But Lucia had come to know the former rebel leader well enough that she would recognize him no matter what disguise he wore.
She recognized the lines of his strong body that always appeared tense, like a wildcat about to pounce upon its prey. She recognized the way he walked without any hesitation, picking a direction and swiftly taking it even if it meant he got lost in the process.
Not that he would ever admit such a thing, of course.
She knew without even seeing his face that his mouth was set in a determined line and that his cinnamon-brown eyes looked serious. They were always so serious, even when he joked around with his friends.
Jonas Agallon had lost so much over the last year, but it hadn’t changed who he was deep inside. He was strong and kind and brave. And she trusted him, even when he secretly trailed after her. She knew without a doubt he’d done this in a misguided attempt to protect her.
Now, observing him from distance of only six paces, she sensed the magic Jonas held within him—a pleasant, warm, and tingling sensation that she’d begun to associate with the rebel.
It had felt much stronger ever since leaving Amara’s compound, and she had to admit that it troubled her that Jonas’s magic had grown stronger while hers had continued to weaken just when she needed it the most.
She drew even closer to him, his gaze remaining fixed on the inn.
Close enough that she could hear him mutter to himself.
“Well, princess . . . just what is your plan in this little village now that you’re here?”
“I suppose you could simply ask me,” she said.
He jumped, then spun around to face her, his eyes wide with shock.
“You . . .” he began. “You’re right here in front of me.”
“I am,” she said.
“You knew—?” he began.
“That you’ve been stalking me like a hungry ice wolf for days? Yes, I knew.”
“Well, there you go.” He scrubbed his hand through his brown hair, then he turned his painfully earnest gaze toward her. “Are you well?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were so distraught at the palace. Rightfully so, of course. And your hand . . .”
Lucia showed him the palm of her previously injured hand. “I’m better now. Thinking more clearly. And I have a plan.”
“You want to talk to Timotheus.”
“Yes, that’s the plan.” It would be so much easier to continue on alone, without anyone to answer to or concern herself with. But if that had been her decision, she would have confronted Jonas earlier and told him to go back to Auranos.
“Tell me, are you hungry?” she asked.
He turned a frown on her. “What?”
“Hungry. We’ve been traveling for many hours today, and you’ve kept me in your sight all that time. I assume you’re starving.”
“I . . . suppose I am.”
“Come.” Lucia began walking toward the inn. “I’ll buy you some dinner.”
Jonas didn’t argue. He followed her into the tavern connected to the inn. It was a small room that held a dozen wooden tables. Only three were filled with patrons. One table held a pair of Kraeshian soldiers.
“The occupation continues, even here,” Jonas said under his breath.
“It doesn’t bother me.” Lucia watched him as he removed his cloak and placed it over the back of his chair. Something gold at his belt caught the last remaining traces of early evening sunlight coming through the large window. “Don’t tell me you went back to that inn during our journey here and retrieved that horrible dagger of yours.”
Jonas’s hand shot to the sheathed weapon, covering it from view, his brows drawing tightly together. Then he took a seat, a smile stretching his cheeks. “You guessed it. I’m an idiot, what can I say?”
She shook her head. “That’s not the word I’d use to describe you.”
“Oh? And what word would you use?”
“Sentimental.”
Jonas held her gaze for a moment. “Princess, I wanted to say that I am sorry for your loss. How I felt toward the king . . . it certainly doesn’t lessen your grief.”
“My father was a cruel, power-hungry man who hurt many innocent people. You have every right to have hated him.” Lucia blinked, her eyes dry. She had cried more than enough tears in the last few days to realize that they were no help to her at all. “But I still loved him, and I still miss him.”
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I know. And know that I will help you in any way I can to find Lyssa.”
“Thank you.” Lucia frowned down at her hand in his. “I feel so much magic in you, Jonas. More than ever before.”
He released her hand immediately. “Apologies.”
“No, that’s not what I . . .” Lucia trailed off as a server approached them, a girl with bright red hair and a wide, friendly smile.
Lucia recognized this girl immediately and stared up at her in shock.
“We have potato soup today,” the red-haired girl said. “And some dried meats and fruits. The cook apologizes for the lack of variety on today’s menu, but our shipment of supplies from Trader’s Harbor has been delayed.”
“Mia . . . ?” Lucia asked, her voice cautious.
The girl cocked her head. “Yes, that’s my name. Have we met before?”
Oh, they absolutely had. After the battle with Kyan when his fiery, monstrous form had been destroyed near the mysterious crystal monolith, Lucia had found herself in the Sanctuary’s grassy meadow with the Crystal City visible in the distance.
Once she’d reached the city itself, finding the massive, sparkling metropolis as quiet and empty as a ghost town, her path had crossed a lovely and helpful immortal who had taken her to see Timotheus.
“Don’t you remember?” Lucia asked. “It wasn’t so long ago.”
“Apologies,” Mia said. “Please don’t think me rude, but I’ve recently forgotten much of my past. I’ve visited several healers who tell me that amnesia like this can happen from a hard bump on the head.”
“Amnesia,” Lucia repeated, her heart quickening. “Impossible.”
“Not impossible.” Mia shook her head. “I do hope to regain my memories soon, but until then the owner of this inn has promised to look after me.”
Jonas leaned forward. “Promised who?” he asked.
Mia’s gaze grew faraway, her brow furrowing. “I remember it like it was a dream, really. Unclear and distant. But there was a woman—a beautiful, dark-haired woman. She was so kind to me and promised that everything would be all right, but that I had to trust her.”
Lucia listened, barely breathing. The girl wasn’t lying; this is what she believed.
“Trust her with what?”
“I don’t remember.” Mia’s frown deepened. “I know she had a sharp, flat piece of black rock.” She looked down at her arm. “I think she cut me with it, but it didn’t hurt very much. And after that, I found myself here. Oh, and the strangest thing . . . her hand . . . it wasn’t a hand at all. I can’t really explain it.” She shrugged. “I must have hit my head very hard.”
Lucia searched her face. “Is that all you remember?”