Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms 1)

“Magic?”

“I believe so.”

“Who is she? Where is she?”

Ioannes hesitated. Despite his agreement with the others, he was duty bound to tell the elders what they wished to know—and he trusted Timotheus. But something about this felt fragile, like a small seedling that hadn’t yet taken root. If he was wrong, it would make him look a fool to raise an alarm. But if he was right, then the girl was incredibly precious and had to be treated gently.

“Leave it to me to learn more,” Ioannes said instead. “I will keep watch over her and report back anything I see. This means I must abandon my search for the Kindred.”

“The others will focus on that.” Timotheus’s brow raised. “Yes, keep watch over this girl whose identity you wish to protect from me.”

Ioannes looked at him sharply. “I know you mean her no harm. Why would I wish to protect her from you?”

“This is a good question.” A small smile touched the elder’s lips. “Do you wish to leave the Sanctuary entirely to go to her side or continue to watch from afar?”

Ioannes knew several who had become deeply enamored with the world of mortals and with those they watched, but to leave the Sanctuary meant one could never return.

“I’ll stay right where I am,” he said. “Why would I wish for anything other than to be here?”

“That is what your sister once said.”

His heart gave a sharp twist. “She made a mistake.”

“Perhaps. Do you ever visit her?”

“No. She made her choice. I don’t need to witness the result. I prefer to remember her as she was—young forever. She would be an old woman now, fading away just as the land she loved more than this one fades away with only her precious seeds to keep her company.”

With that, Ioannes laid his head back against the soft, warm grass, closed his eyes, and transformed, returning by air to the cold and unforgiving world of mortals.

o;Magnus, my sweet boy.” A smile spread across her face. Her dark eyes, lined in black kohl, remained distrustful as if she’d guessed he’d been listening.

“Sabina.”

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself at the banquet?”

“Oh, you know me,” he replied dryly. “I always enjoy myself.”

Her lips curved as her eyes moved over his face. He felt an unpleasant tingle in the scar that traced his cheekbone. “Of course you do.”

“If you’ll excuse me. I’m retiring for the evening to my chambers.” She didn’t move, and his eyes narrowed. “Go on, now. Wouldn’t want to keep my father waiting.”

“No, wouldn’t want that. He hates to be disappointed.”

He gave her a cold smile. “He does indeed.”

Since she showed no signs of moving, Magnus turned from her and began walking leisurely down the hall. He felt her gaze hot on his back.

The conversation he’d overheard echoed in his ears. His father and Sabina had made no sense at all. He’d heard talk of magic and prophesies. And all of it sounded dangerous. What secret did the king and Sabina know about Lucia? What awakening did they speak of? Was it just a silly joke they’d made up to amuse themselves on the event of her birthday? If they’d sounded remotely amused, he might give weight to this theory. But they had not. They sounded tense and concerned and angry.

The same emotions swelled within Magnus’s chest. He cared for nothing in the world except Lucia. While the depth of his true feelings could never be revealed, he would do everything he could to protect her from those with the potential to do her harm. And now he put his father, the king—the coldest, deadliest, and most dangerous man he’d ever known—firmly in that category.

Ioannes opened his eyes and took a deep breath of the sweet, warm air. The sun-warmed green grass worked well as his bed, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position. It took him a moment to come back fully into his own body since he’d been traveling without it for quite some time.

He looked down at his hands—skin had replaced feathers. Fingernails had replaced talons. It always took getting used to.

“What did you see?”

Perhaps he would not have as much time as he would like. Ioannes craned his neck to look at the one waiting for his return. Timotheus sat nearby on a carved stone bench, his legs crossed, his flowing white cloaks impeccable as always.