“Apologies.” Olivia grimaced. “The others are concerned about you. They’ll be pleased to know that you’ve finally woken up.”

Jonas went to the porthole and looked out at the expanse of sea. “How much farther to Paelsia?”

“We’re nearly there.”

“I slept almost the whole way.” He let out a shaky breath as he tried to come to terms with everything he’d learned. Denial would waste time they didn’t have. “What have I missed?”

“Not that much, actually. Taran continues to sharpen his blade in anticipation of killing Prince Magnus, Felix still suffers from his sickness of the sea, Ashur remains in his quarters much of the time, meditating, and Nic lurks around, and when the prince emerges, he watches him in a rather curious manner.”

“I did ask Nic to keep an eye on our resident prince. Best not to trust a Kraeshian, not even one who claims not to be our enemy.” Jonas blew out a breath as he tightened the ties on his shirt. “All right, nearly to Paelsia. Good.”

“Good?” she repeated.

He nodded firmly. “If there’s a prophecy that requires me to be a full vessel of elementia, I want to know what it is as soon as possible. And that’s not going to happen while we’re stuck at sea, is it?”

“No,” she allowed. “It’s not. But truly, Jonas, I know nothing more than that. I’m so sorry.”

He nodded with a single jerk of his head. “Whatever it is, I can handle it. I’m sure I’ve handled much worse in the past.”

To this, Olivia had no reply at all.

Jonas tried very hard not to let that trouble him.

CHAPTER 12

MAGNUS

PAELSIA

Since the journey to Basilia would take at least three days from the Reaches on horseback, there was no time to waste with constant stops for a dying king and an old woman. Selia arranged for an enclosed carriage to carry her and her son.

When Magnus suggested that Cleo ride with them inside instead of on horseback, so she wouldn’t have to face the bracing cold, he was rewarded with a piercing look.

That would be a “no.”

Gaius directed them on a path that would take them each night through a town with an inn, where they rested, ate, and slept in separate locked rooms.

Seven long nights had gone by without falling asleep with Cleo in his arms, but each night he dreamed of her and the cottage in the woods. In waking hours, he chose not to share this with her. He didn’t want her to get a swelled head about her effect on him, so he kept his near-constant want to touch and kiss her to himself.

In the last village they rested, Enzo and Milo’s task was to fetch the group clothes befitting innocuous travelers passing through Paelsia. They succeeded in finding cotton frocks for Selia and Cleo and plain leather trousers and canvas tunics for themselves, Magnus, and Gaius.

Magnus looked at his cream-colored tunic with distaste. “Didn’t they have black?”

“No, your highness,” Enzo said.

“Dark gray?”

“No. Only this color and a robin’s egg blue. I didn’t feel that you would favor the blue.” Enzo cleared his throat. “I can go back to the shop.”

He sighed. “No, it’s fine. I will make do with this.”

At least his cloak and trousers were black.

He emerged, ready to begin the last leg of their journey to the west coast city, to see that Cleo, looking like a beautiful peasant girl in her simple dress, was smiling at him from next to her horse.

“You look like a Paelsian,” she commented.

“No need for insults, princess,” he growled back, but fought his grin as they mounted their horses and started moving.

A small eternity later, which was actually no more than half a day, they finally—and thankfully—arrived at their destination.

Magnus had heard many stories about Basilia, the closest thing Paelsia had to a capital city. The city served ships visiting Trader’s Harbor and stir-crazy crew members eager to disembark their vessels in search of food, drink, and women.

The stories rang true.

At first glance—and smell—Basilia was vastly overpopulated and stunk of both human waste and corruption. Dozens of ships were docked in the harbor, their crews flooding the shores and mingling in the streets, taverns, inns, markets, and brothels of the seaside city. And it seemed every bit as hot as Auranos at the height of summer.

“Disgusting.”

Magnus glanced over to see that King Gaius had opened the carriage’s window to peer out at the city center with distaste. His eyes were bloodshot, and the dark circles beneath them looked like fresh bruises against the sickly paleness of his complexion.

“I despise this place,” he said.

“Really?” Magnus replied, guiding his horse alongside the carriage. “I find it rather charming.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do. I like this . . . local color.”

“You’re not nearly as good of a liar as you might believe.”

“I suppose I can only aspire to be as accomplished at deceit as you have been.”

The king glared at him, then shifted his gaze to Cleo, who was riding in front of Magnus and behind the guards. “Princess, if I recall correctly, it was a market not so far from this very city where you found yourself with Lord Aron Lagaris and the wine seller’s son he killed, yes?”

Magnus immediately grew tense as he looked to the princess for her response. She didn’t reply for several seconds, but he could see her shoulders were tense through the thin material of her dress.