Her lips pressed into a thin, worried line. “Yes, and none of it’s good. Several Mortan guards flew into town on strixes and rented rooms last night, along with their captain, someone named Wexel.”
“I saw Wexel and his men earlier.”
I told Topacia about Conley’s meeting with Wexel. The longer I talked, the darker Topacia’s face became. Soon, she looked as livid as the storm clouds still looming in the distance.
“That bloody traitor!” she hissed. “Selling tearstone to the Mortans. We should go over to the mine, drag Conley outside, and gut him in the plaza for everyone to see.”
Her hand curled around the sword on her belt. Topacia was loyal to the core, and she was always happy to cut down any threat against me, my family, or Andvari.
“I wasn’t the only unexpected guest at Conley and Wexel’s meeting.” I stepped into the living room and gestured at Leonidas, who was still unconscious. “Meet Leonidas Morricone.”
Topacia stopped short. “As in Prince Leonidas Morricone?”
“One and the same.”
Her fingers curled even tighter around her sword, as if she expected him to leap up and attack us. “Why is he stretched out on the floor like a throw rug?”
I told her about Wexel stabbing Leonidas, and then Conley ordering Penelope and me to dispose of him.
“But why would you ever help a Mortan?” Topacia asked. “Especially a Morricone? He’ll probably try to kill you the second he wakes up.”
“Or he might be persuaded to tell me everything he knows about the tearstone. Leonidas was snooping around for some reason. I want to know what he was doing in Blauberg, and healing him seemed like the best way to convince him to cooperate.”
Topacia shook her head. “You’ve been reading too many storybooks about Armina Ripley and Everleigh Blair. This sounds like something they would do—cold and calculated.”
“And smart,” I replied. “Armina founded our kingdom, and no one has protected their people more fiercely than Aunt Evie has against the Morricones, the DiLucris, and all our other common enemies. Dozens of Andvarians are already dead. I don’t want that number to climb any higher. So if there’s even the smallest chance I can get some information that will unravel this latest Mortan scheme, then I need to take it.”
“And what if you can’t get any information out of him?” she countered.
“I could call in the royal guards to imprison him, but he wasn’t the one buying tearstone, so he hasn’t really done anything wrong. Nothing that would justify holding him and further increasing tensions with Queen Maeven.” I shrugged. “So I suppose that I’ll cut him loose and let him fly his strix back to Morta.”
“He came here on a strix?” Topacia clutched her sword again. “Where is it?”
“Her name is Lyra. She’s in the woods.”
“You brought a Morricone and a strix here?” Topacia shook her head again. “I don’t know whether to admire your audacity or throttle you for putting yourself in so much danger.”
I grinned. “Audacity should always be admired.”
She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Of course I know how dangerous it is, but it’s worth the risk. Besides, Grimley is watching Lyra. The strix won’t be a problem.”
“Unless the prince dies,” Topacia pointed out. “Then she’ll probably crash through the windows and peck your eyes out—before she stabs her beak into your heart.”
My guard started pacing back and forth. “It’s no wonder I have so much gray hair,” she muttered. “Perhaps I should start drinking. That might help pass the time and dull the pain before King Heinrich and Prince Dominic have me executed for this.”
I stepped in front of her, cutting off her quick, worried strides. “No one is going to execute you. Everything is fine. Lyra was friendly enough, and Grimley will watch over her. As for the prince, well, he’ll be lucky if he can get out of bed in a week. He’s no threat to me.”
My heart twinged with doubt. He might not be a physical threat right now, but even unconscious, I found Leonidas Morricone far more appealing than was wise.
Topacia sighed, and some of the worry leaked out of her body. “What do you want me to do?”
“Go back into the city, and see if you can find out where Wexel is staying.”
“And what are you going to do?”
I gestured at Leonidas again. “Stay here and see if he wakes up. Maybe he’ll be willing to talk once I get some food and water in him.”
Topacia nudged the prince with her boot, but he still didn’t stir. She stabbed her finger at me. “Be careful. And if you need anything—anything—then you call for Grimley. And me too, if you can.”
“I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself. You and Rhea made sure of that.”
“I suppose so,” she grumbled. “And as much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. If you can get him to talk, then perhaps we can thwart this latest Mortan plot before anyone else is killed.”
I hugged her. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“I always trust you, Gemma. It’s everyone else I’m suspicious of.”
Topacia hugged me back, then left the cottage. I stood on the threshold and watched while she disappeared into the woods.
Wind whistled around the cottage, and thunder rumbled through the air again. Those purple-gray clouds had picked up speed, and sheets of rain spattered down in the distance, sweeping this way. Worry filled me, but Topacia should be able to get back to the city before the storm hit.
I shut and locked the door, then flipped a switch on the wall, making the fluorestone lamps flare to life. Even though it was only midafternoon, the approaching storm had cast the cottage in a murky gray gloom.
Another, louder rumble of thunder roared, and the first wave of rain tap-tap-tapped against the roof. I peered out a window, watching the wind tangle the tree branches. Part of me longed to make some hot chocolate, curl up in a chair, and watch the storm. Maybe I would do that, after I hauled Leonidas off the floor and onto the bed. I moved away from the window and went to check on my wounded enemy—
I jerked to a stop beside the blue settee that divided the kitchen from the living room. The area in front of the fireplace was empty.
The prince had vanished.
* * *
I hurried over to the rug where Leonidas had been lying. My gaze darted around the living room, but he was nowhere in sight. Where had he gone?
A light, feathery, electric presence brushed up against my mind, and I whirled around. Leonidas erupted out of the shadows from behind a nearby door and shoved me up against the wall next to the fireplace hard enough to rattle my teeth. I started to push him away, but he whipped up his right hand, brandishing a sword. I froze. He had grabbed my sword off the table where I’d left it this morning.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “Where am I?”
His amethyst eyes were wild, confused, and glazed with pain, and he was sweating again, probably from the effort of hauling himself upright. He tottered back and forth on his feet, and his arm bobbed, dipped, and weaved from the strain of holding up the sword, even though the tearstone blade was much lighter than a normal weapon.
“I’m the person who saved your life.” I held my arms out to my sides, staying calm in the face of his confused, disheveled anger. “You’re in my cottage on the outskirts of Blauberg.”
His arm dipped, but he managed to brandish the sword at me again. “Who do you work for? Wexel?”
“I work for myself. Now, why don’t you put that sword down before I take it away from you?”
Leonidas laughed, although it was a low, weak rasp. “I might be wounded, but I can still cut your throat faster than you can wrest this sword away—”
I reached out with my magic, grabbed the invisible strings wrapped around the sword, and yanked the blade out of his hand. The weapon flew across the room and thunked into an ebony dressing screen in the corner.
Leonidas turned in that direction, t
racking the sword. I surged forward and shoved him away. He staggered back and almost tripped over the low table in front of the settee before he managed to right himself.
I held my position by the fireplace, my hands clenched into fists, ready to toss him back with my magic if he attacked me again. Leonidas stood in front of me, his own hands clenched into fists. Sweat was now dripping down his face, neck, and chest, but his gaze was sharper and clearer than before.
“You’re a mind magier,” he accused.
“Just like you are. Now, are you going to make me hurt you, or are you going to sit down and be reasonable?”
I gestured at the settee. Leonidas eyed me with suspicion, but he shuffled around the table and plummeted down onto the cushions, as though the strength in his legs had suddenly deserted him.
He glanced around the cottage, staring out first one window, then another. “Where’s Lyra?”
“In a cave in the woods.”
Magic flared in his eyes, making them burn a bright purple, and that faint feathery presence tickled my mind again.
Lyra, I heard him whisper, although I didn’t hear what reply she made. Still, their communication soothed the prince, and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders.
His eyes dimmed, and the feel of his magic vanished. He slumped back against the cushions, and his head dropped, as though he was about to pass out. Several seconds ticked by. Then Leonidas lifted his head and stared at me, his gaze locking with mine.
He sank back a little deeper into the cushions, even as his gaze traced down my body, going from my short, messy, dyed black hair to my grime-covered face to my equally grimy coveralls. He wasn’t leering at me, not like Conley had this morning, but his intense scrutiny still made me uncomfortable.
“You’re . . . a miner,” he said, although his faint hesitation gave me the impression that he’d had some other word in mind. Perhaps miner was the nicest thing he could think to say. His black eyebrows also drew together in confusion, as though something about me greatly puzzled him.
For a horrific, heart-stopping moment, I thought that he had recognized me, not only as Princess Gemma Ripley, but also as that frightened, frantic girl he had encountered in the Spire Mountains so long ago.
The one who had tried to kill him.
Equal parts worry and anticipation gnawed at my heart. Countless times, I had imagined what I would say—what I would do—if I ever came face-to-face with Leonidas Morricone again. But now that the moment was here, all my plans, schemes, and dreams of revenge floated away, leaving me adrift in my own churning sea of emotion.
Several more seconds ticked by, each one more painfully silent than the last. I reached out with my magic, trying to skim his thoughts, but Leonidas immediately put up a wall between his mind and mine, as hard, fast, and abrupt as a door slamming in my face. Then he reached out with his own magic, trying to hear my thoughts, but I quickly erected my own defenses, as though I were using a gladiator shield to block his power.
He glowered at me, and I glared right back at him. It wasn’t surprising that we had both tried—and failed—to hear the other’s silent musings. Mind magiers and their respective powers had a tendency to cancel each other out, like magnets of the same strength and size constantly attracting and repelling one another in equal measure.
Since I couldn’t read his thoughts, I watched him closely, but his expression didn’t change, and no sharp, obvious emotion surged off him. Leonidas didn’t seem to recognize me. I wasn’t quite sure why I was so disappointed by that, but I shoved that sensation away, along with all the other messy, conflicting feelings he inspired.
“You’re a miner,” he repeated.
“Well, aren’t you observant? And you’re a Mortan. Isn’t that right, Prince Leonidas?”
He didn’t bat an eye at my using his name and title, although he kept staring at me, still wary and suspicious. “You were in the woods with the other miners. You were there when Wexel tried to kill me.” Understanding filled his face. “You used your magic to save me, to force Wexel’s sword away from my heart.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
That was the question of the hour, the day, the century—and one I couldn’t quite answer, not even for myself. So I shrugged. “It didn’t seem fair. All those guards, and you wrapped up in chains like a yuletide present someone had forgotten to open.”
Leonidas’s hand crept up to his throat, as if he could still feel the coldiron collar biting into his skin. “So you decided to save me out of the sheer goodness of your heart?”
A razor-thin smile curved my lips. “I’m not that good.”
He snorted, although the sound was tinged with more amusement than derision. Leonidas fell silent, as did I, although we kept studying each other.
“What should I . . . call you?” he asked.
Once again, that faint hesitation marred his tone, filling me with unease, but I saw no reason not to answer.
“You can call me Armina.” Whenever I needed an alias, I always used my middle name, since it was familiar enough for me to answer to when called upon.
Something flickered across his face. Strangely enough, it looked like disappointment, but the emotion vanished, and he arched an eyebrow. “Not going to tell me your real name?”
“I have lots of names.”
That much was true. Princess Gemma Armina Merilde Ripley was a whole mouthful of grand, fanciful names, and at least two more than any person needed.
“Fine, Armina.” Leonidas emphasized my obviously fake name. “What do you want for saving me? A reward?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because people always want something from princes.” His face hardened. “So what’s your price?”
He was right. People did always want something from royals. More pesky pinpricks of sympathy and familiarity stabbed into my heart.
“Well, some gold crowns would certainly be nice.”
His eyes narrowed. “But?”
“But I want to know about the tearstone—where it’s going, who bought it, and especially what they’re planning to do with it.”
Cold calculation filled his face. No doubt the same icy expression frosted my own features, as each of us tried to get more than we were forced to give.
“Why do you care so much about a couple of wheelbarrows full of tearstone?” he asked. “Unless you aren’t the simple miner you appear to be.”
It was far more than just a couple of wheelbarrows of tearstone. By my calculations, several thousand pounds had gone missing all together over the past few months, which was more than enough to make all sorts of deadly things.
I might need to keep my real identity hidden from Leonidas at all costs, but I saw no reason to lie about what I was doing in Blauberg. Besides, Xenia always said that the best lies were mostly truth.
“I’m a spy.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “For whom?”
“People who do care about those wheelbarrows full of tearstone. Given how eager Wexel was to kill you, I thought you might be able to help me with that.”
“Ah,” he drawled. “So you’re after information.”
“As a spy? Always.” As a princess too, although I could never tell him that.
A bitter laugh tumbled out of his lips. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have any information.”
“What do you mean?”
Leonidas shook his head. “I don’t know anything about the tearstone. I heard some . . . troubling rumors, so I came to Blauberg to investigate. But all I got for my troubles was a sword in the chest.” He glanced down at the bandage that covered the wound.
A miserable truth echoed in his words. So he had been spying on his own people, and he’d almost died as a result. More sympathy surged through me, although a wave of frustration quickly drowned it out. I’d hauled him over to the cottage, faced off against Lyra, and healed him, and now I was getting a fat lot of nothing in return for my troubles.
“Well, I was hoping for something a bit more useful than I don’t know anything, but I don’t regret saving you.”
The words popped out before I could stop them, and they had the same miserable ring of truth as Leonidas’s confession. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. Once upon a time, I’d tried to kill Leonidas Morricone, and now here I was, doing my best to reassure him. What was bloody wrong with me?
Cold calculation filled Leonidas’s face again, as if he was choosing his next words very carefully. “I would think that you would dearly regret saving me.”
Once again, something about his words nagged at me, but he continued before I could figure out what it was. “After all, I’m a Morricone.”
He stared at me, wary again, wanting an explanation. I couldn’t tell him what I didn’t understand myself, so I opted for a slightly different version of the truth.
“I saw you in the clearing this morning. When you first landed. When that little girl came skipping out of the woods.”
“So?”
“So she could have run off, screaming and telling everyone about you. Killing her would have been the smartest, safest thing to do. But yet, you didn’t. Instead, you gave her a flower and told her to move along. That was quite an unexpected kindness.”
“She was a kid,” he snapped. “I would never hurt a child, no matter how much danger she might have put me in.”
If he had been anyone else, I might have believed him, especially given his earlier actions today, but our childhood encounters made me doubt his sincerity. Although, to be fair, I had tried to murder him back then, so I supposed I couldn’t throw stones.
Still, Leonidas’s familiar features, especially his dark amethyst eyes, made me think of another place, another time, another Morricone.
I’m going to enjoy this.
Those words whispered through my mind, as soft and smug as a cat’s purr. That was what Maeven had been thinking as she’d watched everyone gather on the Seven Spire lawn before the massacre. She had repeated the phrase to herself over and over again, almost like a chant.
Capture the Crown Page 8