She flicked her hands outward again, and the water separated into multiple streams, flowing through the air and returning to their pitchers, with not a drop spilled, as far as Heath could see. Heath sat mutely as the young princess turned to her grandfather, sweeping him a graceful curtsy.
“In your service, and for your honor, Your Majesty,” she said, her look of concentration gone in favor of another sweet smile. King Eamon returned it with one of his own, raising his hands in dignified applause. The action unlocked the rest of the room, and cheers arose on all sides as Princess Kiana once again took her seat.
“Her power is controlling water,” Lord Vincent said, unnecessarily. “She’s a favorite for such entertainment. Her finesse is improving greatly.”
“I’ve never seen a power quite like that,” Heath replied, his eyes still riveted on Princess Kiana. “I have a cousin who has abilities with things that grow, but that…that was incredible.”
Lord Vincent squinted in an effort of memory. “Lord Brody, is that? Son of Prince Kincaid and Princess Jocelyn’s second child?”
Heath nodded, still not used to the fact that his family was so well known here.
“You may not have anyone who has power with water,” Lord Vincent continued brightly, “but it’s interesting, isn’t it, how your generation of power-wielders tend to have more physical abilities, like strength, or sight, or moving matter? Compared to the previous generation, where it was often a more intangible skill, like your father’s ability to detect deception. The same general pattern is true of our power-wielders, although not without exception.” He shook his head. “Magic is simply fascinating.”
Heath didn’t respond. In all honesty, he was too stunned to think of anything to say. It wasn’t just Princess Kiana’s impressive display. It was the strangeness of seeing such a display welcomed, even celebrated, as a routine part of the evening’s entertainment in King Eamon’s court. More than half the people in the room carried no magic, but no one looked uncomfortable, no one suspicious. Except perhaps some of the other members of the Valorian delegation, Heath thought with a grimace.
Kyona was certainly a different kind of land.
Heath’s eyes slid to his grandparents, their attention back on King Eamon and Queen Luciana now that the tribute was finished. Princess Jocelyn looked so at ease in the kingdom of her birth, and even Prince Kincaid appeared as relaxed as he did in Bryford. The sight rattled Heath further. He’d always known, of course, about his grandparents’ yearly visits to Kynton. But he hadn’t quite grasped how substantial a place they had in the community here, how familiar they must be to all the Kyonans. It was almost like having a second life, a second identity. He measured them both for a moment, as Lord Vincent chatted to the neighbor on his other side.
Prince Kincaid laughed at something his brother-in-law said, then cast his eyes over the room. His gaze locked with Heath, and he gave his grandson a reassuring smile. It was impossible to put words to it, but something passed between them in that moment. However much the elderly prince was at home in King Eamon’s court, he was Valorian, down to his very bones. Just as Heath was.
Heartened, Heath examined his grandmother. Her posture held none of the tension he had often seen in the last year or two, as she tried, along with the rest of the power-wielders, to walk a delicate line in King Matlock’s court. But while there was fondness in her demeanor toward her first home, perhaps even a sentiment of nostalgia, there was no regret, no conflict. She was Valorian now, too. She had embraced her new home decades ago, and she remained loyal to that decision.
Heath felt his shoulders relax in wordless relief. There was no danger there. He couldn’t have said how he could see these truths about the state of his grandparents’ hearts. He just could. And he had not the smallest doubt about the accuracy of his observations. He’d often been good at reading people, but this was a much stronger certainty. The skill was developing, apparently.
But his relief was short-lived, his reassuring thoughts interrupted by a catch of conversation from the noble girl currently listening with rapt attention to Percival.
“So you actually lifted the whole carriage off? You saved that boy’s life!”
Heath’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach as his brother disclaimed credit with a lightheartedness that clearly did nothing to reduce the lady’s admiration. Percival’s features were as open and cheerful as ever, but to Heath, the light in Percival’s eyes was almost feverish.
He barely held in a groan as all his unease returned. Not for the world would he have knowingly exposed Percival to this perplexing, intoxicating, unsettling environment. His mind swirled with unformed but potent fears about what might come of it. But there was nothing he could do now. Percival was here, and no unusual powers of observation were necessary to make it clear that he was already a big hit.
Heath felt a surge of determination. He hadn’t invited his brother, hadn’t really wanted him to come. But it was still because of him that Percival was in Kyona, and he therefore had some responsibility to make sure no harm came of the visit. Percival would have repudiated the very thought, but in some things, he needed his little brother to help protect him. And that was just what Heath would do.
He was so caught up in his thoughts that it didn’t hit him until he was sinking into his bed several hours later. With a stab that was half guilt, half relief, he realized that for a whole evening, he’d forgotten all about Merletta’s fate.
CHAPTER SIX
Heath sat up suddenly, a strangled cry escaping him. His mind raced frantically, trying to place his surroundings. The dim light of dawn was creeping over the room, and it took him a moment to recognize it as his suite in Kynton.
He pressed his palms to his eyes, one half of his mind trying to recapture the dream, the other half telling him he should try to forget. So much for a whole evening with no thought of Merletta’s fate.
The morning air didn’t carry much chill—Kyonan summers were even warmer than Valorian ones—but a shiver ran over him nevertheless. This dream had been especially vivid. At least in emotion. The details had actually been hazier than many other such dreams. Merletta had been surrounded by a murkiness that made it hard to discern physical details. But the sense of her situation had been crystal clear.
Vulnerable. Exposed. Surrounded by danger on all sides.
He let out a low moan. She was dead. Whatever danger she’d faced, it was over now. Surely his guilt over her death was enough. Why did he also have to be tormented by his mind’s attempt to conjure up the risks she’d faced while she was alive? That was his best guess at what was happening, but even that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
He pushed himself out of bed, dressing quickly and wondering how best to distract himself during the morning. He had a couple of state meetings in the afternoon—a nod to his official role in King Matlock’s court—but that was many hours away. He had to find something to fill the time, or his dream would continue to haunt him.
As it happened, the matter was decided for him. Early as it was, when he made his way from his sleeping chamber into his suite’s small but comfortably appointed receiving room, he found not only a servant stoking a small fire, but a note left in a prominent place on a table.
Heath
I hope you slept well. I would be delighted to receive you for tea before you get swept into whatever frolics the young people are sure to have planned for you today.
I am an early riser. Like you, I believe.