“You loved him,” she said, “because you’d begun to have hope.”
Magnus turned his face away so Cleo couldn’t see the bottomless pain in his eyes. “If so, that was very stupid of me.”
She placed her hands on either side of his face and guided his gaze back to hers. “To love a father like Gaius Damora meant that you were brave, not stupid.”
“I hope you’re right.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. Cleo’s skin was cold against his lips. He placed his hand on her cheek. “You’re struggling today.”
Cleo smiled up at him. “I’m fine.”
“Lies.”
Her smile turned into a scowl. “I’m fine,” she said more firmly.
Magnus eyed her for a moment in complete silence. “Your hair, while stunning as always, looks like it hasn’t been properly attended to. Is your current handmaiden lacking in such skills?”
“Nerissa is the best when it comes to making sense of my hair,” Cleo said, twisting a long lock of it between her fingers. “I miss her very much. I hope she returns soon.”
“Hmm.”
Before she had the chance to stop him, he swept her silky hair back over her shoulder. She gasped and clamped her hand down on her exposed skin.
But he’d already seen the painful truth.
The blue lines that had been working their way up her arm were now visible on the left side of her throat.
“When did this happen?” he demanded. “When did you have another incident?”
That was what they’d started to call the drowning spells that seized her unexpectedly at any hour.
“Recently.” Cleo glared at him, as if angry that he’d discovered her secret.
He swore under his breath. “I’d counted on Lucia to help you, but she’s nowhere to be found.”
“She’s searching for her daughter. That is her priority right now, and I don’t blame her. She’s seeking a solution to all this, just not here, trapped within these walls. You saw what Kyan did to the nursemaid!”
The memory of the charred corpse returned to him, the smell of burning flesh. The thought that his newborn niece was in the clutches of the fire Kindred made Magnus’s blood boil.
Strength and power. The only things that mattered. He would find Lyssa and his sister. He had to.
“I need to find answers myself,” he muttered.
“I’ve been reading,” Cleo said.
“Books won’t help.”
“I don’t know about that. The right book, the right legend . . . there are so many in the library, and it seems as if the accounts of what happened a thousand years ago vary from scribe to scribe. We might find the answers in one of these books if we keep looking.”
Magnus shook his head, uncertain. “Have you learned anything tangible from these books you’ve been reading?”
“Well . . .” She twisted her hands. “One of the books reminded me about Lucia’s ring—the ring that belonged to the original sorceress. It controls Lucia’s magic, keeps it from overwhelming her. I was going to ask her if I could try it on to see what would happen now that I have this magic inside me, but she left before I could suggest it.”
Magnus stared at her. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before now.”
“If she returns in time, perhaps—”
“No, not her ring. Mine.” He pulled the bloodstone off his finger, took Cleo’s right hand in his, and slid the ring onto her slender index finger. Then he looked into her eyes. “Well? Do you feel anything?”
“I . . . I’m not sure.” Cleo held her hand out in front of her, shaking her head. Then her skin went deathly pale, and she began to tremble. “No . . . it hurts. It hurts! Magnus . . .”
Death magic. Lucia had been repelled by the same magic that was now hurting Cleo.
In a flash, he wrenched the ring off Cleo’s finger and watched in horror as she had another incident, choking and gasping for breath as if she were drowning in a deep, black ocean and he couldn’t do a damn thing to save her. He gathered her in his arms, rubbing her back and praying for it to be over soon.
A moment later it passed, and she collapsed into his arms.
The magic in this ring had affected Kyan the night Magnus had crawled from his grave. And now he’d proven that it hurt Cleo.
It was the last thing he’d ever want to do.
“I hate this,” she said, her words coming out in gasps. “I wanted this magic. I wanted it so badly that I would have given anything for it. And now I have it and I hate it!”
“I hate it too.” He kissed the top of her head, so sick of feeling powerless and weak when it came to finding a solution that would save her from this fate.
He knew only one thing for absolute certain: He would not lose her.
Magnus accompanied Cleo back to their chambers, and when he was certain she’d recovered and she’d fallen peacefully asleep, he went in search of Prince Ashur.
He found the Kraeshian with Taran Ranus in the palace courtyard.
Taran had his shirt off, and Ashur inspected the white lines that covered his entire arm and half of his chest.
More lines than Cleo had.
“What are you proposing?” Magnus asked when he reached them. “That we chop off your arm in hopes of delaying the progress? Seems too late for that, but I’m willing to give it a try.”
Taran cast a dark look at Magnus, with equally dark circles beneath his eyes. “You think this is amusing?”
“Not even slightly.”
“I want this poison out of me, by any means possible.” Taran pulled his shirt on again. “Ashur knows things, knows magic. I thought he might be able to help.”
Magnus looked at Ashur. “And?”
The prince’s gray-blue eyes were stormy with uncertainty and doubt. “I’m trying to find a solution. But so far I’ve failed.”
Magnus already knew that Taran’s air magic manifested itself in frightening moments of suffocation. And after each incident, the white lines continued their progression.
It didn’t take an expert in ancient magic to tell him that this was a sign that the elemental god was trying to break free and take control of Taran’s body.
Taran snorted, a sound without any humor. “It’s amusing, really.”
Ashur looked up at him. “What?”
“My mother . . . she was an Oldling. She knew all about the Kindred, or at least the tales that had been passed down from generation to generation. She worshipped them. My mother was as powerful a witch as I’d ever known or heard of. It’s possible she could have helped me now.”
“Where is she?” Ashur asked.
Taran shared a look with Magnus before returning his gaze to Ashur. “She’s dead.”
Magnus knew this was only part of the truth. Taran had killed his own mother when she’d attempted to sacrifice him in a blood magic ritual.
Magnus also knew without a doubt that Taran’s mother would have been no use to them, only a help to the Kindred, but he chose not to say this aloud.
“If I had half the resources I used to have,” Ashur began, pacing back and forth in short, frustrated lines in the shadow of a tall oak tree, “I could find a way to help you. Help Olivia and Cleo . . . and Nicolo. But my hands are tied. If I show my face in Kraeshia again, I have no doubt that Amara will have me executed on sight.”