Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1)(54)
Magnus swallowed hard. “Maybe Sabina was wrong about Lucia.”
The king cast a glare so sharp at him that Magnus’s scar began to sting. “I refuse to believe that.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to be patient.”
The anger faded from his father’s gaze and he regarded his son again carefully. “You love your sister, don’t you?”
Magnus crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course I do.”
“She’s a true beauty. She’ll make some man an excellent wife one day.”
His core turned hot as lava with immediate jealousy. “I’m sure she will.”
The king’s mouth twisted into a sinister smile. “Do you really think I don’t notice how you look at her? I’m not blind, my son.”
Bile rose in his throat, bitter and unexpected. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Play innocent if it makes you feel better, but I see it. I’m a very smart man, Magnus. It doesn’t take only courage to be king, but intelligence as well. I observe because then I can use what I see to my best advantage.”
Magnus’s jaw tensed. “How nice for you.”
“And I see a brother who cares deeply—very deeply—for his beautiful younger sister.”
Magnus eyed the door, seeking escape as soon as possible. “May I be excused, Father? Or do you wish to continue playing games with me?”
“No games, Magnus. I shall reserve my games for the battlefield or the chessboard. Do you honestly think I don’t know why you haven’t shown interest in any other girl who might one day become your bride?”
Magnus felt ill at the direction of this conversation. “Father, please.”
“I know, Magnus. I see it in your eyes every time she enters a room. I see how you watch her.”
Magnus felt the sudden need to run away from here, far away. A desperate urge to hide his face from the world. He hadn’t shared this truth with anyone; he’d keep it buried deep, so deep inside that he barely glanced at it himself. He’d been appalled at the merest hint that Andreas might have some inkling of his darkest secret.
But now for the king to pull it out and flaunt it like some sort of prized animal he’d shot on a hunt, bloody and raw. Like it meant nothing.
“I need to go.” Magnus turned to the door.
His father clamped his hand down on his shoulder. “Ease your mind. I’ll tell no one of this. Your secret will remain safe from this day forward. But if you do everything I ask of you, I can promise you one thing. No man will ever touch her. If nothing else, you’ll be able to take solace in that.”
Magnus didn’t say anything else. The moment his father let go of him, that was exactly what he did—bursting from the room. He practically ran down the halls toward his chambers, where he sank down to the floor, his back pressed against the cold gray wall. He couldn’t bear to face Lucia again tonight.
Finding an exiled Watcher in Paelsia was not proving to be as simple a task as Cleo had hoped. And stowing aboard a cargo ship carrying wine back and forth from Auranos to Paelsia wasn’t as luxurious as being aboard her father’s lavish yacht. But she and Nic had successfully arrived.
Cleo carried a bag of necessities, including a change of clothes and a small sack of gold and silver coins, generic currency rather than recognizable Auranian centimos stamped with the face of the goddess, which might draw attention to their travels. She kept the hood of her cloak over her sun-swept hair most of the time, but it was more to keep out the cold breeze than to remain incognito. There would only be a small handful in this goddess-forsaken land who’d have any idea who she really was.
And they walked. And walked.
And walked some more.
The journey to find Aron’s wine the last time she’d been here felt as if it was an endless trip. It was but a glimpse of this.
Each village was a half day’s journey from each other—at the very least. A couple times they’d managed to catch a ride on the back of a horse-drawn cart, but mostly they walked. Each village looked the same as the last. Small, poor, with a cluster of cottages, a tavern, an inn, and a market selling various modest wares, including small, sad-looking fruits and vegetables. These food items didn’t grow so well in the cold soil as the grapes did. It was only more evidence that the vineyards and the grapes themselves were specifically touched by earth magic. This realization helped Cleo remain optimistic as the days dragged on.
Shortly after their arrival, they wandered through the vineyards themselves, wide expanses of green vines planted in neat rows, the ground frosty, the pale green grapes cold to the touch but large and plump and sweet.
Before anyone could see them, catch them, they’d gathered as many bunches of grapes as they could and ran away. It wasn’t a perfect meal served by servants in front of a blazing fire, but it filled their bellies—especially since Nic had proved useless at catching a quick-moving rabbit for dinner. They’d come upon an awkward and slow-moving turtle, but neither of them had had the heart to end its life. At the time, they hadn’t been hungry enough for turtle meat. Instead, they ate the remainder of their dried fruit.
Beyond the west coast, where the harbor hugged the rocky shore and the vineyards grew, they traveled farther east along narrow dirt roads, stopping in each village to ask if anyone knew of the legends—and if there were any rumors of an exiled Watcher living amongst the peasants.