Felix shrugged. “To me, girls are meant to be pretty companions, not rebel comrades. They’re good for washing our clothes and preparing meals after a long day.” He flashed Jonas a grin. “And, of course, they’re excellent for warming beds.”
Jonas eyed him with an edge of amusement. “You might want to keep that opinion to yourself when you meet Lysandra.”
“She’s not pretty?”
“Oh, she is. Extremely pretty, in fact. But she’ll hand your arse to you on a rusty platter if you ever ask her to cook your meals or wash your clothes. And especially if you invite her to warm your bed.”
“If she’s as pretty as you say I might try to change her mind.”
Jonas’s grin widened. “Good luck with that. I’ll be sure to bring flowers to your grave.”
Felix laughed. “So, do you think your contact will show?” he asked as they entered the City of Gold. After going on a couple of scouting missions and further confirmation from Nerissa, they learned that security had been ramped up to the highest level ever. Sneaking into the palace would be impossible.
Sneaking into the city, however, was another matter.
“We’ll soon find out,” Jonas replied. To be cautious, they both wore long, hooded cloaks, but, despite the heavy presence of guards—at the gates, stationed in the towers around the city walls, patrolling the streets by foot or on horseback—no one paid much attention to them.
Finally, they reached their destination, and Felix swept his gaze over to the well-traveled cobblestone road. “I’ll patrol out here. If anything feels wrong, I’ll signal you.”
“How are you going to signal me?”
“Trust me, you’ll know.”
Trust me.
So much about Felix reminded Jonas of Brion that trusting him was a gut instinct. It was so easy to pour his soul out over their campfires each night, telling Felix about what had gone wrong, and how Jonas wished he could fix it so everything would turn out the way it was supposed to. Right back to that fateful day when he and his brother, Tomas, had returned to their father’s wine stall to find a lord and a princess from a neighboring kingdom making a purchase.
Life had been hard but wonderfully simple before that day. It wasn’t as if Jonas was fighting to turn back time. No, he didn’t want that. What Paelsians needed the most was truth and freedom. With those two prizes they might be able to find a way to rule themselves. No throne required.
“Hey.” Felix clasped Jonas’s shoulder. “Don’t fret. It’ll be fine.”
“I’m not fretting.”
“If your contact doesn’t arrive soon, though, we’ll have to leave. It’s too dangerous to be this close to the palace, especially with your pretty face plastered up all over the place.”
Jonas had to agree with him there.
He left Felix outside and slipped into the small temple wedged between two populated taverns. A ten-foot-tall marble statue of the goddess Cleiona stood near the entrance. She had long flowing hair, a peaceful yet haughty expression, and the symbols for fire and air—the elements she embodied—etched into her upraised palms. Her robes, despite being carved from marble, were thin and diaphanous and left very little to the imagination.
Those breasts alone are worth worshipping, Jonas thought as he passed the statue.
He pulled the hood of his dark cloak closer around his face as he entered the grand altar room. There were only three other people inside, sitting in pews with their eyes closed.
He took a seat near the back and waited.
There were no temples in Paelsia. No official religion, no deities. However, during his brief visits to Paelsia in recent days, he’d begun to see small clay idols in the deceased Chief Basilius’s likeness. It sickened him, knowing that the chief had been a liar and a thief, selfishly living high and mighty in his compound while his people starved.
Jonas didn’t mourn his loss, not for a single moment.
He waited in the quiet temple, the rhythm of his heartbeat his only way to know much time had passed. Finally, he heard the creak of the main doors opening, followed by footsteps.
“Wait outside,” the new worshipper said firmly to the guard at her side. “I need to be alone with my prayers.”
“Yes, princess.”
Jonas pulled farther back into the shadows and watched Princess Cleo walk up the aisle and across the row of benches facing a large mosaic of the goddess, making her way toward the back of the temple through an archway. He slipped off the bench and, glancing at the entrance to make sure that the guard had left, followed her down a passageway about twenty paces long that led to a smaller room. Hundreds of candles blazed with light on narrow shelves, celebrating and acknowledging the goddess’s fire magic.
Cleo lit a candle and carefully placed it next to the others.