Ashur casually ran his hand along the base of the marble banister. “There was a young man seen summoning fire magic in the forest where the recent rebel battle took place. I believe there was a rather large wildfire during that attack, yes?”
“There was.” Magnus felt no need to lie; Ashur could have learned this information from many different sources. “The fire killed many. I don’t know how it started.”
Ashur crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “By all reports the flames were supernatural in origin—elemental, in fact. A touch of this fire could turn a man’s flesh to crystal that could shatter with a single touch.”
Magnus’s gut twisted as he remembered the strange fire that had licked at his ankles as he emerged from the tent after Jonas Agallon’s escape. He’d seen its effects. He’d been having nightmares about it for days.
“How odd.” Magnus shook his head. “But it sounds like all you’ve heard are peasants’ rumors. The same goes for this . . . what did you call him? A being of fire?”
Ashur turned his attention to a mahogany table across the foyer carved with a fine pattern of flower petals. On top of it was a vase filled with fresh flowers, which Ashur now studied with a botanist’s interest. “This person murdered a guard whose associate says they first thought the young man was an escaped slave. But then he noticed that the fire symbol had been burned into his hand, and that his eyes turned from amber to blue with a strange light. With a mere glance, he burned his victim to death with the crystallizing flame.”
Magnus realized he’d stopped breathing. Amber was the crystal commonly associated with the fire Kindred. “What are you saying?”
Ashur spread his hands. “I’m not sure, really. I wanted your take. I thought you might know something.” Ashur studied Magnus from head to toe, seemingly unimpressed. “I see I was wrong. Pity.”
Magnus’s hackles rose. “I would caution you not to take rumors or gossip as truth. Especially rumors and gossip repeated by someone as unreliable as a guard or a servant.”
“I’m not surprised you say that, given a few other rumors I’ve heard around the palace.” Ashur smiled, an exact replica of sincerity, which made Magnus envy his ability to pour on charm while speaking such unpleasant words. It reminded him of his father.
“Other rumors?” Magnus asked. “Such as?”
“Nothing worth mentioning.”
Just then Amara descended the stairs, thankfully interrupting them. “Are you two going to stay down here all day? Or will you explore with me?”
“Exploring sounds like an excellent idea,” Magnus said, offering her his arm as she reached the last step. He felt the irresistible need to put an end to his conversation with the prince. “Let’s take a look at the gardens. I’ve been told they rival the beauty of the palace’s.”
“Yes, let’s. Ashur?”
The prince waved. “Go on ahead. I’ll join you shortly.”
With Princess Amara’s handmaiden trailing a discreet distance behind them, Magnus and Amara went outside to the gardens, which were as beautiful as rumor had promised.
It was obvious that this was not merely a grand home that had been built for nobles. This was a home filled with love—love that had been lavished on every inch, every piece of furniture, every colorful tile or marble surface. The private gardens were vast, ending at a stone wall two hundred paces from the villa. Every color of the rainbow was accounted for in the roses, violets, hydrangeas; the apple, pear, and olive trees. It smelled like life itself out here—sweet and vibrant.
After a moment, however, the sweetness faded and was replaced by a more unpleasant scent. Not yet offensive, but somewhat . . . wrong. Perhaps it was only Magnus’s imagination.
But he thought he smelled the acrid scent of something stolen. Much like everything the king claimed as his.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Amara gushed. “I only wish that it was closer to the palace.”
As stunning as the villa was, the king didn’t choose it for its beauty. He wanted to keep the Kraeshians at a safe distance.
“Transportation will be provided for you and your guards so you can visit as often as you wish. You and your brother are welcome at any time.”
Amara was much more welcome than Ashur, in Magnus’s opinion. Despite his father’s suspicions about the prince’s motives, Ashur’s questions had blindsided Magnus. They had pulled him back to that deadly battle against the rebels and Jonas Agallon himself. He remembered the strange fire, and the beautiful Watcher who’d perished in a flash of light at Xanthus’s hands, but not before she’d told Magnus how to help Lucia:
“There is a ring that was forged in the Sanctuary from the purest magic to help the original sorceress control the Kindred and her own elementia. This ring is closer that you might expect.”
Perhaps she had only been playing with him, distracting him to allow Jonas the chance to escape.
And now to hear rumors of a being of fire roaming the countryside . . .
“Your grace.” Amara touched his arm. “Are you still with me?”
Magnus tried to push the cobwebs from his head and focus on the girl before him. “Apologies. I don’t mean to be rude. I was just thinking of your brother. He’s very curious about local legends.”
She groaned. “He’s going on about the Kindred again, isn’t he? It’s been a hobby of his for years, learning all about magic. I’ve always thought it was a waste of valuable time.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless, of course, it turns out to be true.”