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“So these clans tell you what sort of magic you have?”
“More like it classifies where a mage’s strongest talent might serve the kingdom best. Spell casting is in every mage, we’re born with the draw to create and cast beautiful wonders. But most mage folk willmasterone or two deeper abilities.”
“Becoming a high mage,” I said, more to myself than the prince.
“Yes. Some may have talents that fall beneath two different clans. A battle mage might use their gifts of connecting to creatures to keep our horses fierce on the battlefield. Or a healer might also be the most violent of Soturi.”
“And these markings mean I belong to a clan and have mastered something else?” I wiggled my fingers.
Destin hesitated. “What I know of the Blood Sacrifice is she was a highly skilled Soturi with the talent of blood.”
“Blood?”
“Yes.” Destin took another drink. “Ravenwood blood mages were stunning and frightening all in one. There is much I could tell you about what they could do, but I fear it would overwhelm you with so much information all at once. Simply know the Blood Sacrifice did what was necessary to save Magiaria.”
Magiaria. The world of mages, that was what Hugo said.
“And how . . .” I tumbled over my tongue, overwhelm growing heavy and burdensome the more I tried to understand. “How do you learn if I am this Blood Sacrifice woman?”
Destin opened his mouth to respond, but his voice cut off when doors across the dining hall clattered open. The boom of woodon the wall caused more than one gold-bonnet woman to startle, then shoot darkened glares at the newcomer—a man, broad and clad in black from the boots on his feet to the top over his strong shoulders.
He kept his face angled, so I couldn’t make out his features in the dim lighting, but I took in his shape, his details. Like the unthreaded laces that revealed a strong chest, his long hair tied off his neck—the color of damp soil.
He staggered as he walked, face pointed at the stone floor.
By his side was another brute of a man. He had fiery hair and one eye that was pale, as though blinded. The drunken man’s guard snagged his arm, righting him before he toppled over.
It almost seemed . . . forced? As though the second prince wasn’t as drunk as he appeared. More for a show of it, or to annoy his brother.
With a deep, throaty laugh, the new prince spun around so his back was to the table and hummed a tune as he tipped a green bottle to his lips. Half over his shoulder, half to the ceiling, he muttered, “I hear my brother summons me.”
Destin frowned. “My Lady, please forgive my brother. Kagesh, do join us, won’t you?”
“That is why I’m here.” Another drink, another stumble. The prince turned around to the table, but buried a laugh against the shoulder of his surly escort.
I narrowed my eyes, wanting to get a good look at his face. He put Destin on edge, and if a man did that, I wanted to memorize every damn freckle so I’d know who to avoid.
The redhead at the second prince’s side looked ready for war with his tight leather pants and thick belts lined in knives, but he was here, leading a wasted guy toward food.
He looked about as pleased as Destin.
Five seats down, the brother of the prince slumped over the table so a few pieces of his wavy hair shielded his brow, and reached for a goblet without looking up. I drew in a sharp breath—his fingers were inkedlike mine.
No . . . it couldn’t be . . .
Frightening thoughts were interrupted by Destin’s heavy sigh. “Brother, I would have you meet Lady Adira. Do steady yourself, I beg of you.”
“It is Havestia, Destin. Do lighten up, I beg of you,” his brother returned, face nearly lowered to the tabletop.
Look at me! I wanted to scream it, wanted to know why—all at once—my pulse quickened.
The crown prince massaged his brow, frustrated. “Yes, and it istheHavestia.”
That had the brother pausing. “What do you mean?”
“I believe the Blood Sacrifice of House Ravenwood has returned.”
“Maybe,” I was quick to say. “I mean, we don’t know for sure. Destin was going to tell me how we find out, and I . . .”
