He nodded firmly. “If there’s a prophecy that requires me to be a full vessel of elementia, I want to know what it is as soon as possible. And that’s not going to happen while we’re stuck at sea, is it?”
“No,” she allowed. “It’s not. But truly, Jonas, I know nothing more than that. I’m so sorry.”
He nodded with a single jerk of his head. “Whatever it is, I can handle it. I’m sure I’ve handled much worse in the past.”
To this, Olivia had no reply at all.
Jonas tried very hard not to let that trouble him.
CHAPTER 12
MAGNUS
PAELSIA
Since the journey to Basilia would take at least three days from the Reaches on horseback, there was no time to waste with constant stops for a dying king and an old woman. Selia arranged for an enclosed carriage to carry her and her son.
When Magnus suggested that Cleo ride with them inside instead of on horseback, so she wouldn’t have to face the bracing cold, he was rewarded with a piercing look.
That would be a “no.”
Gaius directed them on a path that would take them each night through a town with an inn, where they rested, ate, and slept in separate locked rooms.
Seven long nights had gone by without falling asleep with Cleo in his arms, but each night he dreamed of her and the cottage in the woods. In waking hours, he chose not to share this with her. He didn’t want her to get a swelled head about her effect on him, so he kept his near-constant want to touch and kiss her to himself.
In the last village they rested, Enzo and Milo’s task was to fetch the group clothes befitting innocuous travelers passing through Paelsia. They succeeded in finding cotton frocks for Selia and Cleo and plain leather trousers and canvas tunics for themselves, Magnus, and Gaius.
Magnus looked at his cream-colored tunic with distaste. “Didn’t they have black?”
“No, your highness,” Enzo said.
“Dark gray?”
“No. Only this color and a robin’s egg blue. I didn’t feel that you would favor the blue.” Enzo cleared his throat. “I can go back to the shop.”
He sighed. “No, it’s fine. I will make do with this.”
At least his cloak and trousers were black.
He emerged, ready to begin the last leg of their journey to the west coast city, to see that Cleo, looking like a beautiful peasant girl in her simple dress, was smiling at him from next to her horse.
“You look like a Paelsian,” she commented.
“No need for insults, princess,” he growled back, but fought his grin as they mounted their horses and started moving.
A small eternity later, which was actually no more than half a day, they finally—and thankfully—arrived at their destination.
Magnus had heard many stories about Basilia, the closest thing Paelsia had to a capital city. The city served ships visiting Trader’s Harbor and stir-crazy crew members eager to disembark their vessels in search of food, drink, and women.
The stories rang true.
At first glance—and smell—Basilia was vastly overpopulated and stunk of both human waste and corruption. Dozens of ships were docked in the harbor, their crews flooding the shores and mingling in the streets, taverns, inns, markets, and brothels of the seaside city. And it seemed every bit as hot as Auranos at the height of summer.
“Disgusting.”
Magnus glanced over to see that King Gaius had opened the carriage’s window to peer out at the city center with distaste. His eyes were bloodshot, and the dark circles beneath them looked like fresh bruises against the sickly paleness of his complexion.
“I despise this place,” he said.
“Really?” Magnus replied, guiding his horse alongside the carriage. “I find it rather charming.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. I like this . . . local color.”
“You’re not nearly as good of a liar as you might believe.”
“I suppose I can only aspire to be as accomplished at deceit as you have been.”
The king glared at him, then shifted his gaze to Cleo, who was riding in front of Magnus and behind the guards. “Princess, if I recall correctly, it was a market not so far from this very city where you found yourself with Lord Aron Lagaris and the wine seller’s son he killed, yes?”
Magnus immediately grew tense as he looked to the princess for her response. She didn’t reply for several seconds, but he could see her shoulders were tense through the thin material of her dress.
“That was a long time ago,” she said finally.
“Imagine how differently things might have turned out had you not been lusting after wine that day,” the king continued. “Nothing would be as it is now, would it?”
“No,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to meet his gaze. “For instance, you would not have fallen to your near-death after forfeiting your kingdom to a woman. And I wouldn’t be watching your failure with the greatest joy in my heart.”
Magnus fought a smile as he eyed his father, waiting for his rebuttal.
The only reply was the shuttering of the window, blocking the view of his father’s face.
The carriage rolled to a stop at a place called the Hawk and Spear Inn that, though it stank slightly of sweat and a mysterious kind of musk, Magnus deemed the most acceptable establishment in town. King Gaius, assisted out of the carriage and into the inn by Milo and Enzo, and trailed by Selia, quickly bribed the innkeeper to evict all of his guests so that the royal party could have ultimate privacy.
As the former guests filed out in a parade of grumbles, Magnus watched Cleo look around at the Paelsian inn’s meeting hall with displeasure. It was a low-ceilinged, large room that had many worn wooden chairs and chipped tables at which guests could eat and lounge with their companions.
“Not up to your high standards?” Magnus asked.
“It’s fine,” she replied
“It’s not an Auranian inn with feather beds, imported linens, and golden chamber pots. But it seems acceptably clean and comfortable to me.”
Cleo turned from a table into which someone had roughly carved a set of initials. The glimmer of a smile touched her lips. “Yes, to a Limerian, I suppose it would.”
“Indeed.” The princess’s lips were far too distracting, so Magnus turned and joined his father and grandmother, who stood by the large windows looking out at the stables where their horses were being tended to.
“So now what to do we do?” Magnus asked his grandmother.
“I’ve asked the innkeeper’s wife to go to the tavern down the road and deliver a message to my old friend to come here,” Selia said.
“You can’t go there yourself?”
“She might not recognize me. Also, this is not a conversation to have where there are curious ears likely to overhear. The magic I seek must be protected at any cost.” She put a hand on Gaius’s arm. There was a sheen of perspiration on the king’s forehead, and he leaned against the wall as if it was the only thing keeping him vertical.
“And until then what shall we do?” Gaius asked in a voice that had weakened substantially since their arrival.
“You will rest,” Selia told him.
“There’s no time for rest,” he said grimly. “Perhaps I will inquire if there’s a carpenter nearby who can create a coffin in which to transport me back to Limeros.”
“Come now, Father,” Magnus said, allowing himself a wry smile. “I’m happy to do that for you. You should do as Grandmother says and rest.”
The king glared at him but didn’t speak again.
“I’ll take you to your room.” Selia put her arm around her son, leading him through the hall, toward the stairs, and up to the rooms on the second floor.
“Excellent idea,” Cleo said with a yawn. “I’m going upstairs to my room as well. Please alert me if
and when your grandmother’s friend arrives.”
Magnus watched her leave, then nodded at Enzo to follow her. He’d asked the guard to take extra care in watching over the princess and keeping her safe. Enzo was one of the few he trusted with the task.
“What shall I do?” Milo asked Magnus.
Magnus scanned the hall, which also contained a small bookcase full of ratty-looking books, nothing like the vast selection he’d come to value in the Auranian palace library.
“Patrol the neighborhood,” Magnus said, plucking a random book off the shelf. “Be sure that no one has yet realized that the former king of Mytica is temporarily residing here.”
Milo left the inn, and Magnus tried to focus on reading a tome about the history of wine production in Paelsia, which mentioned nothing about the earth magic that was surely responsible for the drink, or the laws preventing export to anywhere but Auranos.
After thirty pages of the dreck, the innkeeper’s wife, a small woman who seemed to have a constant, nervous smile fixed to her face, returned with another woman who was older, with lines around her eyes and mouth, utterly ordinary in appearance, and wearing a drab, unfashionable gown. This must be the woman Selia asked for, Magnus thought.
As the innkeeper’s wife disappeared into the kitchen, the older woman glanced around the seemingly vacant inn until her gaze fell on Magnus.
“So you’re the answer to all our current problems, are you?” he asked.
“Depends what your problems are, young man,” she replied curtly. “I would like to know why you called me here?”
“It wasn’t him, it was me,” Selia said, descending the wooden staircase at the far end of the hall that led to the private rooms on the second floor. “And it’s because I’m in search of an old friend. Do you recognize me after all these years?”
For an utterly silent and excruciatingly long moment, the woman stared at Selia with a strange mixture of fire and ice in her eyes. Just as Magnus began to fear they’d made a grave error in trusting his grandmother, the woman’s cheeks stretched into a big smile, cheerful wrinkles fanning out from the corners of her eyes.
“Selia Damora,” she cooed in the candlelight, her tone much gentler than when she’d first entered the inn. “My sweet goddess above, how I have missed you!”
The two women rushed to each other and embraced.
“Shall I summon the others?” Magnus asked. The sooner his grandmother got what she needed from this woman, the sooner they could leave this place.
“No, this doesn’t require a group discussion,” Selia said without tearing her gaze away from her friend. “I have missed you as well, Dariah.”
“Where have you been all this time? I lost count of how many years had passed so long ago.”
“All that matters is that I’m here now. Frankly, I’m a little surprised you’re still in Basilia after all this time.”
“I could never give up the profits of my tavern—each year is better than the last. So many sailors with coin to spend and thirst to quench.”
“Many thirsts, I’m sure.”
Dariah winked. “Exactly.” She turned toward Magnus. “And who is this young man?”
“This is my grandson, Magnus. Magnus, this is my friend Dariah Gallo.”
“A pleasure.” Magnus forced the best smile he could onto his face, but he knew it would look more like a grimace.
“Oh, my. Your grandson has grown so very tall and handsome.”
Selia smiled. “Yes, grandsons sometimes do that by the time they reach eighteen.”
Dariah swept her wrinkled gaze over the length of him. “If I were younger . . .”
“If you were younger, you would have to fight his pretty young wife for his attentions.”
Dariah laughed. “And perhaps I’d win.”
Magnus suddenly longed to return to the book about Paelsian wine.
Selia joined her friend in her laughter, then once again adopted a serious but good-natured tone. “I haven’t only come to Basilia for a reconnection between old friends. I need information on how to acquire the bloodstone.”
Dariah raised her eyebrows. “Goodness, Selia, you waste no time.”
“I have no time to waste. My power has faded over the years, and my son is dying.”
In the stretch of silence that followed, Magnus stayed quiet. This stone, if it was real, sounded like something that could aid him in increasing his power, like the Kindred.
Selia drew Dariah over toward the bookshelf. She motioned for her to sit down on a wooden bench next to her, then took the other witch’s hands in hers. “There is no choice. I need it.”
“You know I don’t have it.”
“No. But you know who does.”
Dariah shook her head. “I can’t do this.”
“I’m asking you to contact him—I know you can find him. He needs to arrive as quickly as possible.”
A thousand questions prodded at Magnus, but he stayed silent, listening.
Power like this potentially delivered right into his very hands. It sounded much simpler than the complicated process of finding the Kindred.
The witch’s expression darkened. “He’ll never let you have it, not even for a moment.”
Selia’s grip on her friend’s hands tightened. “Let me handle him when he gets here.”
“I don’t know . . .”
Selia’s eyes narrowed. “I know it’s been a very long time, but I feel I must mention the favor you owe me. A favor you promised to repay in full.”
Dariah looked down at the floor.
Magnus watched, barely breathing. The witch slowly looked up again, her face pale. She nodded with a small jerk of her head. “It will take time to draw him here.”
“He has three days. Will that be a problem?”
The witch’s jaw tensed as she rose to her feet. “No.”
“Thank you.” Selia stood and kissed Dariah on both of her cheeks. “I knew you would help me.”
The smile of their greeting was now nothing more than a memory. “I will alert you the moment he arrives.”
Dariah didn’t linger—with a last look at Selia and Magnus, she left the inn.
“Well,” Magnus said after all had gone silent again. “That must have been quite the favor you did for your friend.”
“It was.” Selia glanced at Magnus, a small smile on her lips. “I shall now check on your father. His health is my only concern right now. Soon, when my magic is restored and he is well again, we can face the other obstacles that stand in our way.”
“I will strive for patience,” Magnus said, knowing he would surely fail at this.
By now, night had fallen, and Magnus retired to his small private room. It had a full-size bed rather than the unacceptable cots in the communal sleeping area down the hall. The window gave him a second-floor view of the street outside, lit with lanterns and, even after nightfall, busy with citizens and visitors to the city.
There was a soft knock at his door. “Enter,” Magnus said, knowing it could only be one of the four people with whom he’d traveled to Paelsia.
The door opened slowly, and as the visitor revealed herself, Magnus’s heart began to thud hard against his chest. Cleo peered in at him.
He stood up and met her in the doorway. “My grandmother’s friend was here.”
“Already?” Her brows raised. “And?”
“And . . .” He shook his head. “It seems that we are forced to wait here for three days.”
“She can get the bloodstone, though?”
“Yes,” Magnus replied. “I’ve only just been reunited with my grandmother, but she strikes me as the sort of woman who can get pretty much anything she wants.”
“And this is all so that this magical stone will save your father’s life.” Cleo said this without emotion, but a hardness had
formed behind her aquamarine eyes.
“He doesn’t deserve to live,” Magnus said, agreeing with what was left unspoken. “But this must be a necessary measure on the way to our ultimate goal.”
“Finding Lucia.”
“Yes. And breaking your curse.”
She nodded. “I suppose there’s no other way.”
He watched her carefully. “Was it only information you came to my room seeking, or is there something else you require this evening?”
Cleo raised her chin so she could look him directly in his eyes. “Actually, I need your help.”
“With what?”
“All the riding we’ve been doing. It’s done horrific things to my hair.”
Magnus raised a brow. “And . . . you came here needing my help to chop it all off so it’s no longer a problem?”
“As if you’d allow that.” She grinned. “You’re obsessed with my hair.”
“I’d hardly call it an obsession.” He twisted a lock of the warm golden silk around his finger. “More like an often painful distraction.”
“I apologize for your suffering. But you will not be cutting my hair, tonight or ever. The innkeeper’s wife was kind enough to give me this.” She presented him with a silver-handled hairbrush.
He took it from her, looking at it quizzically. “You want me to . . . ?”
Cleo nodded. “Brush my hair.”
Just the thought of it was ludicrous. “Now that I’m forced to dress as a common Paelsian, you mistake me for your servant?”
She shot him a determined look. “It’s not as if I can ask Milo or Enzo . . . or, for goddess’s sake, your father or grandmother to help me.”
“What about the innkeeper’s wife?”
“Fine.” Cleo snatched the brush back from him with a scowl. “I’ll go ask her.”
“No, no.” He let out a sigh, half-amused now. “I’ll help.”
Without hesitation, she returned the brush to him. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He stepped aside to make way for her. She walked in, sat on the end of his cot, and looked at him expectantly. “Close the door,” she said.
“Not a good idea.” Magnus left the door ajar and slowly came to sit behind her. Awkwardly and with great trepidation, as if about to skin and clean an animal for the first time, he held the delicate brush up to her hair. “I’ve never done this before.”
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