“What do you mean, a stone wheel?” asked Onoria. “Never heard of that before.”
“It’s how they get back and forth between the mortal world and the Sanctuary in hawk form. They have these magical, carved stone wheels hidden here and there. Might look like nothing but a ruin to us, but without the wheels, they’re trapped here.”
“Don’t let Jonas hear you talking like that,” Brion said. “He won’t listen to any nonsense about magic or Watchers. He thinks it makes Paelsians weak to hold onto legends rather than look at cold, hard facts.”
Magical stone wheels. It was certainly a charming story. Silly, but charming.
How much of such legends passed down from generation to generation could potentially be true, though? Jonas was naive to dismiss such talk without any consideration at all. Cleo had met an exiled Watcher without knowing it. She’d held magic in the palm of her hand. Sometimes it was far closer than anyone would ever believe. How she wished she had her ring; it had been a horrible mistake to hide it away. It was far too precious to be out of her sight.
Cleo was about to ask Tarus if he knew anything about such an object, or if his family had told him any stories about the Kindred, when she felt an almost physical burning on the side of her face. She glanced over to see that Lysandra was glaring at her from the other side of camp.
“She still hates me, doesn’t she?” It was a discouraging thought. After their initial exchange, she’d hoped she might have won the girl over—at least a little. They’d both experienced loss, experienced pain. That bonded them, even if Lysandra didn’t want to acknowledge it.
If Cleo was perfectly honest, she envied the girl her current freedom. To be among all these rebels and seem so liberated and so utterly unafraid . . . it was kind of amazing.
“I think Lys hates everybody,” Brion said, gnawing on an already very bare bone of what remained of his meal. Onoria laughed at this comment under her breath. “Even me, if you can believe it. Although I think I’m slowly winning her over. Watch, soon she’ll be madly in love with me. But . . . don’t take it personally, princess.”
She’d try her best. She took a deep breath and asked what was really on her mind. “Any news about the road? Has the king stopped construction on it? What do we know about the slaves?”
Brion looked away, toward the fire. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”
“Will Jonas send another letter?”
“The stars, the moon. Stunning, really.”
“It is nice,” Tarus agreed. “Only lousy thing here are the insects wanting to take a chunk of your flesh.” To punctuate this, he slapped his arm to kill a bloodthirsty mosquito.
Cleo went cold. “Nothing’s happened, has it?”
Onoria remained silent and averted her gaze.
Brion shoved the stick back into the fire, moving the burning wood around. “Nope. And, honestly? I doubt it will.”
She stared at him speechlessly for a moment. “I told Jonas it was pointless. The king doesn’t want me back alive—at least, not enough to meet the demands of a rebel. The wedding is inconsequential to him—as am I.”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’re not,” Tarus said, which earned him a sharp look from both Brion and Onoria. “What? Doesn’t she have the right to know?”
Cleo’s chest tightened. “Know what?”
Brion shrugged, his expression grim. “Jonas doesn’t want me to say anything to you.”
She grabbed the sleeve of his tunic until he finally looked at her. “All the more reason why you must tell me.”
He hesitated only another moment. “King Gaius has sent out search parties for you. They’ve been scouring Auranos and Paelsia from coast to coast.”
“And?”
“And he’s leaving a trail of bodies behind, butchered, of anyone who gets in his way or refuses to answer questions. All of them dead as a lesson to others that he’s serious—that he wants you found as soon as possible. So does he seem to want you back so you can marry his son right on schedule ten days from now? Yes. Is he willing to free the slaves on his Blood Road to do it? Afraid not.” Brion’s voice grew quieter, and he began to put out the fire, standing up to kick dirt on it. “I guess you’ll be joining us permanently, princess. Welcome to your new home.”
She went colder with every word he spoke. “No, you’re wrong. Jonas is wrong. I can’t stay here.”
“The more harm the king does out there, the more Auranians will see he isn’t as benevolent and generous as he claims to be in his speeches. They will finally see that he’s their enemy, not a true king to be obeyed and respected.”
Her thoughts raced. “Perhaps. But the king is going to tear apart this entire kingdom and kill anyone who stands in his way until he finds me. He wants everyone to see that I’m valuable to him—that he cherishes the princess of Auranos. Even though he wouldn’t care less about my life if it didn’t help him fool the people into behaving themselves and not giving him any problems. Am I wrong?”
Brion’s expression had lost every bit of its previous humor. Onoria and Tarus looked on grimly. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you’re wrong at all.”
With the bonfire out and the camp now in darkness, Cleo looked up to see a glimmer of stars and a bright full moon beyond the ceiling of leaves. Across the camp, through the shadows, her gaze moved to Jonas, who was speaking to Lysandra, the muscles in his back tense.