“Tell me these futures and perhaps I’ll understand you better!” The words tore from her throat. “If you want me to do the right thing so desperately that you insist on pulling me into these dreams, then tell me what the consequences are!”
But Timotheus didn’t reply. Instead, the meadow faded away to darkness.
Lucia opened her eyes and found herself tucked into her bed at the inn.
“Many versions of my future . . .” she whispered aloud.
Suddenly, a violent wave of nausea hit her. She ran to the chamber pot, and barely made it there before she threw up. This was the third morning in a row that this had happened, and she knew this sickness had likely contributed to her weakening magic.
She hadn’t felt this lousy in . . . well, ever.
And she hated feeling weak.
“Stupid Timotheus.” She sat there, on the floor of her small room, and pulled her knees up against her chest, rocking herself back and forth. As she waited for the next wave of nausea to pass she remembered what the immortal had told her about the original sorceress.
Despite her vast power, despite her immortality, Eva’s magic had faded when a half-mortal child grew within her.
Lucia thought her magic, too, appeared to be fading.
She drew in a sudden, sharp breath and held it for so long that she began to feel dizzy.
“Oh, goddess,” she whispered. “I’m pregnant.”
CHAPTER 26
CLEO
LIMEROS
Ever since Jonas and Nic had left for Kraeshia, Cleo had been paying extra attention in her archery lessons. But still her skills did not improve.
Between her disappointment in herself and Lord Kurtis’s increasingly insufferable and constant need to malign Magnus and the sorry state of Limeros now that he was no longer in charge, her patience had finally worn out.
So this morning, after a particularly frustrating hour of missed targets and Lord Kurtis’s whining, she quit.
Cleo returned to her chambers, flinging off her gloves and cloak, and sat down on the edge of her bed. From there she could see herself in the vanity mirror.
“What am I still doing here?” she asked her reflection.
Nerissa had gently asked her that very same question only yesterday.
She didn’t have an acceptable answer then, and she found she still didn’t have one today, not even for herself. What was her purpose in this cold, stark palace? It wasn’t as if she would lose her royal position if she were to leave.
All she was doing here was wasting time, waiting and waiting. . . .
Enough waiting.
She was deeply saddened to learn that Eirene, the exiled Watcher, had died, but she was not at all surprised—Eirene had been very old when Cleo had seen her last.
And all it meant was that now Cleo would have to find another exiled Watcher, and get the answers for herself.
She went to the window and lifted up a loose stone on the sill, under which she’d hidden the obsidian orb.
But the nook beneath was empty.
She blinked, the sight of the shadowy hollow still not fully registering. Of course the Kindred should be there; she hadn’t moved it. She turned in a circle, scanning the room, trying to see if something had changed.
“No. It was here.” She looked under the sill again, but there was no black orb to be found.