Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1)(56)

He constantly made silly comments like this. She normally brushed them off as only humor, but sometimes she wondered if her sister had been right—that Nic might be a little bit in love with her.

The worry drifted away as she fell asleep and dreamed instead of Theon.

? ? ?

“This is it,” Nic said the next day when they resumed their search. “If we find nothing today, then we need head back to the harbor and go home tomorrow. Agreed?”

Disappointment and weariness thudded with every step she took. “Agreed.”

Nearly out of money and with no clues to give them hope, it was time for this adventure to end and for Cleo to accept defeat.

She squeezed her eyes shut as they walked and said a rare prayer to the goddess for assistance in their search.

Her stomach grumbled unhappily as if in reply. They’d found some dried-up fruit on some dried-up trees that morning, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy her.

“Yes, excellent,” Nic said. “We’ll follow your inner gurgle like a compass. I think it’ll help.”

She smacked his arm and tried not to grin since it was the last expression her face felt like making. “Don’t tease. I know you’re starving too.”

“We’ll have to choose between a tavern or an inn tonight. Can’t have both.”

It was so unfair. Just as Cleo had begun to look on Paelsians as kind and hardworking people, they’d been mugged, renewing her previous assumption that they were all desperate savages.

They’re desperate because they have nothing. While I have everything.

It was a chilling thought. Perhaps Cleo too would become more savage if she had to live in this dying land for more than a week.

They entered the next village with its typical dusty streets and small, stone cottages with thatched roofs. In the market, which was the busiest section of the village, they stopped a few people and asked them about the Watcher.

They received the same response they’d gotten everywhere else.

“Watchers? Don’t know anything about that,” one woman said, her lips peeling back from broken teeth. “Don’t believe in such inane legends, dearie. If we had a Watcher among us with magic at her lovely, golden fingertips, do you think we’d have to sleep under broken roofs and eat frostbitten vegetables?”

“She’s an exiled Watcher, so perhaps it’s different for her.”

The woman waved a dismissive hand. “It’s bad enough that we put up with Chief Basilius, who uses our taxes for his luxurious compound working his so-called magic while the rest of us starve to death. Now he wants to steal our men for his foolish endeavors. Sickening.”

“Quiet yourself,” her gray-haired friend whispered harshly, grabbing her arm. “Don’t speak ill of the chief. He’ll hear you.”

“He hears nothing but his own satisfied belches,” the woman snarled back.

The woman’s friend dragged her away before she said anything else.

“Broken roofs,” Nic said, scanning the area. “She’s right. Half the roofs around here have holes in them. How do these people manage to survive the bleakest days of winter?”

“Some don’t.” The voice came from a stall selling woven baskets. Cleo stopped and turned to see a small woman with gray hair and a deeply lined face regarding her with black, sparkling eyes. For a moment, Cleo recalled Silas Agallon, the wine seller, just before his sons arrived. What happened shortly afterward slid through her memory like rancid jam.

“Apologies, but what did you say?” Cleo asked.

“The winters are harsh here,” the woman said. “Some aren’t lucky enough to see the spring. That’s just the way it is. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“We’re from Limeros,” Nic said evenly. “Traveling through this land doing research on a book about the legend of the Watchers of the Kindred. Do you know anything about them?”

“I know some stories. My family used to tell them, and I know many tales passed down through the centuries, some that would have been lost otherwise.”

Cleo’s heart pounded. “Have you ever heard rumors a woman who lives here in Paelsia used to be a Watcher? She was exiled and now makes her home in a village in this land.”

“An exiled Watcher around here?” The woman’s brows went up. “How exciting. But no, I’ve never heard this rumor. I’m sorry.”

Cleo’s shoulders sank. “So am I.”

The woman gathered her wares and rolled them up into a large piece of cloth, tucking them into a pack she swung over her shoulder. “You should find shelter. The storm is nearly upon us.”

“Storm?” Nic repeated just as a crack of lightning forked through the darkening sky followed by a boom of thunder.

The woman gazed upward. “Storms in Paelsia are infrequent, but always sudden and severe. Our land is still touched by magic, even as it fades before our eyes.”

Cleo’s breath caught. “You believe in magic.”

“Sometimes I do. Lately, though, it’s not often enough.” She cocked her head. “Are you sure you’re from Limeros? You hold the slightest accent that makes me think of our southern neighbors.”

“Of course we’re sure,” Nic said without hesitation. “Cleo and I have traveled extensively across the Western Realm as well as overseas, so we’ve managed to pick up many things along the way. Accents, habits, friends. Hopefully we can count you among the latter. My name’s Nicolo, but please call me Nic.”