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Eirene grimaced. “Sera, please. Be polite. These are my guests. They’ll be staying with us for dinner and overnight.”
The girl’s expression didn’t become any friendlier with this announcement. “Why?”
“Because I say so, that’s why. This is my granddaughter, Sera. Sera, this is Cleo and Nicolo. They’re visiting from Limeros.”
“Cleo,” the girl repeated, turning the name over on her tongue.
Cleo’s heart beat harder at the fear that the girl might recognize her for who she really was. She willed herself to remain calm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sera.”
Sera stared at her a moment longer before she flicked a glance to her grandmother. “Should I set the table?”
“Please.”
They sat down for dinner at the small, rickety wooden table. Cleo was so hungry she couldn’t help but enjoy every mouthful of the hearty barley stew served in a small wooden bowl—something she would have turned up her nose at if she was still at the palace, but tonight for which she was very grateful And, of course, there was wine. If there was one thing Paelsians didn’t scrimp on in their difficult, laborious lives, it was wine.
Cleo had been about to decline the offer of a glass from Eirene’s flacon, but she held her tongue. Wine had led to regrets and unpleasant memories in the past, but one glass wouldn’t hurt. She still nursed her first by the time Nic was on his third. It helped to loosen his already loose tongue.
“You seem like you know a lot about witches and Watchers,” he said to Eirene. “Is there anything you are willing to share that might help our research?”
She leaned back in her chair until it squeaked. “I have stories. But stories are not facts.”
“I like stories. Love them, actually. Most of the time they’re better than facts.”
“What about stories involving goddesses?”
Sera groaned. “Not this again. Grandmother loves to be controversial and tell this story. But no one believes the goddesses were Watchers.”
Cleo nearly choked on a mouthful of wine. “Do you mean Cleiona and Valoria?”
Eirene smiled wickedly. “Are you willing to hear such a scandalous possibility? Or are you too devout in your worship, as most Limerians are?”
Limerians believed that Valoria was an ethereal being who embodied earth and water magic. Cleiona embodied fire and air. They were equally strong, but their violent rivalry caused them to destroy each other, at which time nearly all elementia was shut off from the mortal world. Limerians believed Cleiona was the instigator of this final battle—that she’d attempted to steal Valoria’s power, leading to their beloved goddess’s demise. They viewed Cleiona as evil for this reason, the dark to Valoria’s light.
were given worn wool blankets to warm themselves and a clean change of clothes while their own clothes dried out by the fire. Nic exchanged his palace-tailored clothes for a simple shirt and trousers, while Cleo wore a plain woven dress without any special embroidery or beading.
She leaned toward him while Eirene worked in the kitchen. “This itches.”
“This too.”
“I suppose it’s better than being nude until our clothes dry out.”
“Oh, absolutely.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “How horrible that would be.”
While Eirene prepared dinner, she asked them questions about their trip to Paelsia. Cleo sat back and let Nic work his special magic, weaving his tale about their research trip like a master storyteller.
“So you seek this exiled Watcher to interview her?” she asked.
“Partly,” Cleo said, exchanging a glance with Nic. “But I—we—also have another sibling. An older sister who’s gravely ill. We heard a rumor that this Watcher might hold the means to cure her.”
“Grape seeds.” Eirene nodded. “Infused with earth magic. Correct?”
Cleo’s eyes widened. “So you have heard the legend.”
“I have. But I’m sorry to tell you that’s all it is. There had to be some explanation for the vineyards’ success, so some believe this is the reason. However, most believe that Chief Basilius himself is responsible for whatever magic makes such wine possible so his people can use that wine in rituals to honor him.”
“What’s the truth?”
She gave a small shrug. “It’s not for me to say.”
