
He’d refrained from sharing his plan to assassinate Amara with Ashur. He wasn’t sure if the prince would care one way or the other, but he thought it best to say nothing for now. He would deal with the fallout if and when Felix and Nerissa were successful.
“Not willing to sacrifice everything to save your boyfriend?” Magnus asked drily. “I guess it isn’t true love after all. If it was, you probably
would have known he was in the city burning up nursemaids and stealing babies.”
Magnus turned, only to be met with Ashur’s fist slamming into his face. After the blinding pain passed, he grabbed hold of the prince and shoved him against the thick trunk of the tree.
Ashur scowled at him. “You hit me before. Consider us even now.”
Taran stood by, watching the two tensely.
With a grunt, Magnus released him, wiping his hand under his now bloody nose. “Cut a little too close to the quick, did I?”
“How I feel about Nicolo is no one’s business but my own,” Ashur growled. His shoulder-length black hair had come loose from its leather tie, and it fell into his face. “And you have no idea what I would be willing to do to help him. You may think you have me figured out, Magnus. But you’re wrong. I’m not doing any of this with the thought that Nicolo would want to spend another day in my company.”
“Then why?”
“Because I feel personally responsible that his life has been torn away from him. Had I not been complicit in Amara’s original plans, he might be free of this tangled mess.”
“Doubtful,” Magnus replied. “He’s Cleo’s best friend. He would have been a part of this even if you’d never stepped foot in Mytica. Don’t think yourself that important.”
He knew it came out cruel and near hateful, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Nicolo was in love with Cleo once,” Ashur said. “Perhaps he still is. His romantic preferences are not the same as mine. There may never be a future for us. But that doesn’t matter to me. I’m not doing any of this for my own gain. I’m doing it because I want Nicolo to live exactly the life he desires, whether I’m a part of it or not.”
Magnus studied him for a long moment, his nose throbbing. “All right, so prove it.”
“How?”
“I can’t continue to wait for Lucia to return. That witch—or exiled Watcher you spoke of before . . .”
“Valia,” Ashur said the name under his breath like a curse.
“You know of someone like that?” Taran said, stunned. “Someone who might be able to help us?”
Magnus nodded. “Let’s go find her.”
Magnus, Ashur, and Taran rode to the village of Viridy immediately, reaching it just before nightfall. Lit by lanterns and the light of the moon, its cobblestone streets sparkled, leading their way toward the Silver Toad.
The tavern was packed from wall to wall with patrons celebrating the festival. A band played noisily in the corner while a woman, a goblet clenched in her fist, announced that she was about to sing a song she’d written for the goddess, titled “Her Goldenness.”
Magnus quickly wished for cotton to stuff in his ears when she began screeching drunkenly at the top of her lungs.
“Reminds me of my childhood,” Taran said with a grimace. “It’s one of the many reasons I left to join the revolution in Kraeshia.”
Magnus spotted Bruno and beckoned the old man over to their table.
“Everyone!” Bruno waved his arms. “Look who we have here tonight! Prince Magnus and Prince Ashur and their . . . friend. I don’t know who he is. Let’s raise a glass to toast to their good health, shall we?”
“If we didn’t need him, I’d kill him,” Magnus said under his breath as everyone in the tavern clinked their drinks together in a drunken, if friendly, toast.
“He’s certainly enthusiastic,” Ashur replied.
“My father would cut the tongues from those half as enthusiastic as he is if it annoyed him enough,” he said.
“I have no doubt about that.”
“So much for remaining as incognito as possible.” Magnus scanned the area, worried that there might be Kraeshian guards in attendance, but saw no one in their green uniforms.
“I’m Taran, by the way,” Taran said to Bruno.
Bruno clasped Taran’s outstretched hand and shook it. “A pleasure, young man. An absolute pleasure. Welcome to the Silver Toad.”
The band started up again, drowning out their conversation, and the patrons’ attention shifted back to the next volunteer, a man who’d composed a poem in honor of the goddess’s beauty.
“What would you all like to drink?” Bruno asked. “The first round is in honor of your father, Prince Magnus.” He spit to the side. “I didn’t have an ounce of respect for him, but it is a horrible thing that happened to him all the same.”
“Your heartfelt condolences are appreciated,” Magnus said drily.
“We’re not here to drink,” Ashur said. “We’re here about Valia.”
Bruno frowned. “On such a night as this?”
“Yes. We need your assistance in the summoning ritual, unless you think she will not respond tonight. Perhaps she’s celebrating somewhere else, somewhere unreachable.”
“Oh, not a worry—I’ve never known Valia to celebrate anything.” Bruno took off his apron and flung it onto a nearby table. “Very well, let’s go out back. I am honored to assist in such an exciting prospect.”
After disappearing into another part of the tavern for a few moments, Bruno returned with a lantern to light their way and a rolled piece of parchment tucked under his arm. Magnus and the others followed him outside into the cool evening air.
“What is that?” Magnus asked, nodding at the parchment.
“The instructions, your highness.” Bruno shrugged. “My mind has a difficult time remembering such things at my age, so I make sure to write everything down.”
Magnus shared a bemused look with Ashur.
“I do hope this isn’t a waste of our time,” Ashur said under his breath.
“Indeed.” Magnus cast a glance over his shoulder at Taran to see that the white lines, now showing on his exposed hand and throat, glowed softly in the darkness. This sight sent a shiver of overwhelming dread through him. “I don’t think we have much time left to waste,” he added.
Magnus had left Cleo asleep at the palace without saying a word about where he was going. If he returned with good news, that was one thing. If this ended in nothing but disappointment, she didn’t have to know.
But if she had joined them, he knew he’d be far too distracted to focus on the task at hand.
They followed Bruno to a wooded area just outside of the village borders.
Bruno put the lantern down on a piece of moss, then unrolled the parchment, peering at it through his round spectacles. “Ah, yes. I remember. Blood sacrifice.” He glanced up at the three. “Do you happen to have a dagger on you?”
“Of course.” Taran pulled his dagger from the sheath at his belt, presenting it to Bruno hilt-first.
“Excellent, yes, very sharp. This will do nicely.” Then Bruno’s gaze moved to the glowing marks at Taran’s throat. “Huh. That is very curious indeed. Have you been dabbling in elementia, young man? Or did a witch cast a curse upon you?”
“Something like that,” Taran said, then indicated the parchment. “May I read this?”
Bruno held it out to him. “Of course.”
Taran glanced at Ashur and Magnus. “My mother kept notes on spells and her experiences with magic. I’ve read this sort of thing before.”
“Does it look like it will work?” Ashur asked.
Taran scanned the page. “Hard to tell.”
“For the blood sacrifice . . .” Bruno said, glancing around the area. “Perhaps we can find something slow to catch. A turtle, perhaps.”
“Give me that.” Magnus took the blade from Bruno and pressed it against the palm of his left hand, pressing down until he felt a sting. “No turtles need to die. We can use my blood.”
Bruno nodded. “That should be fine.”
Magnus held his hand out and watched his blood drip to the ground.
“Good,” Taran said, nodding. “According to this, you need to smear it into a circle.”
“How large of a circle?”
“It doesn’t say.”
Begrudgingly, Magnus did as instructed, creating a circle only two feet in diameter. “Now what?”
“Speak her name,” Taran said. “Ask her to join us . . .” He winced as he looked up from the parchment. “And ask politely.”
Magnus hissed out a breath. “Very well. Valia, we wish for you to join us here and now.” He gritted his teeth. “If you please.”
“Good,” Bruno said, smiling. “Now we wait.”
“My confidence wanes more and more every moment we’re out here,” Ashur said, shaking his head as Magnus bound the wound on his hand. “But I will remain hopeful awhile longer.”
“My expectations are extremely low,” Magnus said. “Even if we manage to contact this Valia, we have no idea if she can help us.”
“I suppose,” a calm, cool, feminine voice said, “you could start by asking me nicely. I do value proper manners, especially in young men.”
Magnus turned around slowly to see a beautiful woman now standing behind them in the shadows of the trees. She wore a long black silk cloak, a color that matched her long hair. Her skin was pale in the moonlight, her cheeks high, her chin pointed. Her lips were stained a dark red.
“You’re Valia,” Magnus said.
“I am,” she replied.
“Prove it.”
“Prince Magnus!” Bruno said with a gasp. “We must speak respectfully to Valia.”
“Or what?” he asked, keeping his gaze steadily on the witch’s. “Will she turn me into a toad?”
“I don’t think you’d make a very good toad,” Valia said as she moved closer, eyeing them one at a time.
Ashur bowed his head. “We are honored by your presence, my lady.”
“See?” Valia raised a brow toward Magnus. “This one knows how to behave in the presence of great power.”
“Is that what you have? Great power?” Magnus’s patience for a common witch—and he had no reason yet to believe she was anything but that—was quickly dissipating.
“It depends on the day, really,” she said. “And the reason I’ve been summoned.”
“Or perhaps you simply lurk in the shadows waiting for Bruno to bring you willing victims.” He sneered at her. “Are you about to ask us for coin in order to perform your magic? If so, you can spare your breath. Save it for a poetry reading or singing a song during the festival.”
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