Falling Kingdoms

“Yet it’s always a miracle.”

Danaus’s lips thinned. “A true miracle will be to find the answers we seek after so many centuries.”

“Impatient, are we?”

“If I was still capable of taking flight in the mortal world, I think we’d already know where the Kindred is.”

“Then it’s truly a shame that you can’t.” Only the younger Watchers were able to transform into hawks or—much more rarely—visit the dreams of mortals. Once Watchers moved beyond a certain age, they lost these abilities forever. “You could always physically leave this realm.”

“And never return?” Danaus smiled thinly. “Would that please you, Ioannes?”

“Of course not. But I’m saying it’s an option if you grow weary of waiting for the rest of us to find the answers.”

Danaus picked up a leaf that had fallen from an oak tree. The leaf was not green with life but brown. It was a small but disturbing sign that the Sanctuary was fading. There was no autumn here, when leaves would naturally die. Only summer. Only daylight. Eternally.

At least, until the Kindred was lost. The fade had taken many centuries to begin, but it finally had.

“You would tell me if you’d seen something of importance,” Danaus said. It was not a question. “Anything that could return the Kindred to its rightful place.”

It seemed ludicrous to think something dark about an elder, but Ioannes was not that young and not that naive. He remembered when two of his kind had turned their backs on the Sanctuary, killing the last sorceress and stealing what was so priceless and essential to their existence. They had given in to their greed. To their lust for power. Ultimately, it had destroyed them. And now their actions, so many years ago, had the potential to destroy everything.

Who was to say that they were the only ones who could not be trusted?

“Of course, Danaus.” Ioannes nodded. “I will tell you anything I learn, no matter how small it might seem.”

It was not in a Watcher’s nature to lie, but he felt he had no choice.

What he’d discovered had to be protected. At any cost.

It had been a long night, and Jonas knew he wouldn’t be getting a wink of sleep.

First, he’d gone to Sera’s grandmother’s home and looked in the window, through a small opening in the worn canvas covering, to prove to himself that it couldn’t possibly be Princess Cleiona that Sera spoke of. Ever since he’d left the tavern, he’d doubted his own instincts.

The golden-haired girl slept upon a straw mattress by the fireplace, her eyes closed, her face peaceful.

It was her.

Fury burned inside him. It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to barge into the cottage, wrap his hands around her royal throat, and squeeze until he witnessed the life slowly fade from her eyes. Maybe then he could rest. Maybe then he could feel that his brother’s murder had been avenged in some small way.

Such a moment of pure vengeance would taste so sweet. But it would be over too soon. Instead, he rode hard to the chief’s camp and told him about Princess Cleo’s unexpected presence in Paelsia.

The chief hadn’t seemed to care. “What difference does it make if some rich and spoiled child decides to explore my land?”

“But she’s the Auranian princess,” Jonas argued. “She could have been sent here by her father as a spy.”

“A sixteen-year-old spy? Who’s also a princess? Please. She’s harmless.”

“I strongly disagree.”

The chief eyed him curiously. “Then what do you suggest?”

An excellent question. And one he’d considered since confirming Cleo’s identity. How bold and disrespectful she was—this princess who saw no harm in coming to the same place where she’d caused such pain and suffering.

He took a deep breath before he spoke, trying his best to remain calm. “I suggest we look at this as an opportunity to capture her. I’m certain her father would go to extremes to ensure her safe return. We could send him a message.”

“I’m to travel to Auranos with King Gaius for a meeting with King Corvin in four days. We hope to negotiate his surrender. You and your friend Brion will be joining me. If we were to deliver such a message, we’d do it ourselves.”

To see King Corvin’s face when they told him that Cleo was in their grasp...

It would be a small serving of revenge on behalf of all Paelsians to a selfish, self-involved king who had no vision beyond his own glittering kingdom.

“What better than to have the king’s own daughter if the negotiations go awry?” Jonas said.

Any battle, no matter how well organized, would result in the loss of Paelsian life—especially with the untrained citizens who were being recruited to fight side by side with the armored Limerian knights and soldiers. A surrender from King Corvin without the necessity of war would be an ideal outcome. The chief pursed his lips, fiddling with the high mound of food on the plate before him, even now after midnight. Jonas ignored the girls who danced behind him by the campfire as Basilius’s late night entertainment.

It still troubled him to see a glimpse of the same excess and decadence here in the compound as what he wished to rebel against in Auranos. Many in the villages told stories of the luxuries Chief Basilius was allowed as their leader—paid for by the excessive wine tax. None had a problem with it. They held him to a different standard; he represented their hope. Many worshipped the chief as a god, believing that he held powerful magic within him. Perhaps such magic could only be coaxed out with dancing girls and slabs of roasted goat meat.