Prisca shivered and turned to pace some more. Each time I watched her scheme, I grew more reluctantly intrigued despite myself. She’d always thought quickly—the fact that she had survived after we’d left her that day was proof of that.
My mind provided me with the memory of her lying next to Galon, her skin pale—so pale it had seemed as if she were already dead. The way she’d pleaded with me and then her eyes had burned, silently vowing vengeance.
That spark had almost been doused like one of Rythos’s fires. My hands fisted at the thought. For the first time, I felt something that might have been…regret.
She turned and peered up at me.
“Your eyes are reverting,” I said. It was dangerous to her. And yet, it was as if something inside me unlocked when I could see the gold flecks in her eyes.
“I know,” she sighed. “The charms are difficult to find right now.”
I was beginning to learn that I hated it, knowing she skulked around the castle using magic that, if I was honest, she should have had years to train with and not days. I loathed that she was often down in the dungeons, where all it would take was one wrong move, one moment of inattention, and she was dead.
The fact that she’d somehow made me care about her like this—to the extent that I was unfocused while on my own task… I glowered at her.
“You take too many risks.”
She gave me that wary look that told me she had something to tell me and I wasn’t going to like it.
“Out with it.”
She spoke casually, but it was easy to see the fear darting across her face. “The seamstress saw my eyes. She remarked on the color. Her face turned white, and she rushed out of the room.”
Then the seamstress was dead.
“You’ve got your murder face on,” she murmured. “I don’t want her to die, Lorian.”
The fact that the seamstress hadn’t said anything yet likely meant she was hoping to wait for the perfect chance to wield that information. At any second, Prisca could be arrested. My instincts roared at me to remove the threat.
“Then convince her not to say a word. And quickly.”
“Tell me something,” she said suddenly. Almost desperately. “One of the secrets you’re hiding. Please.”
I studied her face. Her eyes were intent on mine, her teeth biting into her lower lip. This seemed like some kind of test. And for some reason, I wanted to pass it.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell her my own secrets. If she learned exactly why I was here…
For some reason, the thought of her looking at me with fear and revulsion made my stomach twist.
“The king,” I said, my voice hoarse. “What do you know of him?”
She frowned, clearly not expecting that subject. “He has a son, Jamic, who is away at one of the king’s estates. Jamic has seen nineteen winters,” she said. “And he’ll likely return for the Gods Day ball. According to the rumors, he rarely sees the king.”
Her frown deepened, and I angled my head. “What is it?”
“Just something my mother said. She insisted I find the prince.”
She looked tired. Wrung-out. And yet, it was time for her to know just some of what made Sabium so dangerous. “You may want to sit down.”
Her eyes narrowed on my face, but she sat on the long sofa.
I took a deep breath. “It was the king’s great-great-grandfather who started warring with the fae.”
She nodded.
“And what do you know of Regner’s son?”
“His name was Crotopos. Crotopos died, but his wife was pregnant and his son Aybrias—Regner’s grandson—took the throne. Aybrias’s son was named Hiarnus—Sabium’s father.”
I wasn’t surprised Prisca knew this. Most villagers were taught more about the royal family than they were languages or basic mathematics.
It felt foreign to talk to someone other than my men about the king. But I forced myself to continue speaking. “And what if I told you they were all the same man?”
Her frown deepened, followed immediately by disbelief. Prisca jumped to her feet. “That’s not possible. That’s not how magic works.” Something that might’ve been betrayal had tightened her shoulders. I caught her arm as she moved toward the door.
In a rare moment of vulnerability, she’d asked for a secret. And now, she thought I was lying to her.
No, I realized. She hoped I was lying to her. After everything she’d learned, this was the realization that would sting the most. Her own father had died because her brother had only a scant amount of power left. And yet the king was almost immortal.