“I prefer to stand.” Magnus raised the obsidian blade. “You know what this is.”
Her gaze fixed upon the object for a moment before she nodded tensely. “I do. And I know who sent you.”
“That’s excellent to hear.” The strange relief of being face to face with someone who might understand his plight had put a lump his throat. “Perhaps you can fill me in on how all of this is possible.”
“Why? So you can just forget it when you return?”
He studied the courtesan with surprise, his grip tightening on the blade. “She said that—that I’d forget. But I won’t. How could I forget any of this?”
Samara gave him a thin smile. “Sit down, young man.”
Magnus despised being ordered about, but Maddox had already taken a seat at the table and watched him with a quizzical look.
“Whatever questions you have about all of this,” Magnus told the boy, “I’m afraid I can’t answer them, since I’m every bit as confused as you are.”
“Then I’ll not speak them aloud.”
Magnus couldn’t make the same promise. He finally, grudgingly, took a seat at the table across from Maddox. Samara sat down next to him. “Who is the old woman who sent me to find you?” he asked her, unraveling the bandage to show her the wound on his palm. “She did this to me.”
Samara eyed the marking. “All I will say is that she is very powerful and you should never try to cross her.”
“How does she know you?”
“Our paths have crossed.”
“But . . . how is that possible? She’s old, but she couldn’t possibly be old enough to have been here, unless . . .” Magnus’s head began to ache as he tried to sort it out. “What kind of magic is this?”
“The way you say it . . . you don’t believe in magic, do you?” she said.
“I didn’t. Not until today, anyway. And it’s still nearly impossible for me to accept what has happened to me. True elementia is a legend more than anything. And witches . . . I don’t know.” The image of the witch screaming for mercy at her execution made him wince. “I’ve never seen proof of their power—not real, tangible proof. Only words, only accusations.” He exhaled shakily. “And the goddesses are . . . I’ve never considered them to be more than stories.”
“Truly, my friend,” Maddox said, “I think you’ve been living beneath a patch of heavy moss. Everyone knows that the goddesses are real. How can they not be?”
“Knowing and seeing are two different things.” Then Magnus frowned. “Did you just call me your friend?”
“Did I?”
“You did. I heard you.”
“My mistake.”
“I would say so.”
Maddox gave him a withering look. “Clearly, I have no friends. And, based on the short time I’ve known you, I’m in serious doubt that you have any either.”
“Clearly.” Magnus’s lips thinned, and he turned his attention back to the courtesan. “My time runs short. I have only until sundown, and I’d really rather not wait that long. Do whatever it is you need to do in regard to this blade.” He pushed the shard of obsidian across the table toward her. “And I’ll be on my way.”
“Not yet,” she said, shaking her head. “First I must know you better.”
Magnus grimaced. “As lovely as you are, I have no gold coins on me, nor am I tempted to distraction by such offers.”
“Don’t worry, boy, such offers were revoked the moment I learned who sent you here.” Samara didn’t smile; instead she looked annoyed with him. “Why did she send a boy to do the work of a man? She tries my patience each and every time.”
“This has happened before?”
“This is the third time. And each is more difficult for me than the last.” Samara looked away for a moment, her forehead creasing as if in deep thought. When she returned her gaze to Magnus’s, her expression had shifted to one that was unreadable. “I wish only to tell your fortune so I know whom I’m dealing with and if you can be trusted. So I’ll know for certain that it was the old woman who sent you and not someone else.”
“A fortune-teller?” Magnus said drily. “Such trivialities are meant for silly parties in Auranos.”
She frowned. “Auranos?”
Magnus sighed. “Never mind.”
“I won’t continue until you do this.” She reached out toward him. “Give me your hand.”
He studied her, wanting to make demands, wanting her to follow his orders without hesitation like the servants at the palace.
But she didn’t know who he was and who his father was. And, frankly, he didn’t have the time or inclination to try to explain.
“Very well,” he said. “But make haste about it.”
Magnus held out his hand, and she took it, squeezing it in hers, and stared deeply into his eyes.