Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms #2)(59)

CHAPTER 17


MAGNUS



AURANOS



Magnus tossed and turned all night. His dreams were plagued with images of Lucia crying and begging for him to save her from shadows that moved toward her like clawed hands. He finally reached her and pulled her into his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered. “And I will never let anything hurt you.”

He slid his fingers through long silky hair, which unexpectedly changed from ebony to pale gold.

He woke, lurching himself up to a sitting position, coated in sweat. It was dawn.

“Enough,” he mumbled. Enough of nightmares. They arrived so regularly of late that he should be used to them by now. Each horrible dream seemed to revolve around the loss of Lucia. His continued obsession with his adopted sister was driving him insane.

He needed to leave the palace, to clear his head. It had become a prison for him these last few weeks. He rose and dressed hurriedly in riding clothes before making his way to the stables. There, he saddled a black stallion the stablehand warned him had a fierce and untamed reputation. But he wanted a horse that would give him a challenge—anything to take his mind off his troubles. He set out on horseback alone.

Magnus rode hard for hours, far out into the green countryside of Auranos. By midday he had reached an isolated stretch of hills known as Lesturne Valley. He continued west until he arrived at the coastline just south of Hawk’s Brow and dismounted so he could stand at the edge of the shore and look out at the Silver Sea. The ocean was calm and blue, its waves lapping gently at his feet. It was the same body of water, but here it was so different than the gray, rough waters the castle in Limeros overlooked from on top of its cliff.

How long would he be forced to remain in this land? If Cleo was dead . . . that would certainly end the betrothal and then he could perhaps return to Limeros. Even still, he could summon no joy from the thought of the princess’s death. She hadn’t asked for this fate any more than Amia or Mira had.

Irrelevant. Why did he even waste thought on such things he had no control over?

And standing here, staring out at the water, was a pointless waste of time. Plus, his boots were getting wet.

Without further delay, Magnus climbed back on the horse and headed back in the direction of the castle.

By mid-afternoon, he was still a few hours southwest of the City of Gold when he came upon a village and realized he was hungry—starving, actually. After only a moment’s hesitation, he entered the village. He’d chosen to wear a simple black cloak that didn’t easily give away his royal identity. He kept the cowl up over his head, effectively shielding his face. And it seemed to work. From under his cloak he glanced at the villagers milling about the busy little town; no one seemed to recognize him. Very few even glanced in his direction.

It did not surprise him. Only a handful from this kingdom had ever seen the prince up close or away from the side of his more infamous father.

He could work with that.

Magnus tied his horse to a pole outside a busy tavern and entered the dark interior, wasting no time before he approached the barkeep. He ordered cider and a plate of meat and cheese, sliding three pieces of silver across the counter in payment. The barkeep, a man with a thick beard and bushy eyebrows, set to filling his order. While Magnus waited, he looked around. There were two dozen others in the tavern, eating and drinking, laughing, and making conversation.

He tried to remember the last time he’d been among commoners without being recognized. It had been . . . never.

This was new.

When his plate of food arrived, he began to eat. The food was not unpalatable, and, if he were being honest, it was better than that he was used to back home in Limeros.

Or perhaps he was simply hungry today.

When he was halfway finished, a sound cut through the buzz of conversation in the tavern. It was a woman quietly sobbing. He stopped eating and glanced over his shoulder. At a nearby table, a man faced a woman, holding her arms and talking quietly to her, as if comforting her.

One word of their emotional discussion cut through to him apart from all the rest.

“. . . witch . . .”

He froze, then turned back around to face forward. The barkeep moved past and Magnus reached out to grab the man’s arm. “Who is that woman at the table behind me?”

The barkeep glanced over to where Magnus indicated. “Oh, her? That’s Basha.”

“Why does she cry? Do you know?”

“I do. I probably shouldn’t, but I do.”

Magnus now slid a piece of gold across the counter. “Is she a witch?”

The man’s jaw tensed, but his focus was on the piece of gold. “It’s not my business. Nor is it yours.”

The gold was joined by a friend. Two pieces of gold now sat upon the counter next to Magnus’s half-eaten plate of food. “Make it your business.”

The barkeep was silent only for another moment, but then he swept the coins off the counter with one smooth motion. “Basha’s daughter was taken to King Gaius’s dungeon only days ago, accused of witchcraft.”

Magnus fought to keep his face expressionless, but the news that his father had begun arresting witches here in Auranos . . . he’d had no idea. “She’s accused. But is she able to access elementia?”

“That’s not for me to say. You should talk to Basha yourself if you’re so interested.” He produced an open bottle of pale Paelsian wine. “Trust me, this will ease your introduction. It’s the least I can do for my wealthy new friend.”