We hurtle over the top of the hill and run smack into a shepherd boy and his flock. Eleni and he crash to the ground in a tangle. I stumble, too, scraping my knee and knocking over a lamb. It makes a pathetic bleating sound, hops to its feet, and scampers away. All three of us stare at each other, stunned, and then the boy’s father is there, picking everyone up.
The color leaches from his face when he sees the Fisan royal crest on Eleni’s shoulder clasps. Stammering apologies, he falls to the ground, prostrate, dragging his son down with him until both their foreheads are flat against the grass. Eleni commands them to stand, but they’re too scared to rise farther than their knees, keeping their eyes downcast.
I barrel around a few sheep with my usual finesse and then shove a half-wilted posy of flowers I’m clutching in my hand at the boy. He’s about my age. I don’t want him to be scared.
The wind tosses my dark hair. It’s loose, and I know I look like a wildcat, with dirt and bruises and scrapes all over me. The boy’s eyes widen. He hesitates, but when I try giving him the flowers again, frowning and huffing, he takes the drooping blooms from my grubby hand.
The shepherd murmurs endless apologies, begging for Eleni’s mercy. Begging for their lives. She smiles sweetly and kneels in front of him, taking a jeweled clip from her hair. Her blonde locks lift on the breeze, pale dawn sunbeams framing her shining face. The clip is entirely encrusted with sapphires, tiny Fisan pearls forming a row of delicate sea stars across the center. Blue and white. Ocean and ice.
She places the treasure in his hand and gently wraps his work-worn fingers around it. “To feed a village,” she whispers.
My breath shudders, and Griffin slides me a sidelong glance. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I answer, wondering how the sun still rises every day without Eleni in the world.
“You can talk to me, Cat.”
I shake my head, but the same sudden, overwhelming warmth that kept hitting me all evening curls through my body again, heating me up. It’s been harder to act indifferent to him since the moment he stretched out on top of me, pressed his body into mine, and told me he wanted to touch me.
I manage—more or less—and we move farther from the others, sitting where we won’t wake them with our talk. I tell him about the Tarvan royals, but my information is mostly common knowledge, a lot of which he already knows. I supply names, which are meaningless since royals are always referred to by rank, but I humor him since he seems to think they’re important.
“Galen is only Alpha because his father came down with a mysterious illness and died before his reign should have been over. Everyone suspects poison—and Galen—but no one can prove it. For all their cruelty, royals don’t usually stoop to poison. An Alpha is Alpha by magic and might. Anything else leaves people antsy, and the door open for challenges. Galen’s two children will pay the price. They’ve already lost their mother, Galen isn’t strong enough to last, and they’re too young to defend themselves. Acantha, Delta Tarva, is the one to watch. She’s Galen’s sister, and she already killed off two of her brothers. Galen and his kids are next. She’s just biding her time since we’re already on the cusp of a Power Bid.”
He nods, and I know I don’t have to explain. It happens every forty years or so, sometimes less, sometimes more. Current rulers pass their primes. Their children reach theirs. Alphas shift. Realms burn.
I glance at Griffin, wondering if he started it all. Wondering about my role. The prophecy rolls through my head, sending ice down my spine.
“What makes her so powerful?” he asks, drawing me out of dark musings.
“Acantha is a Drakon charmer. It helps having giant serpents, usually with multiple heads and deadly venom, hanging on your every word.”
His mouth lifts in that lopsided smile that never fails to make my heart skip a beat. His lower lip is fuller, but the top one has a decadent curve that’s distracting. It’s hard not to think about how it would feel if I touched it—or if it touched me.
“That does sound useful,” he agrees. “Got anything like that up your sleeve?”
“Not currently,” I reply cryptically.
His smile broadens, making my stomach dip in the most annoying way.
“Appoline is next, but with little magic and even less intelligence, no one has bothered killing her off yet. I don’t know much about Bellanca and Lystra, the two youngest sisters. They might have significant power; they might not. Their magic hadn’t fully matured when I left Fisa, and I haven’t been privy to the same information since.”