Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1)(30)

“Indeed.”

Chief Basilius was rumored to be a powerful sorcerer feared and respected by his people. He stayed apart from other Paelsians in a private compound, devoting his days to meditation and, supposedly, magic.

Magnus didn’t believe in such ridiculous notions. However, his father did, to an extent. King Gaius believed in the power of elementia. Magic that had been gone from the world since the days of the goddesses.

“Did you hear anything else?” he asked. “Do you know why the chief is here?”

“I tried to listen for as long as I could, but I was afraid I’d get caught.”

“Amia, you don’t want to ever be caught. My father would not take well to eavesdroppers.”

“Even if I was eavesdropping on behalf of his son?”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to say you were lying.” He took her arm in his and squeezed it until she flinched. A flicker of fear went through her pale eyes. “Who do you think the king would believe? His son and heir? Or a kitchen maid?”

Amia swallowed hard. “I apologize, my prince. I would never say such a thing.”

“Smart girl.”

She took a moment to compose herself, shaking off the momentary unpleasantness between them. “As far as what I heard, it seems as if it’s related to the murder in the Paelsian village last month and the meeting King Gaius called last week.”

He eased his grip on the girl. “I think I’ll join them. I have a right to be a part of such a political meeting as much as Tobias does.”

“I agree completely.”

The girl was nothing if not agreeable. He looked down at her. “Thank you for this information, Amia. I do appreciate it.”

Her face lit up. “Will you need anything else from me?”

He considered this for a moment before stepping back from her. “Yes. Visit me in my chambers after I retire tonight.”

Her cheeks reddened and she smiled demurely. “Of course, my prince.”

Magnus left the chapel and headed toward his father’s private meeting hall, which was situated on the main floor next to the great hall. He didn’t bother to attempt to overhear anything; he simply walked straight in. There were a dozen men in the room and their gazes all shot to him immediately.

“Oh, I’m very sorry,” he said. “Am I interrupting something?”

While he enjoyed acting the part of a shadow much of his time, there were other occasions that called for a more illuminated approach. Tobias’s ongoing presence at the castle had raised his hackles more than he’d even realized before today. He felt the sudden and driving need to assert his position as prince and the rightful heir to his father’s throne.

“This,” King Gaius said from his seat upon the dais, always a step above everyone else, “is my son, Prince Magnus Lukas Damora.”

Instead of an expression of outrage at the interruption, there was a small bemused smile on the king’s lips at Magnus’s unannounced entrance. Tobias simply glared at him, as if enraged on behalf of the king by Magnus’s extreme rudeness.

“It’s a great honor to meet the prince,” a man’s deep voice sounded out, and Magnus moved his gaze to his left. “I am Chief Hugo Basilius of Paelsia.”

“The honor is ours, Chief Basilius,” Magnus said evenly. “Welcome to Limeros.”

“Join us, my son,” the king said.

Magnus restrained himself from making a cutting remark about missing the invitation earlier and sat down across the table from the chief and four of his men.

The chief was a grander-looking man than Magnus would have expected, given the peasant status of his people. In Paelsia, there was no upper or middle class, only varying degrees of lower, especially in recent generations as their land had begun to fade away.

Even seated, it was obvious that Basilius was no peasant. He was tall, his shoulders broad. His long, dark hair was streaked with gray. His tanned face was lined, and there was a keen sharpness in his dark eyes. His clothes were finely made, stitched from soft leathers and silver fox fur. He looked more like a king than Magnus expected. He would have to guess that Basilius did not suffer the same lifestyle in his compound as the commoners of Paelsia.

“Shall we fill your son in on what we’ve discussed so far?” Basilius asked.

“Of course.” King Gaius’s attention hadn’t left his son since he’d entered the room. Even without looking, Magnus felt his father’s gaze like a burning sensation along the length of his scar. A cool line of perspiration slid down his spine, even though he tried his best to look completely at ease.

King Gaius had a quick temper, and Magnus knew firsthand what it was like to be punished if he pushed too far. After all, he had the scar to prove it.

A scar he remembered far too well how he’d acquired.

Ten years ago, the king had taken Magnus with him and Queen Althea on the royal visit to Auranos. It hadn’t been very long at all in the opulent and richly decorated palace, a sharp contrast to the utilitarian and sparse Limeros castle, before Magnus had given in to his childhood curiosity. He’d wandered off during a banquet to explore the castle alone. He’d come across a display case of jeweled daggers and felt the overwhelming urge to steal a golden one encrusted with sapphires and emeralds. In Limeros, weapons were not as beautiful and ornate as this. They were practical and useful, forged from steel or iron. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything else in his seven years of life.