Frozen Tides (Falling Kingdoms #4)(70)

“It’s beautiful,” Lucia acknowledged.

The woman took the scarf and draped it around Lucia’s shoulders. “I knew it. This was made for you. You were meant to have it, no one else.”

The sumptuous material alone was worth far more than any quickly sketched portrait, let alone the time and skill that went into the tailoring and intricate embroidery. She reached into her bag of coins. “How much is it?” she asked. “Fair warning, I have only limmeas with me.”

The vendor nodded. “Two silver limmeas, then.”

Lucia’s brows shot up. “So little?”

“It would be my pleasure to know my creation will be worn and appreciated by a lovely girl like you.”

Lucia handed the woman three gold coins instead. “Take these and know I will wear it with pride.”

All the old woman could do was stare after her, a gleam of delighted surprise shining in her eyes, as Lucia continued on in her new purchase.

Next, she lingered at a busy stall displaying beaded tunics, all of them far too eye-catching and colorful for anyone in Limeros to wear in public. Still, she found herself drawn to one in particular, soft and tailored to look like a hawk’s silhouette, and ran her fingers along the seam.

Someone bumped into her, and she turned to see a handsome young man with wide shoulders and sparkling eyes. “Oh, apologies,” he said.

She tried to ignore him, turning back to the hawk tunic.

“Lovely shirt,” he said. “Don’t you think? A bit too Auranian for my tastes, though.”

“I don’t much feel like conversation today. You can be on your way.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a beautiful day . . . not as beautiful as you, of course.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Very well, as you wish. But before I go, I need something from you.”

She turned to glare at his smiling face. “What?”

He nodded at her drawstring purse. “That.”

She sighed, feeling sorry for the aspiring thief who chose to bother with her today. “You definitely need to—”

But before she could finish, the man yanked the purse right out of her hand with nearly painful force. She gasped, and he covered her face with his hand and shoved her backward, sending her crashing into the tunic stall.

Then a familiar shroud of darkness descended over her.

She looked up to see the sky quickly clouding over as she rose to her feet, then scanned the crowd for the thief, ready to light him on fire and watch him burn.

He thought he could steal from her?

He would never steal from anyone else ever again.

She had him clearly in her sights, but before she could unleash her magic, the thief tripped and fell, hard, to the ground. Lucia rushed over and joined the crowd forming around him.

A young man wearing a black eye patch stood over the thief, the sole of his boot pressing against the man’s chest. “You know,” he said, leaning over to snatch the purse from the thief’s grip, “you’re the sort of scum who gives all of us Paelsians a bad reputation.”

Lucia’s purse in hand, the young man lifted his boot from the thief’s chest.

“You should learn to mind your own business,” the thief growled as he scrambled to his feet.

“I’ve always been terrible at that. Now go. Before I change my mind.” He removed a dagger with a jeweled hilt from a sheath on his waist and showily spun it around on his hand.

The thief took one brief look at the knife before running off in the other direction.

Lightning crackled in the darkening skies.

The young man with the eye patch looked up then brought his gaze down to Lucia, who drew closer to him. “Seems we’re due for a storm,” he said to her. “You can never tell here in Paelsia. They always come upon us without warning, as if by magic.”

He was young, not much older than her, with dark hair like Magnus’s, though much shorter than her brother’s. His skin was deeply tanned, and his visible eye was a cinnamon shade of brown.

“Are you all right?” he asked, frowning at her silence.

The darkness within her continued to swell, still craving a release.

“Here.” He handed her the drawstring purse, and she hesitated only a moment before taking it from him and tucking it beneath her cloak.

“I suppose you want a reward,” she said.

“Of course not. Assisting a lovely young lady such as yourself is reward enough.” He gave her a toothsome grin.

And then it hit her like a thunderbolt. She knew exactly who he was.

“You’re Jonas Agallon.”

He blinked. “Sorry, what—?”

“You’re Jonas Agallon. The rebel leader wanted for the murder of Queen Althea.” She’d seen his wanted posters, heard rumors about his crimes, though she couldn’t recall ever seeing him in person before. Surely, she would have remembered. “Apologies, but your disguise is a disgrace.”

“Oh, you mean this?” He pointed at his eye patch. “An accident involving a pitchfork. Very gruesome. And sorry to disappoint, but I’m not this Jonas Agallon person.”

His attempts at denial were very nearly comical. “Don’t worry, I won’t turn you in. I’m grateful for all you’ve done in your fight against the king. Why did you stop?”