“I don’t know . . . magically?”

“Elementia can’t solve every problem, unfortunately. No, I went in search of the truth, and that search led me to Laelia. When she learned who I was, she asked for money—a great deal of coin to help her now that her father is dead and she’s afraid someone might recognize her as the daughter of the defeated chief. I’ll be fine if I never see her again.”

“Basilius was your father too.”

“I will never claim the chief as my father.”

“Yet you’re happy to claim the King of Blood as family.”

“Despite what you might think, Gaius Damora has been good to me in my life. He kept me safe and protected until I was stupid enough to run off on my own, thinking I was in love with a boy I’d known no more than a handful of days. Gaius had me taken from my cradle because of my prophecy. He could have kept me locked away. Instead, he raised me as a princess, as his daughter. I was given an education and a wonderful life in a home I adored.”

Jonas shook his head. “Huh, well, I guess I’ve been wrong about him all this time. King Gaius is a truly kind and wonderful person.”

“Very well, I’ll save my breath for a more useful conversation—like speaking with my father.”

“Fine. Let me deliver you to your perfect, loving family, and I can be done with this. I need to go back to the empress’s compound and search for my idiotic friends, who attract trouble to their lives like dirt to their shoes.”

Lucia followed Jonas down the street. She felt a pang in her gut for her sharp words. Jonas had helped her a great deal.

“I want you to know that I appreciate this. What you’ve done, bringing me here. I will ensure that no harm comes to you, despite all your horrible crimes.”

“Oh, goody. Thank you, princess. You’re a peach.”

Her back stiffened. “Or perhaps I won’t.” Just when she was beginning to soften toward the rebel, he had to make her angry again. She was about to dismiss him completely, when a wave of pain buckled her knees.

Jonas caught her arm. “Princess?”

“I’m fine,” she said, her teeth clenched. “Unhand me.”

“No.” When he lifted her up into his arms, she was too weak to try to stop him. “You are definitely a lot of trouble, aren’t you?”

“Just point me toward my family.”

“No thank you for not letting you drop like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the street? Fine then, they’re at the inn on the corner. I’ll take you the rest of the way. Now, how about you save both your energy and my ears by not talking?”

Lucia couldn’t speak anyway. The pain was too intense. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking deep, shaking breaths. She could bear it—she had to. As long as her child was safe, she could bear anything.

Jonas moved very quickly for someone carrying a pregnant woman. Lucia had to clutch his shoulders for safety when he entered the inn.

Ten paces from the front door, a woman was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. She must have only just started, since there was blood everywhere.

“Let me down,” Lucia told Jonas, alarmed by the unexpected sight.

He did as she asked.

“What happened here?” she demanded.

The woman looked up, her eyes red and weary. “We’re not taking any guests today. Apologies, but you can go down the street. There are plenty of inns around here.”

“Whose blood is that?”

The woman just shook her head and concentrated on her task.

“Maria,” Jonas said, crouching down beside her. She looked up at him, recognition dawning in her eyes.

“Jonas, you’ve returned.” She smiled weakly. “I think you were the only one who bothered to learn my name.”

“How could I not learn the name of the woman who makes the best fig fritters I’ve ever had in my entire life?”

Tears spilled onto Maria’s cheeks. “It was horrible.”

“What happened?” Lucia demanded, her fists clenched. “Tell us, or I’ll—”

Jonas glared up at her. “You’ll do nothing to this woman. Do not come a single step closer.”

“Is this your wife, Jonas?” Maria asked warily.

“My . . . ?” Jonas let out a low chuckle. “No, she is most certainly not my wife.”

How dare this peasant woman think that she would become romantically entangled with someone like this cruel, rough rebel? “I am Lucia Eva Damora, and I swear on the goddess that if you do not tell me what happened here and where my family is, you will deeply regret it.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them, and Jonas turned a look of pure fury on her.

“Lucia Damora,” Maria whispered, dropping her bloody cloth. “The sorceress. You’re here. Spare my husband, please, I beg of you.”

“Ignore Lucia,” Jonas growled. “Tell me what happened, Maria. I won’t let the princess harm you or your family in any way, I swear it.”

“Kraeshian soldiers . . . they came here, more than I’ve seen since they arrived in Basilia. There was a fight—a brief one. The king, the prince . . .” She shook her head. “It’s all too much.”

Jonas nodded at the floor. “Was anyone killed?”

“A young man with dark hair. He didn’t have much to do with me while you all stayed here. He tried to defend the Limerians but was slayed quickly. I believe his name was Milo.”