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She only finished two stitches before she paused. “Why?”
“Because four Rothalan kings are dead, and the same person wanted it every time.”
Her brow furrowed. “But Gaius was the fifth king.”
His eyes darkened from storm-gray to stone. “I am aware.”
Thea stared at the needle in her hand. The tingle of magic brimmed in her fingertips, but she couldn't make herself sew.
She'd seen the fifth king die. Watched his crown roll across the floor as Gil cut the man's head from his shoulders. The memory of the other deaths and the simplicity of their announcements spun through her head so fast, they left her dizzy. “But that means—”
“Yes,” he finished for her, his voice both rich and resigned. “A king still lives, and I intend to put him where he belongs.”
A living king. A rightful leader for Kentoria. So her kingdom wouldn't be reduced to shambles after all. And if Gil achieved what he was after, it would be his hand that restored peace after the travesty that had been Gaius Rothalan's rule.
Political power like no other, right at the tips of his fingers.
She gulped and turned to face him. “Do you think that...” She trailed off as he gathered the cut fabric and pushed it into her hands.
“I think I've done the right thing by removing a wicked man from the throne. Whether or not the rest of my efforts will prove fruitful, it's still too early to say. What will be fruitful is you finishing my cloak, and it's already late afternoon. I suggest you get back to work.”
Her heart sank, but she nodded.
If anything, now she had more questions than ever before.
For one, if Gil had taken this mission for himself, why did he need the dead king's head?
CHAPTERSEVEN
Gil answered no morequestions after he told her to work. After a time, he departed, leaving her with instructions to continue without him. Thea couldn't imagine he'd go far, so she put her head down and worked.
At first, she considered leaving the bottom edge of the cloak raw. It would soon unravel and earn a tattered look, which might help him look a little less obvious. She discarded the notion fast. She was a Threadmancer. If she couldn't shape an illusion strong enough to make him completely unworthy of notice, she could take no pride in her work at all.
So she rolled the hem and fastened it with tight, tidy stitches that were so fine, they were all but invisible. She'd already finished the hood, and she was proud of what she'd achieved. Sewing a strong mental image into the cloth took more energy than the subtle enhancements she'd secretly worked into any wedding gown she'd ever made. When he put on this cloak, he'd become someone different, and even the strongest of artificers would struggle to see through such a disguise.
Gil returned at nightfall with another plate of food. This one was warm. “Have you made progress?” he asked as he left it on the table and motioned for her to sit and eat.
“I'm nearly done.” Thea was still glad to fold the cloak and set it aside so she could stretch and take a proper meal. The room was well-sealed against the changing weather outside, but there was no hearth, and it had grown cold. The bed and its blankets were a blessing, but she couldn't sew when she was tucked away under the covers.
“Good. It will be a necessity for travel tomorrow. As will your own changes.” He regarded her hair with a speculative eye and the corners of his mouth drew down.
“If you're seeing through it a bit now, that's normal,” she said. “You already know it's just an illusion. It makes the magic less effective on you.”
When she sat in the chair, he settled on the bed. “Should that concern me?”
“Not in the slightest. Kentoria's monarchy helped with that. Illusory magic is forbidden, remember? No one has any reason to doubt their eyes.”
“Aside from us.”
“Aside from us,” she agreed with a grin. “But yours is the strongest I've ever worked. Once we layer the cloak with more pieces, I don't think anyone will recognize you ever again. Even me.” The food he'd brought this time was mouth-watering. More vegetables and fowl—she thought it might be chicken—but it was accompanied by a thick slice of bread slathered with maple butter, and the aroma was enough to make her stomach gnaw at her from the inside.
Gil ran a hand across the bed. Contemplating why he'd allowed her to have it, perhaps. “Will I be able to see through it?”
She tilted her head. “What, through your own illusion?” While he nodded a confirmation, she finished a mouthful of food. “Mirrors aren't common, and the belief they can reflect the truth and betray an illusion is a myth.”
The answer surprised him, for he raised both brows. “Is that so?”
Thea allowed herself a few more bites before she replied. She hadn't been impressed with the cold noontime fare he'd brought her, but he was right. Jaret's sister produced a fine meal. “They say a mirror works by bending your image and casting it back at you. Illusions work in the same way, somewhat. It might get a little more bent as it's cast back, gaining a little distortion, but the illusion layer is what's bent first. If that makes sense.”
