Immortal Reign(57)

She’d traveled far enough from the City of Gold that the original rush of panic and fear and confusion had dissipated, and now intelligent thought returned.

“So careless of me to leave them behind,” she chastised herself under her breath, seated in the back of the horse-drawn carriage she’d hired to take her to her destination.

She should have kept the invaluable orbs on her at all times, like Cleo did. The princess had refused the offer to place the aquamarine crystal in the locked box with the others.

Lucia had told no one where they were, trusted no one with the secret.

She prayed this journey would not take her long before she could return.

When she’d realized Lyssa was missing, panic had controlled her thoughts and actions.

Since then, she focused on one thing to help ease her maddening fear about her daughter’s kidnapping.

The fire god believed she had both the means and the magic to imprison him.

If he harmed Lyssa, if he so much as singed a single piece of her downy hair, he would surely expect that Lucia would go to the ends of the earth in order to end him rather than help him.

She believed that the fire Kindred would keep Lyssa safe. The baby was an assurance that he had something that Lucia valued above all else.

It had taken her nearly a week of travel to reach Shadowrock, a small village in western Paelsia. It was one of the few villages in this area close to the Forbidden Mountains, and it had once had a neighboring village five miles south.

As Lucia’s carriage drove past the deserted, blackened remains of that village, she peered out the small window and winced at the sight. She clearly remembered the screams of terror and pain from those who’d made this their home, those who’d watched that home burn or burned with it.

Lucia knew she couldn’t change the past. But if she didn’t learn from it, and do better going forward, then those people had suffered and died in vain.

As Shadowrock loomed in the distance, she glanced down at the palm of her hand. The cut she’d made to draw enough blood in her attempt to summon Kyan would have taken a month to heal, but she had found enough earth magic within herself to help the process along. Only a scar remained, though at her best and most powerful, there would not have been a single trace of the injury.

Scars were good, she thought. They were an excellent reminder of a past not meant to be repeated.

Lucia acquired a room at the inn where she’d previously stayed. It had comfortable beds and decent food. She would rest here for the night before continuing into the mountains tomorrow.

And now, she supposed, it was time to deal with him.

Jonas Agallon had followed her from the City of Gold all the way to Shadowrock, by foot at times, by horseback at others. He’d been far enough in the distance that he probably thought she hadn’t noticed.

But she had.

Lucia had chosen not to confront him and instead allowed him to think that he was as stealthy as a shadow in the night.

She left through the inn’s back kitchen door so he wouldn’t see her exit through the front. Then, she walked up a narrow side-street so she could approach Jonas from behind.

He stood on the stoop of a cobbler’s shop across the street from the inn, leaning against a wooden beam with the cowl of his dark blue cloak over his head to help shield his identity.

But Lucia had come to know the former rebel leader well enough that she would recognize him no matter what disguise he wore.

She recognized the lines of his strong body that always appeared tense, like a wildcat about to pounce upon its prey. She recognized the way he walked without any hesitation, picking a direction and swiftly taking it even if it meant he got lost in the process.

Not that he would ever admit such a thing, of course.

She knew without even seeing his face that his mouth was set in a determined line and that his cinnamon-brown eyes looked serious. They were always so serious, even when he joked around with his friends.

Jonas Agallon had lost so much over the last year, but it hadn’t changed who he was deep inside. He was strong and kind and brave. And she trusted him, even when he secretly trailed after her. She knew without a doubt he’d done this in a misguided attempt to protect her.

Now, observing him from distance of only six paces, she sensed the magic Jonas held within him—a pleasant, warm, and tingling sensation that she’d begun to associate with the rebel.

It had felt much stronger ever since leaving Amara’s compound, and she had to admit that it troubled her that Jonas’s magic had grown stronger while hers had continued to weaken just when she needed it the most.

She drew even closer to him, his gaze remaining fixed on the inn.

Close enough that she could hear him mutter to himself.

“Well, princess . . . just what is your plan in this little village now that you’re here?”

“I suppose you could simply ask me,” she said.

He jumped, then spun around to face her, his eyes wide with shock.

“You . . .” he began. “You’re right here in front of me.”

“I am,” she said.

“You knew—?” he began.

“That you’ve been stalking me like a hungry ice wolf for days? Yes, I knew.”

“Well, there you go.” He scrubbed his hand through his brown hair, then he turned his painfully earnest gaze toward her. “Are you well?”