“I understand,” she whispered. “When will you return?”
Amara waited, but he didn’t respond to her.
She then felt a rustle at her skirts and looked down. A little girl, no more than four or five years old, with jet-black hair and freckles on her tanned cheeks, approached Amara tentatively, holding out a flower to her.
Amara took the flower. “Thank you.”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” the girl asked breathlessly.
“And who do you think I am?”
“The one who’s come here to save us all.”
Amara shared a droll look with Nerissa, who’d returned to her side now wearing the colorful scarf, then smiled down at the child again. “Is that what you think?”
“That’s what my mama tells me, so it must be true. You will kill the evil witch who’s been hurting our friends.”
A woman approached, clearly embarrassed, and took the little girl’s hand. “Forgive us, empress. My daughter doesn’t mean to bother you.”
“It’s no bother,” Amara said. “Your daughter is very brave.”
The woman chuckled. “More like stubborn and foolish.”
Amara shook her head. “No. It is never too early for girls to learn to speak their minds. It’s a habit that will make them braver and stronger as they grow up. Tell me, do you believe as she believes? That I have arrived to save you all?”
The woman’s expression darkened, and her brows drew together with worry and doubt. She looked Amara in the eyes. “My people have suffered for more than a century. We were under the command of a man who tried to fool us into believing he was a sorcerer, who taxed us all so heavily that, even with the great profits from the vineyards, we have been unable to feed ourselves. This land we call home is wasting away beneath our feet, even as we speak. When King Gaius vanquished Basilius and King Corvin, many of us thought that he would help us. But no help has come. Nothing has changed; it has only worsened.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
The woman shook her head. “But then you arrived. That evil sorceress was here, destroying us village by village, but when you came, she disappeared. Your soldiers have been strict but fair. They have weeded out those who oppose them, but those people are no loss to us: Your detractors are the same men who sowed discord in our kingdom in the days after Basilius’s army stopped offering the little protection they once did. So do I believe, as so many here do, that you are the one who has arrived to save us all?” She raised her chin. “Yes, I do.”
After her guards moved Amara past the woman and her daughter to the next area of the market, the woman’s words stayed with her.
“May I make a bold suggestion, your grace?” Mauro asked her, and she spared a glance at the little man who followed her around like a trained dog.
“Of course,” she said. “Unless it’s a suggestion for me to buy lip stain.”
His face blanched. “Not at all.”
“Then proceed.”
“The Paelsian people are open to your leadership, but word must spread further. I suggest that we open the compound gates to allow your new citizens entry to hear you speak to them about your plans for the future.”
A speech, she thought. It was something Gaius would enjoy doing much more than she would.
But Gaius wasn’t here. And now that she had the fire Kindred to advise her on accessing the magic of her aquamarine orb, she had run out of reasons to allow the king to continue living for much longer.
“When?” she asked Mauro.
“I can spread word immediately. Thousands will journey here from surrounding villages to hear you. Perhaps a week?”
“Three days,” she said.
“Three days is perfect,” he cooed. “Yes, it will be wonderful. So many Paelsians, with open arms and open hearts, ready to obey your every command.”
Yes, Amara thought. A kingdom of people ready to do her bidding without question, who accepted a female leader without argument, would be incredibly useful.
CHAPTER 16
MAGNUS
PAELSIA
Magnus pondered the twelve people taking up residence at the Hawk and Spear Inn, realizing that nearly half of them wanted him dead.
“And you’re definitely one of them,” he muttered as Nic trudged through the meeting hall, glaring as he passed the prince. Magnus was sitting alone at a table in front of a sketchbook he’d found in a drawer in his room. “Cassian, look,” he called. “I drew a picture of you.”
Magnus raised the sketchbook. His fingers smeared with charcoal, he held up a page on which he’d drawn an image of a skinny boy hanging from a noose, his tongue dangling from his mouth, two morbid Xs where the eyes should have been.
Nic, allegedly a very friendly fellow to everyone else in the world, shot Magnus a look of sheer hatred. “You think that’s funny?”
“What? You don’t like it? Well, they do say art is subjective.”