“Are they all right? What has Magnus done to them?”
“They’re fine,” Nerissa assured her. “I just saw them briefly. Jonas asked me to tell you he’s leaving at dawn, boarding a ship at Black Harbor bound for Kraeshia.”
“To Kraeshia? Why to Kraeshia? To go after Amara and the water Kindred?”
“No. The prince has learned that King Gaius is currently in Kraeshia. He’s sent him over to . . . take care of that situation.”
“Oh. I see.” Cleo was beyond surprised. Why would Magnus trust the rebel with such an important mission, especially after his unexplained disappearance? How desperate and bereft of other options he must be.
“Where’s Nic now?” she asked.
“He’s back in his room, sleeping I assume.”
Cleo felt a sudden thud of disappointment. “If their trip to Paelsia had been successful, they would have woken me immediately to deliver the news.”
“I’m sure Nic will tell you all about their trip in the morning.” Nerissa rose from the bed. “For now, go back to sleep. You’ll need your rest tomorrow.”
It didn’t feel right to her, any of it.
“Why would Magnus make such a monumental decision without consulting me first? Why hide it from me?”
“I don’t know,” Nerissa said, shaking her head. “Do you usually expect him to consult with you?”
“I don’t have any idea what I expect from him anymore,” she muttered. “Thank you for telling me this, Nerissa.”
“Try to sleep, princess.” Nerissa doused the flame in the lantern and turned to go.
“Do you really think I’ll be able to go back to sleep now?”
Nerissa glanced over her shoulder. “Princess?”
“Help me get ready,” Cleo said, pushing off her blankets and climbing out of bed. “We need to get to Black Harbor before dawn.”
• • •
Black Harbor was located at the bottom of the high cliffs, below the castle grounds. A snaking road allowed travel by cart and carriage, but that route would make for a long journey, so Cleo and Nerissa decided instead to take the steps chiseled into the side of the cliff.
The treacherous, icy steps chiseled into the side of the cliff.
Finally, they reached the docks.
“Perhaps this was a foolish idea,” Cleo whispered, her cheeks stinging from the frigid wind.
“Not at all,” Nerissa assured her. “I admire you. You’re standing up for yourself. You’re not letting others make decisions that affect you. However . . .”
“Yes?”
“I wish we were still in Auranos. This cold is unbearable, and I miss the warmth of home.”
Cleo couldn’t help but laugh. “Agreed.”
The small harbor was used only for docking ships visiting the palace, and for import and export. Today there were three large ships docked: two bearing the Auranian crest that carried imported goods such as vegetables, fruits, grains, and live animals—crates of chickens, pigs, and sheep—and one black ship with red sails bearing the Limerian cobra signet. Painted on the side of the ship were the words Strength, Faith, and Wisdom.
Dozens of sailors, servants, and other crew were moving about the docks, which was laden down with supplies. Cleo and Nerissa stayed back, watching the organized chaos.
“Princess.” Nerissa took her gloved hand and squeezed it to get her attention.
And then she saw it, a sight she never would have believed possible.
Jonas Agallon and Magnus Damora, walking side by side along the dock.
“All right,” she whispered. “That proves it. I’m still asleep and dreaming.”
Nerissa smiled. “Or it’s proof that miracles are possible.”
Cleo couldn’t tear her gaze away from the prince and the rebel. “Is Magnus smiling or clenching his teeth? Did Jonas just tell him a joke?”
“He’s definitely clenching his teeth. I have a feeling Jonas won’t be telling any jokes for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
Nerissa shook her head. “I thought it best that Nic tell you.”
Now Cleo was worried. Something must have gone terribly wrong in Paelsia. “Nerissa, Nic’s not here. Clearly there’s something I need to know, and you need to tell me.”
Nerissa met Cleo’s gaze with dark, troubled eyes. “Lysandra’s dead.”
Cleo gasped. “What?”
“During their journey they came across Princess Lucia and another man and . . . it didn’t go well. I don’t know much more than that, princess. I’m sorry.”
“No. Oh, no!” Cleo gasped.
Lucia and another man. It had to be the companion who came to the palace, looking for the stone wheel. This was his doing. She knew it to be true, without a single doubt.
“I didn’t know Lysandra was a friend of yours,” Nerissa said.
“She wasn’t. But this is still a great loss to us all. Lysandra was a skilled and passionate fighter.” Cleo forced herself to breathe deeply, to compose herself and focus on the task at hand. Lysandra had never said a kind word to Cleo, but she knew how close she’d been to Jonas. Cleo had admired Lysandra for her strength and her ability to blend in and fight as fiercely as one of the boys.
And Jonas had cared so very deeply for her.
Her heart broke for him. Oh, Jonas.
Cleo pulled away from Nerissa’s side and walked toward Jonas and Magnus.
Magnus saw her first, his expression shifting to displeasure in an instant. “What are you doing here?”
“Why wasn’t I informed about this?” Cleo snapped.
Magnus rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here. Return to the palace immediately.”
“No.”
He hissed out a breath of annoyance. “These docks are no place for a princess.”
Ignoring the prince, she turned to Jonas. “I just heard about Lysandra.”
Jonas met her gaze. “I didn’t even know how much she meant to me until moments before she . . .” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I was so blind.”
“There are no words, Jonas. I’m so very sorry.”
She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. It took a moment, but he returned her embrace.
“I’m going to kill the king. Not for the prince, not even for all the Mytican citizens he’s tried to own and exploit. I’m going to do it for her.”
She nodded. “I know you’ll be successful.”
He pressed his lips against her forehead, kissing her gently. “I’ll see you again soon, your highness.”
“You’d better mean that.”
Jonas nodded and gave her a half smile before heading for the gangplank and boarding the ship.
Cleo risked a glance at Magnus. Not for one solitary moment did she forget he was standing only a few paces away.
His arms were crossed over his chest and he studied her, his expression blank apart from the tight line of his jaw.
“What a tender farewell,” he said. “How romantic.”
Yes, of course the prince was dense enough to believe their exchange had been one of romance rather than friendship born during a time of hardship and grief.
She decided to let him believe whatever he wanted about her and the rebel.