“You are in need of my service, correct?” Otto asked as Diomedes replaced Blanndynne on the torn up barstool. Diomedes tried not to think about how his fingers came away from the underside of the seat covered in some sort of sticky substance.
The genie seemed all too relieved to leave the conversation, and she tugged Armannii off to the side. With all of the ruckus going on in the pub—a young man with horns growing out of his head had jumped on a table and was dancing, much to the amusement of most of the patrons—Diomedes couldn’t tell what Blanndynne was saying. However, with her pinched expression and hands gesturing toward Otto, Diomedes had a feeling Armannii was getting told off for suggesting they find Otto in the first place. Armannii held his hands up, nodding. Whatever he had said caused Blanndynne to lower her shoulders and glance at Diomedes.
“Well?” Otto asked, and Diomedes returned his focus to the man in front of him.
“In a way,” Diomedes said. “I—”
“No, no,” Otto said. “I like to guess.”
“Excuse me?”
Otto rubbed his hands on his knees. “I’m quite good at reading people.”
Diomedes shrugged, sitting up taller. Though the man’s guessing game would take longer than just telling him what he needed, Diomedes’s curiosity got the better of him.
“All right,” Diomedes said, stroking the edge of his jaw with a finger. “Two minutes.”
“Let’s not waste time then.” Otto rubbed his hands together. “Your posture tells me you were raised in a family that was better-off than most of us here.” He paused, watching Diomedes with careful eyes. “And since you just straightened up a bit, I’ll assume I got that right.”
“One minute and forty-eight seconds,” Diomedes said, determined not to concede any information until the two minutes were up. The man had already assumed one thing correctly, making Diomedes second-guess his silent bet against the stranger. However, Diomedes noted, he had also made a similar observation about Otto’s own posture, so maybe the man was just picking up on something commonly noticed. Either way, Diomedes turned his attention back to Otto’s educated guesses.
“I’m going to postulate that ‘Didi’ is a nickname. Is it not? I can tell by your tense muscles it is, and it must be important. Now”—Otto grinned, revealing his rotten teeth—“correct me if I’m wrong, but the crown prince of Phildeterre’s name is quite similar. That wouldn’t be a coincidence, would it?”
Diomedes did everything he could to keep his facial expression paved in stone, yet Otto saw right through him.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Don’t worry,” Otto said, continuing to grin as Diomedes flicked his eyes to Armannii. “I won’t say anything to anyone. You’d cause quite a riot if people here found out who you are.”
Standing at a distance, Armannii had his head tilted in their direction. But at Otto’s mention of Diomedes’s identity, the elf straightened up and glanced around. It was not too difficult to assume that if there was one elf, there may be more, or other people with extraordinary hearing like Armannii’s. The sight of Armannii keeping an eye out sent a small wave of relief through Diomedes. At least Armannii would have his back if something went wrong.
“But the question is, why have you graced us with your presence?” Otto’s voice dripped with sarcasm, which Diomedes ignored. The man had about a minute left.
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Diomedes responded, tone even.
“I watched you enter the pub. Unlike your predecessors, you’re not turned off by the idea of magic, are you?” Otto’s gaze dropped to Diomedes’s hands before returning to his face. “Well, that’s a relief. We wouldn’t want a bunch of royal guards tearing this place down. I’d say most of us are pretty fond of it. Wouldn’t you agree, Ovair?” The man didn’t turn, but out of his peripheral vision, Diomedes watched Armannii snort.
“You’re wasting my time.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Diomedes leaned back against the bar counter.
“Nothing of the sort, Your Highness. I’m closer than you might think. Your presence at Ebony Pub, your choice in companionship, and your determination all speak quite clearly to what is motivating you. You’re different than your father—oh, I can see he is the source of quite a bit of anger. And your mother? You much preferred her over the king despite her abandonment.”
Diomedes felt his nose wrinkle, and he clenched his fist at the lack of control he had over his reactions. Otto had been right; he could read people like literature.
“If I am correct—and by your body language and disheveled appearance, I am—then you are on some sort of quest that would pit you against your own kin. Now, that could relate to many things, but if you are indeed here for the service of my skills, then it most likely has to do with magic. And your father doesn’t like magic, does he? Ah, but you do. Even the word lights up your eyes. I’d also wager it’s the source of plenty of envy in your life, especially with a comrade as skilled at runes as Ovair.”
“Your time is up,” Diomedes said, gritting his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen Armannii perk his head up at the last remarks Otto had made. The last thing Diomedes wanted was for the elf to know how deeply he envied him.
“But I’m so close I can taste it. Give me another minute,” Otto said, raising an eyebrow. “You won’t regret it.”
“Fine, but”—Diomedes turned to meet Armannii’s gaze—“take Blanndynne and wait outside.” He spoke in a low voice, knowing Armannii would be able to hear him over all the noise. Recognizing the envy was one thing, but he would not allow Armannii something to lord over him, something that cut him as deeply as his lack of magic. No, he’d breathe easier and be less concerned about Armannii overhearing if the elf left him alone with the wily man in front of him.
Armannii’s eyebrows dipped low as he shifted his feet. He glanced down at Blanndynne, who was looking back and forth between Diomedes and Armannii with one eyebrow raised. When Armannii looked back at Diomedes, his eyes were narrowed, but he inclined his head. Placing his hand on Blanndynne’s back, he guided her toward the front of the pub. With one last confused glance from Blanndynne, the two of them disappeared into the horde of people.
Diomedes waited another twenty seconds before returning his attention to Otto. “Continue.”
“You desire power.” Otto leaned against the bar, his elbow resting on the counter. “And not just any power. No, you could have the power of the throne, yet you would not be satisfied. You desire magic.”
Was he wrong? Diomedes considered Otto’s words carefully. No. Magic had been his desire for many years, had even been one of the things he would’ve wished for if he’d figured out Blanndynne’s vase was a vessel for a genie before he freed her. But that was not why he was there, which was something he reminded himself of before Otto began speaking again.
“Ah, I can see that is true, yet I’m missing something. Right, hmm.” Otto stroked his beard, then ran two fingers over his mustache to smooth it. His gaze remained steady. “The Split of Phildeterre, how do you feel about it? Oh.” Otto’s voice went higher as he sat up straighter. “That’s why you’re here. It has to do with the war.”
Diomedes blinked, resisting the urge to clench his jaw. How had the man guessed it?
“You’re going against your family, like I mentioned before, but this is not about your desire to gain the ability to do magic. This is about the war.”
Gain magic. Those two words stuck out more than any others. Diomedes knew it wasn’t possible. People were born with magic. That was an enormous reason the war was unethical. The victims of the war could do nothing to change their heritage. He could do nothing to change his. Yet the thought of possessing all of that power remained at the forefront of his mind.
“Your Highness, am I correct in thinking you are opposed to the war?” Otto waited a tick before grinning. “Well, that is a pleasant surprise. I’m pleased to have such a valuable ally on the side of magic, and I’m going to suppose that the reason you came to see me has to do with the amiable duty of ending the war.”
Diomedes lifted his chin. He’d done it. Otto had managed to guess the entire reason Diomedes sought him.
“You’re surprised at my accuracy, aren’t you?” Otto clasped his hands together. “But how could I help you in such a noble quest?”
“Are you actually asking, or is this another mind game?” Diomedes asked, taking a deep breath.
Otto leaned forward. “I’m asking. I’ve finished my ‘mind games,’ as you called them, and I’m fairly proud of the results.”
Tilting his head, Diomedes nodded. “Your intuition is impressive. You guessed nearly everything right.”
“Nearly?”
“Nearly,” Diomedes repeated. “I do value magic. I see in it many, if not endless, possibilities. However, I don’t seek it because it is not now, nor will it ever be, available to me.”
“Is that so?” Otto raised an eyebrow, and the smirk on his face had Diomedes questioning his words.
“Someone born without magic in their veins cannot hope to gain it. Everyone knows that.”
“I suppose everyone does.” Otto shrugged, yet the smirk remained on his face. “So, what means have you to end the war?”
It was the opportunity Diomedes had been waiting for. “I need you to perform a spell. It will give me the chance to speak to an ancestor of mine who can shed light into the past. I have no doubt it will expose the sins of my great-grandfather, which I can then bring back to the king and his council to bring the war to a close.”
“And why do you think there is truth to be uncovered?”
It was a good question. He pondered how Elias fit into the history of his country, especially since the only person who remembered him was Blanndynne. Diomedes thought of Raylee and her empty grave. Both Elias and Raylee, plus the already widely known mystery of Ewan’s death, led Diomedes more boldly to believe Kylian had secrets to hide.
“As you so shrewdly pointed out, I see how vital magic is to society. I believe I’m not the only one in my family who saw magic this way; however, history is written by the survivors.”
Otto stared at Diomedes, so he continued.
“I want to hear a firsthand account of what happened around the time the war started. There’s always another side to the story.”
“And you think this information will be enough to end the war?”
Diomedes straightened his posture. “I think so, yes.”
Something sparkled in Otto’s eye. “Alright.”
“What is it you want in exchange for your assistance?” Diomedes asked.
“I wouldn’t say no to a coin purse . . . or two.”
“Done,” Diomedes said, offering his hand to Otto; however, he did not take it.
“First, let me help you with something else.”
Diomedes raised an eyebrow, lowering his hand back to his lap. “What do you mean?”
“I said I’d help you, but I’d also like to help with your desires, and as I mentioned before, I know that desire is for power. For magic.”
“My desire is to see this war ended.” Diomedes rolled his shoulders back. “Nothing more.”
“That’s a lie even a blind man could see. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Your Highness. Magic is an intoxicating thing. The more you’re around it, the more it calls. I’m sure you can hear it whispering to you.”
“I hear nothing of the sort.” But Diomedes wasn’t so sure it was true. The curiosity he had toward anything magical almost always left him in a trance when he witnessed it firsthand. Was that what Otto meant?
“I see,” Otto said, his focus traveling around Diomedes’s face as if reading the lines in a book. “Well, I suppose I’ll keep what I had to say to myself then.”
Diomedes fought the urge to change his mind. The war was a more pressing matter. It needed to end. It needed him to end it.
“Tell me more about this spell. I assume I’ll need to make some preparations for it?” The smirk on Otto’s lips left a bad taste in Diomedes’s mouth. He understood Blanndynne’s reaction much more now. Though Diomedes had gotten what he wanted—Otto’s assistance—Otto was the one who’d won the conversation, twisting and manipulating Diomedes’s thoughts until the most prevalent one was overwhelmingly about magic.
To gain magic.
Diomedes only wished.