Gathering Darkness (Falling Kingdoms #3)(52)

“Thank the goddess we found each other.” Lucia linked arms with Amara and guided her into an alcove where they found shelter. They watched the swarms of people scatter in all directions as they escaped from the palace square.

Rebels were responsible for this, no question. They’d meant to cause a distraction and rescue their compatriots.

The thought infuriated Lucia.

A boy ran against the crowd, eyeing his surroundings with distaste and suspicion before disappearing into a bakery. Lucia immediately recognized him from the moments just before the blasts—the blond boy with the lit torch, which he still held in his grip like a weapon.

“That boy, he’s the one,” she whispered.

“The one?” Amara repeated. “What do you mean? Who do you mean?”

“The one responsible for the explosions. He must be.” It was a gut instinct more than anything else, but one worth pursuing. She knew it. The boy couldn’t be allowed to escape. He was a murderer and had come very close to killing her family.

Lucia scanned the area for a guard to alert, but there were none close by.

“Come on,” she urged, pulling Amara by her arm. “We can’t let him get away.”

Amara didn’t protest as Lucia led her into the bakery. The place smelled of cinnamon and vanilla; several trays of sugar cookies and pecan tarts had been left, untouched, on the countertop. Lucia scanned the room until her gaze fell upon the boy in the far corner. The light from his torch flickered, illuminating his widening eyes in the dark interior of the shop.

“This is all your fault, isn’t it?” Lucia said sternly.

He met her gaze directly without even a flinch. “You shouldn’t be in here, girl. You’d be smart to leave me alone or you might get burned.”

He didn’t seem the least bit ashamed, nor was he trying to deny her accusation. “Why would you want to hurt so many people?”

He snorted. “Why do you care? You look just fine to me. Not a bit of dirt on your pretty gown. Be gone, both of you. Or else.”

It seemed he didn’t know who she was.

“I care because I don’t like it when innocent people are blown apart simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She stole a quick glance at Amara to make sure she hadn’t frightened her, then drew closer to the boy. “You helped the rebels escape.”

His eyes narrowed, glittering in the firelight. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

Even now that the horror was over, he didn’t seem to want to let go of his torch for a moment.

“Bringing fire into a building like this is dangerous,” Lucia said.

“Then I suggest you stay away from me.”

“He’s rather rude,” Amara observed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You should use your magic on him.”

Lucia’s gaze snapped to her with surprise. “What did you say?”

Amara fixed her with a patient look. “I’ve heard the rumors. There are so many of them about you. My father has heard them as well. In fact, you’re one of the reasons he asked me to come here. You’re King Gaius’s secret weapon, a girl of prophecy and magic.”

Lucia’s first impulse was to lie, to deny Amara’s rumors. But why should she constantly have to deny what she was and what she could do? She knew her father considered the Kraeshians to be his enemies, but that he took solace in the fact that Emperor Cortas would have Lucia’s magic to contend with if he ever chose to attack Mytica.

The king expected so much of her—almost as much as she expected of herself.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the boy said, rolling his eyes. “I have other places to be.” He attempted to dodge and slip between the two princesses, brandishing his torch to show he’d burn them if they got too close.

Casting a dark look at him, Lucia summoned air magic. Suddenly, the boy was slammed backward against the wall and pinned in place, his torch extinguished.

Once again, the magic required barely a thought. Some days it was so very easy for her.

Lucia then extended her hand and summoned a dancing flame into her palm.

“What—?” he managed. “What are you?”

A smile had crept onto Amara’s face. “I knew it. You have magic at your fingertips. It’s incredible.”

Lucia raised an eyebrow, pleased by the stunned reactions such a simple trick could garner. “It certainly can be.” She drew closer to the boy, allowing the hatred she felt toward him to flicker through her and brighten her fire. “Tell me your name.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the flame in her palm. “Petros.”

“You’re a rebel.”

“Not usually. But today I was, I guess.” His eyes reflected her fire. “You’re absolutely amazing. You’re like a goddess—a beautiful goddess.”

His praise pleased her for the briefest of moments. The way he regarded her, as if she was something he should worship. “Am I?”

“Like the goddess Cleiona. The perfect embodiment of fire and air.”

And with the utterance of that name, her pleasure vanished. “Cleiona murdered Valoria, my goddess, trying to steal her magic. How dare you compare me to an evil creature like that?”

He blanched. “Apologies. Please forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”