Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1)(38)

“Then I’ll get my father’s permission.”





“She’s just a girl. Nothing more. But you believe?”

Ioannes could communicate with the others mentally while in the mortal world, even in hawk’s form. He turned his sharp eyes from the dark-haired princess who had emerged from the tall and ominous stone castle to his right to see his friend Phaedra, perched on the branch next to him.

“I believe.”

“And what does it mean if she is?” Phaedra asked.

“Everything.”

It meant that the Sanctuary could be saved, that they would finally have a chance to reclaim the Kindred for themselves before it fell into someone else’s hands.

The Sanctuary would continue on well after the mortal world faded completely, but it wouldn’t last forever. What had become their prison would soon become their grave.

Without elementia, everything eventually faded away. Especially that which was created from magic itself.

“And what if she isn’t?” his friend persisted.

“Then all is lost.”

Sixteen years ago, Ioannes had seen the signs. Even the stars themselves aligned in celebration of this beautiful girl’s birth. He’d watched as she was stolen from her cradle, the witches—descendants of one exiled from the Sanctuary itself—snatching her from her birth mother’s protection.

It was true that the mother had no idea what she’d given to the world, but the common witches were not right to take the child and hide her away, spilling so much blood in the process. One witch—the one with goodness in her heart—had perished at the hands of her darker sister.

That sister still lived, watching over this girl as Ioannes watched over them both.

Patience was one gift a Watcher prized above all. But even Ioannes felt a flutter of nervousness in his chest. He believed, he’d watched, and he waited for a sign that he was right. That she was the one. He hated to say that his belief had begun to wane and that his patience was drying up.

Within him was now an unfamiliar stirring of anger that this wisp of a girl could become a disappointment to him, nothing more than a regular mortal—at best, another common witch. Being in this world too long was a danger to a Watcher. This growing anger was a sign that he needed to return to the Sanctuary soon to cleanse himself of such burgeoning and unhelpful emotion.

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he’d wasted all his time studying this girl whenever she came outside. Whenever she stood on her balcony, gazing down into the frozen garden beneath her chambers. Watching her lips as she read to herself out loud, as she prayed to a false goddess who did not deserve such deep devotion.

Ioannes wanted to turn away, to spend his precious hours in the mortal world in other pursuits, but he couldn’t leave her.

Perhaps soon. But not yet.

He pushed off from the branch and flapped his wings, soaring high into the sky. From the ground, the beautiful dark-haired princess glanced up at him. For the briefest of moments, their eyes met.

All she would see when she looked at him was a golden hawk.

For some reason, this realization pained him.





Lucia stood outside, her breath forming frozen clouds in the cold air with each exhale, watching the hawk fly high up into the bright blue sky. She could have sworn that it looked directly at her.

Lucia stood outside, her breath forming frozen clouds in the cold air with each exhale, watching the hawk fly high up into the bright blue sky. She could have sworn that it looked directly at her.

She brushed aside the thought and scanned the grounds, searching for any sign of her brother’s return. After weeks of keeping her horrible secret hidden deep inside, she was ready to unburden herself, come what may.

Of course, the one time she desperately wanted to find Magnus was the one time he was nowhere to be found. She’d searched the halls of the castle for an hour only to learn from a kitchen maid that he was accompanying their father on a hunt but was expected to return soon.

It was strange, though. Magnus had never shown much interest in hunting with their father before. Magnus had never showed much interest in hunting at all. She wondered uncomfortably if the recent death of Tobias, whom she knew though she wasn’t supposed to was her half brother, had anything to do with this change. He’d been buried quickly and quietly, with no explanation given for his sudden demise.

To clear her head of her swirling thoughts, Lucia had gone outside and into the cold air and sunshine, determined to go for a brisk walk around the palace grounds and ready herself for her afternoon classes—art, geography, and, unfortunately, embroidery. She could rarely get through an entire class of needlework without stabbing herself. Magnus didn’t seem to think she was clumsy, but her sore fingertips would claim otherwise.

To her far left, she caught a glimpse of a boy she knew—Michol Trichas. She raised her hand to wave at him, but he didn’t seem to notice and turned away.

She picked up her pace to catch up to him, drawing her fur-lined cloak closer to block out the icy chill.

“Michol!” She greeted him with a smile, the frozen ground crunching under the leather soles of her shoes. They’d taken an art class together here at the palace a few months ago. Her father had wanted to abolish the subject entirely, but Lucia had begged him to reconsider, promising that the study of art was not simply a frivolous pursuit of aesthetic beauty, but one of history and heritage.