Immortal Reign(27)

A shiver went down Lucia’s spin. She didn’t know why that happened or what it meant.

“Much gratitude for the suggestion,” she replied.

Cleo nodded and went to join her attendant as they entered the palace.

Once inside, Lucia asked for Cleo’s nursemaid and found her willing and able to attend to Lyssa. She held back any threats she was tempted to make about her daughter’s well-being.

After kissing Lyssa’s forehead in the cradle the nursemaid had swiftly readied, Lucia went to join her father for their audience with Lord Gareth.

The kingsliege wished to meet in the throne room, which had once held golden Auranian decorations and embroidered banners emblazoned with the image of the goddess Cleiona and the Bellos family crest, but which now held only a few small reminders of the time when King Corvin had ruled.

Her gaze lifted to the familiar walls, the stained glass windows. An expansive marble floor and columns lined the hall, leading to the dais and golden throne.

Lord Gareth waited for them in the center of the room. His beard had grown thicker and bushier and more streaked with white than the last time Lucia had seen him.

He held out his hands to the king and Lucia. “Welcome, my dear friends. I hope your trip here was pleasant.”

The sound of his reedy voice, reminiscent of his hateful son’s, made Lucia’s blood boil.

“As pleasant as a trip aboard a Kraeshian ship could be,” the king replied.

Lord Gareth laughed. “The empress hasn’t kept any Limerian vessels for such an occasion?”

“It seems she’s had most of them burned.”

“And now we are all Kraeshians, as it were. Let’s hope only for brighter days ahead, yes?” His gaze swept over Lucia. “You have grown up to be an incredibly beautiful young woman, my dear.”

She did not meet the compliment with a smile or a nod or a blush of her cheeks, as would have been expected of her in the past.

“Where is your son, Lord Gareth?” she said instead.

Lord Gareth’s pleasant expression dropped. “Kurtis? I haven’t seen him since I left Limeros at your father’s command to come here.”

“But you’ve exchanged many messages with him,” the king said. “Even after he became one of Amara’s most loyal minions.”

The lord’s expression became more guarded. “Your majesty, the occupation has been difficult for us all, but we’re trying as well as we can to adjust to the choices you’ve made for Mytica’s future. If anything my son has done seems disloyal, I can assure you he has only tried to fit in with the new regime as best he can. News reaches me only today that many of the empress’s soldiers have been called back to Kraeshia. I wonder if this means that the occupation will slowly and steadily be scaled back to next to nothing.”

“That is very possible,” the king allowed. “I think Amara has lost her interest in Mytica.”

“Good.” Lord Gareth nodded. “Which means we can all get back to business as usual.”

“Did Kurtis tell you that he recently lost his hand?” the king asked casually, moving toward the stairs leading to the throne. He glanced over his shoulder. “That my son sliced it from his wrist?”

Lord Gareth blinked. “Why, yes. He did mention that. He also mentioned that it was as a result of your orders, your majesty, that he came upon such an unfortunate injury. You asked him to deliver Princess Cleiona to you, and it seems that Prince Magnus . . .”

“Disagreed,” the king finished for him when he trailed off. “Rather strongly, yes, he did. My son and I have not seen many issues quite in the same way. Princess Cleiona is most definitely one of them.”

Lucia watched on, suddenly fascinated. She hadn’t heard any of this before now.

“Magnus chopped off Kurtis’s hand . . . to save Cleo,” she said aloud, bemused.

“It was an impulsive choice,” Lord Gareth replied, a thread of distaste in his tone. “But it cannot be undone, so let’s put it behind us, shall we?”

“Have you heard from Kurtis recently?” the king said as he sat down upon the magificent, gilded throne and leaned back, gazing down at Lord Gareth at the bottom of the stairs.

“Not in more than a week.”

“So you don’t know what he’s done now.”

Lord Gareth frowned deeply, his quizzical gaze moving to Lucia for a moment. “I do not.”

“Not even a rumor?” Lucia asked.

“I have heard many rumors,” Lord Gareth replied thinly. “But mostly about you, princess, not my son.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“I don’t think there’s any need to indulge the whispers of peasants.”

She hated this man, had always hated the simpering manner he used around the king, pretending to be friendly and helpful when she saw the deviousness behind every word he uttered and every move he made.

“Perhaps they are the same rumors I’ve heard,” the king said. “That Lucia is a powerful sorceress, one who has reduced many villages across Mytica to ash. That she is a demon I summoned from the darklands seventeen years ago to help me strengthen my rule.”

“Like I said”—Lord Gareth watched the king as he stood up from the throne and began to descend the stairs again—“the rumors of peasants.”