“I don’t know what to do,” Lucia said.

“I learned one thing from my mother when I was a kid,” Jonas told her. “She helped other women when they gave birth in our village. She said that nature has a way of making it happen whether you know what you’re doing or not. Maybe you can do something to relieve the pain, though, with your earth magic?”

Lucia shook her head. “I’m drained. I’m weak. My magic is gone. Timotheus is right. I see now why he didn’t want to tell me about this. He had me believing that I could stop Kyan, but I see now that it must be you.” She pressed something into his hand, and he looked down to see that it was an orb of amber. “Kyan must be imprisoned again. You have magic within you, Jonas. It all makes sense to me now.” As she spoke, her voice grew weaker and weaker, until it was barely audible above the roaring of the storm. He struggled to find footing in the muddy ground as he crouched next to the princess.

“You think I can imprison something like him? You’re the prophesied sorceress.”

“Not for much longer, it seems. Jonas . . .” He had to draw closer to hear her whisper. “Tell my brother, my father . . . tell them that I’m sorry I hurt them. Tell them that I love them, that I know they loved me. And tell . . . tell my son when he’s old enough to understand that there was good in me.” She smiled weakly. “Way down deep, anyway.”

Jonas had started to believe this too, so he didn’t try to argue with her.

“You will make a good father for my son,” she said. “You might not believe it now, but I see it. You’re strong and earnest and hardworking. You do what you think is right, even at great cost.”

“Don’t forget that I’m incredibly handsome.”

Her smile held. “That too.”

He shook his head, now wanting to argue. He wasn’t strong, he didn’t do what was right. He’d gotten so many friends killed because of his choices and plans.

Lucia took his hand in hers. Her skin was so cold, it shocked him. “You are destined for greatness, Jonas Agallon. I can see your destiny as clearly as Timotheus can.”

“You know,” Jonas said, pushing Lucia’s long, wet hair off her forehead. “I never believed in magic or destiny before a year ago.”

“And now?”

“I believe in magic. In evil sorceresses who deep down are really beautiful princesses. I believe in immortals who live in a different world than this one, accessible by magical stone wheels. But you know what I don’t believe in?”

“What?”

“I refuse to believe that we have absolutely no control over our own futures, because right now? I’m damn well going to control my own. I don’t want to be a father. Not yet, anyway.”

“But you must! My son is—”

“Your son will be fine. And so will you.” He squeezed her hand. “You said that Alexius taught you how to steal magic. So steal mine. Steal enough to heal yourself, to get through this birth without dying. Do it, and you can tell Timotheus to kiss your arse when it comes to proclaiming your future from his shiny little Sanctuary.”

Lucia stared at him, confusion naked in her gaze before it faded. “That isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “Don’t you like the thought of having a choice when it comes to your own fate?”

“I . . . I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Try,” he said. “Just try, and stop bloody well arguing with everything I have to say.”

Lucia’s expression of fear was replaced by fury. “You are so rude to me!”

“Good. Be mad at me—so mad you can steal the magic right out of me. You can slap me for being rude later. Do it, princess. Take my magic.”

Her forehead furrowed as she concentrated. This will work, Jonas thought. It has to work.

Then he felt it—a draining sensation that made him gasp aloud. It wasn’t pain, exactly. It felt like a magnetic force pulling at his insides.

His heartbeat began to slow, and spots appeared before his eyes.

“Do me a favor,” he managed.

“What?” she asked, and he noticed that her voice already sounded stronger, just as he began to feel weaker and colder.

“Try . . . not to . . . kill me . . .”

• • •

Only when he woke up, rain still drenching him, did Jonas realize that he’d passed out. His wet cloak had been thrown over him like a blanket, and he slowly, very slowly, pushed himself up to sit.

“Do storms usually last this long here?” asked Lucia.

Jonas looked over at her. She was holding a small bundle in her arms. “Baby,” he said. “That—that’s a baby right there.”

“It is.” She tipped the bundle enough that he could see a small pink face looking out at him.

“Definitely a baby,” he said, nodding. “You’re alive.”

“Thanks to you. I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Jonas. Your sacrifice saved my life.”

“Sacrifice?” he repeated. “Not a sacrifice at all. I never wanted magic to start with.”

“Well, I didn’t take all your magic. As you requested, I didn’t want to kill you just yet. After all, you promised that I could slap you when I felt better.” She smiled. “I look forward to that.”

He tried not to laugh. “As do I.”