Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1)(57)

“Eirene.” A smile helped fan the wrinkles out around her eyes. “A pleasure, young man. And you”—she turned to Cleo—“that’s an unusual name you have. Is it short for Cleiona?”

Her gaze snapped to Nic’s. He’d used her name in conversation without thinking.

She forced her gaze to remain steady. “I blame my father for my name. He had a special interest in mythology. He didn’t discriminate among the goddesses as many Limerians would. He considered them both as equals.”

“Smart man. Now I strongly suggest you find a room for the night.”

They exchanged a look just as the cold rain began to fall. Cleo pulled the hood of her cloak over her hair, but it only took a few moments before she was soaked.

“We’ll have to find shelter, but we can’t afford an inn,” Nic said. “We need food more and have not enough coin for both.”

Eirene studied them before she nodded. “Then you’ll come home with me. I can feed you and give you a dry place to sleep for the night.”

Cleo looked at her with shock. “Why would you do such a thing for complete strangers?”

“Because I would hope a stranger would do the same for me. Come.”

Eirene led them to her home five minutes away from the market. By then they were drenched through to their skin—and everything in Cleo’s bag was wet. As Nic helped Eirene build a fire in the hearth, the stone chimney rising up through the thatched roof, Cleo glanced around. The floors were tightly packed dirt, almost as hard as marble. It was otherwise very clean, but sparse. Wooden table, wooden chairs, straw mattresses at the far side of the room. While it was nothing compared to even the most modest villa in Auranos, it was certainly livable enough.

They were given worn wool blankets to warm themselves and a clean change of clothes while their own clothes dried out by the fire. Nic exchanged his palace-tailored clothes for a simple shirt and trousers, while Cleo wore a plain woven dress without any special embroidery or beading.

She leaned toward him while Eirene worked in the kitchen. “This itches.”

“This too.”

“I suppose it’s better than being nude until our clothes dry out.”

“Oh, absolutely.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “How horrible that would be.”

While Eirene prepared dinner, she asked them questions about their trip to Paelsia. Cleo sat back and let Nic work his special magic, weaving his tale about their research trip like a master storyteller.

“So you seek this exiled Watcher to interview her?” she asked.

“Partly,” Cleo said, exchanging a glance with Nic. “But I—we—also have another sibling. An older sister who’s gravely ill. We heard a rumor that this Watcher might hold the means to cure her.”

“Grape seeds.” Eirene nodded. “Infused with earth magic. Correct?”

Cleo’s eyes widened. “So you have heard the legend.”

“I have. But I’m sorry to tell you that’s all it is. There had to be some explanation for the vineyards’ success, so some believe this is the reason. However, most believe that Chief Basilius himself is responsible for whatever magic makes such wine possible so his people can use that wine in rituals to honor him.”

“What’s the truth?”

She gave a small shrug. “It’s not for me to say.”

Cleo leaned back in her chair, frowning. “But you did say that you believed in magic.”

Eirene nodded. “I do, although I would never say such a thing in Limeros. While I’m no witch, I wouldn’t want such a dangerous light shone in my direction for what I believe.”

“Do you know of any witches who live around here?” While the thought that the Watcher was only a legend pained Cleo, perhaps she could find a witch instead. Any connection to magic was an important path to follow.

“For a Limerian to ask about witches with interest, you must be very determined to save your sister. This is the real reason you’ve come to Paelsia on this search, not merely for your book. Isn’t it?”

Cleo’s eyes suddenly burned with tears. “My sister’s the most important and precious person in my entire life. If she dies from this horrible disease, I don’t know what I’ll do. I need to help her.”

The door opened and a pretty dark-haired girl ran inside, soaking wet from the cold rain that fell in sheets outside. Her eyes fell instantly on Cleo and Nic.

“Who’re you?” she demanded.

Eirene grimaced. “Sera, please. Be polite. These are my guests. They’ll be staying with us for dinner and overnight.”

The girl’s expression didn’t become any friendlier with this announcement. “Why?”

“Because I say so, that’s why. This is my granddaughter, Sera. Sera, this is Cleo and Nicolo. They’re visiting from Limeros.”

“Cleo,” the girl repeated, turning the name over on her tongue.

Cleo’s heart beat harder at the fear that the girl might recognize her for who she really was. She willed herself to remain calm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sera.”

Sera stared at her a moment longer before she flicked a glance to her grandmother. “Should I set the table?”

“Please.”

They sat down for dinner at the small, rickety wooden table. Cleo was so hungry she couldn’t help but enjoy every mouthful of the hearty barley stew served in a small wooden bowl—something she would have turned up her nose at if she was still at the palace, but tonight for which she was very grateful And, of course, there was wine. If there was one thing Paelsians didn’t scrimp on in their difficult, laborious lives, it was wine.