Immortal Reign(83)
Amara racked her brain, trying to figure out exactly where to begin.
“All right,” she said. “Listen to me very carefully . . .”
CHAPTER 27
JONAS
PAELSIA
They left the inn at dawn.
Mia, the serving girl with amnesia—the one Lucia insisted was an immortal—was already awake, serving breakfast, and she provided them with some stale bread and honey for their journey.
On their way into the Forbidden Mountains, Lucia barely spoke. She moved swiftly along the rough-hewn path, clearly determined to make headway.
Jonas peered up at the jagged black peaks rising all around them and drew his cloak closer around his shoulders. There was a chill here, the temperature far colder than in the small village they’d departed earlier.
It was a chill he felt more profoundly than just on the surface.
It sank deep, all the way to his bones.
“Do you know what I was told as a child about these mountains?” he said, feeling the need to make conversation.
“What?” Lucia asked, her eyes still trained on the path ahead.
He’d all but forgotten them until now—all the stories told by adults to children about the Forbidden Mountains. Jonas never had patience for tales of fantasy or magic. He much preferred to be out hunting, even when he could barely lift a bow.
“I was told that they’re ancient witches, cursed for using their dark magic against the first king of Mytica, just after the world was created.”
“I’ve heard other legends about them, but yours doesn’t surprise me at all,” Lucia said under her breath. “Witches are always blamed for everything when most of them don’t have enough magic to light a single candle.”
“Why is that, do you suppose?” he wondered aloud.
“What?”
“Witches . . . they definitely exist. I know that now. But their magic is harmless, unlike the stories.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Even the weakest elementia can be strengthened by blood, which is apparently how my grandmother managed to help Kyan with his ritual. So if a witch strengthens her magic to a dangerous level, and if her intentions are dark, she is most definitely not harmless.”
Jonas didn’t know how many witches there were—only that if one was descended from an exiled Watcher they had a chance to have magic within them. “I suppose you’re right. And we should be thankful that only you have as much magic as you do.”
Lucia didn’t reply.
“Princess?” he asked, frowning. “You still have your magic, don’t you?”
She flinched. “It’s weakened again. I don’t know how much time it will take to return fully to me—or if that’s even a possibility.” Lucia looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide and glassy. Jonas felt his heart drop.
“You aren’t just a common witch,” he said, shaking his head. “You are a sorceress. The sorceress.”
“I know. But it’s Lyssa . . . somehow she’s stolen my magic ever since I was pregnant with her. But I swear to the goddess, even if I don’t have a shred of elementia within me, I will save her, no matter what I have to do.”
“And I will help you,” Jonas said firmly, even though the thought that her magic was no longer reliable enough to aid them in battle against Kyan chilled him. “I promise I will.”
“Thank you.” Lucia held his gaze for a moment before she nodded and turned away from him. “Now keep walking. We’re almost there.”
Jonas did as she said, one foot in front of the other.
He forced himself to keep walking even though every step was a test of his courage. These mountains had always been a part of his life—a chilling sight in the far east, no matter where in Paelsia one went.
They entered the foothills, and any remaining, struggling vegetation they’d passed in the previous dusty miles disappeared completely. The skies were gray, as if a storm stirred, and in the distance, above the mountains, even darker clouds blocked out the sun.
As they moved deeper into the black mountains, Jonas realized it felt even colder than Limeros here. It was a frigid kind of cold; an iciness that sank into his bones and settled there. The kind of cold he knew couldn’t be chased away by a warm blanket and a campfire.
He rubbed his chest over the spiral Watcher’s mark. The cold seemed to push deeper into him precisely in that spot, like the tip of a blade searching for his heart.
“This place,” he began. “It feels like death.”
Lucia nodded. “I know. There’s an absence of magic here . . . an absence of life itself. From what little I understand, that’s what has bled into Paelsia over generations, causing your land to wither and die.”
Jonas looked around at their barren surroundings. He shuddered. “Like the rotten part of a peach that starts to spread through the whole basket.”
“Exactly. Luckily, in the midst of all this death, is . . . that.”
They’d breached a gray, rocky hill, and on the other side, where Lucia now gestured, lay a sight that made Jonas’s breath catch.
A thick shard of purple crystal as tall as three men jutted up from a small patch of greenery in the distance. Beyond that small circle of life and beauty lay only black, scorched ground.