Isle of Blood and Stone (Isle of Blood and Stone #1)(8)

The only thing missing was a cartouche with the mapmaker’s name and kingdom of origin. But this was his father’s, Lord Antoni’s, work; Elias knew it without question. And it was in fine condition: the parchment untorn, the paint vivid. He had never seen this particular chart before, but that was of no significance. His father had painted thousands of maps. Why was this one here now?

“Several months ago,” Ulises said, “just after you left, in fact, a merchant tried to sell this map at the harbor. He claimed to have won it in a tavern game of chance on Oslaw. He knew nothing of its provenance, and could only say that the man he won it from was a Coronad shipman with arms like tree trunks.”

“Helpful,” Elias commented. Show him a Coronad shipman who did not fit that description. They were few and far between.

Ulises half smiled. “Quite,” he agreed. “The map is unsigned, but Reyna is familiar with Lord Antoni’s work. And there were other . . . elements she thought curious. She bought the map.”

Elias’s attention shifted to Reyna. “You’ve graduated to the mappers’ booth?”

The child looked uneasy to have all eyes on her. “It was only that once. I help with the ledgers, usually. Madame Vega says I’m too young to barter.”

Lord Silva said, “The child, correctly, thought discretion might be in order. She purchased the map using her own funds so that it would not appear in the official records. And she brought it directly to the king.”

“Mercedes was there as well,” Ulises said. “It was just before she sailed to Lunes.”

Discretion? Curious elements? And what did Mercedes have to do with anything? Utterly lost, Elias turned to her as she spoke.

“While I was on Lunes,” she said, “I came across a chart hanging in the king’s map chambers.” She unrolled the second map beside the first and secured it with more shells. “One chart among a hundred others. I would not have given it a second glance if I had not seen Reyna’s copy first. It’s also missing a cartouche. You’ll see that they are nearly identical.”

“Nearly?” Elias leaned close, comparing the two. Some time passed before he saw that yes, there was a telling difference. Unlike the first map, the second featured the beacon on the cliffs of Alfonse, at the very southern tip of the island. These maps were clearly painted by the same artist, but it could not have been his father. Lord Antoni had died eighteen years ago. The beacon was only ten years old.

Elias sat back, disappointed. He had been so sure. “Fine copies, then,” he conceded. “It’s not uncommon to learn from the masters. What of it?” He glanced at the first map.

And saw it.

In the top left corner, hidden along a thick border made up of olive trees and lemon groves. He brought his face down to the map, so close that his nose nearly touched the parchment. He glanced quickly at Lord Silva, who said, “The child saw it at the harbor.”

“Her eyesight is sharp,” Mercedes said.

Elias’s was less so. To him, the words were like the footprints of ants, barely recognizable as lettering. A small glass dish had been placed halfway down the table. He shoved his chair back and retrieved the bowl. It was filled with dried orange blossoms and lavender. He returned to his seat and without ceremony upended the contents beside the maps. Immediately, Mercedes sneezed.

“Apologies,” he said absently. He cleaned the dish with the end of his shirt. Mercedes and Ulises were frowning, at a loss, but Reyna was already on her feet and reaching for a water pitcher. When Elias held out the bowl, she filled it with small, steady hands. Carefully, he placed the bowl on the map, over the border. He peered into the glass and read the tiny print that had been drawn there, now magnified by glass and water.



Adventurer, two princes lost but not gone.

Follow the path of the ancient mariners, Tramontana to Ostro.

Look not to what is there but to what is not.





He felt a sharp prickling along his scalp. No one made a sound. He moved the bowl over the second map. The wording was identical to that on the first. He straightened, anger simmering. “Someone is having their fun with us.”

He expected Lord Silva to agree with him, right then and there, without the slightest hesitation. And so he was stunned when the silence inched along even further before Lord Silva said, “Elias, I taught your father how to hold a brush. How to mix his paints. I have seen him cast a thousand rhumb lines across the page. I know his work, child. As well as yours, as well as my own.”

And from Ulises, “What if these are his?”

“The beacon—” Elias began.

“I know what it means.” Ulises regarded him, unsmiling. “Whoever painted the maps was alive ten years ago.”

“What are you saying?” Elias rose slowly, not taking his eyes off his king. He sounded to himself unnaturally calm and detached. “And how dare you say it?”

“Elias . . .” Mercedes said. His eyes flashed to hers; she looked away first. He began to understand now what she would not tell him in the square.

The king’s voice remained even. “I’m saying nothing. Only that there is a riddle. I’m asking you to solve it.”

“I see.” Elias’s temper unraveled faster than he was proud of. “You want me to solve this riddle. And prove what? That my father is alive somewhere, painting maps”—he sent a scornful glance toward the charts—“and choosing not to come home?”