Falling Kingdoms (4 page)

S
omeone asked Magnus a question, but he hadn’t been paying any attention. After a while, everyone at a banquet like this began to resemble a swarm of buzzing fruit flies. Annoying, but impossible to squash quickly and easily.

He pasted what he hoped was a pleasant expression on his face and turned to his left to face one of the more vocal of the insects. He took another bite of
kaana
and swallowed it without chewing in an attempt to evade the taste. He barely glanced at the salted beef next to it on his pewter plate. He was quickly losing his appetite.

“Apologies, my lady,” he said. “I didn’t quite hear that.”

“Your sister, Lucia,” Lady Sophia said, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with an embroidered jacquard napkin. “She’s grown into a lovely young woman, hasn’t she?”

Magnus blinked. Small talk was so taxing. “She has indeed.”

“Tell me again, what age has she turned today?”

“Sixteen.”

“Lovely girl. And so polite.”

“She was raised well.”

“Of course. Is she betrothed to anyone yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Mmm. My son, Bernardo, is very accomplished, quite handsome, and what he lacks in height he more than makes up for in intelligence. I think they would make a fine match.”

“This, my lady, is something I would suggest you speak to my father about.”

Why had he been seated directly next to this woman? She was ancient and smelled of dust and also, for some bizarre reason, seaweed. Perhaps she had emerged from the Silver Sea and traveled up over the rocky cliffs to get to the frosty granite Limeros castle at the top rather than across the ice-covered land like everyone else.

Her husband, Lord Lenardo, leaned forward in his high-backed seat. “Enough about matchmaking, wife. I’m curious to know what the prince’s thoughts are on the problems in Paelsia.”

“Problems?” Magnus responded.

“The recent unrest caused by the murder of a poor wine seller’s son at market a week ago in full sight of everyone.”

Magnus slid his index finger casually around the edge of his goblet. “A murder of a poor wine seller’s son. Pardon my seeming disinterest, but that doesn’t sound like anything out of the ordinary. The Paelsians are a savage race, quick to violence. I’ve heard they’ll happily eat their meat raw if their fires take too long to build.”

Lord Lenardo gave him a crooked grin. “Indeed. But this is unusual since it was at the hands of a visiting royal from Auranos.”

This was more interesting. Marginally. “Is that so? Who?”

“I don’t know, but there are rumors that Princess Cleiona herself was involved in the altercation.”

“Ah. I’ve found rumors have much in common with feathers. It’s rare that either holds much weight.”

Unless, of course, those rumors proved true.

Magnus was well aware of the youngest princess of Auranos. She was a great beauty the same age as his sister—he’d met her once when they were both small children. He felt no interest in going to Auranos again. Besides, his father severely disliked the Auranian king and as far as he knew, the feeling was mutual.

His gaze moved across the great hall and he locked eyes with his father, who stared back at him with cold disapproval. His father despised the look Magnus got when he was bored at a public function like this. He found it insolent. But it was such a struggle for Magnus to hide how he felt, although he had to admit, he didn’t try all that hard.

Magnus raised his water goblet and toasted his father, King Gaius Damora of Limeros.

His father’s lips thinned.

Irrelevant.
It wasn’t Magnus’s job to ensure this celebration feast went well. It was all a sham anyway. His father was a bully who forced his people to follow his every rule—his favorite weapons were fear and violence, and he had a horde of knights and soldiers to impose his will and keep his subjects in line. He worked very hard to keep up appearances and show himself to be strong, capable, and vastly prosperous.

But Limeros had fallen on hard times in the dozen years since the iron-fisted Gaius, “King of Blood,” had taken the throne from his father, the much loved King Davidus. The economic struggles had yet to directly affect anyone living at the palace itself given that Limerian religion didn’t encourage luxury in the first place, but the tightened straits in the kingdom at large were impossible to ignore. That the king had never addressed this publicly amused Magnus.

Still, the royals were served a portion of
kaana
with their meals—mushed-up yellow beans that tasted like paste—and expected to eat it. It was what many Limerians had been choking down to fill their bellies as the winter dragged on and on.

In addition, some of the more ornate tapestries and paintings were removed from the castle walls and put into storage, leaving them bare and cold. Music was banned, as was singing and dancing. Only the most educational books were allowed within the Limeros palace, nothing that simply told a tale for entertainment’s sake. King Gaius cared only for the Limerian ideals of
strength, faith, and wisdom
—not art, beauty, or pleasure.

Rumors circulated that Limeros had begun its decline—just as Paelsia had for several generations—due to the death of
elementia
, elemental magic. The essential magic that gave life to the world was drying completely up much like a body of water in the middle of a desert.

Only traces of
elementia
had been left when the rival goddesses Cleiona and Valoria destroyed each other, centuries ago. But even those traces, whispered those who believed in the magic, were beginning to vanish. Limeros froze over each year, and its spring and summer were now only a couple short months long. Paelsia was withering away, its ground dry and parched. Only southern Auranos showed no outward sign of decay.

Limeros was a devoutly religious land whose people clung to their belief in the goddess Valoria, especially in hard times, but Magnus privately thought those who relied on their belief in the supernatural, in any form it took, showed an inner weakness.

Most of those who believed, anyway. He did make an exception for a precious few. He directed his gaze to the right of his father, where his sister sat dutifully, the guest of honor at this banquet touted as being in celebration of her birthday.

The dress she wore tonight was a pinkish orange shade that made him think of a sunset. It was a new dress, one he’d never seen her in before, and beautifully made, reflecting the image of eternal richness and perfection his father demanded the Damora family show—although even he had to admit he was surprised by how colorful it was in the sea of gray and black his father tended to prefer.

The princess had pale, flawless skin and long silky dark hair that, when it wasn’t pulled into a tidy twist, fell to her waist in soft waves. Her eyes were the color of the clear blue sky. Her lips were full and naturally rosy. Lucia Eva Damora was the most beautiful girl in all of Limeros. Without a single exception.

Suddenly, the glass goblet in Magnus’s tight grip shattered and cut his hand. He swore, then grabbed for a napkin to bind the wound. Lady Sophia and Lord Lenardo looked at him with alarm, as if disturbed that it might have been their conversation of betrothals and murder that had upset him.

It was not.

Stupid, so stupid
.

The thought was reflected by the look on his father’s face—he hadn’t missed a thing. His mother, Queen Althea, seated to the king’s left, also took notice. She immediately averted her cool gaze to continue the conversation with the woman seated next to her.

His father didn’t look away. He glared at him as if embarrassed to be in the same room. Clumsy, insolent Prince Magnus, the king’s heir.
For now, anyway,
he thought sourly, his mind flashing briefly to Tobias, his father’s…“right-hand man.” Magnus wondered if there would ever come a day when his father would approve of him. He supposed he should be grateful the king even bothered to invite him to this event. Then again, he wanted to make it seem as if the royal family of Limeros was a tight-knit and strong unit—now and always.

What a laugh.

Magnus would have already left frigid, colorless Limeros to leisurely explore the other realms that lay across the Silver Sea, but there was one thing that kept him right where he was, even now that he was on the cusp of turning eighteen.

“Magnus!” Lucia had rushed to his side and knelt next to him. Her attention was fully focused on his hand. “You’ve hurt yourself.”

“It’s nothing,” he said tightly. “Just a scratch.”

Blood had already soaked through the meager binding. Her brows drew together with concern. “Just a scratch? I don’t think so. Come with me and I’ll help bandage it properly.”

She pulled at his wrist.

“Go with her,” Lady Sophia advised. “You don’t want an infection to set in.”

“No, wouldn’t want that.” His jaw set. The pain wasn’t enough to bother him, but his embarrassment did sting. “Fine, my sister, the healer. I’ll let you patch me up.”

She gave him a comforting smile that made something inside him twist. Something he tried very hard to ignore.

Magnus didn’t cast another glance at either his father or his mother as he left the banquet hall. Lucia led him into an adjoining room, one that was chillier without the body heat of the banquet guests. Hanging, muted tapestries did little to warm the cold stone walls. A bronze bust of King Gaius glared at him from a tall stand between granite pillars, judging him sternly even now he’d left his father’s presence. She asked a palace maid to fetch a basin of water and bandages, then sat him down on a seat next to her and undid the napkin from his wound.

He let her.

“The glass was too fragile,” he explained.

She raised an eyebrow. “So it just shattered for no reason at all, did it?”

“Exactly.”

She sighed, then dipped a cloth in the water and began to gently clean the wound. Magnus barely noticed the pain anymore. “I know exactly why this happened.”

He tensed. “You do?”

“It’s Father.” Her blue eyes flicked up to meet his. “You’re angry with him.”

“And you think I imagined his neck in place of the stem of the glass like many of his subjects might?”

“Did you?” She pressed down firmly on his hand to help stop the flow of blood.

“I’m not angry with him. More like the other way around. He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He loves you.”

“Then he would be the only one.”

A smile lit up her expression. “Oh, Magnus. Don’t be silly. I love you. More than anyone else in the whole world. You must know that, don’t you?”

It felt as if someone had punched a hole through his chest and taken hold of his heart to squeeze it tightly. He cleared his throat and looked down at his hand. “Of course. And I love you too.”

The words felt thick on his tongue. Lies always slid smooth as silk for him, but the truth was never quite so easy.

How he felt for Lucia was only the love of a brother for his sister.

That lie did feel smooth. Even when he told it to himself.

“There,” she said, patting the bandage she’d wrapped around his hand. “All better.”

“You really should be a healer.”

“I don’t think our parents would consider that an occupation befitting a princess.”

“You’re absolutely right. They wouldn’t.”

Her hand was still on his. “Thank the goddess you weren’t hurt worse than this.”

“Yes, thank the goddess,” he said dryly before his lips curved. “Your devotion to Valoria puts my own to shame. Always has.”

She looked at him sharply, but her smile remained. “I know you think such strong beliefs in the unseen are silly.”

“I’m not sure I’d use the word
silly
.”

“Sometimes you need to try to believe in something bigger than yourself, Magnus. Something you can’t see or touch. To allow your heart to have faith no matter what. It’s what will give you strength in troubled times.”

He watched her patiently. “If you say so.”

Lucia’s smile widened. His pessimism had always amused her. They’d had this discussion many times before. “One day you’ll believe. I know you will.”

“I believe in you. Isn’t that enough?”

“Then I guess I should set a good example for my dear brother.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek. His breath ceased completely for a moment. “I must return to the banquet. After all, it is supposed to be in my honor. Mother will be angry if I just disappear and never return.”

He nodded and touched his bandage. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Hardly. But try to be careful with your temper while around breakable things.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She gave him a last grin and hurried back into the great hall.

Magnus remained where he was for several more minutes, listening to the buzz of conversation of the crowd of nobles at the banquet. He couldn’t seem to summon the energy or interest to go back in there. If anyone asked him tomorrow, he’d simply say that loss of blood had made him ill.

He did feel ill. The way he felt about Lucia was wrong. Unnatural. And it was growing by the day even though he fought to ignore it. For a whole year he’d barely been able to look at any other noble girl—now at a time when his father was pressing him to choose a future wife.