Neela turned to her granddaughter, her eyes glossy but tearless. Amara had never seen her cry, not once. “Like I said, your mother loved you, very much. She knew you would grow up to be strong and brave, like her. And you have. I can see it in your eyes, my sweet dhosha. This is why, from the moment you were able to speak and learn, I’ve taught you all the specific skills and knowledge I have. And I swear on my life, this one and the next, that I will continue to guide you to your destiny.”
Neela reached for her, and Amara pushed herself up from the chair and grasped her grandmother’s hand.
“Thank you, Grandmother.”
This chilling revelation only made Amara more committed to her ultimate goal. Killing her traitorous brother and stealing the water Kindred had only been the first step. It didn’t matter how long it took her to achieve it. No matter the cost. No matter how many lies she had to tell or how much blood she had to spill.
One day, Amara Cortas would be the first Empress of Kraeshia. And she would rule the world.
CHAPTER 7
JONAS
AURANOS
The docks of King’s Harbor were swarming with activity by the time Jonas and Lysandra arrived at mid-morning. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men milled about, loading and unloading ships at port. Perched there on the edge of the sea was a lively village, its taverns, inns, and shops ready and waiting for the workers to finish their day.
The plan had been to get there by dawn, but Jonas was moving slower than usual, burdened by his injury.
Lysandra pressed a mug of spiced peach cider into his hand outside of a meeting house. “How are you doing?” she asked with concern.
“Fine.” He forced a smile. “Just fine. For a poor half-blind guy, that is.” He indicated his borrowed eye patch. “By the way, have I mentioned how lovely you look in that gown? Rose is definitely your color.”
She scowled and looked down at her outfit. “Don’t remind me of the fact that I’m wearing this monstrosity. I hate this dress. Who would ever want to wear such a fancy thing?”
“It’s essentially just a cotton frock. It’s not exactly all satin and frills fit for a palace ball.”
“I wish I’d have just cut my hair instead,” Lys said, then grimaced and nodded her chin at Jonas. “Or let you or Galyn cut it.”
She was referencing Jonas’s new hairstyle, which was courtesy of Lysandra and a sharp blade. His scalp was a tapestry of shaved swatches, scraped skin, and small tufts of dark hair. Thankfully he’d managed to disarm her before she’d drained him of too much blood. The girl was an excellent fighter, but a terrible hair-cutter.
“Nonsense, the gown is just fine,” Jonas said. “And now we’re here. Do you see anything?”
“In this crowd? No. We’re going to have to split up and start asking around. Someone must know when the king’s ship is scheduled to depart.”
“Then let’s not waste any time.” He drained the cider, its sweetness giving him a little more energy. Now he only wished his shoulder wasn’t on fire and that his fingers on that arm weren’t going numb.
Let’s worry about one thing at a time, he thought.
They made a plan to meet in an hour, then parted ways. Jonas watched Lys swish off in her rose-colored skirt. If it wasn’t for the large canvas sack slung over her shoulder to conceal her bow and arrows, she’d easily be able to pass for the daughter of a wealthy Auranian.
Many of the men on the docks were bundled up in wool cloaks and heavy overcoats. Jonas knew from looking at them how chilly the morning was, but his fever made him feel as though it were the hottest point of midday. He also felt dizzy, but still he refused to go somewhere and rest while Lysandra took over. This was too important. The king would be here, out in the open. In this crowd, surely he and Lysandra could create enough chaos to distract any bodyguards, corner the king, and question him about Cleo’s whereabouts before Jonas finally sliced his evil throat.
He forced his weakened body forward into the crowd, closer to the ships, stopping several men as he went and inquiring about departure times and passengers. He and Lysandra had prepared a story to tell these deckhands, that they were a couple who’d eloped and were looking for passage aboard a ship to take them overseas on a wedding journey. They thought this fib would be particularly successful in leading into a conversation about the king, since Princess Lucia was rumored to have just eloped herself.
After speaking to at least ten men, Jonas had been offered passage aboard five different ships, but no information of any use.
Feeling frustrated and faint, he took a break and stood on the creaky wooden dock, scanning the line of ships until his gaze settled on one in particular: a rickety-looking boat, half the size of all the others, painted along the sides with grapevines and the words WINE IS LIFE.
A Paelsian ship delivering wine to Auranos.
On any other day, the sight of this docking boat might have made Jonas feel nostalgic. But today, nothing but rage rose within him.
“Back to business, just like that,” he muttered.
Of course, no matter what kinds of travesties and violence Jonas’s homeland had just endured, Auranians wouldn’t dare deprive themselves of their fine Paelsian wine, which was valued for its perfect sweetness and its total lack of any ill effects after a night of overindulging.
Drink yourself rotten and feel just fine the next day. Of course that was a promise of the utmost importance to these Auranians—still hedonistic, even under the King of Blood’s rule.
Now that Jonas believed in the legends, and had witnessed firsthand the life-giving effects of Paelsian grape seeds infused with earth magic, which had brought him back from the brink of death, he was certain that Paelsian wine had elementia to thank for its success.
And Jonas still had Auranos to condemn for enslaving Paelsians, monopolizing their vineyards, and binding them into a contract to sell only to them.
It was a good reminder that Limerians weren’t the only evildoers in the world.
Jonas swayed on his feet as a wave of dizziness washed over him. It stank near the water—of fish, of waste thrown over the side of the docked ships, of the ripe body odor of the workers. And he could feel his fever getting worse.
Just before he was about to keel over, a hand gripped his arm, keeping him upright.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite rebel!” boomed a jolly voice. “Good morning, Jonas!”
Jonas turned toward the man, who regarded him with a wide, toothy grin. Ah, yes, it was Bruno, Galyn’s grandfather. Jonas was well acquainted with the old man, who had great enthusiasm for the rebel cause, as well as a tendency to speak his thoughts and opinions aloud at high volumes.
“Bruno, please, speak softly.” Jonas looked around nervously.
Bruno’s smile dropped away. “My poor boy, did you lose your eye?”
“I . . . uh, no.” He absently brushed his fingers over the eye patch. “It’s only a disguise. I’m rather recognizable around here, in case you didn’t know. So, hush.”
“Well, thank the goddess for that! Two eyes are much more useful than only one.” The old man signaled toward a worker from the Paelsian ship who’d disembarked and drawn closer to them. “Good, that’s good! Twenty cases, yes?”
“Yes, sir!”
Jonas eyed the ship. “You’re picking up a shipment?”