Claiming the Prince: Book One (48 page)

“I remember,” Kaelan said. “He calls me Cat, and I call him Uncle Two-Toes.”

“And why?” Flor prompted.

“Because I scaled the west tower of his manor following a cat along a ledge, and when he ordered me down, I landed on his toes and broke two of them.”

“And?”

“I healed them. It was the first time I’d healed anyone.”

“Very good,” she said. “When you see him, embrace him tightly and seem overcome. He was quite fond of you. Apologize for making him suffer your loss, but make clear that it was the Radiant’s wish and you could not refuse her.”

“How will I know him?” he asked.

“I’m sorry to say I haven’t seen him in many years,” she replied. “When we exit, you will go first, then step to the side and offer your hand to Magda, and then to me. You will follow behind us, but never more than two steps. Always to Magda’s right. I will greet the elders first, then Magda. I will do my best to draw your attention to Toryn as soon as possible.”

Kaelan frowned. “I’ll be happier when all of this deception is done.”

“Then you may as well flee the Lands now, my boy,” Flor said. “Here, the deceptions are never done.”

The carriage rocked to a halt.

Magda’s stomach hardened like molten ore plunged into tempering waters.

“And so it begins,” Flor said softly.

The coachman opened the door. Beyond, a line of seven elders waited in a garden courtyard. Kaelan disembarked first.

Flor grabbed Magda’s arm, squeezing. “Now is your time, Magdalena. Seize it.”

She gave Flor a curt nod, not because she agreed, but because it was what Flor seemed to expect. From this moment onward, she would do what was expected.

Once, she had considered herself quite adept at sussing out the motivations of various players in any given room, but it had been so easy to leave it behind when she’d gone into exile. Freeing.

She stepped out of the carriage and surveyed the line of elders, faces she knew, though they had been etched and steeled with age. In that moment, she saw the Spire and the districts within for what they were—dungeons. A jail in which there were no guards, only prisoners.

The gateyard was closed on all sides, by the wall to the east, the stables to the north, the guard barracks to the south, and the ivy-covered garden wall to the west, which was shared with the compound proper.

She stepped aside to allow Flor to approach. The elders watched her with expressions that she read little into.

Flor greeted each of the elders in turn, making a point of grasping the stony-faced man with the pale eyes and hawkish brow with both of her hands. This was Toryn. Magda had vague recollections of him as being a jovial fellow, in spite of the august air he now presented in his slate-gray cloak, his lips thin and ash-hued.

She bowed to each of the elders, down the line. Some she knew better than others. Even their false expressions were subtle, like emotion squeezed from stone.

Then it was Kaelan’s turn. He received a slightly more open inspection. Some of the surprise expressed was surely genuine. When he reached Toryn, he teared up and grasped the man in a hard embrace.

Toryn’s eyes widened and he remained stiff. The other elders murmured to each other.

She stood beside Flor at the end of the line of elders, attempting to keep her face impassive even as she worried for Kaelan. Maybe this had all been a huge mistake. Whatever she needed to do for the Lands, surely it wasn’t worth risking Kaelan’s safety in such a bold way.

But then, Toryn gripped Kaelan hard in return.

“I never thought it possible,” he said, tears breaking into his pale eyes.

Flor wrapped her arm around Magda’s shoulders, sniffling. But Magda knew she wasn’t emotional over the reunion, it was all a ruse.

And so it began.

Through the garden gate was a courtyard as large as one of those football fields in the mortal world. At each end, narrow stone houses glared across the flowering tree tops at each other—four on each side. The main hall, where the round tower sat, was its own compound and stretched the length of the garden, dominating all.

Toryn had taken it upon himself, hand never leaving Kaelan’s shoulder, to guide them to their residence—Southterrace House. Distinguished by the ivy that had been allowed to overtake its exterior, numerous balconies bulged from the leaf-laved façade like buds about to bloom.

Requisition of the houses among the family was always a point of contention and the rules governing which family members could reside where at any given time were so obtuse that Magda recalled her mother complaining vociferously about the matter more than once. Only the Radiant and her retinue were allowed to reside at Stonerise proper. The rest of the family was left to squabble over the remaining residences.

But since Flor had sent word ahead of Magda’s return and intent, arrangements had been made, somehow. She was only glad she hadn’t needed to beg the elders to put them up. If they’d refused, she would’ve had to stay in the district, a much more dangerous proposition, as the thin rules that protected her from overt attack within the family’s residences didn’t apply in the city.

From the windows all around, she could feel the skim weight of gazes following her. Curtains fell when she lifted her eyes to pick out a face from the dim recesses. Others remained right where they were, staring back. Some stepped out to inspect her openly, making no attempt to hide. Guards lined the rooftops, leaning over the edge to look down on her and her retinue.

Damion and Honey caught up with her.

Behind them, the elders lingered, conferring or merely tracking her movement, as though they thought she might attempt to break for another residence.

“Good to be back, huh?” Damion said under his breath. “What next?”

“A reception this evening,” she replied, slowing her pace as they approached the garden gate behind Southterrace House. “Find out where Lavana is and if she’ll be attending.”

“My pleasure.” Damion veered off before they stepped through the leaf-covered entrance. Beyond, a pool burbled with clear green water. Past that stretched a series of wide terraces, dotted with broad stone planters, padded chairs, and candle-lit tables.

Magda glanced over at Hero, but he seemed to be snoozing.

“Honey,” she said. “Flor explained to you—”

Honey gazed at her placidly with those haunted eyes. “Yes. She explained everything. I will do as instructed, of course.”

She stopped in the middle of the bridge spanning the pool. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Her tongue flitted over her bare gum. The urge to say something, apologize, pushed against the back of her lips, but this was neither the time nor the place. Instead, she turned and started towards the house again.

“It’s all right, you know?” Honey said softly from behind her. “I knew it would never last.”

Before Magda could respond, Honey drifted by, up the steps to the house where Flor, Kaelan, and Toryn had already entered.

As the nymph disappeared through the open glass doors, Hero leapt down and hurried back to Magda, racing up her leg and onto her shoulder.

“Hello,” Magda said. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back to me.”

“
I was having trouble making sense of what I was experiencing with the nymph. I did not wish to return to you until I had a better idea
.”

“And?” She leaned upon the stone railing of the bridge, peering down into the glassy green water.

“
And there are voices speaking to her
.”

“You can hear them?”

“
Yes. But there is something odd about them
.”

Flor appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips, toe tapping, scowling out at Magda.

“What?” she murmured to Hero.

“
At first they seem to be different voices. But I believe that they are, in fact, the same voice
.”

“What makes you think that?” she asked.

“
When Honey speaks to Caden as opposed to Rahul’s dead wife, a difference should be distinguishable. Certainly one is deeper than the other, but as I have listened, I am now certain that the voices are actually one voice pitching itself higher and lower—in imitation.
”

“So what does that mean?” She crouched as if she needed to check the buckles of her boots. “She’s not actually talking to the dead?”

“
Someone is talking to her,
” he said, “
but I cannot tell you if they are dead or not
.”

“Magdalena!” Flor called. “What are you doing?”

She stood, scratching Hero’s head. “Thank you.”

“
Would you like me to rejoin her and continue listening?
”

“Yes. Please.” She picked him up, kissed him between the ears, and then set him down again.

He raced up the terrace. Flor frowned down at him.

“I had better warn the staff not to send the cats after your rat,” she said.

Magda joined her on the terrace. “Better just tell them to put the cats out of the house.”

Flor’s plum-hued lips pursed as she nodded.

Her heart panged looking at Flor, who had been revived by Honey’s supposed communication with Caden.

If Honey wasn’t speaking to the dead, if she wasn’t speaking to Caden, then who was she speaking to? And how did they know so much about the lives of those deceased loved ones they mimicked? More importantly, why were they using Honey, what did they really want?

“Fix your face, dear,” Flor murmured. “You look unhappy.”

She recomposed her expression. “Sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

Flor patted her on the cheek. “What did those humans do to you?”

K
AELAN CIRCLED THE ROOM,
running his fingers along the dark wood furniture, gazing at the bronze sconces and cut-crystal globes, drawing back the shimmery gray curtains to peer out over the balcony and the wall beyond.

His feet fell heavily on the wood floors, polished to a glass-like shine, as he prowled.

Magda dropped onto the silken bed clothes covering the grand four-poster bed, staring into the cold shadows of the fireplace.

“There’s only one bed,” he said. “Maybe you want to tie me to this chair while you sleep.”

He leaned his forearms upon the high-back chair, upholstered in dark purple. The whole room, though well-lit and huge, with high ceilings and pale violet-hued walls, felt too-close, confining.

“Are you ever going to drop it?” she asked, unfastening her greaves and then her boots, kicking them off.

He sank down into the chair. “Now what?”

“Now we get ready for the party,” she said. “Your
mother
is sending my letter of intent to the Crown. Hopefully, we’ll hear back soon.”

“Can we talk here?” he asked.

She shook her head firmly. Any number of magics could have been performed on the room to eavesdrop on them, but she said, “Of course.”

He slumped back in the chair. “I don’t see anywhere for you to train.”

“I could train in the field,” she said, raising her eyebrows in a way that she hoped he understood. The last thing they needed was the family to see how terribly out-of-practice she was.

He picked listlessly at his fine, fitted trousers. “I’m worried for you.”

She shot him a stern look as she loosened her vambraces. “What’s to worry about? The Crown will see I have the better claim and name me Radiant.”

“Or else you will meet Lavana and kill her, of course,” he said, his tone strong, but his eyes troubled.

“Of course,” she said, sliding off the bronze vambraces from her forearms, over her daggers. She met his gaze, attempting to impart to him that worrying wasn’t going to help.

He slid forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s only that . . . I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

While it would’ve been easy to slough off his remark as part of the play they were being forced to take part in, the expression on his face told her that his concern was genuine.

“I know,” she said, unbuckling her pauldrons. She stood. “Come help me.”

He joined her at the foot of the bed, lifting her pauldrons away and then her breast and back plates. As he placed them on the bed, she stretched her neck.