AMARA
KRAESHIA
Emperor Cortas kept the king waiting two full days before he agreed to receive him. The thought of how insulted King Gaius must have been by that snub brought Amara quite a bit of amusement.
Amara’s grandmother had told her that the men were meeting for a private feast in the banquet hall. The princess hadn’t been invited, but that didn’t stop her from going.
As Amara breezed into the room, her head held high, she felt the disapproving gaze of Dastan. Due to his nearly exact resemblance to Ashur, Amara had been avoiding her eldest brother ever since his return from sea, and Dastan hadn’t gone out of his way to find her, either.
Elan, as always, stayed close to his father’s side, as if the emperor had developed an Elan-shaped tumor.
Seeing Amara, the emperor narrowed his pale eyes at her uninvited presence. But before he could say a word about it, King Gaius entered the room flanked by his bodyguards, both dressed as finely as any nobleman.
A smile parted the emperor’s lips, and his fine silk robes swished as he approached the king. “Ah, Gaius Damora. Finally, we’re able to meet.”
The king pressed his right hand against his heart and bowed shallowly from the waist—the traditional Kraeshian greeting. Amara was mildly impressed that he’d learned this custom. “Emperor Cortas, this is a pleasure beyond words. Your Jewel is just that . . . a precious treasure unlike any I’ve ever seen before. Stunning. I can see why it’s reputed to be the most beautiful place in the known world, without competition.”
“I hope it’s not too vain of me to agree with you.”
The emperor had prepared a table laden with Kraeshian delicacies. Vibrantly colorful fruits and vegetables grown right there in the Jewel, served with fresh kintha herbs and rich saffra oils. The Kraeshian diet eschewed all meat except for fish, and today there seemed to be no species unaccounted for—smoked salmus, red prawns, shelled lobrarus, to name but a few. An artful spread of sweets was arranged on a separate table, including indigo-berry tarts and sugar-cakes of the most intricate details and designs, and all nearly too beautiful to eat.
Amara watched the king with careful curiosity. Every gesture, every word, every sneaking glance. She had to admit his little act was quite convincing. If she didn’t already know what a conniving snake he was, she’d believe he was actually enjoying the company around him. His words were smooth, his demeanor charming and polite, and he was handsome and charismatic.
Very unlike what one would expect of a man who’d earned the nickname of the King of Blood.
Amara drew closer to him, pretending to admire the dining table so she could listen in on his conversation with her father.
“These are my sons,” the emperor said, placing a hand on Dastan’s shoulder. “Dastan, my firstborn, undefeated in every battle he’d ever commanded . . .”
“Yes, of course. We speak of this young man’s fine reputation all the way back in Mytica. Congratulations on your recent acquisition of Castoria,” the king said.
o;Are we done here?” Lucia snapped, trying her hardest not to think of anything truthful, lest Timotheus use it against her. “I’m getting very bored.”
“You think this armor you’ve created will protect you, but it’s only a distraction. Beneath it you’re still the same spoiled and selfish girl you’ve always been.”
Her mouth dropped open. If she could summon even a fraction of her magic, he would be engulfed in flames by now.
“Kyan’s right,” she snarled. “You are just like Melenia. And you deserve to be destroyed every bit as much as she did. Although, I suppose your death won’t come as a surprise to you, will it?”
“Do you think I was surprised by Melenia’s death, child?”
“Stop calling me ‘child,’” she said through gritted teeth.
“I saw her death,” he said, tapping his temple. “I saw it nearly seventeen years ago.”
“You ‘saw’ it?” She frowned. “You’re able to see the future, too?”
“On occasion.”
Lucia couldn’t wait to get away from this monster and return to Kyan, but now she found herself quite curious. The more she learned about him, the more power she’d have when they finally met in the flesh.
“Do all Watchers have prophetic abilities like yours?” she asked. “Melenia had my father believing she could see his future, and how powerful he’d become if he listened to her. However, she didn’t see her own fate.”
“Melenia didn’t possess the sight. If she had, she would have been a very different Watcher.”
“So you’re the lucky one, are you?”
“Lucky?” Again, he didn’t smile. His expression remained plaintive as he regarded her with those ancient golden eyes, set perfectly in his young golden face. “When Eva’s magic was stolen from her, I became the heir to her visions. So yes, I am the only one in the Sanctuary lucky enough to see all possible futures, to have them tearing through my mind constantly and unbidden.”