“Apologies for my appearance, daughter,” he said. “You seem to have found me in a shamefully unfortunate state.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself to cry. She didn’t allow it this time, but hot tears still streaked down her cheeks. Her throat was so tight it made it difficult to speak, but she forced the words out. “I’m the one who should apologize. I left you—you and Magnus. I was wrong. And because of my selfishness, so much has happened . . . I can’t fix it all, but I’m going to try to fix as much as I can. Please forgive me.”
“Forgive you? There is nothing to forgive. I’m just thankful you’re alive and well.” His dark brows drew together, and he moved forward as if to take her into his arms, but he froze when his gaze moved toward the small bundle in her arms. “Whose child is this, Lucia?”
Again, a shameful swell of emotion made her words difficult. “My—my daughter. Her name is Lyssa.”
She expected his kind expression to turn harsh, for his lips to thin, for words of strong reprimand for being so careless.
He pushed the soft cloth away from Lyssa’s face and looked down into the face of his granddaughter. “She’s as beautiful as her mother.”
Lucia stared at him. “You’re not angry?”
“Why would I be?” Still, there was a gravity to his words. “She’s Alexius’s child?”
She nodded.
“The daughter of a sorceress and an exiled Watcher,” he mused. “You will need to protect her.”
“With your help, I will,” she replied.
“This was a swift birth. I haven’t seen you in what feels like forever, but it’s only been a matter of months.”
“I visited the Sanctuary,” she said. “Something about being there . . . I’m sure that’s what quickened the process.”
“She’s a newborn.”
She nodded. “Last night.”
He looked at her, shocked. “You seem so well, considering you just gave birth.”
“It wasn’t a normal birth,” Lucia confessed, needing to share this with someone she trusted. And this man—this King of Blood who’d had her stolen from her cradle, who’d raised her as his daughter because of her prophecy—despite his choices, his reputation, his treatment of others, Lucia could not say he had ever been cruel to her. Only kind. Only forgiving.
Gaius Damora was her father. And she loved him.
“What do you mean?” he prompted.
And she explained it to him as best she could—about Timotheus’s prophecy that she would die in childbirth. About finding the magic within herself to survive.
She felt it best not to mention Jonas’s mysterious connections to the Watchers and the magic he’d allowed her to take from him.
Lucia told her father that after a wave of agony in which she’d been certain she would lose consciousness, Lyssa was simply . . . there. Lying on the rain-soaked ground, her eyes glowing bright violet in the darkness.
The same violet as Lucia’s ring.
Her father listened carefully, not interrupting her once.
“Only more proof that Lyssa is very special,” he said. “As special as you are.”
“I agree, she is special.” Something heavy in her chest that she’d been carrying for months finally eased. “Where’s Magnus?” she asked. “Is he in another cell?”
When the king met Lucia’s gaze, she saw pain in his dark eyes.
She drew in a sharp breath. “What happened? Tell me.”
And he did tell her. About finding her grandmother—a woman she’d thought had died a dozen years ago. About her father and brother’s capture by Amara’s soldiers. About Amara’s association with the fire Kindred and the sacrifices she’d placed at the bottom of a nearby pit. About Kyan’s possession of Nicolo Cassian’s body and how the ritual was brought to a sudden halt by her grandmother’s death, but not before the other three Kindred had chosen flesh-and-blood vessels: that of a Watcher Lucia didn’t know, a friend of Jonas’s she didn’t know, and Cleo.
“And Magnus?” she prompted when she could find her breath again.
“Lord Kurtis Cirillo took him away . . . somewhere. There’s a search, I know this. I don’t know anything else because I’ve been locked in this bloody prison. Useless.” There was fury in the king’s gaze now, tempered with regret. “He hates me for all I’ve done, and I don’t blame him. I tried to help him the only way I could . . .” His breath hitched, and he paused, as if trying to find his composure again. “But I fear it wasn’t enough.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him how he thought he could help, but her thoughts were stolen away by the name of a boy from her past. Someone hateful and cruel and without remorse.
Kurtis Cirillo.
Lucia had a sudden memory of coming upon a twitching, dying kitten in the corridors of the Limerian palace. Lord Kurtis had been nearby, snickering at her horrified reaction. She’d had nightmares about that poor kitten for weeks afterward.
Magnus had hated Kurtis, but tolerated him only because he was the son of Lord Gareth, a friend and advisor to the king.
“Where is Kurtis now?” she hissed.
“I don’t know. He hasn’t been located, to my knowledge. All I know is that he had reason to want revenge upon Magnus.”
Everything else she’d heard from the king fell to the background. All of it could wait.
“We need to find him together,” she said.
“I’m Amara’s prisoner.”
“Not anymore.”
She sent air magic at the door, and it blew right off its hinges. Amara had been standing just outside the room with her guard. Her expression filled with alarm as Lucia left the cell with her father beside her.
“The search for my brother?” Lucia asked. “What news is there?”
Amara’s face paled. “Nothing yet, I’m afraid. There is a search party out—thirty, forty men. They may yet find him.”
The empress feared her. They all feared her. The reputation she’d built of not only being a prophesied sorceress but one who had no difficulties slaughtering villages might serve her well for a time.
Lucia could not wait for a search party.
Her magic was still strong enough to blast through gates and doors. Perhaps she could channel it another way.
“I need a private room,” she said. “And something that belonged to Magnus—something I can get a sense of him from.”
With Alexius’s guidance, she had performed a very special location spell to find and awaken the Kindred. She’d heard of common witches who could find people or lost things with their magic, enhanced by blood.
She hadn’t tried this before, but she was a sorceress, not a common witch. Even with her fading and unreliable magic it had to be possible.
Amara didn’t try to stop her or demand that Gaius be put back into his locked cell. She became the perfect hostess, accommodating Lucia’s request in an instant.
“Follow me,” she said.
Lucia handed Lyssa to her father when they reached the room Amara led them to.
“I want to help if I can,” Amara said.
“You can’t help,” Lucia growled. “Get out.”