Frozen Tides (Falling Kingdoms 4)

The girl smiled. “Laelia.”

“I see. And I take it you’re not an actual goddess.”

“That is a matter of opinion.” She smiled and slid a hand up Lucia’s arm as her pet wound closer around its mistress’s body. “For a few more coins I would be happy to make you and your handsome friend feel like a god and goddess tonight. This is a special offer, one I only rarely make, and only to those special souls to whom I take an immediate liking.”

Lucia shot Laelia a sharp, withering look, and the dancer withdrew her hand, as if burned. “Apologies,” she said, clearly frightened. “Perhaps I misinterpreted your intentions. . . .”

“You certainly did.”

“Another time perhaps.” Laelia composed herself, leaning back leisurely in her seat and placing a fresh smile on her red lips. “So. Why, then, did you lure me over to your table with a gift of more coin than I can earn here in a month?”

Kyan remained silent and focused on his meal, letting Lucia take the lead.

“I was told you might know something about a prophecy,” Lucia said.

Laelia’s smile wavered. “A prophecy?”

“Yes,” Lucia said, humoring the girl’s feigned ignorance but growing impatient. “A prophecy about a child said to wield the magic of a sorceress. When this prophecy came to fruition, two witches stole that baby from her cradle and murdered the mother. This happened somewhere in Paelsia, nearly seventeen years ago.”

“What a tragic story,” Laelia said, the skin above her mask now nearly as pale as her cold-blooded companion. “But I’m sorry, I don’t know how I can be helpful to you.”

“How old are you?” Lucia said. The girl was obviously lying. “Nineteen? Twenty? You would’ve been very young at the time, but I imagine a tale like that—of murder and kidnapping all in the same night—would have been passed around Paelsian villages for many years. I know you know the story I speak of.”

Laelia stood up, her breath quickening. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

“Because I’m the child from the prophecy,” Lucia said, her eyes steady on the girl’s.

“What?” Laelia dropped back down in her seat, then stared at Lucia for several moments. “You’re the stolen child?”

Lucia nodded in silence, waiting for Laelia to put together the pieces and say more.

Finally, Laelia spoke again, her voice raspy. “When I was three years old . . . my mother was murdered right after two thieves stole my baby sister from her cradle in the night. My father searched everywhere, but no one knew anything—or else, they chose not to say what they knew. Soon after, he married again, and it was as if he forgot all about it, as if the loss of his daughter and wife no longer mattered to him.” Her expression grew haunted. “But that prophecy . . . it wasn’t about my sister. It was about my father. That’s what he always told us. He believed he was a sorcerer, and that one day he would save Paelsia from its dark curse. He believed that to be true his whole life, right up until the day he died.”

Lucia’s chest tightened with every word Laelia spoke. “Who is . . . who was your father?”

The girl scanned the tavern, as if suddenly afraid they might be overheard. “I try not to talk about him anymore. I don’t want anyone to blame me for all the things he did. That’s why I wear this mask when I dance.”

Lucia squeezed Laelia’s hand, hard, forcing her to snap her eyes back to hers. Eyes, she now realized, that were the exact same color as her own.

“Who was he?” she pressed.

Lines of pained concentration settled into Laelia’s face as Lucia forcibly pressed for the truth with her magic. “The former chieftain of Paelsia. Hugo Basilius.”

A stab of shock sliced through Lucia. She released the girl’s hand.

Chief Basilius. A foolish, ignorant man who taxed his people to death while he lived like a king. Murdered by King Gaius after being tricked into helping him conquer Auranos.

His people had believed he was a sorcerer. They’d believed he was a living god, when he was nothing but a fraud. A selfish, delusional, lying fraud.

Laelia’s snake slithered, wrapping itself tighter around her neck, as if trying to give its mistress a reassuring hug.

“You’re my sister,” Laelia said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lucia stood up. “I must leave. Now.”

Laelia grabbed her hand, stopping her. “No, please. Please stay. We need to speak further. You’re my sister—and you have money. You need to help me.”

Lucia shut her eyes and summoned fire magic to her hand. Laelia gasped and yanked her hand back, her skin red and blistering. “Stay away from me,” Lucia hissed. “I want nothing to do with you.”