The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(41)
“I’m sorry,” Blue said softly. She could see the burden of his tasks weighing on his shoulders.
“Part of the job,” he said, his voice heavy. Turning, he hailed the approach of the Evrard quarter’s magistrate, complete with a dozen of his guards. “I’m going to have two of these guards escort you home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I really do.”
“But you need all the manpower you can get.” Blue lifted her chin and found implacable resolve on Kellan’s face.
“I need to make sure you stay safe. This isn’t a negotiation, Blue.”
The warmth that had spread through her while they’d danced returned, and she nodded her thanks. How had she never seen that the prince who dared to risk himself cared deeply about not risking anyone else?
His fingers brushed hers gently as he led her toward the guards, and then he was off with the magistrate to examine the streets while Blue began the long walk home, flanked by solemn-faced guards wearing Evrard green.
SEVENTEEN
THE DAY AFTER the horrifying spell had destroyed so many of his people’s lives, Kellan woke before dawn. A familiar restlessness churned through him, and he prowled his quarters, hunting for a way to quiet it. Usually, he’d sneak out of the castle and cliff-dive into the sea or get in a street fight, but he couldn’t afford a single misstep today.
Today, he was running the royal council meeting. His mother would be watching him with sharp eyes that missed nothing. Hang it, the entire council of head family members would be watching him with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
When he’d agreed last week to head the meeting, he’d figured it would consist of the usual discussions of border issues with some of Akram’s nobility, legal disputes within the quarters that needed a group consensus, questions about taxes, resources, imports, exports . . . the kind of things that could bore a man to tears, but that were essential to the running of a kingdom.
Now he’d been a firsthand witness to a magical attack on the streets of the Evrard quarter. And it turned out four other quarters had been hit with the same spell. Nearly fifty people dead. Eleven horses lost. And scores of traumatized people, many of whom remembered the horror of the blood wraith walking the streets sixteen years ago. Kellan might have been too young to remember the wraith personally, but he’d grown up with the stories. Last night’s attack was different—nothing was feeding on the blood of innocents or leveling an entire contingent of royal guards with a clap of its hands—but it was terrifying all the same, and every single head family now had a full-blown panic on their hands.
Which meant Kellan had a full-blown panic on his hands.
And he was expected to have answers. Or at the very least, suggestions.
Instead, he had restlessness and pent-up energy and the memory of Blue’s tiny hands in his, which shouldn’t have been confusing, but somehow was.
He’d been surprised to see her in the pub, so far from her own quarter. More surprised to see tears on her face. But the biggest shock had been the instant urge to protect her. To wipe away the tears and make her smile instead.
This was Blue. The girl who’d acted like she was smarter than him and who’d made sure to get him in trouble every chance she’d had when they were kids. The girl who’d ruined his relationship with one of most interesting brokers in Falaise de la Mer by boldly interrupting a street fight and then forcing Kellan to throw the match.
But this was also the girl who’d taken Nessa under her wing with genuine love and respect. The girl who spoke up for those who couldn’t speak for themselves and who defended justice like she was being paid to do it. And the girl who refused to fawn over him and who gave him absolute honesty, whether he liked it or not.
If someone had asked him at the start of the summer what he thought of Blue de la Cour, he’d have said she was a menace to good old-fashioned fun, but that she was a trustworthy friend for his little sister.
Now his thoughts were more . . . complicated.
And he couldn’t afford complicated. He had political allies to soothe, a betrothal to manage, and a witch to catch. If he’d felt something bright come to life within him when he’d danced with Blue, it was simply the realization that they were becoming true friends.
As the first cracks of light broke through the dark sky, Kellan dressed and hurried out of the royal wing toward the kitchen. His valet would be mortified that the prince had let him sleep instead of waking him to assist with his morning, but Kellan wanted solitude a bit longer.
How were they going to find the witch responsible for casting the spells that had burned so many people? It had to be a witch. The iron bells hadn’t rung like they would if it had been a fae monster, and he couldn’t think of anything else capable of casting spells like that. To his knowledge, there hadn’t been an active witch in Balavata since the two sister witches sixteen years ago. Marielle had become the blood wraith; the other had helped them trap the wraith in the Wilds and had then disappeared before the new law banning the use of magic could be used against her.
Had she come back? But if she had, why now? And why use harmful spells when she’d been instrumental in stopping her sister?
The truth was that Balavata was a healthy mix of people and cultures. Their port was busy, their borders active, their cities growing. Any number of witches could be living within the kingdom, and unless they chose to actively do magic in front of people, no one would ever know it.