Besides, he was of no use to me dead.
My mind started whirring with possibilities. Perhaps Leonidas could tell me whom Captain Wexel was working for and why that person wanted so much tearstone. Perhaps he could even tell me where Wexel had taken the tearstone. Oh, yes. Leonidas Morricone could be a potential fount of information, and I was going to wring every last drop out of him. As for what I would do with him after that . . . Well, I would cross that mountain when I came to it.
As I stood there, plotting over the prince, a strange thought filled my mind—Xenia would be so proud of me for setting aside my emotions and history with Leonidas and doing what needed to be done. So would Everleigh. They had both taught me well.
Now it was time to use their lessons to get to the bottom of things—and thwart whatever plot was brewing against my kingdom.
Chapter Six
Leonidas might not have been bleeding anymore, but he was still a long way from being fully healed, much less alert enough to be questioned, so I rubbed more ointment onto his wound and found some white cloth to use as a bandage.
I draped one end of the cloth over his chest, then grabbed his shoulder and turned him onto his side, so that I could wrap the cloth around his back. I rolled the prince a little more to the side, exposing even more of his back, and revealing . . .
Scars—so many scars.
Long, thin white lines slashed across Leonidas’s back, starting at the tops of his shoulders and marching down his spine before disappearing below the waistband of his leggings. Small round scars puckered up here and there, along with larger, jagged marks that resembled uneven lines of thick white thread that had been stitched into his skin.
Sick shock punched into my stomach, pummeling the air from my lungs. I had endured my fair share of painful injuries, and I had inflicted horrible, fatal wounds on others in return, but I had never seen anything like this.
Leonidas Morricone had been tortured.
No, not merely tortured. He had been brutalized—often and repeatedly, over the course of several months, if not years.
Shock kept crashing over me in nauseating waves, but I drew in a shaky breath, leaned down, and took a closer look at his scars. The long lines had probably been made with some sort of whip, while the round spots seemed more like burn marks, caused by a hot fireplace poker or something similar. As for the zigzag, threadlike scars . . . well, I didn’t even want to imagine what had made those.
I shuddered, but I forced myself to check for recent injuries, anything that Helene’s ointment might be able to heal. But he didn’t have any new wounds, just layers and layers of scars. Given how old and faded they were, the wounds must have been inflicted quite some time ago, probably when Leonidas was a boy.
Horror and revulsion twisted and twisted my stomach, as though it were a wet dishrag that was being wrung out, even as sorrow and sympathy flared in my heart, like warm, bright fluorestones lighting up a cold, dark room.
“Who did this to you?” I whispered.
Leonidas didn’t respond, but his muscles clenched under my fingertips, almost as if his unconscious mind could hear my shocked tone and didn’t like my staring at all the pain and trauma he had suffered. I shuddered again, then wrapped the bandage around his back and tied the two ends together—
A knock sounded on the front door.
I shot to my feet, whirled around, and reached out with my magic, wondering if Conley and the other miners were lurking outside. Or worse, Captain Wexel and the Mortan guards. Instead, a calm, familiar presence filled my mind, so I went over and flung open the door.
Topacia stepped inside, then frowned. “Gemma? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Her hazel gaze flicked over me, but I smiled as though nothing was wrong and I didn’t have a half-dead prince laid out on the floor.
“Did you find out anything?” I asked.
Her lips pressed into a thin, worried line. “Yes, and none of it’s good. Several Mortan guards flew into town on strixes and rented rooms last night, along with their captain, someone named Wexel.”
“I saw Wexel and his men earlier.”
I told Topacia about Conley’s meeting with Wexel. The longer I talked, the darker Topacia’s face became. Soon, she looked as livid as the storm clouds still looming in the distance.
“That bloody traitor!” she hissed. “Selling tearstone to the Mortans. We should go over to the mine, drag Conley outside, and gut him in the plaza for everyone to see.”
Her hand curled around the sword on her belt. Topacia was loyal to the core, and she was always happy to cut down any threat against me, my family, or Andvari.
“I wasn’t the only unexpected guest at Conley and Wexel’s meeting.” I stepped into the living room and gestured at Leonidas, who was still unconscious. “Meet Leonidas Morricone.”
Topacia stopped short. “As in Prince Leonidas Morricone?”
“One and the same.”
Her fingers curled even tighter around her sword, as if she expected him to leap up and attack us. “Why is he stretched out on the floor like a throw rug?”
I told her about Wexel stabbing Leonidas, and then Conley ordering Penelope and me to dispose of him.
“But why would you ever help a Mortan?” Topacia asked. “Especially a Morricone? He’ll probably try to kill you the second he wakes up.”
“Or he might be persuaded to tell me everything he knows about the tearstone. Leonidas was snooping around for some reason. I want to know what he was doing in Blauberg, and healing him seemed like the best way to convince him to cooperate.”
Topacia shook her head. “You’ve been reading too many storybooks about Armina Ripley and Everleigh Blair. This sounds like something they would do—cold and calculated.”
“And smart,” I replied. “Armina founded our kingdom, and no one has protected their people more fiercely than Aunt Evie has against the Morricones, the DiLucris, and all our other common enemies. Dozens of Andvarians are already dead. I don’t want that number to climb any higher. So if there’s even the smallest chance I can get some information that will unravel this latest Mortan scheme, then I need to take it.”
“And what if you can’t get any information out of him?” she countered.
“I could call in the royal guards to imprison him, but he wasn’t the one buying tearstone, so he hasn’t really done anything wrong. Nothing that would justify holding him and further increasing tensions with Queen Maeven.” I shrugged. “So I suppose that I’ll cut him loose and let him fly his strix back to Morta.”
“He came here on a strix?” Topacia clutched her sword again. “Where is it?”
“Her name is Lyra. She’s in the woods.”
“You brought a Morricone and a strix here?” Topacia shook her head again. “I don’t know whether to admire your audacity or throttle you for putting yourself in so much danger.”
I grinned. “Audacity should always be admired.”
She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Of course I know how dangerous it is, but it’s worth the risk. Besides, Grimley is watching Lyra. The strix won’t be a problem.”
“Unless the prince dies,” Topacia pointed out. “Then she’ll probably crash through the windows and peck your eyes out—before she stabs her beak into your heart.”