“He’s rather rude,” Amara observed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You should use your magic on him.”
Lucia’s gaze snapped to her with surprise. “What did you say?”
Amara fixed her with a patient look. “I’ve heard the rumors. There are so many of them about you. My father has heard them as well. In fact, you’re one of the reasons he asked me to come here. You’re King Gaius’s secret weapon, a girl of prophecy and magic.”
Lucia’s first impulse was to lie, to deny Amara’s rumors. But why should she constantly have to deny what she was and what she could do? She knew her father considered the Kraeshians to be his enemies, but that he took solace in the fact that Emperor Cortas would have Lucia’s magic to contend with if he ever chose to attack Mytica.
The king expected so much of her—almost as much as she expected of herself.
“Enough of this nonsense,” the boy said, rolling his eyes. “I have other places to be.” He attempted to dodge and slip between the two princesses, brandishing his torch to show he’d burn them if they got too close.
Casting a dark look at him, Lucia summoned air magic. Suddenly, the boy was slammed backward against the wall and pinned in place, his torch extinguished.
Once again, the magic required barely a thought. Some days it was so very easy for her.
Lucia then extended her hand and summoned a dancing flame into her palm.
“What—?” he managed. “What are you?”
A smile had crept onto Amara’s face. “I knew it. You have magic at your fingertips. It’s incredible.”
Lucia raised an eyebrow, pleased by the stunned reactions such a simple trick could garner. “It certainly can be.” She drew closer to the boy, allowing the hatred she felt toward him to flicker through her and brighten her fire. “Tell me your name.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the flame in her palm. “Petros.”
“You’re a rebel.”
“Not usually. But today I was, I guess.” His eyes reflected her fire. “You’re absolutely amazing. You’re like a goddess—a beautiful goddess.”
His praise pleased her for the briefest of moments. The way he regarded her, as if she was something he should worship. “Am I?”
“Like the goddess Cleiona. The perfect embodiment of fire and air.”
And with the utterance of that name, her pleasure vanished. “Cleiona murdered Valoria, my goddess, trying to steal her magic. How dare you compare me to an evil creature like that?”
He blanched. “Apologies. Please forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”
“Are you going to question him?” Amara said. “Or let him stare adoringly at you all day?”
“A fair point,” she agreed.
Amara looked at her not with awe or fear at her very real magic. Rather, she seemed pleased and impressed.
It was a nice change from the terrified reactions her elementia usually received.
“All I want to know is why,” Lucia said to the boy. “Why would you assist the rebels today? Do you wish to defeat my father for reasons of your own?”
“Your father . . .” Petros’s brows drew together before recognition dawned. “You’re Princess Lucia.”
“Give the boy a prize,” Amara said with a smirk.
“I am,” Lucia said to him. “Now answer me.”
“They asked me to help.”
“Who asked you to help?”
“Jonas Agallon. He wanted to rescue his friends. He saw my fire displays and thought I could help. For me, any chance to work with fire—to watch it rise up and destroy anything in its path. . . . It’s what I love the most. And I can tell you like it too, princess.”