A Curse of Blood & Stone (Fate & Flame 2)

Zander

“Could she be right?”

Gesine studies the crop of firelight in the distance that marks Norcaster. A hub for the villages that speckle the flatlands between the east and western ridgelines of the Venhorn Mountains, a rustic town with a well-fortified wall and a lord who, according to Theon, talks as though he rules the north and has no use for a king.

“Yes.”

Her frank answer catches me off guard. I scan the activity around us as the camp unfolds, ensuring we are not within earshot of anyone. “About what, exactly?”

“About everything. As the hidden texts from Shadowhelm alluded, the last time Aoife and Malachi walked among us, they did it by assuming the forms of kings and queens already on the throne. I see no reason why Malachi could not possess the physical form of one who walked out of the Nulling instead.”

“And then take the throne as a commoner? An outsider? Would he not be better suited to claiming Atticus’s form?” Or mine? A worry stirs inside. Would mine not be more appealing, given the power that courses through it? His power?

“Perhaps. But do not forget he will also have an army of Nulling creatures and a key caster as his bride.”

I smooth my palm over my mouth to smother the groan. “Of course, there would be another key caster.” One who is far more skilled than ours.

“Romeria will likely have a score to settle, after what Sofie did to her. But this Sofie has been through much. I wonder how she will handle coming this far to rescue her love from the Nulling, only to lose him to Malachi’s aim for a throne?” Gesine ponders this out loud, but I sense she already has an opinion.

“Not well would be my guess.” And an angry key caster is dangerous. “But you speak as though we are opening the nymphaeum door and unleashing this upon Islor, which is not the case. Unless you know something? Have you gained any more insight from your seer?”

Gesine’s face pinches. “She does not remember any of what she said last night. She does not believe me that it even happened. But now you must see the value of a seer beyond simple ramblings. You see why I was so adamant about taking her from Bellcross.”

What I have seen is that Ianca and Gesine were far more than friends. The gentle touches, the flinches of agony that Gesine can’t hide every time she looks at or mentions the other woman. “Perhaps. Though dire warnings delivered in incoherent riddles hold as much risk as they do worth. I cannot have Romeria’s head filled with these distractions.”

She spent the afternoon two rows behind me, flanked by Jarek and Elisaf, her brow furrowed as she gripped her reins. Too many times I felt the urge to fall back and ride alongside her.

Abarrane’s watchful gaze and words of caution kept me in place.

To think I am a king and others are dictating my actions.

“She is smart and already figuring things out on her own. Do you not think it wise to begin sharing the various possibilities for the future as they affect her?”

“Maybe.” I’ve hated skirting questions, deceiving her. “But not yet. We need her attention on learning to wield her affinities, not on the many ways Malachi plans to bring us ruin.”

“I agree, though I cannot promise what happened last night with Ianca will not happen again. You might wish to find Romeria her own sleeping quarters.”

I scan the field where we’ve settled. “They will be pitching tents tonight, to shelter from the coming weather, so she can move to one of them.” Ideally with me in it.

By the tiny smile that curls Gesine’s lips, I suspect the caster is hoping for that. But to what benefit, I can’t be sure. Is it to help keep us together, moving toward one goal—fulfilling this prophecy she is so adamant is true?

There’s no use demanding an answer. I’m well-versed in Mordain’s doublespeak. The answer she’ll give me won’t necessarily be the one I’m asking for. Still, the caster has proven herself reliable, helpful, and skilled. We’ve benefited greatly from having her here.

“Your Highness.” Abarrane marches toward us, a sour expression twisting her face. For once, I don’t think it has anything to do with Gesine’s presence.

“Please keep Romeria focused on her affinities.”

“Of course.” Gesine takes that as her dismissal, rushing away before having to cross paths with the commander.

“No word from Iago and Drakon?” Of all the legionaries, they are the two Abarrane most often sends ahead to scout. Both are accomplished warriors but more importantly, they’re personable. Sometimes a charmed tongue is more effective than a sharp blade.

“Do you see either of them here?”

I don’t scold her for her harsh tone. My question was senseless. The two legionaries knew where to meet us and should have been waiting. “Perhaps they are simply caught up at the tavern.”

“Then they would be idiots. I did not train them to be idiots,” she snaps. “This has Isembert written all over it.”

Again, I forgive her for her mood. She has taught every one of these warriors—many of them as children in my castle sparring square—and she has the same worries now that I have. Theon warned us of Isembert’s suspicion and of the stories of travelers going missing. For the two legionaries to not return to us when they knew time is of the essence …