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His smile grew. “I brought something back for you from the hunt.”
Her expression turned to distaste. “Something you killed?”
“Come and see.”
Lucia reluctantly approached, guarded as to what it might be. Despite his proficiency in archery, Magnus had never developed a taste for ending an animal’s life simply for the sport of it. Other boys had mocked him behind his back for this, but he didn’t care. He’d once told her that he’d have no problem hunting if it was to put food on the table but to kill for the simple sport of it would never appeal to him. Lucia was dismayed to think that had changed. The whirlwind of emotions that had been building swirled inside her.
Suddenly, the tall, heavy iron doors behind her father and brother slammed shut.
The king looked over his shoulder with confusion. Then he cast a quizzical look at Lucia .
She averted her gaze, her heart pounding.
Up ahead, Magnus pulled something from a basket. It was small, furry, and had long, floppy ears.
Its nose twitched.
“It’s a rabbit,” Lucia said with surprise. “A baby.”
“A pet. For you.” He handed the animal to her. It nestled into the crook of her neck. She felt its rapid heartbeat beneath her fingertips and her own heart swelled. She’d always wanted a pet, especially when she was just a child, but apart from horses and a few wolfhounds owned by the king, her mother had never allowed it.
“You didn’t kill it.”
Magnus looked at her curiously. “Of course not. A dead rabbit wouldn’t make a very good pet, would it?”
Its fur was so soft. She stroked it, trying to ease the animal’s fear. She looked up at Magnus, her throat tightening. “So you think this excuses you for scaring off Michol—and who knows who else?”
He gave her a wary look. “Does it help a little?”
She hissed out a breath but couldn’t keep the smile from appearing on her lips. “Maybe a little.”
Magnus was challenging, annoying, opinionated, and relied on his masks to hide his true feelings from the world far too much. But she still loved him and knew without a doubt that she would do anything for him, even when he tested her patience.
And she would tell him her secret the next time she had the opportunity. Maybe then he’d tell her what had been troubling him lately. Even now as he gazed down at her holding his gift, there was a deep and bottomless sadness in his eyes.
Cleo was absolutely certain her father would say yes. She waited until he was alone in his study and launched into a nonstop explanation about everything—although she didn’t touch on the topic of Emilia being romantically involved with Theon’s father.
The king didn’t interrupt. He let Cleo speak for as long as she required.
Finally, she summed things up as simply as she could.
“No healer seems able to help her, and she’s only getting worse. I know I can find this woman—the one who’s an exiled Watcher. She holds the magic to save Emilia. But I have to leave soon, before it’s too late. Theon can go with me for protection. I don’t think we’ll be gone very long at all.” She wrung her hands. “I know this is the answer, Father. I know it. I can save Emilia’s life.”
The king regarded his youngest daughter for an entire minute of silence with a bemused expression.
“An exiled Watcher,” he said. “Who possesses magic healing seeds.”
She nodded. “Someone in one of the villages must know where to find her. If I must search every village in Paelsia, then that’s exactly what I’ll have to do.”
He templed his fingers and watched her through hooded eyes. “The Watchers are only a legend, Cleo.”
For the first time since she’d entered the king’s meeting room, she felt a twinge of doubt about the outcome of their talk. “Well, that’s what I thought too, but if there’s a chance . . . I mean, you don’t know that for sure.”
“That there are those who watch us through the eyes of hawks, searching for their precious Kindred is a story that helps keep children in line and fearful enough to behave themselves lest they be witnessed acting naughty.”
Her gaze flicked to the royal coat of arms on the wall, which bore two hawks, one golden, one black, beneath a single golden crown. It was as familiar to her as her own name and she knew it had to mean something. It was a sign she was right. “Just because you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’ve been wrong to take that stance until now.”
He didn’t look angry, just weary. His face was etched in more lines than Cleo remembered. “Cleo, I know how much you love your sister—”
