Falling Kingdoms (17 page)

F
inding an exiled Watcher in Paelsia was not proving to be as simple a task as Cleo had hoped. And stowing aboard a cargo ship carrying wine back and forth from Auranos to Paelsia wasn’t as luxurious as being aboard her father’s lavish yacht. But she and Nic had successfully arrived.

Cleo carried a bag of necessities, including a change of clothes and a small sack of gold and silver coins, generic currency rather than recognizable Auranian centimos stamped with the face of the goddess, which might draw attention to their travels. She kept the hood of her cloak over her sun-swept hair most of the time, but it was more to keep out the cold breeze than to remain incognito. There would only be a small handful in this goddess-forsaken land who’d have any idea who she really was.

And they walked. And walked.

And walked some more.

The journey to find Aron’s wine the last time she’d been here felt as if it was an endless trip. It was but a glimpse of this.

Each village was a half day’s journey from each other—at the very least. A couple times they’d managed to catch a ride on the back of a horse-drawn cart, but mostly they walked. Each village looked the same as the last. Small, poor, with a cluster of cottages, a tavern, an inn, and a market selling various modest wares, including small, sad-looking fruits and vegetables. These food items didn’t grow so well in the cold soil as the grapes did. It was only more evidence that the vineyards and the grapes themselves were specifically touched by earth magic. This realization helped Cleo remain optimistic as the days dragged on.

Shortly after their arrival, they wandered through the vineyards themselves, wide expanses of green vines planted in neat rows, the ground frosty, the pale green grapes cold to the touch but large and plump and sweet.

Before anyone could see them, catch them, they’d gathered as many bunches of grapes as they could and ran away. It wasn’t a perfect meal served by servants in front of a blazing fire, but it filled their bellies—especially since Nic had proved useless at catching a quick-moving rabbit for dinner. They’d come upon an awkward and slow-moving turtle, but neither of them had had the heart to end its life. At the time, they hadn’t been hungry enough for turtle meat. Instead, they ate the remainder of their dried fruit.

Beyond the west coast, where the harbor hugged the rocky shore and the vineyards grew, they traveled farther east along narrow dirt roads, stopping in each village to ask if anyone knew of the legends—and if there were any rumors of an exiled Watcher living amongst the peasants.

To anyone who asked, Cleo and Nic introduced themselves as a brother and sister from northern Limeros who were traveling together to research such stories. The thought was humorous to Cleo and she could barely keep the grin off her face whenever Nic told his tale—each time it became more grand. Before long, they were the son and daughter of a famous Limerian poet who’d asked them with his dying breath to complete his life’s work—a book about the Watchers of the Kindred.

Nic had an incredible imagination and an inviting way about him that set everyone’s mind at ease. Paelsians were not open to visitors from other kingdoms, but they made an exception for the two once Nic got talking. He rarely failed to bring a smile to their weathered faces. Children especially loved Nic, gathering around him at a campfire beneath the stars for more stories that he made up on the spot. Before they left a couple of the villages, a few children followed them, begging Nic to stay just a little while longer so he could continue to entertain them.

Cleo had hoped to find the answers she sought quickly, but it was stretching into nearly a week since they’d arrived and she began to grow weary. Some days were better than others. They had gold that paid for rooms in village inns so they could get a semi-comfortable night’s sleep on straw-packed beds. The meals served in the taverns weren’t nearly the same as the ones in the Auranian palace but were far from horrible.

But tonight, after leaving such a tavern and beginning their walk to the inn to rent a room, they were cornered by a few large, rough boys who took her weighty sack of coins and left them with only a precious few found at the bottom of Nic’s pockets.

Cleo cried for the first time since they’d arrived. It was a clear sign to her that their trip to Paelsia would get worse before it got better. Barely any money meant she’d soon have to return to Auranos, admitting failure and accepting punishment for running away from home to chase after myth and magic.

Not wanting to waste what little coin they had left, they slept in a dry, dusty riverbed, Nic’s arms wrapped tightly around Cleo to stop her shivering. Her large, baggy cloak was drawn around the both of them for warmth.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re right; I don’t. But I can hope.”

“We haven’t found anything. Nobody believes there’s a Watcher living here.”

Maybe there wasn’t.

She let out a long, shaky sigh and pressed her cheek against Nic’s chest to listen to his heartbeat. The stars above them were bright in the black sky, the moon a shard of silver light. She’d never studied the sky for so long before, only looking up now and then in an absent kind of way. But she’d never seen it, not like this. So clear and vast and beautiful even in such a hopeless moment.

“Why would a Watcher be exiled from their home, anyway?” she asked.

“They say that some fall in love with mortals and they leave voluntarily. Once they leave, they can never return.”

“To do such a thing for love. To leave paradise.” She swallowed. “It seems like a waste.”

“Depends who you’re in love with.”

This was true.

As Cleo looked up at the stars, she thought about Theon and wondered if he too might be looking up at the same moment. She knew he would have been furious to learn that she’d left and that she’d lied to him. At the time, she hadn’t worried about it, thinking she’d return victorious before too much time had passed and all would be forgiven.

I’m sorry, Theon,
she thought.
I wish you were here with me.

As much as she adored Nic, the thought of instead having Theon’s arms around her to keep her warm made her heart begin to race. She’d run away from him, from his stern looks and serious words—but now she missed him desperately. There was nothing about Theon she would ever change, not even the fact that he wasn’t royal. She hoped that he understood why she’d had no choice but to come here. That he’d forgive her. Eventually.

“What do Watchers look like?” she whispered. “I never paid attention to the legends.”

“Hardly anyone believes them anymore. The Watchers are all young and beautiful. Light shines from their golden skin. They spend their days in endless green meadows surrounded by splendor.”

“But they’re trapped in that paradise?”

“That’s what the legends say. Since the Kindred was lost, they don’t possess enough magic to leave. It’s their punishment for losing what they were supposed to guard.”

“But they can still watch us through the eyes of birds.”

“Not everyone, I’m sure. Some they’d find quite boring to watch. Aron, for instance. All they’d see is him drinking wine all day long and admiring himself in a mirror. How dull.”

She laughed despite herself. “You might be right about that.”

“I just had a thought.”

“Uh-oh. What is it?” She looked up at his face.

“Imagine what Aron would say if he saw us like this. Sleeping in each other’s arms. Would he be jealous?”

She grinned. “Insanely. Especially of the fact that we’re broke and starving and freezing to death, with not a drop of wine between us.”

He closed his eyes, his lips quirking at the edges. “For the chance to die in the arms of Princess Cleiona, it might just be worth it.”

He constantly made silly comments like this. She normally brushed them off as only humor, but sometimes she wondered if her sister had been right—that Nic might be a little bit in love with her.

The worry drifted away as she fell asleep and dreamed instead of Theon.

• • •

“This is it,” Nic said the next day when they resumed their search. “If we find nothing today, then we need head back to the harbor and go home tomorrow. Agreed?”

Disappointment and weariness thudded with every step she took. “Agreed.”

Nearly out of money and with no clues to give them hope, it was time for this adventure to end and for Cleo to accept defeat.

She squeezed her eyes shut as they walked and said a rare prayer to the goddess for assistance in their search.

Her stomach grumbled unhappily as if in reply. They’d found some dried-up fruit on some dried-up trees that morning, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy her.

“Yes, excellent,” Nic said. “We’ll follow your inner gurgle like a compass. I think it’ll help.”

She smacked his arm and tried not to grin since it was the last expression her face felt like making. “Don’t tease. I know you’re starving too.”

“We’ll have to choose between a tavern or an inn tonight. Can’t have both.”

It was so unfair. Just as Cleo had begun to look on Paelsians as kind and hardworking people, they’d been mugged, renewing her previous assumption that they were all desperate savages.

They’re desperate because they have nothing. While I have everything.

It was a chilling thought. Perhaps Cleo too would become more savage if she had to live in this dying land for more than a week.

They entered the next village with its typical dusty streets and small, stone cottages with thatched roofs. In the market, which was the busiest section of the village, they stopped a few people and asked them about the Watcher.

They received the same response they’d gotten everywhere else.

“Watchers? Don’t know anything about that,” one woman said, her lips peeling back from broken teeth. “Don’t believe in such inane legends, dearie. If we had a Watcher among us with magic at her lovely, golden fingertips, do you think we’d have to sleep under broken roofs and eat frostbitten vegetables?”

“She’s an exiled Watcher, so perhaps it’s different for her.”

The woman waved a dismissive hand. “It’s bad enough that we put up with Chief Basilius, who uses our taxes for his luxurious compound working his so-called magic while the rest of us starve to death. Now he wants to steal our men for his foolish endeavors. Sickening.”

“Quiet yourself,” her gray-haired friend whispered harshly, grabbing her arm. “Don’t speak ill of the chief. He’ll hear you.”

“He hears nothing but his own satisfied belches,” the woman snarled back.

The woman’s friend dragged her away before she said anything else.

“Broken roofs,” Nic said, scanning the area. “She’s right. Half the roofs around here have holes in them. How do these people manage to survive the bleakest days of winter?”

“Some don’t.” The voice came from a stall selling woven baskets. Cleo stopped and turned to see a small woman with gray hair and a deeply lined face regarding her with black, sparkling eyes. For a moment, Cleo recalled Silas Agallon, the wine seller, just before his sons arrived. What happened shortly afterward slid through her memory like rancid jam.

“Apologies, but what did you say?” Cleo asked.

“The winters are harsh here,” the woman said. “Some aren’t lucky enough to see the spring. That’s just the way it is. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“We’re from Limeros,” Nic said evenly. “Traveling through this land doing research on a book about the legend of the Watchers of the Kindred. Do you know anything about them?”

“I know some stories. My family used to tell them, and I know many tales passed down through the centuries, some that would have been lost otherwise.”

Cleo’s heart pounded. “Have you ever heard rumors a woman who lives here in Paelsia used to be a Watcher? She was exiled and now makes her home in a village in this land.”

“An exiled Watcher around here?” The woman’s brows went up. “How exciting. But no, I’ve never heard this rumor. I’m sorry.”

Cleo’s shoulders sank. “So am I.”

The woman gathered her wares and rolled them up into a large piece of cloth, tucking them into a pack she swung over her shoulder. “You should find shelter. The storm is nearly upon us.”

“Storm?” Nic repeated just as a crack of lightning forked through the darkening sky followed by a boom of thunder.

The woman gazed upward. “Storms in Paelsia are infrequent, but always sudden and severe. Our land is still touched by magic, even as it fades before our eyes.”

Cleo’s breath caught. “You believe in magic.”

“Sometimes I do. Lately, though, it’s not often enough.” She cocked her head. “Are you sure you’re from Limeros? You hold the slightest accent that makes me think of our southern neighbors.”

“Of course we’re sure,” Nic said without hesitation. “Cleo and I have traveled extensively across the Western Realm as well as overseas, so we’ve managed to pick up many things along the way. Accents, habits, friends. Hopefully we can count you among the latter. My name’s Nicolo, but please call me Nic.”

“Eirene.” A smile helped fan the wrinkles out around her eyes. “A pleasure, young man. And you”—she turned to Cleo—“that’s an unusual name you have. Is it short for Cleiona?”