Falling Kingdoms (5 page)

Soon the king would likely think that his son’s romantic taste was not for girls at all. Quite frankly, Magnus didn’t care much what he might think. Even if he did prefer boys, the king would still force him to marry someone of his choosing when his patience wore out.

It would not be Lucia, not even in Magnus’s wildest fantasy. Such incestuous unions—even amongst royals—were forbidden by both law and religion. And if Lucia ever learned of the depth of his feelings for her, she’d be disgusted. He didn’t want the light in her eyes when she looked at him diminished in any way. That light was the only thing that gave him any joy at all.

Everything else about this made him utterly miserable.

A pretty young maid passed him in the cool, shadowy hall and glanced at him, pausing. She had gray eyes and hair the color of chestnuts, bound into a bun. Her woolen dress was faded but neat and unwrinkled. “Prince Magnus, is there anything I can do for you tonight?”

While his beautiful sister’s very presence tortured him, he did allow himself a few meaningless distractions. Amia was extremely useful, in countless ways.

“Not tonight, my sweet.”

She moved closer, conspiratorially. “The king left the banquet and is meeting with Lady Mallius right now on the balcony, talking in hushed voices. Interesting, yes?”

“Perhaps.”

Amia had proved a useful tool over the last few months to learn tidbits of information. She was Magnus’s very willing eyes and ears here in the castle, and she had no qualms about eavesdropping for the prince whenever the opportunity called for it. The occasional kind word or the edge of a smile was enough to keep her loyal and eager to please. Amia believed he would keep her indefinitely as his mistress. In that she was destined to be disappointed. Unless the girl stood directly in front of him as she did right now, he tended to forget she existed.

Magnus patted her on the waist, dismissing her, and silently moved toward the stone balcony that overlooked the black sea and the rocky cliffs on which the castle and the Limeros capital perched. It was his father’s favorite spot for reflection, despite the cutting winter chill on nights like this.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the king hissed from the balcony. “It has nothing to do with such rumors. You’re being superstitious.”

“What other explanation could there be?” another familiar voice said. Lady Sabina Mallius, the widow of the king’s former advisor. At least, that was her official title. Her unofficial title was the king’s mistress, a position she’d held for nearly two decades. The king didn’t keep this a secret from anyone, not the queen or his children.

Queen Althea wordlessly tolerated his infidelity. Magnus wasn’t entirely sure the cold woman he called his mother cared one way or the other about what her husband did or whom he did it with.

“What other explanation for Limeros’s difficulties?” the king said. “Plenty. And none of them are related to magic in any way.”

Ah,
Magnus thought.
It seems as if the talk of peasants has also become a discussion for kings
.

“You don’t know that.”

There was a long pause. “I know enough to doubt.”

“If any of this strife is based in
elementia
, it means that we weren’t wrong. That
I
wasn’t wrong. That all these years haven’t been a waste as we’ve waited patiently for a sign.”

“You saw the sign years ago. The stars told you what you needed to know.”

“My sister saw the signs, not me. But I know she was right.”

“It’s been sixteen years and nothing has happened. Only endlessly waiting. My disappointment grows with each day that passes.”

She sighed. “I wish I knew for sure. All I have is my faith that you must only wait a short time longer.”

The king laughed, but there was no humor to the sound. “How long should I wait before I choose to banish you to the forbidden mountains for such deception? Or perhaps I can think of a punishment more suitable to someone like you.”

Sabina’s voice chilled. “I would advise you never to even consider such a thing.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning, my love. The prophecy holds as true today as it did all those years ago. I still believe. Do you?”

There was a long pause. “I believe. But my patience grows thin. It won’t be long before we’ve wasted away like Paelsia has and must also begin to live as poor peasants.”

“Lucia is now sixteen. The time is drawing closer for her awakening, I know it is.”

“Pray that you’re right. I’ll not take well to continued deception if you’re wrong, even from you, Sabina. And you know very well how I deal with disappointment.” There wasn’t a sliver of warmth in the king’s icy tone.

Nor was there in Sabina’s. “I am right, my love. And you won’t be disappointed.”

Magnus pressed up against the cold stone wall behind him so he wouldn’t be seen as his father left the balcony. His head was swimming with confusion over what he’d heard. This close to the balcony, his warm breath created frozen clouds in the cold night air. Sabina emerged shortly afterward and began to follow the king back to the banquet hall. But she stopped, tilted her head, then turned to look directly at Magnus.

A chill went down his spine, but he kept his expression neutral.

Sabina’s beauty had yet to fade—long, sleek dark hair, amber-colored eyes. She always dressed in shades of red, luxurious fabrics that hugged the curves of her body and that stood out amidst the more sober colors that most Limerians donned. Magnus had no idea how old a woman she was, nor did he give such issues much thought. She’d been around the palace since he was only an infant and always appeared exactly the same to him—cold, beautiful, timeless. Like a marble statue that lived and breathed, and expected the occasional tiresome conversation.

“Magnus, my sweet boy.” A smile spread across her face. Her dark eyes, lined in black kohl, remained distrustful as if she’d guessed he’d been listening.

“Sabina.”

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself at the banquet?”

“Oh, you know me,” he replied dryly. “I always enjoy myself.”

Her lips curved as her eyes moved over his face. He felt an unpleasant tingle in the scar that traced his cheekbone. “Of course you do.”

“If you’ll excuse me. I’m retiring for the evening to my chambers.” She didn’t move, and his eyes narrowed. “Go on, now. Wouldn’t want to keep my father waiting.”

“No, wouldn’t want that. He hates to be disappointed.”

He gave her a cold smile. “He does indeed.”

Since she showed no signs of moving, Magnus turned from her and began walking leisurely down the hall. He felt her gaze hot on his back.

The conversation he’d overheard echoed in his ears. His father and Sabina had made no sense at all. He’d heard talk of magic and prophesies. And all of it sounded dangerous. What secret did the king and Sabina know about Lucia? What awakening did they speak of? Was it just a silly joke they’d made up to amuse themselves on the event of her birthday? If they’d sounded remotely amused, he might give weight to this theory. But they had not. They sounded tense and concerned and angry.

The same emotions swelled within Magnus’s chest. He cared for nothing in the world except Lucia. While the depth of his true feelings could never be revealed, he would do everything he could to protect her from those with the potential to do her harm. And now he put his father, the king—the coldest, deadliest, and most dangerous man he’d ever known—firmly in that category.

I
oannes opened his eyes and took a deep breath of the sweet, warm air. The sun-warmed green grass worked well as his bed, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position. It took him a moment to come back fully into his own body since he’d been traveling without it for quite some time.

He looked down at his hands—skin had replaced feathers. Fingernails had replaced talons. It always took getting used to.

“What did you see?”

Perhaps he would not have as much time as he would like. Ioannes craned his neck to look at the one waiting for his return. Timotheus sat nearby on a carved stone bench, his legs crossed, his flowing white cloaks impeccable as always.

“Nothing more than usual,” Ioannes said, although it was somewhat of a lie. He, and the others who traveled from this realm in this manner had agreed to discuss with each other their findings before taking any important information to the elders, who themselves could no longer transform into hawks.

“No clues at all?”

“Of the Kindred themselves? Nothing. There are as hidden today as they were a millennium ago.”

Timotheus’s jaw clenched. “Our time grows shorter.”

“I know.” If they did not find the Kindred, the wasting away that the mortal realm was experiencing would soon bleed over into the Sanctuary as well.

The elders were uncertain how to proceed. So many centuries and nothing. No clues. No leads. Even paradise could become a prison if one had enough time to take notice of the walls.

“However, there is a girl,” Ioannes said a bit reluctantly.

This captured Timotheus’s attention. “A girl?”

“She could be the one we’ve waited for. She has only now turned sixteen mortal years. I felt something from her—something is emerging that goes beyond anything I’ve sensed before.”

“Magic?”

“I believe so.”

“Who is she? Where is she?”

Ioannes hesitated. Despite his agreement with the others, he was duty bound to tell the elders what they wished to know—and he trusted Timotheus. But something about this felt fragile, like a small seedling that hadn’t yet taken root. If he was wrong, it would make him look a fool to raise an alarm. But if he was right, then the girl was incredibly precious and had to be treated gently.

“Leave it to me to learn more,” Ioannes said instead. “I will keep watch over her and report back anything I see. This means I must abandon my search for the Kindred.”

“The others will focus on that.” Timotheus’s brow raised. “Yes, keep watch over this girl whose identity you wish to protect from me.”

Ioannes looked at him sharply. “I know you mean her no harm. Why would I wish to protect her from you?”

“This is a good question.” A small smile touched the elder’s lips. “Do you wish to leave the Sanctuary entirely to go to her side or continue to watch from afar?”

Ioannes knew several who had become deeply enamored with the world of mortals and with those they watched, but to leave the Sanctuary meant one could never return.

“I’ll stay right where I am,” he said. “Why would I wish for anything other than to be here?”

“That is what your sister once said.”

His heart gave a sharp twist. “She made a mistake.”

“Perhaps. Do you ever visit her?”

“No. She made her choice. I don’t need to witness the result. I prefer to remember her as she was—young forever. She would be an old woman now, fading away just as the land she loved more than this one fades away with only her precious seeds to keep her company.”

With that, Ioannes laid his head back against the soft, warm grass, closed his eyes, and transformed, returning by air to the cold and unforgiving world of mortals.

“T
he birds are watching me,” Cleo said as she paced back and forth in the palace courtyard.

“Really?” Emilia repressed a smile as she added another stroke of paint to her canvas. It was an image of the Auranos palace, well known for its façade of gold set into the polished stone, which made it appear like a glittering jewel upon the lush green land that surrounded it. “Is my little sister paranoid or is she beginning to believe in old legends?”

“Maybe both.” Cleo’s citron-colored skirts swished as she shifted direction and pointed to the corner of the grassy enclosure. “But I swear that white dove in the peach tree has studied every move I’ve made since I came out here.”

Emilia laughed and shared an amused look with Mira, who sat nearby working on her embroidery. “The Watchers are said to see through the eyes of hawks, not just any random bird.”

A long-eared squirrel scurried up the tree trunk. The bird finally flew away. “If you say so. You’re the expert on religion and myth in our family.”

“Only because
you
refuse to study,” Mira pointed out.

Cleo stuck her tongue out at her friend. “I have better things to do with my time than read.”

For the last week, those “better things” had included much fretting and worrying while awake and nightmares while asleep. Even if she wanted to read, her eyes were bloodshot and sore.

Emilia finally put down her paintbrush to give Cleo her full attention. “We should go back inside, where you’ll be safe from the beady eyes of spying birds.”

“You can make fun of me as much as you like, sister, but I can’t help how I feel.”

“Indeed. Perhaps it’s guilt over what happened in Paelsia that makes you feel this way.”

Nausea welled within her. She turned her face up toward the sun, so very different from the coldness in Paelsia that had sunk down to her bones. The entire trip home she had shivered, unable to get warm. The chill had stayed with her for days afterward, even once she returned to the warmth of home. “Ridiculous,” she lied. “I’ve already forgotten it.”

“Do you know that is what Father is meeting with his council about today?”

“About what?”

“About...well, you. And Aron. And everything that happened that day.”

Cleo felt the blood drain from her face. “What are they saying?”

“Nothing to be concerned with.”

“If I wasn’t to be concerned, you wouldn’t have brought the subject up at all, would you?”

Emilia swung her legs around and rose from her chair. She steadied herself for a moment and Mira looked up, concerned, and put down her needlework to come to her side. Emilia had been having some difficulty with headaches and dizziness the last couple of weeks.

“Tell me what you know,” Cleo urged, watching Emilia worriedly.

“The death of the wine seller’s son has apparently caused some political difficulties for Father. It’s become a bit of a scandal, really. Everyone’s talking about it and placing blame in various places. He’s doing his best to ease any ill feelings this has raised. Even though Auranos imports a great deal of Paelsian wine, export of it has all but shut down until the crisis eases off. Many Paelsians refuse to deal with us. They’re angry with us—and with Father for letting this happen. Of course, they’re blowing everything completely out of proportion.”

“It’s all so horrible,” Mira exclaimed. “I wish I could forget it ever happened.”

That made two of them. Cleo wrung her hands, her dismay mirrored on Mira’s face. “And how long will it take before everything goes back to normal?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Emilia replied.

Cleo despised politics mainly because she didn’t understand them. But then, she didn’t have to. Emilia was the heir to their father’s throne. She would be the next queen, not Cleo.

Thank the goddess for that. There was no way that Cleo could deal with endless council meetings and being cordial and polite to those who hadn’t earned it. Emilia had been raised from birth to be a perfect princess who could deal with any issues that arose. Cleo...well, she enjoyed sunning herself, taking her horse out for long rides in the countryside, and spending time with her friends.

She’d never been associated with such a scandal yet. Apart from the secret Aron kept, there was nothing scandalous anyone could say about Princess Cleiona. Until now, she realized anxiously.

“I need to talk to Father,” Cleo said. “To find out what’s going on.”

Without another word spoken, she left Emilia and Mira in the courtyard and entered the castle, hurrying through the well-lit hallways until she came to the council room. Through the arched doorway, sunlight shone through the many windows, their wooden shutters wide open. A large fire in the hearth also lent light to the large room. She had to wait until they were finished and all filed out before her father was alone. She paced outside the room, bristling with energy. Patience was a gift Cleo had never received.

Once everyone had left, she burst inside to find her father still seated at the head of a long polished wooden table large enough to seat a hundred men. Cleo’s great-grandfather had commissioned it from the wood of olive trees that grew outside the palace walls. A wide colorful tapestry hung on the far wall, detailing the history of Auranos. Cleo had spent many hours as a child staring at it in awe and admiring the great artwork of it. On the opposite wall was the Bellos family crest and one of many bright, sparkling mosaics depicting the Goddess Cleiona, for whom Cleo had been named.

“What’s going on?” Cleo demanded.

Her father looked up at her from a stack of scrolls and paperwork. He was dressed casually, in leathers and a finely knit tunic. His neatly groomed brown beard was threaded with gray. Some said Cleo and her father’s eyes were the exact same color of vivid blue-green, while her sister, Emilia, had inherited their late mother’s brown ones. Both Emilia and Cleo, however, had been born with their mother’s fair hair, unusual in Auranos, where the people tended to be darker-complected from the sun. Queen Elena had been the daughter of a wealthy landowner in the eastern hills of Auranos before King Corvin had seen and fallen in love with her on his coronation tour more than two decades before. Family lore had it that Elena’s ancestors had emigrated from across the Silver Sea.

“Were your ears burning, daughter?” he asked. “Or did Emilia tell you of current events?”

“What difference does it make? If it concerns me, then I should be told. So tell me!”

He held her gaze easily, unmoved by her demands. The fiery nature of his youngest daughter was nothing new to him and he weathered it as he always did. Why wouldn’t he? Cleo never caused more of a fuss than a few words spilled. She would grumble and rant but then swiftly forget about whatever troubled her as her attention caught on something else. The king recently compared her to a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower. She hadn’t taken this as a compliment.

“Your trip to Paelsia last week is a topic of contention, Cleo. A growing one, I’m afraid.”

Fear and guilt immediately crashed over her. Until today, she didn’t realize he even knew about it. Except for unburdening herself to Emilia, she hadn’t said a word about it from the moment she stepped on the ship in the Paelsia harbor. She’d hoped to put the murder of the wine seller’s son out of her mind, but it hadn’t worked very well. She relived it every night when she closed her eyes and fell asleep. Also, the murderous glare of the boy’s brother—Jonas—as he threatened her life before she, Aron, and Mira ran away haunted her.

“Apologies.” The words caught in her throat. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I believe you. But it seems as if trouble follows you wherever you go.”

“Are you going to punish me?”

“Not precisely. However, these recent difficulties have made me decide that you will stay here at the palace from this day forward. I won’t allow you to take my ship again on your explorations until further notice.”

Despite her shame over the events in Paelsia, the very idea of this grounding made her bristle. “I can’t just be expected to never leave, like some sort of prisoner.”

“What happened is not acceptable, Cleo.”

Her throat tightened. “Don’t you think I feel horrible about it?”

“I’m sure you do. But it changes nothing.”

“It shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did. You shouldn’t have been there at all. Paelsia is no place for a princess. It’s too dangerous.”

“But Aron—”

“Aron.” Her father’s eyes flashed. “He’s the one who killed the peasant, correct?”

Aron’s violent and unexpected turn in the market surprised even Cleo. Even though she harbored distrust for the boy, she was dismayed by his lack of guilt.

“He was,” she confirmed.

The king was quiet for a long moment as Cleo held her breath, fearful of what he would say next.

“Thank the goddess he was there to protect you,” he finally said. “I’ve never trusted the Paelsians and have encouraged the dissolution of trade between our nations. They’re an unpredictable and savage people—quick to violence. I’d always admired Lord Aron and his family, but this recent turn of events has confirmed that for me. I’m very proud of him, as I’m sure his father is too.”

Cleo had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything that might contradict her father’s opinion.

“Still,” the king continued, “I’m not happy that this unfortunate altercation happened in the midst of a large crowd. When you leave this palace, when you leave this kingdom, you must always remember that you are a representative of Auranos. I’ve been informed there is some unpleasantness now brewing in Paelsia. They’re not happy with us right now, even less so than usual. They’re already jealous of our resources while they’ve allowed their own to waste away to next to nothing. Of course, they’d see the murder of one of their own—no matter how it came about—as a statement of Auranian superiority.”

Cleo swallowed hard. “A—a statement?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “It will blow over. Auranians must be very careful when traveling through Paelsia. Such poverty and desperation inevitably leads to robbery, mugging, assault...” His face tightened. “It’s a dangerous place. And you are never to go there again for any reason.”

“Not that I want to, believe me, but...never?”

“Never.”

Overprotective, as usual. Cleo restrained herself from arguing. Much as she hated the idea that Aron had come out looking like a hero to the king for killing Tomas Agallon, she knew when to stop talking so she wouldn’t get herself into any further trouble.

“I understand,” she said instead.

He nodded and shifted through some of the papers before him. His next words struck her cold. “I’ve decided to announce your official engagement to Lord Aron very soon. It will clearly show that he killed the boy to protect you—his future bride.”

She stared at him with horror. “What?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” There was something in the king’s gaze that betrayed his otherwise casual manner this afternoon. Something restrained below the surface. Cleo’s words of protest died on her lips. There’s no way her father could know about her secret…could he?

Cleo forced a smile. “Of course, Father. Whatever you say.” She would figure out a way to change his mind when things had had time to blow over—and when she’d established for sure that he had no knowledge of that night. If he ever found out what she’d done, Cleo knew she would never be able to bear it.

He nodded. “Good girl.”

She turned toward the archway, hoping to make a quick escape.

“One more thing, Cleo.”

She froze and slowly turned back around. “Yes?”

“I’m assigning a full-time bodyguard to you, one whose main job is to keep my youngest daughter out of any future trouble.”

Her horror intensified. “But there’s no trouble here in Auranos. If I promise not to go back to Paelsia, what’s the problem?”

“Peace of mind for your father, my darling. And, no, this is not negotiable. I’m appointing Theon Ranus to the job. I expect him here soon so I can inform him of his new position.”

Theon. The guard who’d accompanied her to Paelsia. As handsome as she’d found him, that paled in comparison to the thought that he’d be around her at all hours of the day. No matter where she went. Leaving her no privacy or time to herself.

She looked at her father to see a very small glint of amusement now in his eyes. This, she realized, was part of her punishment for dragging Auranos’s name through the mud and straining relations between the lands. She forced herself to remain calm and bowed her head slightly. “As you wish, Father.”

“Very good. I knew you could be every bit as agreeable as your sister if you try hard enough.”

Cleo was certain that Emilia had simply learned over the years to bite her tongue when it came to dealing with their father in order to be the perfect princess. Cleo wasn’t that perfect. Nor had she ever wanted to be.

It was clear to her what she had to do. As soon as Theon presented himself to her for his newfound duty, she would simply relieve him of that duty. He could do what he wanted and she would do the same. The king, who usually only saw her at meals, would never know the difference.