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“Whatever shall we do then?” I ask.
“I’m realizing anything I might think of would probably be terribly boring to you.”
“No, I’m easily entertained.”
“How fortunate for me.”
Jamys’ self-deprecating tone is the kind of thing that usually makes me more comfortable with a person. On him, though, it’s a touch mysterious. He was born to be a king. He’s known that as long as he’s known his own name. Why wouldn’t he think more highly of himself? He seems worried about not being enough for me, but where does that come from? I try to be interested in him, or at least to appear to be. It’s not even all false. He’s a lovely person and, in moments like this, intriguing.
“Jamys, what do you do for fun?”
His eyebrows pull together as if I’ve just asked the most ridiculous question. “We’re royals, Ara. When does it ever matter what we enjoy doing?”
“If we’re to be married, then it matters to me.”
Being the spare has probably spoiled me with free time. He undoubtedly has greater demands as heir, and we’ll both be busier as king and queen someday. I should still know these things about him, though. Maybe I’ll even find ways to slip moments of fun into his schedule.
He looks at me as if my motives and intentions might be written deep in my eyes. “All right,” he says finally. “I’ll show you.”
Chapter twelve
The way Jamys got so nervous about showing me whatever it is he’s going to show me—his disappearance into his rooms, his insistence that we go somewhere private—equates in my mind to him having some horribly scandalous fetish. Whether I will come to regret asking him about it or find it amusing or alluring, is yet to be seen as we cross the bridge from the west tower to the cave adjacent the palace.
His immaculate posture is more rigid than usual, like he’s bracing for battle. Perhaps he’s a murderer. He couldn’t possibly kill me, though, so why drag me out here?
“I’ll admit, I am intrigued,” I say as we approach the cave.
We get inside, and his expression drops. “Oh. It’s much louder here than I expected.” Case in point—he very nearly has to yell the sentiment to me.
“There’s a waterfall on the other side of it.” With a swirl of my hand, I pull a soundproof bubble around us. “Is that better?”
He looks around and runs his fingers down the shield. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”
“You have ample time to find it perfectly normal, if not dull.”
This sprawling room has countless tunnels branching off it. I’ve gotten lost in here more times than I can recall, though my parents were always more concerned about those incidents than I was. Despite all my wandering through it, I still haven’t explored the entire cave.
“I thought this used to be a temple?” Jamys asks.
“That was centuries ago. Part of it was destroyed.”
“And you don’t have any temples at all now.” It’s not a question, but I answer it anyway.
“The dead can be remembered and honored, but they do not need to be worshipped.”
Omaliya, the First Queen, did not care for religion, and as she was the one the gods gave their power to, she was a dependable authority on how we should proceed with it. It’s enough to use the magic gifted to us to maintain peace in our kingdom. Our actions are the greatest thanks we can offer the gods. Of course, only ever mentioning them as a method of swearing is probably blasphemous to Jamys.
His lips quirk, but he says nothing.
“What is it?”
He brushes the shield again. “I suppose it’s easier to think that way when the gods left you a parting gift.”
It isn’t as if the gods made every citizen of Alchos magical. That would certainly incite jealousy from the other kingdoms. But to assign one family as the keepers of magic doesn’t amount to choosing a kingdom to favor. Alchos wasn’t even a kingdom when the Lord of Mirador found Omaliya washed up on his shore. She didn’t remember where she’d come from, but she seemed to be blessed, as her presence ended a drought and made the land more fruitful. It was because she used that blessing to help those around her that Alchos united under their rule, and the gods saw fit to leave the power in her hands. With their magic went their immortality, and so they died, trusting Omaliya and her descendants to rule over the elements and the land. Worship didn’t get us anything—it was the virtuous actions of our ancestors.
I sigh at Jamys’ discontent. “Do you think your devotion to them will result in magic being shared with you?”
“Isn’t it?”
