The King's Seal

by Amy Kuivalainen

  “How awful.” Penelope rested a hand on her neck, visibly uncomfortable. “I’m glad the ring of Solomon never woke for such horrible men.”

  “It’s a mercy,” Alexis said. “Both Frederick and Scot were too puffed up for their own good. The ring, however, must’ve passed from Frederick’s hands before his death.”

  “You don’t think he would’ve given it to Scot?” she asked.

  Alexis shook his head. “No. Remember, when he gave Frederick the ring, the crusader said, ‘May it bring you the same blessing in the wars to come.’ Frederick wouldn’t have parted with any mystical talisman if he thought it would help give him victory in Jerusalem.”

  “Another crusade?” Marco guessed.

  “The sixth to be precise. When he was crowned, Frederick promised the pope that he would take back the Holy Land, but he dragged his feet in fulfilling that promise. The Fifth Crusade got as far as Egypt and then completely failed. The next time he tried, he legitimized his claim over the Holy Land when he married Isabella II, heiress to the Kingdom of Jerusalem.”

  “Did he make it to Jerusalem?” asked Penelope.

  “No. It went better than the first try, but Frederick got sick in Brindisi, and Hermann von Salza, Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights, made him return to the mainland to recover.”

  “Tim did reference he saw the emperor coughing up blood, and he put the ring in the hands of another.” Penelope’s face lit with excitement. “There were references to knights in the manuscript. Do you think he could have given it to this grand master as a good luck charm before they pressed on without him?”

  Alexis narrowed his eyes. “It’s absolutely possible. Even if the ring never changed for Frederick, he knew it was a holy relic, and the crusaders needed all the help—real or imagined—that they could get.”

  “I could go down to the Archive—”

  “No.” Zo shook his head. “That’s something to check tomorrow. For now, let’s focus on finishing this wine and enjoying the rest of the night without worrying about insane men doing ridiculous things in the name of power.”

  To that, Alexis could only lift his glass and agree.

  PENELOPE WOKE FROM a restless night’s sleep to a velvety touch along her bare collarbone. She frowned, sleep struggling to hold onto her as the soft touch moved over her shoulder and down her arm. Scents were now creeping in: coffee, cinnamon, and…roses? She opened an eye and beheld a glorious sight. Alexis was lying on his side, naked except for an ostentatious royal blue robe embroidered with golden Venetian lions and red roses. He had a rosebud in one hand and was gently caressing the folded petals against her bare skin.

  “Buongiorno, mi amore,” he purred, a pleased smile on his face.

  “You’re up early this morning.” There was already a blush creeping up her bare chest.

  “How could I sleep when you’re next to me, all languorous and deliciously free of clothing?”

  “And that’s the reason for the rose—” Penelope looked about the room. It was full of roses—all red and perfect in vases of every shape and color. “Am I missing something, or is there a theme this morning?” She pushed her wild hair from her face and found he had entwined her curls with tiny buds. Penelope raised an eyebrow at him in surprise. She’d never been with anyone remotely romantic, and she didn’t think she would ever get used to Alexis when he was feeling extravagant.

  “Last night, you said wanted a prize.”

  “A room full of roses is a pretty over-the-top prize.”

  “As you pointed out on our walk, we also missed the Feast of San Marco while we were in Israel.” Alexis’s smile warmed as he moved the rose in his hand to caress the side of her cheek. “This is me making up for both things. Would you like to hear the story of why we give roses on the feast day?”

  Penelope moved to take a sip of her coffee and got comfortable. “Tell me, magician.”

  Alexis propped his head up with one hand. “The day is the Feast of Saint Mark, but it is also the festa del bócoło that celebrates a very tragic Venetian legend. Once upon a time, a man of low birth was cleaning fish at a dockside when a black-and-gold gondola came to dock at the market. Two maids appeared from the cabin, and then stepped out a woman so beautiful he thought an angel had been given human form.”

  Alexis tucked the rose he’d been holding into the waistband of her underwear before making another appear in his hand. A smile spread across Penelope’s face. Even small acts of magic still delighted her whenever he decided to do them. She wanted to kiss him but held off; his story wasn’t over.

  “This man fell in love with the nobleman’s daughter so completely that he knew he’d never want another. Then the impossible happened: the daughter saw him, and she fell in love with him right back.”

  “The scandal,” Penelope whispered, earning a raised brow of warning for interrupting.

  “At the time, Venice was open-minded, but there was no chance one of the Libro D’Oro patriarchs would let his daughter leave the family to become a fisherman’s wife. He didn’t care about the name, but that name had to have money.” Alexis resumed his slow exploration of Penelope’s skin. Where his touch went, a rush of heat followed. He seemed determined to make her burn.

  Penelope would’ve never allowed a previous lover such a long and close inspection of her body, but all of those self-conscious hang-ups had been done away with in the past few months, because when Alexis looked at her, he wore an expression of such delight and lust that she’d never felt more beautiful.

  Alexis’s rosebud stopped its journey on the soft underside of her breast. “Are you listening to me, cara?”

  “Trying to. Someone is driving me to distraction.” Penelope bit her lip.

  Alexis’s indigo eyes zeroed in on her mouth, and he cleared his throat. “Stop that, or I’ll never get this story finished.”

  Penelope swallowed her laughter. “Apologies, my love. Please continue.”

  “The man knew that he must make his fortune, and in those days, the quickest way was to fight in a war. In secret, he met with his love one last time before boarding the ship, determined to win money and glory. For two long years, he did just that, and it seemed as if luck and all the blessings of the saints were on his side. In the final battle before he was due to return home, he was struck down with a mortal blow right through his chest.”

  Alexis ran the rose in a long line over her chest and heart.

  “As he lay dying, he plucked a single rose from a nearby bush and gave it to his closest companion. His last request was that it be delivered to his Venetian love.” Alexis kissed the rose and passed it to Penelope. “Since then, it has been customary for Venetian men to give their lovers a single rose on Saint Mark’s Day.”

  Penelope took the rose from him and held it to her heart. “You clearly ignored the part of the tradition where only a single rose was required.” She edged closer to him.

  Alexis ran his hand over the curve of her spine, then eased her back onto the pillows. “I am not Venetian,” he murmured, bringing his lips to hers.

  Penelope’s mind emptied until there was only him, her hands roaming over his hot skin covered in the tattoos of old magic. She groaned as his mouth moved to her neck, the soft stubble of his beard making her tingle with goose bumps. She pushed the robe off his broad shoulders. “This is lovely but not as lovely as you naked.”

  “You’re delightfully impatient.” He laughed, freeing his arms from the swathes of fabric.

  “You’ve only got yourself to blame—waking me up and driving my body insane.” Penelope reached up to touch his black curls. He really was the most perfect specimen of male beauty. Knowing that his looks came third after his brain and heart, which he’d given to her, made her ache with happiness.

  “Saints save me, I love it when you look at me like that.” He bent to kiss her collarbone, then moved slowly down to her breast. Penelope gasped as he reached a nipple and teased the hard little peak until it ached and her core grew h
ot. Alexis whispered Atlantean words against her skin, and his fingers dipped under the lace of her underwear. Magic sizzled in the air, and the underwear vanished.

  “Where did they go?” Her small laugh turned to a groan as he massaged her.

  “Who fucking cares,” Alexis growled. “There is only one thing that matters right now, and that’s the most perfect rosebud of all.”

  With that, he lowered his mouth to her, and she almost fell off the bed. One large hand moved to her stomach to pin her down as he worked her. Only when she was trembling and whispering his name like a prayer did he ease up and move above her. His indigo eyes were burning with barely restrained lust and magic.

  “More?” he asked.

  Penelope locked her legs around his hips. “God, yes.”

  He thrust slowly inside of her, and a fine tremor ran through him as he allowed a moment for her to adjust. “I could die a happy man right now.”

  “Don’t die, and don’t hold back.” Penelope thrust her hips up and raked her nails down his back.

  The tether that was holding Alexis’s patience snapped, and he gripped her wrists, pinning her down as he moved inside of her. Penelope met the intensity of his passion with hers until the maddening rhythm and sensation sent her over the edge again, taking him with her.

  Magic was thick between them, racing as quickly as their heartbeats. Alexis rested his forehead on top of hers as their shallow pants mingled. They were joined in every way they could be, their bodies and magic and hearts so intertwined that she didn’t know where he started and she finished. And then she heard it—that indescribable melody she’d heard only once before. His heart song.

  His eyes opened in wonder. “Can you hear it too?”

  She nodded. He rested his ear against her chest, and they lay there listening until the magic faded and it was only their rapid heartbeats once more. Alexis rolled off her and pulled her close to rest with her head on his chest.

  “God bless Saint Mark and his feast day,” Penelope whispered, making Alexis laugh. She sighed happily as he kissed the top of her head, and the magical tension that hung in the air finally broke, showering them in a soft rain of rose petals.

  PENELOPE TOOK one look at the wall of research in her office and turned around and walked back into the Archives. She was still trying to process the previous night’s revelations about Michael Scot and Frederick II. Her dreams had been filled with prisoners screaming in wine barrels and sad, mute children crying.

  Alexis had managed to scare away the fear that morning with his stories and his body, and she had no intention of letting the slimy horror of her nightmares return.

  There were other tasks to do besides throwing herself back into the horror of Tim’s manuscript. She wanted—needed—to learn more about the two magical abilities she’d inherited. She had meant what she’d said to Marco; as far as usefulness in a fight, she didn’t think she’d be able to help at all. Still, she had these abilities for a reason, and she was determined to find out what that was.

  Penelope knocked on the door of Galenos’s computer lab and gave him a wave.

  He sat behind his desk. “Good morning, Archivist. What can I do for you?”

  “I want to use the database to find books on Poseidon.”

  Galenos pointed at a spare laptop. “Go for it. Nereus had a copy of his book of stories. It was passed around schoolrooms and scholars’ houses on Atlantis to teach children about our founder.”

  “That sounds perfect. Let’s hope it hasn’t disappeared with all of her other journals.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me that they did. Nereus was an extremely private person who wouldn’t have liked the idea of her journals being read by anyone.”

  “She could have left me instructions on how to use the astrolabe, at least.”

  Galenos laughed. “I helped her build the thing, and even I have no idea what it really does beyond tracking us and the magical tides.”

  “You think it does more than that?”

  “I have my suspicions. Nothing was ever as it seemed with Nereus. She was the Matriarch of the Citadel of Magicians for almost a century before Atlantis sank. She knew more about magic than any living being, and she loved to use it.” Galenos gave her a sad smile. “I miss her.”

  “Me too. Though some days, I want to strangle her,” admitted Penelope.

  “I bet.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Let me know if I can help.”

  Galenos went back to staring at his screens, and Penelope sat down at the laptop. She opened the database search forms and wrote Poseidon in the main field. A long list of books and their locations came up, and she printed it out. “Well, that was easy for once.”

  “Just remember the books like to move,” said Galenos, dousing Penelope’s confidence. “They’ll be somewhere down here though.”

  It took thirty minutes of searching, but Penelope managed to find one book on the long list.

  “There you are!” she all but shouted as she removed the book from where it was wedged between a block of volcanic rock and a treatise of the stars written by a Babylonian mage. Stories of the King was pressed into the pale blue leather, and Penelope held onto it tightly, lest it decide to disappear again.

  She was searching for a reading nook when she heard the unmistakable sound of Alexis humming. With a smile, she followed the sound and found a workshop, carved into the rock. There were blocks of stone of all shapes and sizes, and at the center was a worktable. Alexis had his back to her, leaning over a slab of white marble.

  “I didn’t know you had a workshop down here.” Penelope sat down on a three-legged stool.

  Alexis lowered his tools. “There are still many parts of the Archives you haven’t explored. You always get stuck amongst the books,” he said, flashing her a teasing smile.

  “Who could blame me?” She brandished her book at him. “I have had a minor success this morning.”

  “Poseidon research?”

  “You know it?” Penelope asked in surprise. Surely he couldn’t remember every book in the Archives…could he?

  “I know it very well. Tell me how you like it.” He turned his attention back to brushing stone dust away from his work.

  “Can I ask what you’re making?”

  “A funeral stele for Nereus.” He rested his hand lightly on a long slab. “It’s overdue.”

  “I can’t wait to see it. I’m sure it’s going to be as lovely as all your other works.”

  “There’s a spot in the gardens she liked. I’ll have it placed there, and we can do the proper rites for her. She would be mad to learn we haven’t done them yet.”

  “I’m sure she would understand, Alexis.”

  “She would understand, but she would still lecture me about it,” he said with a fond smile. “I’ve meant to ask if you’d like one for Tim.”

  Penelope’s stomach turned. It was one thing to hold his memory close; it would be quite another to walk past a marble stele of him every day, his features perfectly rendered.

  “It’s an amazing offer, and one day I might take you up on it, but I’m not ready yet.” She held the book tighter to her.

  Alexis moved so he could bend down and kiss her forehead. “When you are, you let me know, and I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you.” Penelope changed the subject as she swallowed her tears. “Something you can help me with now is telling me how to convince the Archives to stop moving books around so I can find them.”

  “Nereus used to just ask the Archives for the books she wanted.”

  Penelope huffed. “Really? Simple as that.”

  “I swear she did. She would say what she wanted out loud, and they would appear in her office. You know the Archives is sentient. It has the ability to hide books, which means it can also find them when they are needed. You are the Archivist; this place belongs to you as much as the rest of us. Tell it what you want and let it work for you.”

  Penelope got back to her feet and reached up on tiptoes t
o kiss the edge of his jaw. “I will. Thanks for the idea. I’ll let you get back to your carving.”

  “Don’t get into any trouble.” There was a knowing look in his eye.

  “You know me—I wouldn’t know how.”

  “I’m sure I have at least two more gray hairs since I met you. Do you know how hard it is to give an immortal gray hairs?”

  Penelope blew him a cheeky kiss before leaving him alone in the workshop in search of a cozy study area. She sat cross-legged on a plush couch and placed the book in her lap.

  “Okay, Archives, listen up,” she whispered. She shut her eyes so she didn’t feel so utterly ridiculous and took a deep breath. “Please. I need you to give me Nereus’s books about Poseidon.” She waited for a long minute before she heard a rattle. She peeked one eye open. The astrolabe was now sitting on the coffee table in front of her. She let out a frustrated groan.

  “Come on. You give me this thing nearly every single day. Learn a better trick.”

  Maybe it was her. Nereus possessed an unknowable amount of magic, and Penelope had barely a drop. Perhaps the Archives responded to Nereus better because of that?

  “Please…” She shut her eyes again.

  Penelope let herself fall into deep, meditative breaths, reaching out to touch that new and strange part of herself. There was a slight tingle in her fingertips, and then she was suddenly sitting at a bar. “What the hell?”

  “Hello, Doctor Bryne. I didn’t know we had a date.”

  Kreios was sitting beside her, dressed in an elegant black-on-black suit, a wide smile on his handsome face.

  PENELOPE GLANCED AROUND. A glass of wine sat in front of her, and a wide bay of windows revealed a square and the magnificent facade of the Duomo.

  “We’re in Florence?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Well, I am. You’re only here to interrupt the first peace and quiet I’ve had in a month,” said Kreios.

  “How are you doing this?” She looked at her bare hands. She’d left her rings, including the one Alexis had given her to stop astral projecting, on her bedside table. Shit.