Magnus watched his father, unsure just what to expect from this speech. It would be unusual for the king to speak truthfully in such public appearances. Normally, he projected the illusion of a king who cared more for his people than he did for power. Not everyone knew the real reasons behind his nickname of the King of Blood.
The spell that had been cast upon Gaius Damora by his mother seventeen years ago had helped him to focus on his drive for power and the ruthlessness and deception that were necessary to keep his crown and eventually deceive Chief Basilius and crush King Corvin in a single day.
That was the only father Magnus had ever known.
“Today I also ask you all to look toward the future,” the king continued. “For I believe it will be brighter than the past. I believe this because of the young people who stand with me today on this very balcony. They are the future, just as your sons and daughters are. They are our truth.”
The king glanced at Magnus.
A bright future, Magnus thought. Does he really mean this?
King Gaius turned toward the crowd again. “Perhaps you feel that you cannot trust me. Perhaps you hate me and all I have stood for in the past. I don’t blame you, not one of you, for feeling that way. I had reached an unavoidable crossroads when I chose to align with Kraeshia, leading to the occupation of Mytica these last months. Had I not made this difficult decision, there would have been war. Death. And, in the end, tremendous loss.”
Magnus agreed, to a point. Still, he believed his father had been unforgivably hasty in his decision to align with the Emperor of Kraeshia and his duplicitous daughter.
Then again, there was a time not so long ago when his father suggested that Magnus marry Amara to help forge an alliance between Mytica and the empire.
To his recollection, Magnus had laughed in the king’s face at the thought of it.
“What I would regret is if I allowed it to continue a day longer than necessary,” the king said. “Some have come to believe that Amara Cortas represents the future of Mytica. But they are wrong.
“She has chosen to leave Mytica and return to her home, where she can be safe from the fallout from her greedy choices. More than half of her army has departed with her, with no announcement, no promises for the future. Amara Cortas’s truth is that she doesn’t care at all about the future of Mytica or its people. But I do.”
There were murmurings of disbelief coming from the crowd now. Magnus glanced at Cleo, who had kept a pleasant, attentive smile on her lips since the speech began, as if she believed and endorsed every single word spoken by the king.
An enviable talent, indeed.
“Mytica is not only my kingdom,” King Gaius said. “It is my home. It is my responsibility. And I have failed to live up to my promises, to my position as your leader, from the moment I first took the throne of Limeros. My choices for more than two decades have been fueled by my own greed and desire for power. But today begins a new era in this kingdom, one of truth.”
Cleo reached for Magnus’s hand and squeezed it. He realized he’d been holding his breath. His father’s words were so unexpected and edged with an honesty he’d never witnessed before.
King Gaius continued: “My daughter Lucia stands with me today. There are rumors that she is a witch, one of the few I have allowed to live during my reign. Some say that makes me a hypocrite, since she is dangerous, far more dangerous than any common witch in recorded history.”
Magnus tried to catch Lucia’s gaze, but his sister’s expression was blank, her attention fixed on something in the distance beyond the golden walls of the city. She did not share Cleo’s talent for being present and poised in such a situation.
Lucia had never enjoyed being under close scrutiny. She and Magnus might not share blood, but they shared that much.
“My daughter possesses great magic, and yes, she is most certainly dangerous—dangerous to those who wish to do harm to us.”
So it would seem that Lucia’s secret was no longer a secret.
Magnus wondered how she felt about this revelation.
“Some won’t believe me. Some will think me a bitter man whose new wife has turned her back on him and returned to her homeland. They again are wrong.” The king produced a parchment from beneath his surcoat, holding it up so all could see it. “This is my agreement with Emperor Cortas, before his death, to make Mytica a part of the Kraeshian Empire. It is signed in blood. My blood. Signed before I married Amara as a part of this deal.”
The king tore up the contract and let the pieces of parchment fall off the balcony.
A collective gasp came from the crowd.
Magnus wasn’t sure how much weight this gesture held. It was, after all, a simple piece of paper. But the crowd seemed to gobble it up, every word, every gesture.
“Today I shall begin to make right what has gone so terribly wrong during my reign,” the king promised. “The empress is not welcome in my kingdom, nor is her army. From this day forward, we will stand together, united against—”
Then the king fell silent.
From the far corner of the balcony, Magnus waited for him to continue, certain that all of this was a dream. A speech filled with unity and hope and grit—and quite a lot of anti-Amara sentiment, of which Magnus certainly approved.
But then Cleo’s grip on Magnus’s hand suddenly became painfully tight.
A single cry sounded out from the crowd, and then another. Soon, many were screaming, wailing, shouting, and pointing up at the balcony.
“Father!” Lucia gasped.
Magnus dropped Cleo’s hand and raced to his father’s side.
An arrow protruded from the king’s chest. He looked down at it and frowned. Then, with all his strength, he gripped it and yanked it out with a loud, pained grunt.
But then another arrow hit him.
And then another.
And another.
CHAPTER 16
LUCIA
AURANOS
Four arrows. Each precisely finding its mark in her father’s heart.
King Gaius collapsed to his knees and fell to his side with a heavy thud.
The life faded from his dark brown eyes.
Lucia found herself frozen with shock, unable to think or move.
Magnus frantically pulled the arrows out of the king’s flesh and pressed his hands over the wounds, but it did nothing to help stanch the flow of crimson blood.
“No, you are not going to die. Not today.” Magnus’s hands were slick with his father’s blood as he slid the bloodstone ring onto the king’s finger.
Magnus then took several gulping breaths before he cast a pained look at Lucia.
“It’s not working. Do something!” he shouted at her. “Heal him!”
Lucia staggered to the king’s side and fell to her knees. She could sense the dark magic from the ring, the same magic that had saved both her father’s and brother’s lives before. The coldness of this magic repelled her. She had to force herself to get closer to it.
“What are you waiting for?” Magnus roared.
Lucia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will earth magic into her hands—the healing magic that had saved Magnus during the battle to take Auranos when he was moments from death. Since then, she’d mended his broken leg and countless cuts and scrapes. Such magic had become second nature to her.
She sensed a trace of this valuable magic within her, but far less than a prophesied sorceress should possess.
And far less than she’d need to heal an injury as profound as this.
Lucia already knew the horrible truth: Even if she had all the magic in the universe, it wouldn’t help.
Her gaze flicked to Cleo, who’d covered her mouth with her hand at the bloody sight before her, eyes wide and filled with horror. The princess came forward and put her shaky hand on Magnus’s shoulder, the thin, wind
ing blue lines visible past the lacy sleeve of her violet gown.
Magnus didn’t push her away; his attention was far too fixed on Lucia.
“Well?” he demanded.
Hot tears streaked down Lucia’s cheeks. “I—I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean you’re sorry?” Magnus stared down at his father’s face, at his glazed, unblinking eyes. “Fix him.” His voice broke. “Please.”
“I can’t,” she whispered.
The king was dead.
Lucia struggled to her feet. Tears streamed down her face as she ran from the balcony to her chambers.
“Get out!” she screamed at the nursemaid.
The nursemaid rushed out the door.
Lucia moved to the cradle and looked down upon Lyssa’s face, not with the love of a mother, but with blind fury.
Her eyes glowed with violet light.
“You’ve stolen my magic, haven’t you?” she hissed.
If her elementia had been close to the surface, easily accessible at the merest of thoughts, Lucia might have reacted quicker—after the first arrow hit.
But her senses had become dulled, useless.
And now her father was dead because of it.
“You’ve destroyed everything!” she snarled at the child.
Lyssa’s eyes shifted back to blue, and she looked up at her mother for a moment before she began to cry.
The sound pierced Lucia’s heart, and guilt washed over her.
“I am evil,” she whispered as she sank to the floor, pulling her legs up to hug them against her body. “It’s my fault, all my fault. It should have been me who died today, not Father.”
She stayed in that position for what felt like a very long time while Lyssa cried only an arm’s reach away. After a while, Magnus came to her door.
Lucia’s eyes were dry and her heart was empty of all emotion as she looked up at her brother.
“The assassin was captured before he managed to escape,” Magnus said. “I’ve asked to personally interrogate him.”
She waited, not speaking.
“I would appreciate your help, if you’re willing,” he said.
Yes, Lucia most definitely would be willing to interrogate their father’s murderer.
She pushed herself up to her feet and accompanied Magnus out of her chambers. The nursemaid waited patiently outside, glancing nervously at Lucia.
“My apologies for my harshness,” Lucia said to her.
The nursemaid bowed her head. “Not at all, your grace. My deepest condolences to you for your loss.”
Silently, her heart a lead weight deep within her chest, Lucia followed Magnus through the halls of the palace, barely seeing anything to her left or right, only putting one foot in front of the other as they made their way out of the building and down to the dungeon.
The prisoner was a young man, in his early twenties. He had been placed in small room, his wrists and ankles bound in iron chains and shackled to the stone wall.
“What is your name?” Magnus asked, his voice cold. He wore the bloodstone ring again, his hands now clean of the king’s blood.
The man didn’t reply.
Lucia had had so much to say to her father that would forever remain unsaid.
This assassin had stolen that from her.
Lucia turned a look of sheer hatred upon him.
“You will die for what you did today,” she spat.
The man glanced up at her only long enough to sneer. “You’re the witch daughter he spoke of,” he said. “Are you going to use your magic on me?”
“You don’t sound afraid.”
“I’m not afraid of any common witch.”
“Oh, I’m much more than that.” Lucia moved close enough to grab the man by his throat, digging her fingernails into his flesh and forcing him to meet her gaze. “Who are you? A rebel? Or an assassin?”
She tried to pull the truth from his mouth like she’d done with Lord Gareth, but he simply eyed her with defiance.
“I did what I did for Kraeshia,” he hissed. “For the empress. Do your worst to me, I have fulfilled my destiny.”
“For the empress,” Magnus repeated, his dark eyes narrowed. “Did Amara command you to kill the king, or did you make that decision all on your own?”
“And what if she did? You have no chance for revenge. She is far above all of you in this minuscule kingdom.” The killer narrowed his gaze at the prince. “Your father was a coward and a liar—a mere worm in the presence of magnificence—and he squandered his chance at true greatness by acting and speaking against the empress. I was commanded to kill him publicly so that everyone would know he’s dead.”
“Is that so?” Magnus said, the words so quiet Lucia could barely hear them.
Her fists shook with the overwhelming need to reduce this man to ash.
Her brother drew closer to the man. “I find that I must pay you a compliment in that your marksmanship is second to none. I’ve never seen anyone as skilled with a crossbow before. The guards tell me you were at the back of the crowd when you took aim at the king. Four arrows, not missing your target once. Amara must value you very much.”
The killer snorted. “Such a compliment is meaningless from anyone but the empress her—”
The blade of the dagger glinted in the torchlight just before Magnus thrust it upward into the man’s chin and straight into his brain.
Breath tight in her chest, Lucia watched as the man twitched then slumped over, perfectly still.
Magnus glanced at Lucia.
“What is wrong with your elementia?” he asked, his tone cold and controlled.
Her first instinct was to lie, but the time for lies was past.
“It’s failed me,” Lucia admitted, the words like broken glass in her throat. “Lyssa . . . I don’t understand it, but she’s been stealing my magic since even before she was born.”
Magnus nodded slowly. He wiped the sharp edge of his blade with a handkerchief, the red blood appearing black in the shadows of the dungeon cell.
“So you can’t help Cleo,” he said. “And you can do nothing to defeat Kyan.”
A flash of anger ignited within her at this dismissal. “I didn’t say that.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“I’m trying to find a solution,” she said. “I won’t let you down again.”
Her brother’s expression was unreadable to her, void of emotion. She couldn’t tell if he was upset or angry or disappointed.
Likely all three.
“I certainly hope not,” he finally replied.
Magnus didn’t say another word as she left the dungeon and slowly made her way back to the palace.
The first thing she noticed when she entered her chambers was the scent of burning flesh.
Her gaze fell with horror upon the blackened, smoldering corpse of the nursemaid in the center of the room.
A cry escaped Lucia’s throat, a pained screech that barely sounded human.
She ran to the cradle to find it empty.
Lyssa was gone.
CHAPTER 17
JONAS
AURANOS
Jonas didn’t attend the king’s speech. He already knew far too well what to expect.
False promises. Lies. More lies.
Typical political horse dung.
Instead, he and Felix scoured the City of Gold looking for Ashur. Since his arrival yesterday in the palace city with the very much not-dead Prince Magnus, the Kraeshian prince had been visiting local taverns where, he said, the tongues of patrons were loose and ready to reveal secrets their sober selves might not provide.
Secrets about magic.
Secrets about local witches.
Secrets about someone, anyone, who might be able to lend their skills to help end Kyan t
he moment he showed his stolen face.
Jonas had his own secret means of ending Kyan, safe in the sheath on his belt. From what frustratingly little Timotheus had shared with him about the golden dagger, he thought that it would end the fire god very nicely.
However, it would also end Nic as well. And so they searched for other possibilities.
Jonas walked with Felix down the busy street, lined with shops and bakeries and places where Auranians could buy shiny baubles to wear clipped to their ears and strung around their necks.
Many people were walking in the direction of the palace, ready to stand in the palace square shoulder to shoulder in the blazing heat of midday to listen to King Gaius’s most recent set of lies.
A man in a dark blue surcoat embroidered with what looked like sparkling diamonds bumped into Felix. He glared at him and pushed his way past.
“Do you ever want to start killing people at random just because they’re a bunch of rich, pompous arses?” Felix muttered to Jonas, watching the man walk away.
“I used to,” Jonas admitted. “I hated royals. Hated Auranians just for having the privileges denied to us in Paelsia.”
“And now?”
“The urge is there, but I know it would be wrong.”
Felix groaned. “Perhaps, but it would feel so good. Right? Let out some pent-up frustration.” He nodded at a pair of green-uniformed Kraeshian soldiers watching over the flow of citizens up ahead. “We could start with them.”
The sight of Amara’s dwindling but continuing occupation was a reminder of more oppression. “Frankly, I wouldn’t stop you.”
“Did you see Enzo in his guard’s uniform this morning?” Felix scrunched his nose as if he smelled something foul. “He finally went back to work at his post . . . said it was his honor to do so.”
“He’s Limerian down to his red blood. He can’t help but be bound to duty and honor, even if it means taking orders from King Gaius himself.” Jonas gave his friend a wry look. “Sometimes I forget that you’re Limerian too. You don’t exactly fit in with the rest of them, do you?”
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