If not for this ring, she would be dead.
All the more reason for her to be here and to have the chance to speak with Timotheus face to face.
Mia led her deeper into the city. Lucia followed, pulling the hood of the white robes up over her long dark hair. They walked alone for a long while through the crystal city’s maze until, finally, she began to see others. Many wore robes like the one Mia had given her, and they were all moving in the same direction. Disguised as one of them, no one gave her a second glance. She was able to continue to observe these immortals and their shining city without interruption.
Every being here was so beautiful, each more so than the last. Even the most attractive mortals couldn’t compete with these creatures. Their skin, all shades from palest alabaster to deepest ebony, radiated with light that seemed to glow from within. Their eyes were like shining jewels of every color, their hair like the finest strands of the most precious metals.
How strange it must be to live in a world, she thought, where everyone and everything is perfect.
Alexius had been beautiful like this—she’d seen it in her dreams. When he’d exiled himself, he’d become mortal, and that glow had faded. He’d become more three-dimensional, his angles more crooked. He’d become more real.
She saw now that she’d liked that—the transformation of immortal Alexius into real Alexius—more than she’d realized at the time. To be in love with someone perfect beyond compare would have become rather tiresome after a while.
Lucia gritted her teeth as oceans of unbidden memories rose up within her. A wave of grief and rage washed over her as she was confronted by the same memories she’d spent the last few weeks trying to forget.
Alexius had ultimately given his life to save hers.
But from the moment she’d met him in the first dream he’d pulled her into, he’d been deceiving and using her at Melenia’s magical command, attempting to learn her secrets and manipulate her into awakening the Kindred.
No, she thought, and with that one firm word she forced away the memories. She swore she wouldn’t think about him. Not now, not ever again. Not if she could help it.
They reached an expansive clearing in the center of the city. The ground there was laid with reflective tiles. It reminded Lucia of the mirror in her palace chamber where she watched as her attendants readied her to a state of beauty that would please her mother. From beneath her hood, she watched as two hundred immortals converged in the clearing.
“This is like the public square back home,” she said under her breath.
“We meet here for gatherings, and Melenia used to speak to us from the tower regularly to brighten our days . . . until she disappeared . . .”
Lucia bit her tongue. Not even the confused and fearful tone in Mia’s voice would make her regret ending the immortal elder’s life.
She looked up at the smooth crystal cylinder set in the center of the clearing. The structure reached so high up that she couldn’t see the top. “What is this?”
“The elders make their home in this tower. Timotheus hasn’t left it since Alexius exiled himself to the mortal world. Many believe he’s been in mourning.”
Now Lucia’s teeth sank into her tongue so deeply she nearly drew blood.
“How many elders live here?” she asked. She realized that learning about this new place was helping to ease her mind and keep her from spiraling back into thoughts of the past.
“There were six originally.”
“And now?”
“This is one of the questions we have for Timotheus.” Mia’s expression turned grave. “And he must have answers today.”
“Or what? What happens if Timotheus doesn’t come out today with the right answers? What if this crowd he’s gathered is not pleased?”
Mia glanced around at the others surrounding the base of the crystal tower, taking up only a fraction of the space available in the square. “Many feel that the time of elders has passed. At their command, we’ve searched for the Kindred, and to many it has been nothing but a fool’s errand, meant to distract us from the truth.”
“What truth?”
Mia shook her head, her expression tightening. “The fact that you’re here gives me hope that they’re wrong.”
Lucia was about to ask more questions, to get to Mia’s hidden meaning, but before she could, there came a rustle in the crowd and a rise of angry shouting voices.
She looked up from the depths of her cowl. Her breath caught in her chest as the smooth surface of the crystal tower flickered and filled with light. Then the clear image of Timotheus appeared on this bright surface, his face the height of three men.
Her mouth fell open at the sight of this unexpected magical projection.
The image of Timotheus raised his hands, his expression grim as the crowd of Watchers, including Mia, began to chant a handful of words that Lucia couldn’t understand, in a language she’d never heard before today. The sound of it made the chill she’d felt at the gates return to her, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself and tried not to shiver.
Timotheus waited until the chanting ended and a hush fell over the group.
“You asked to see me,” Timotheus said, his voice loud and his tone confident. “Here I am. I know you have questions. That you have worries. I hope to ease your minds.”
The crowd had fallen silent after the chanting, so silent that the city felt as still and empty as it had when she’d first entered it.
“You wish to know more about the current whereabouts of missing elders and immortals. You wish to know why I have rendered the gateway to the mortal world unusable so that you’re unable to leave our home even in hawk form. You wish to know why I haven’t emerged from this tower in recent days.”
Lucia watched Mia’s face and the faces of the other immortals, their gazes transfixed on the gigantic shining image of Timotheus as if he were an omnipotent god who’d rendered them all into silent, immobile marble statues.
She’d never thought to ask Alexius how an elder’s magic differed from other immortals. But now she saw that elders like Timotheus had complete command over others of their kind. The audience was under his spell—everyone was completely still as he spoke.
Yet he had no control over the defiance that still shone in their eyes.
Timotheus’s image didn’t flicker like a candle. It remained solid and bright. And Lucia was reminded again that he resembled Alexius so much that the two, if mortal, could have been mistaken as brothers by blood.
“Danaus and Stephanos. Melenia. Phaedra, Alexius, and Olivia. All missing from our already dwindling numbers. You fear that I have masterminded every one of these recent disappearances, but you’re wrong. You believe we should be searching for our missing people in the mortal world, yet I won’t let you leave.
“What I’m doing,” Timotheus continued, “what I have done . . . is because a great danger has risen in the mortal world, a danger that affects everything we’ve worked so hard and so long to protect. With so few of us left, I’ve done only what I must to protect you all. And I only ask for your trust for a little while longer, before all will be revealed.”
His words didn’t help tame the fierce looks in the eyes of the immortals. Lucia wasn’t surprised by that. She’d heard hundreds of speeches by her father over the years. He was a true master at public speaking even when presented with an audience who despised him.
King Gaius knew when to lie, when to give false hope, and when to make promises of gold when, more often than not, such promises ultimately meant nothing.
Still, such speeches given at key times were more than enough to prevent riots. More than enough to keep Limerians in check and rebel numbers low.
People clung to the possibility of hope.
Timotheus did not speak of hope. He told the truth but gave no details, making him sound like more of
a liar trying to conceal his misdeeds than the King of Blood ever had.
And, it seemed, he wasn’t finished yet.
“You’ve all seen for yourselves that our world is dying. The leaves are turning brown and dry, more and more every day. Despite the prophesies of Eva’s magic returning to us, you’ve begun to believe this is a sign of the end. But you’re wrong. The sorceress has been reborn. And right now, this very moment, she stands among you.”
A gasp caught in Lucia’s throat as the large projected eyes of Timotheus seemed to look directly at her.
And the eyes of the immortals who hadn’t moved or spoken since Timotheus’s speech began collectively widening with shock.
A bolt of panic shot through Lucia, and all of a sudden it was as if no amount of pristine white garments could stop her from feeling completely naked.
“Before the burden of visions was passed on to me,” Timotheus said to the crowd, “it was Eva who bore the weight of them and foretold that a girl born in the mortal world would become as powerful as an immortal sorceress. I can now confirm that Lucia Eva Damora is the sorceress we’ve been waiting a millennium for. Lucia, show yourself.”
Silence continued to reign in the mirrored square, a haunting kind of quiet that seemed to consume Lucia, pressing in on every side. A cold trickle of perspiration slid down her spine.
Heart thundering in her chest, she again held tightly to the advice her mother had given her—advice she’d resented for too many years to count.
Pretend to be confident even when you are not.
Pretend to be brave even when you’re so frightened that all you want to do is run away.
Be convincing in this act, and no one will know the difference.
With that thought, Lucia raised her chin and pulled back the hood of the borrowed robes. Every pair of eyes was on her immediately, followed by a collective gasp as the immortals were released from whatever magic Timotheus had used to render them so still and silent.
Then, one by one, their glowing, beautiful faces filled with awe. Each immortal, including Mia, surprised Lucia by sinking to their knees before her.
CHAPTER 5
CLEO
LIMEROS
Cleo, Magnus, and the remaining two guards carefully journeyed from the surface of the frozen lake to the top of the cliffs. There, Cleo grimaced as she glanced over the side at the sharp drop the king had taken to the bottom—a drop she would have taken as well had Magnus not pulled her back.
Cleo turned to Magnus, ready to speak her concerns about the king’s plans aloud, but something stopped her cold. Magnus was bleeding.
Immediately, she tore off a long piece of fabric from the hem of her crimson gown—which, thanks to the misadventures of the last day, was already ripped in several places—and took hold of his injured arm.
Magnus turned to her, surprised. “What?”
“You’re injured.”
He looked down at the sleeve of his black cloak that had been sliced through to the skin, and his expression relaxed. “It’s just a scratch.”
Cleo glanced at the guards in their red uniforms, which perfectly matched the color of her gown. They stood a dozen paces away, speaking quietly with each other. She could only guess at the subject—witch’s potions, elemental magic, or dead kings come back to life.
Cleo would rather focus on something tangible at the moment. “Hold still,” she said, ignoring Magnus’s protest. “Actually, let me get a closer look at the wound. I want to make sure it’s not too severe.”
Grudgingly, Magnus pulled up the edge of his cloak and rolled up the sleeve of his tunic. Cleo cringed at the sight of the bleeding sword wound but was composed again in an instant as she started to bind it with the strip of silk.
He watched her with interest. “You’re much more skilled at this than I would have thought. Have you treated injuries before?”
“Once” was all she was willing to say, preferring to concentrate on her task.
“Once,” he repeated. “Whose wound did you bind?”
Cleo neatly tucked the ends of the fabric into the binding before she met his gaze. “No one important.”
“Let me take a wild guess, then. Jonas? It seems he’s the one most likely to be injured at any given time.”
She cleared her throat. “I think there are topics more pressing than the rebel to discuss right now.”
“So it was Jonas.” He let out a hiss of a sigh. “Very well, a subject for another time.”
“Or never,” she said.
“Or never,” he agreed.
The king had left them with instructions. Speaking only to Magnus—to Cleo he gave only sneering looks over his shoulder—he said he would meet them that evening at a village inn a half day’s journey east. The king claimed that this village was on the path that lead to his mother.
To Cleo, everything the king said amounted only to lies on top of lies.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to go to Auranos?” Magnus asked, admiring the tight binding she wove around his arm. “It would be safer there for you.”
“Oh, yes, that’s exactly what I want right now. To be safe and sound and entirely out of the way. Perhaps you can send these guards with me to make sure I do exactly as I’m told.”
He raised a brow and turned his attention to her face instead of her handiwork. “I know you’re upset.”
She couldn’t help but let out a hollow laugh at the understatement. “That man”—she jabbed her index finger in the direction the king and his guards had gone to return to Amara’s villa—“is going to be the death of both of us. Actually, he nearly just was!”
“I know.”
“Oh, you do? That’s wonderful. Wonderful, really.” She began pacing back and forth in short, worried steps. “He’s lying to us—you have to know that.”
“I think I know my father. Better than anyone else, certainly.”
“And what? You’re counting on him having a conscience? That he’s suddenly decided to change his ways? That, magically, he’s suddenly chosen to be the solution to all our problems?”
“No. I said I know him, which means I don’t trust him. People don’t change, not as quickly as that. Not without having previously proved that they are capable of change. He’s been hard and cruel and driven all my life . . .” He frowned and went silent again, his gaze scanning the frozen lake far below them.
“What’s wrong?” Cleo said as gently as she could so as not to discourage him from talking. The way he frowned . . . he must have been remembering something.
“I have these memories . . . they’re very foggy and distant. I can’t even be sure they’re memories instead of dreams. I was young, barely old enough to walk on my own. I remember having a father who was not nearly as cold as my mother. One who told me stories before I went to sleep.”
“Stories of demons and war and torture?”
“No. Actually . . .” He frowned deeply once again. “I recall one about a . . . dragon, but a friendly one.”
She stared at him blankly. “A friendly dragon.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps it was only a dream. Many things from my past seem like dreams to me now . . .” He trailed off, his expression turning stern. “I don’t want you involved in this. How can I convince you to go to Auranos?”
“You can’t, and this is the last we’ll speak of it. I’m in this with you, Magnus. No matter what happens.”
“Why?”
Cleo looked up at him, her heart full. “You know why,” she said softly.
His expression grew pained. “Such cryptic language has always confused me. Perhaps you still don’t trust me enough to speak plainly.”
“I thought that we’d successfully put concerns like that aside.”
“Perhaps in part. But are you trying to convince me that you didn’t think I wasn’t going
to obey my father’s command and end your life at the side of that cliff? Because there’s no way you can. I saw the look in your eyes—the fear, the disappointment. You believed I’d kill you just to get into his good graces again.”
The guards weren’t close enough to overhear, but it still felt like a discussion meant for a much more private moment.
Still, he’d asked for her to speak plainly. “I admit, you were very convincing.”
“I was trying to be convincing, given that both of our lives were in jeopardy. But didn’t you hear me? I called you Cleiona—I’d hoped you would take that as a sign not to doubt me.” He shook his head. “Then again, why wouldn’t you? I’ve given you little reason to trust me.”
He started to turn away from her, but then she took his hands in hers. “Wrong. You’ve given me countless reasons to trust you.”
Magnus stared at the ground, his forehead furrowed in a deep frown, before his gaze flicked up to meet hers. “You’re determined to come with me to see my grandmother.”
Cleo nodded. “She could be the answer to everything.”
His jaw tightened. “I can only hope you’re right.”
So this witch would find Lucia, and then they would go to her, and beg for her help to rid Mytica of Amara. She had to admit, she didn’t like the idea of relying on the assistance of the young sorceress. “Do you honestly think that your sister will help us?” she asked. “The last time we saw her . . .” She shuddered at the memory of Lucia and Kyan arriving unannounced at the Limerian palace. Kyan had nearly burned Magnus to death with his fire magic.
Lucia had stopped him, but then turned her back on her brother when he’d asked her to stay.
“I hope she will help,” Magnus replied tightly. “This darkness that has emerged along with Lucia’s magic . . . it’s not really her. The sister I know is kind and sweet. She does well in her studies—far better than I ever did—and devours every book she sees. And I know she cares about Mytica and its people. When she learns about all that Amara has been up to, she will use her elementia to put a stop to it.”
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