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It fit perfectly.
If this ring had the power to help her find the Kindred, it also gave her the power to wield the Kindred’s magic without becoming corrupted by it. She could use that magic to take back her kingdom from those who’d stolen it. The thought worked to dry her tears and give her clarity. She wouldn’t surrender. Not today, not ever.
Cleo gazed upon her father’s face one last time before leaning forward to kiss him.
“I’ll be strong,” she whispered. “I’ll be strong for you. For Emilia. For Theon. For Auranos. I swear, I’ll make them pay for what they’ve done.”
Ioannes watched the old woman as she put her laundry out to dry on a line stretched between two withered trees near her humble stone cottage. Her face was grim, and she glanced up in his direction every few moments.
“Be gone,” she said harshly.
He didn’t move from his perch.
“I know who you are. I know you’ve been here many times before.” She put her hands on her hips. “It’s you, isn’t it, brother? None of the others would bother with me now.”
His sister, Eirene, had left the Sanctuary more than fifty mortal years ago. Then she’d been beautiful and young and full of life and would have stayed that way eternally. But now, beyond the veil, she’d become wrinkled, hunched over, and gray from age and hard work.
She’d made her choice. Once one left the Sanctuary, one could never return.
“Are you aware of the war that rages right now?” she asked. Ioannes wasn’t certain if she really believed that he was her brother or if she was slightly mad—a woman who talked to birds. “It will end with blood and death as all wars do. The King of Blood searches for the same thing as you, I know it. Do you think you’ll find it before he does?”
He couldn’t reply to her, so he didn’t bother trying.
“The girl was born. She lives, brother. I saw it in the stars years ago—but you likely know this already. She can find the Kindred. The elders will be pleased to have all restored to normal.”
Eirene’s expression soured. “Without the crystals, the Sanctuary will fade away. I see it in this land. It’s all connected. Everything is connected, brother, even more than I ever believed it was.” She laughed, but there was no humor to the sound. “Perhaps it’s for the best. If I’m to die a mortal, why shouldn’t the same fate be given to all, no matter how long they’ve lived or how important they think they are? All things must eventually come to an end.”
Eirene had left the Sanctuary because she’d fallen in love with a mortal. She’d turned her back on immortality for the chance at love. She believed a handful of years that contained passion and life was better than an endless pristine existence. He’d been disgusted by her weakness then. For a Watcher, fifty years was only a breath of time.
“Beware of one thing, brother.” She glanced over her shoulder at him as she was about to return to her small cottage. “Don’t overestimate your ability to deal with mortals, even the pretty ones. After two thousand years, it could finally be the death of you.”
He still hadn’t told Danaus, Timotheus, or even Phaedra about the beautiful dark-haired princess’s magic. She was too important, and Ioannes had begun to trust fewer of his kind in recent months. He had to continue to keep watch over her. He had to find the right time to communicate with her.
And, very soon, he would have to find a way to kill her.
Victory was theirs. The king of Auranos had been killed. The eldest princess and heir to the throne was found dead in her chambers. But there was still a loose end. Princess Cleiona had escaped the palace.
For such a young and seemingly innocuous girl, she was very wily.
If Magnus ever came face-to-face with her again, she wouldn’t slip through his fingers a third time. He didn’t like being frustrated. He also didn’t like the splinter of guilt that had worked its way under his skin over the relentless tragedy that had befallen the girl—both her father and sister’s deaths, as well as the guard who’d protected her in Paelsia. The one she’d said she loved. The one Magnus had killed with his own sword.
Irrelevant. It was done. And there was nothing he could do to change it even if he wanted to.
Magnus hadn’t told his father that he’d come close to capturing her again. He didn’t think the second failure when it came to the princess would earn him any favor with the king. Besides, he didn’t want to interrupt the king’s celebrations. Magnus was the only other person invited to the private dinner in his father’s heavily guarded tent between King Gaius and Chief Basilius. They toasted their mutual victory with the finest Paelsian wine.
Magnus abstained. He was too concerned with Lucia’s health to be in the right frame of mind to celebrate. She still lay unconscious, hours after her magic broke through the front doors of the castle ensuring their victory. The force of the explosion had also knocked him out, but when he came to minutes later, he was only shaken, not injured.
Lucia, however, was covered in blood. Out of his mind with panic, Magnus carried her to the medics. By the time he’d arrived, her cuts and abrasions had miraculously—or magically—faded away completely. But she remained unconscious.
The medics, baffled, told him that she needed rest and that she would wake eventually. While he waited, he’d prayed to the goddess Valoria to bring Lucia back. His sister believed in the goddess with all her heart. He didn’t, but he was willing to give it a try.
Two hundred people—from all three kingdoms—had been killed in the explosion. But Lucia lived. And for that Magnus was grateful.
Over twelve hours now and he’d heard nothing new about her. It was dinnertime and the king and the chief clinked their glasses, laughing over their victory and toasting to the bright future. Magnus sat with them at the table, his food untouched.
“Oh, my son,” the king said, smiling. “Always so serious, even now.”
“I’m worried about Lucia.”
