Page 51 of The Prince's Mage

So Marcella feigned tiredness even earlier than usual and Gavril reluctantly left her to go to his own room. She cursed the fact that her room was connected to his. She hadn’t brought it up because she knew it was the safest place for her even if it wasn’t appropriate given the fact that they were…

She didn’t entirely know what they were. But it wasn’t married, so therefore it wasn’t appropriate. Gavril, however, was a prince, even if he wasn’t the favored one, so she was willing to bet everyone was turning a blind eye.

Either way, it didn’t make her job easier. But it would also be hard to kidnap Nikias if she was attacked by someone who could do her harm.

She waited until the movement in the other room stopped and Gavril seemed settled—settled until either one of them woke from their nightmares.

Then she pushed herself out of her bed and tiptoed toward the door. The sun had long since finished setting, and the palace was lit by light runes scattered through the hallways.

The hallway was empty.

At least she could test her route and see if she would get utterly lost on her own. It was just a test. She didn’t have to do anything. And if she got caught, she could feign stupidity and ignorance. The Inimicus would be eager to believe it of her.

She softly padded down the halls, encountering no one. When she did hear footsteps, she would pick up her pace and take another turn. She focused on the map she’d been trying to create in her head and prayed to Asentai to guide her if it failed.

She was getting close to the area she’d narrowed it down to where Nikias’ study was supposed to be. Then she heard his voice. His and Aimilia’s.

“—helpful in your work?” Nikias.

Marcella found a shadowy spot behind a column to hide herself in case they came closer.

“You can cut the act—not in front of your parents—have to pretend—” Aimilia said. “Why are you asking?—get enough out of her—tortured her?”

He’d been asking about Marcella?

She focused harder on trying to hear them clearly from farther away to better translate, but she still couldn’t get everything.

“I’m asking because—called it a… relic—some object of faith—when she touched it—before—stopped—thought it stopped at least—last words—been a ritual? Or—thing all that Sordes do—petition Asentai—point—I understand how it’s helping you and Gavril—tell my parents and keep them off your backs. You saw them. They’re getting impatient—been months.”

They were talking about the Heart. And it sounded like she had been forced to touch the Heart and she’d prayed. She had hazy memories of it, but it was good to know that had been real. She wasn’t eager to revisit those memories to try to decipher it herself. There was a dark pit in her stomach at just thinking generally about that memory, and she didn’t want to dig deeper.

“Sounds like that’s your problem, not mine.”

“I know—difficult is the same thing as being charming—my best—fix things—”

While Marcella successfully resisted the urge to scoff, Aimilia did not. In fact, the girl’s bright, sharp laugh and the sound of cups rattling filled the hallway. Marcella could see them now if she peered around the column, stopped in front of a door.

Nikias’ expression was impassive while Aimilia straightened up from her mocking laugh, righting the tray holding her tea set she had braced on her hip.

“Don’t you—little late for that?—lost any chance?”

Nikias stared down at her, and something seemed to crack in his marble. “Dum spiro spero.”

That sounded familiar. The first part Marcella thought was “While I breathe…” but she didn’t know the last part. She’d heard that word so many times before, or variants of it, but it wasn’t one Aimilia had taught her yet.

Then the crack was gone, and Aimilia didn’t seem to even register it as she said, “Fine—must know, yes—the rock—compare to—Gavril and I—using it tomorrow—report to you—successful, but we’re close.”

They were?

Marcella cursed her feeble mind and weak body that still hadn’t fully recovered its strength. She hadn’t been keeping up on what exactly they were doing and how close they were to somehow proving Gavril’s theory. She’d been too focused on using what little energy and strength she did have on her own goals.

“Thank you.”

Marcella blinked, but Aimilia was already halfway down the hall as Nikias spoke. His right arm was still in the sling, but his left was at his side. It twitched, most of it hidden under his long sleeve, but she could see, just barely in the dim light runes, scars on his left wrist.

In their trips to theacademie, Marcella had seen more Inimicus with bands and lines on their left wrists like hers and Gavril’s, but figuring out why so many of the Inimicus had made these magically binding promises was low on her list of priorities. But she was curious about Nikias’ hidden scars.

Did they scar when someone broke their promise?

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