Every day since, the queen had visited her daughter’s bedside to check on her, looking for the signs that she would soon awaken. She secretly met with the witch under the protection of darkness every seven days to receive another dose of the potion—knowing full well that three more had to give their lives to buy another week.
Althea had lied to Magnus and to Lucia. The girl had not wakened again since the very beginning. But when she’d found him with Lucia, she knew it was important to plant a seed in her son’s mind. Magnus hadn’t taken the news that his sister had fallen unconscious once again well, but he couldn’t claim to be surprised it happened.
The grief etched into her son’s features alarmed even the queen. The boy was normally so controlled, so restrained. Lucia’s condition had stripped that away. Althea supposed she should feel guilt, but she didn’t. All she felt was certainty that what she did was justified. Was essential. More important than anything else.
The queen had assigned the witch the task of finding the sorceress’s ring, but the woman had had no luck in locating it.
If they didn’t find it soon . . .
There would be no choice but to quietly end Lucia’s life. This would effectively put a stop to Gaius’s plans. It would stop a monster. And it would prove to Althea that she’d finally exerted true strength of will against a husband who believed she had none at all.
This added a drizzle of sweetness to an otherwise bitter decision.
The witch stood up from her seat on the bench in the public gardens, her gray cloak masking her identity perfectly. The shadows of the night wrapped themselves around her like a second skin. The queen scanned the area to see if there were any witnesses, any guards patrolling the area.
There were none. She breathed a slow sigh of relief.
“The potion’s hold is weakening,” Althea said, her voice hushed. “I’ll need it more often. But she’s asleep again and, for now, that’s all that matters.”
The witch reached into the folds of her cloak.
The queen drew closer. “You will be well rewarded, I promise. I’m very grateful for all you’ve done so far. You should know, I’ve come to consider you a valued friend.”
To her right she glimpsed the outline of a body on the ground.
Her gaze snapped back to the cloaked figure before her.
“Who are—?” she began, but got no further.
The sharp tip of a dagger sank into her chest. She gasped out in pain as her assailant twisted the knife. A cry died in her throat and she fell to the ground.
The taste of failure and of death. Both so very bitter. Without the love of a mother, Lucia’s destiny was now set.
“I’m sorry, my daughter,” she whispered with her last breath.
Above her, the cloaked figure turned away and swiftly moved back in the direction of the palace.
Chapter 17
MAGNUS
AURANOS
Magnus tossed and turned all night. His dreams were plagued with images of Lucia crying and begging for him to save her from shadows that moved toward her like clawed hands. He finally reached her and pulled her into his arms.
“I love you,” he whispered. “And I will never let anything hurt you.”
He slid his fingers through long silky hair, which unexpectedly changed from ebony to pale gold.
He woke, lurching himself up to a sitting position, coated in sweat. It was dawn.
“Enough,” he mumbled. Enough of nightmares. They arrived so regularly of late that he should be used to them by now. Each horrible dream seemed to revolve around the loss of Lucia. His continued obsession with his adopted sister was driving him insane.
He needed to leave the palace, to clear his head. It had become a prison for him these last few weeks. He rose and dressed hurriedly in riding clothes before making his way to the stables. There, he saddled a black stallion the stablehand warned him had a fierce and untamed reputation. But he wanted a horse that would give him a challenge—anything to take his mind off his troubles. He set out on horseback alone.
Magnus rode hard for hours, far out into the green countryside of Auranos. By midday he had reached an isolated stretch of hills known as Lesturne Valley. He continued west until he arrived at the coastline just south of Hawk’s Brow and dismounted so he could stand at the edge of the shore and look out at the Silver Sea. The ocean was calm and blue, its waves lapping gently at his feet. It was the same body of water, but here it was so different than the gray, rough waters the castle in Limeros overlooked from on top of its cliff.
How long would he be forced to remain in this land? If Cleo was dead . . . that would certainly end the betrothal and then he could perhaps return to Limeros. Even still, he could summon no joy from the thought of the princess’s death. She hadn’t asked for this fate any more than Amia or Mira had.