Rebel Spring A Falling Kingdoms(16)
You didn’t have to kill her, a little voice said inside of her. The same voice that had tortured her ever since it happened. The memory of Sabina’s lifeless, charred body dropping to the floor flooded through her mind yet again.
“Tell me more, Alexius,” Lucia whispered. “Tell me everything.”
He raked a hand through his bronze hair, his expression growing uncertain. “It was a long time ago that Eva lived. Memories of her grow unclear, even for me.”
“But it was a thousand years ago that she gave the prophecy with her last breath. Didn’t you say that?”
“Yes. The same time the Kindred were lost to us.”
Her breath caught. “You have unclear memories of a sorceress who lived and breathed a thousand years ago. How old are you?”
“I already told you, princess. Old.”
“Yes, but exactly how old?”
He hesitated, but only briefly. “Two thousand years.”
She stared at him in shock. “You’re not old. You’re an ancient relic.”
He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging again at his lips. “And you are sixteen mortal years. A mere child.”
“I’m not a child!”
“You are.”
Lucia groaned with frustration. Such arguments were getting her nowhere, as were thoughts of how it was possible a two-thousand-year-old Watcher could appear so young and attractive—more so than any other boy she’d ever known. She had to focus on gaining more knowledge, more information that could help her. She pointed toward the city. “I want to go there. I want to talk to someone, someone whose memories aren’t unclear about what exactly happened with the last sorceress, who she was, what she did . . . anything!”
“That’s impossible, princess. This is a dream, and like I said, this is only a copy of what is real. And even if it wasn’t, mortals do not enter the Sanctuary, just as Watchers do not leave it, unless in the form of a hawk.”
This might be a real conversation, but it was still within the confines of a dream. What she saw before her had no more weight in reality than a painting or sketch. She thought of Alexius’s hawk form and how he used it to travel to the mortal world to spy on her. It was an unsettling thought that he’d been watching her since she was only a baby.
“It is such a gift to take the form of something that can fly,” she finally said.
“A gift,” he said softly, and something sharp and pained in his voice tugged at her heart. “Or a curse. I suppose it depends entirely on how you look at it.”
She frowned, uncertain about his shift in tone. “You drew me into this dream because you say you can help me. How? Or is that unclear for you too?”
She did not mean to sound petulant, but she couldn’t help it. He hadn’t told her anything helpful, only tantalizing bits of information that had no solid use. Alexius’s face turned to the left, his brow creasing deeply. “Someone is here.”
She looked around. They were alone. “Who?”
Finally, his expression relaxed. “It’s my friend, Phaedra. She means us no harm. She probably wonders where I disappeared to.”
“Another Watcher?”
“Yes, of course. She’s helping with the search for information, part of what we have to—”
The next moment he vanished. One moment he was there, the following he was gone.
Lucia turned around in a circle, alarmed. “Alexius?”
And then the meadow, the Sanctuary, were gone, disappearing like broken glass falling away and leaving only darkness behind.
CHAPTER 5
JONAS
AURANOS
Hawk’s Brow, the largest city in Auranos, was an excellent place to witness the true effect of having the King of Blood on the throne.
It was also a great spot for two rebels to seed some revolution before heading back to their camp in the rough forests of the Wildlands.
“Look at them,” Jonas said to Brion as they moved down the side of the road in the heart of the vibrant business district—shiny taverns, luxurious inns, and shops selling all sorts of wares, from flowers to jewelry to clothing. “Going about business as usual.”
“Auranians are certainly . . .” Brion paused to find the right word. “Adaptable?”
“Gullible’s more like it. It’s sickening.” A boy about their age strode past them and Jonas called out to him. “Do you live here?”
The young man had blond hair. He was dressed in the finest silk, a tunic the color of emeralds and decorated with gold-threaded details.
“I do,” the boy said, frowning as he swept his gaze over the pair’s torn and dusty cloaks. “You’re . . . not from around here, are you?”