Frozen Tides (20 page)

Kyan smiled and nodded toward the busy market. “I'm sure there are all sort of books over there. Go. Buy whatever pleases you. And I'll see you soon, all right?”

“All right.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and the unexpected gesture made her smile.

Lucia walked to the market in the center of the village, immersing herself into the crowd buzzing around hundreds of vendors selling their wares from colorfully painted stalls and tents. Anything she could have wanted—wine, vegetables, dried meats, beaded jewelry, embroidered gowns, beautiful quilts—was available to buy.

A man seated behind an easel called out to her. “Lovely young lady! Please do me the favor of allowing me to draw you. It would be my pleasure. Only five silver centimos.”

“I have only limmeas.”

“Very well. A portrait for only ten silver limmeas, then.”

“You would ask for twice the price in Limerian currency? That doesn't make any sense. I've used my coins in Paelsia without problem up until now.”

The man spread his hands, as if to suggest he had no control over his prices. “Centimos are accepted everywhere in Mytica without question, but limmeas are not. That is just the way it is. But all right, how about eight silver limmeas?”

“Your work is not worth that price,” she scoffed. She continued on, leaving the foolish artist behind. What a lowly, peasant-like thing to do—bargain with customers to make a sale.

Next she passed a stall strung up with small, skinned animal carcasses hanging. The seller waved at her. “Come, sample my spiced warlag shavings on some freshly baked bread. Or perhaps some chaeva seeds, just the thing to relieve one's dreaded monthly cramps?”

Lucia caught a whiff of the strongly spiced warlag, a common animal native to Paelsia that looked like a cross between a rabbit and a rat. Her stomach lurched.

“No, thank you.” She quickly passed the stall.

Having escaped the vendor and the overpowering warlag odor, she came to a stall adorned with scarves, all hand stitched with elaborate floral patterns. She stopped to run her hand along a pretty blue and violet one.

“Yes, lovely choice. That would go very well with your eyes.” The old vendor smiled, stretching her gaunt, lined face and revealing several missing teeth.

“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?”

The boy glanced up at the sky again. “Seems the skies are clearing. No storm after all.”

“Very well. Can I ask you a question that perhaps you
will
answer?” Lucia said, her tone free from anger.

“You can certainly try.”

She fixed a steady smile on her lips. “Where is the earth Kindred?”

The stunned look on his face confirmed Lucia's long-running suspicion: Cleo had fed this rebel information about the crystals, allowing him to claim it first.

That lying princess did deserve death.

Lucia was suddenly distracted by the sight of someone striding through the crowd, shoving people out of her way, heading right for Lucia. The strange girl, who had dark, curly hair, and wore a very ugly yellow dress, came to stand next to Jonas. She held a bow and readied it with an arrow, pointing it directly at Lucia's face.

Jonas eyed the girl with alarm. “Put that down, Lys. You're going to hurt somebody.”

“Shut up,” the girl hissed. “Have you completely lost your mind? Do you have any idea who this is?”

Jonas turned away from the wild girl and looked again at Lucia.

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice hard. “She's Princess Lucia Damora.”

JONAS

PAELSIA

B
efore today, Jonas had seen Princess Lucia from a distance on three separate occasions: on a horse, regally riding next to her father and brother into Auranos; at the Temple of Cleiona, just after he'd claimed the earth Kindred; and on the royal dais at Lysandra's scheduled execution.

It had taken him a moment to recognize her, what with her plain frock and her hair worn as loose and free as a Paelsian girl's, but as soon as he saw those piercing blue eyes and their knowing gaze, he was reminded of exactly how unforgettable the beautiful princess was. However, the busy Basilia market was the last place he'd ever have expected to spot her.

Nic and Olivia caught up with them, and now stood next to Jonas and Lys. After Lys drew her bow and arrow, the rest of the crowd had backed away, and now the five of them stood, isolated in the middle of the market, as a hundred vendors and customers looked on with both interest and wariness.

“Be careful, princess,” Nic said to Lucia. “I've seen what Lys can do with that thing.”

“Nicolo, isn't it?” Lucia said. “Of course I remember you. Cleo's little trained pet she keeps around to amuse her. What did you think of the entertainment my friend and I provided during my recent visit to the palace?”

Nic just scoffed, eyeing Lucia with a mixture of hatred and fear. This was a rare moment, seeing Nic at a loss for words. Nic's talent for talking was what had gotten them past the guards manning the gates at the Limerian palace. He'd insisted, as the princess's closest confidant, that he and his friends had every right to leave the grounds to go to Ravencrest to find a gift for Cleo's upcoming birthday. Jonas had been rather impressed when the guards had then readily stepped aside without further questioning.

Lucia sighed, then fearlessly shifted her gaze to face the sharp arrow again. “And you are . . . Lys?”

“Lysandra,” she hissed.

“Lys
andra
, darling, I strongly suggest you stop pointing that weapon at me. It's very rude.”

“Put it down, Lys,” Olivia gritted out through clenched teeth.

“Why should I?” Lysandra snarled. “This is the same snotty royal who looked on, as if watching a puppet show rather than an execution, while my head was about to be chopped off.”

“Ah, yes. Of course,” Lucia said, her tone calm and even somewhat sweet. “I know you. You're the savage little rebel girl who slipped away from the execution stage, as free as a bird. I really must congratulate you. Do you know you're one of a very small group of prisoners who've managed to escape King Gaius's punishment?”

“My, what confidence you have. Even right before I kill you.”

“Confidence is a virtue I lacked in the past. But now I find I'm overflowing with it.” Lucia took her eyes off Lysandra and addressed the rest of Jonas's group. “Now, enough of this. You're
boring our audience. They'd much prefer to see a little action, don't you think? Let's start with some dust.”

Lucia flicked her wrist, and Lysandra's bow and arrow disintegrated into a pile of sawdust and ashes, drawing gasps from the crowd.

“She's a witch!” someone yelled. “An evil witch!” The mass of people rose up in murmurs and yells, and then a rock came hurtling toward Lucia's head.

She held up her hand, palm forward. The rock froze midair, less than a foot from her face. Another flick of her wrist and it, too, was transformed to a fluttering of dust.

“Now,” she said, turning back to Jonas, “about that earth Kindred you stole from me.”

Jonas had heard all about Lucia's visit to Limeros, and he didn't underestimate the sorceress for a moment. “Sorry,” he said, “but I don't have it.”

“Oh, please, Jonas. Do you really think you can fool me so easily? Let's try again.”

“Princess Lucia . . .” he began, but then he was interrupted by a sudden crackling of lightning above. The storm had begun to gather again. A sickening feeling seeped into his stomach. This storm was made from magic, he realized. Summoned by a sorceress who could conjure darkness and evil without even a single crack to her calm, collected exterior.

“Yes, Jonas?” Lucia replied, a menacing smile creeping over her beautiful face.

“You want the earth Kindred?” His mouth was dry, his heart was pounding, but he tried to keep his voice steady and confident.

“Obviously.”

“Then I propose a partnership.”

She raised a brow. “And I propose that you hand over the Kindred before I light you and your friends on fire.”

“All right, all right.” He held up his hands, wracking his mind for the right way to deal with this dangerous girl. “Not the time to consider a partnership. Understood.”

“Trust me on this, rebel. You have no idea what you've stolen.”

“Kill her!” came a shout from the crowd. “The King of Blood's daughter deserves to die!” A chorus of cheers and cries for justice followed, and Jonas turned to scowl at his unwanted and vastly unhelpful audience.

This was all his fault. He'd just
had
to intervene when he saw that thief snatch a bag of coins from a pretty girl.

Good deeds had never served him well.

Jonas looked up again at the roiling storm clouds above. “Princess, listen to me,” he said. “I am not your enemy.”

A roll of thunder rumbled. “
Everyone
is my enemy.”

“I want you to know that I wasn't the one who killed the queen.”

“I'm disappointed to hear that,” she said. “That was the single thing I liked about you before now.”

“Enough talk,” Lysandra growled. “My parents are dead because of your father. Because of your father, my village was enslaved. Because of your father, my brother was executed right in front of me!”

“I am sorry for your loss, Lysandra. Truly. But King Gaius is not my real father. Queen Althea was not my real mother. I hate the Damoras every bit as much as you do.”

Surprised by this sudden admission, Jonas sent a furtive glance at Olivia. Could she help if this got out of control?

Most likely she would only prove herself to be nothing more than a common witch, powerless against a prophesied sorceress with her heart set on vengeance.

But he knew there had to be a way to resolve this without anyone getting hurt.

“If that's true, then I have an excellent suggestion for you,” Jonas said slowly, evenly. “You should become a rebel.”

Amusement flickered in the princess's sky-blue eyes. “And bumble along with the lot of you, failing at every turn? What a brilliant suggestion.”

Jonas ignored the bite in her words. “Well, why not? By joining us you could help bring peace back to Mytica, end the suffering of its people.”

“And how do you think you're going to do all that? By using me and my magic to achieve your goals? Apologies, rebel, but my charitable days are over.”

Jonas had to bite back the snarky, smug responses to this incredibly abrasive girl as they shot through his mind. He took a deep breath. “If King Gaius's daughter were to stand up in defiance against him, everyone all over Mytica will wake up and begin to see through his lies. Not only would even more Auranians and Paelsians band together and rise up against him, but Limerians, too. It's Limeros that's been trapped under his thumb for all these years, and it's those citizens who would benefit most from the demise of his regime. It will be a revolution of both body and spirit, and your magic would have very little to do with it.”

“Jonas,” Nic growled. “Look at her. She's clearly not interested in listening to reason.”

“Now, now, Nicolo, be nice,” Lucia said. “I'm perfectly capable of thinking and answering for myself.” She turned back to Jonas. “You make excellent points, Jonas. But you mistake me for someone who cares about peace or ending the suffering of common citizens. Don't look so surprised. After all, even if I don't share their blood, I
was
raised a Damora.”

Jonas searched her expression for a hint of something soft, something other than vengeance. But all he found was rage, and suddenly he felt pity for her. “What happened to you to make you so angry? So bitter?”

“Perhaps I was born this way.”

Jonas shook his head. “I doubt it. No one is born with such hatred in their hearts.”

“How dare you presume to know anything about me, Jonas Agallon.”

“I know more than you might think, and I have a very reliable gut. You're a good person, princess. You could improve so many lives with your magic. You could change the world. Make it better, brighter, happier. Don't you see that?”

“I don't care about any of that. All I want right now is for you to hand over the earth Kindred.”

Jonas was about to respond when a voice cut through the conversation, interrupting them. “What was that?” A young, fair-haired man approached Lucia, his expression fearless and quizzical. “Did I hear you say something about the earth Kindred?”

Lucia pursed her lips and glanced at him. “I didn't expect you back from your errand so soon.”

“I move quickly.” The man looked at Jonas, his brow furrowed. “Am I to understand that you are in possession of the obsidian orb?”

“Jonas,” Nic whispered in a warning tone. “That's the man who was at the palace with Lucia. He nearly killed Prince Magnus. Say nothing.”

“Let me handle him on my own, Kyan,” Lucia said.

Kyan kept staring at Jonas. “You're wrong,” he said to Lucia, his eyes still on Jonas. “He doesn't have the orb. I know I'd be able to feel its magic if it were really this close.”

“Perhaps not on him, but he did claim it,” Lucia pressed. “Where is it, Jonas?”

“No idea,” Jonas said evenly. “Sorry I couldn't be more help.”

The young man narrowed his eyes, and in a sudden flash of light and heat, a ring of flames shot up from the ground, enclosing them in its circle. Jonas started and heard the crowd beyond the fire scream and scatter, abandoning the market.

Jonas shot a tense glance at his friends. “Olivia, tell me you can do something.”

Her eyes were wide and staring, filled with fear he'd never seen from this brave witch. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “Not now. Not here.”

“What are you talking about?” The heat from the flames grew ever more intense around Jonas.

“It—it's too soon,” she said, clearly stunned and in a daze. “I'm not ready. I'm not strong enough.”

“Do what you can, then!” Jonas urged. “We'll help!” He looked back to Kyan. “
What
are you?”

“You people keep asking me that. You weak, ignorant mortals. Born with so much potential, yet you are always falling short, failing at every turn. Sickening.”

“Kyan . . .” Lucia said, an edge of warning in her voice.

“Except you, little sorceress. You're completely exempt from the failings of the rest of your kind. You are a perfect specimen, an example of what humans
should
be. What they
will
be.”

Jonas glanced nervously at the flames, the hellish cage trapping them there with a sorceress and this man—someone far more dangerous than any simple magic-wielder.

Kyan took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Stay away from Jonas, you freak,” Lys snarled, stepping forward resolutely and fearlessly, then she gave Jonas a sidelong glance. “We can handle this, you and me. We've handled worse.”

Jonas's heart swelled. He suddenly couldn't take his gaze off her, this fierce, stunning warrior who'd stood by him every step of the way. This remarkable girl who'd told him she loved him.

But then his heavy heart ached when he thought of how he'd forgotten all about her the moment he'd seen Cleo, how he'd practically fallen at the golden princess's feet as he'd begged for a kiss.

He'd been too blind to see that he'd already won the greatest treasure of all.

Jonas turned to face Kyan, staring him right in his amber eyes. “You heard Lys. Back off. I don't have your orb, but if I did, I'd happily shove it right up your arse.”

Kyan regarded him with a chilling smile. “You're either exceedingly brave or utterly stupid, boy.”

Jonas eyed Kyan and Lucia in turn. “Enough of this. Go play with your magic somewhere else. I can't help you.” He sent a withering glare to Lucia. “And clearly you can't help me either.”

Kyan continued to stare at Jonas so intently that he thought the man might be trying to read his mind. But then his expression slackened just a touch, and he frowned and cocked his head. “I do sense other magic here,” he said. “Undiluted elemental magic.”

Kyan snapped his gaze to Olivia and in the beat of a hawk's wing, his amber eyes shifted to a vivid shade of blue. “
Watcher
.”

Olivia staggered back a step, shaking her head. “Stay away from me.”

“You dare to oppose me?” Flames rolled down Kyan's arms, billowing with rage as bright as his eyes. “Did you really think you could conceal your true identity? What has Timotheus told you to do? Take me by surprise? Fool me? Trap me?”

Olivia turned to meet Jonas's stunned gaze.

“Is that true?” he asked. “Are you a Watcher?”

“I'm so sorry, Jonas. I can't . . .” Her voice trembled, she continued to shake her head. “Timotheus was wrong to send me.”

The circle of fire blazed brighter, rose higher, as tall as the oldest trees in Mytica.

“You wish to help your elder imprison me?” Kyan snarled. “You will fail, and I will gladly watch you burn.”

Jonas could barely think; the roaring heat was becoming too much to bear. “Olivia, tell me what's going on!” he demanded. “Who is he?”

Olivia's tawny complexion had grown dead and ashen. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I'm not as strong as Phaedra was.”