Immortal Reign

by Morgan Rhodes

  He burst outside of the Beast, looking to the left and right, trying to spot Kurtis fleeing through the swell of the crowd outside. Finally, his gaze narrowed on the familiar pale, weasel-like face grinning back in his direction.

  Magnus shoved past several men standing in his way.

  The cold splash of a drink spilling on his boots distracted him long enough for Kurtis to disappear.

  He swore in frustration.

  “Up ahead,” Cleo shouted. “Around the corner, he took a left.”

  Magnus cringed. “I told you to stay put.”

  Her face was flushed as she reached his side. “Yes. And I ignored you. Move, would you? He’s getting away!”

  Instead of arguing, he did as she suggested, leaving the main crowded area and heading down a street that had already been lit with fewer torches to compensate for the dwindling light as dusk began to fall over the City of Gold.

  Magnus had dreamed of this moment. Fantasized about it. Along with picturing hungry beetles and death by spoon, his endless time in the maddeningly small coffin had included imagining his hands around Lord Kurtis Cirillo’s throat, choking the worthless life out of him.

  The dark form of Kurtis slipped behind another corner. Magnus had gained on him; Kurtis’s steps were swift, but not fast enough.

  The alleyway came to a dead end at a stone wall. Kurtis came to a staggering stop. He turned slowly to face Magnus.

  “Nowhere left to run?” Magnus said. “How unfortunate for you.”

  “I wasn’t running.”

  “You should have been.”

  Cleo caught up to Magnus and stood at his side, her arms crossed, her long blond locks tucked behind her ears. Her face was set in a most magnificent mask of icy judgment, her blue-green eyes narrowed.

  A blue wisp curled along her left temple. Magnus might have mistaken it for a pleasant decoration applied by a talented face-painter at the festival had he not known otherwise.

  The water Kindred marks had extended even further.

  “You must tell me your secret,” Kurtis said.

  “What secret?” he growled.

  “How you managed to survive to stand before me tonight.” Kurtis’s gaze swept the length of him with appreciation. “I heard your bones break—far too many bones for you to be up and walking about so easily. And I helped shovel the dirt upon your grave. There was no way you should have survived that.”

  “I will kill you myself,” Cleo snarled at him.

  “How? With your excellent archery skills?” Kurtis gave her a cold smile before returning his attention to Magnus. “Did your sweet young sister heal you with her now legendary elementia?”

  “No,” Magnus said simply.

  Kurtis furrowed his brow. “Then how?”

  “It’s a mystery, isn’t it?” Magnus glanced down at the stump at the end of Kurtis’s right arm. “Much like where your right hand now is.”

  Kurtis’s cheek twitched, and hate flashed in his eyes. “You’ll regret that.”

  “I regret many things, Kurtis, but chopping off your hand is not one of them.” Magnus did regret leaving the palace earlier without a sword. Foolish of him. But he didn’t need one to end this maggot’s life.

  He took a menacing step toward Kurtis.

  “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Kurtis said, his eyes glittering with malice. “Why I would put myself in harm’s way like this?”

  Magnus glanced at Cleo. “Do we care?”

  She nodded. “I must admit, I am vaguely curious.”

  “As am I,” he said. “Perhaps he’s here because he heard that my father slit his father’s throat.”

  “Could be,” Cleo allowed. “Perhaps we should be lenient. After all, he is in mourning, just as you are.”

  Kurtis’s upper lip curled back from his teeth in a feral grimace. “I know my father is dead.”

  “Excellent.” Magnus clapped his hands together. “Then we can continue without interruption. It isn’t my preference to kill you during a joyous festival like this, but I will make an exception today.”

  Kurtis’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Kyan sent me here.”

  Magnus’s stomach lurched. He struggled to take his next breath. “You’re lying.”

  Kurtis pulled open the front of his shirt to show a painful-looking brand on his chest in the shape of a hand. “He marked me with his fire.”

  It was the same mark that Kyan had threatened to give Magnus. One that would have made him the fire Kindred’s mortal slave.

  Kurtis ran his hand over the mark, cringing. “It’s an honor, of course, to be marked by a god. But it feels like the fangs of a demon sinking deeper into me every moment. The pain is a constant reminder of where my loyalties now lie.”

  “Why?” Cleo asked, her voice tight. “Why did Kyan want you to come here?”

  “Because he wants me to take you to him, princess,” Kurtis replied.

  “Then he will be disappointed,” Magnus bit out. “Because Cleo is not going anywhere with you.”

  Kurtis smiled thinly. “I must say, I will regret not learning how you escaped your grave. But one cannot know everything, I suppose.”

  “You think I’m letting you leave? This ends here and now.”

  “Yes, it does.” This voice came from behind them, and Magnus turned sharply to see Taran Ranus standing in the opening of the alleyway.

  Magnus looked at him, confused. “How did you find us?”

  Taran opened his mouth to answer, but at the same moment Cleo let out a sharp shriek.

  Magnus whipped his head in her direction to see that Kurtis had grabbed her from behind and clamped a cloth over her mouth.

  A chill exploded in the air. An icy mist burst from where the princess stood and raced up the walls, coating them with frost in an instant.

  Then Cleo’s eyes rolled back into her head.

  Magnus lurched forward toward her.

  Taran waved his hand, and Magnus froze in place, unable to move.

  “What are you doing, you fool?” Magnus demanded. “Help Cleo!”

  Cleo had gone limp in Kurtis’s grip. The cloth must have had some sort of sleeping potion on it, Magnus realized with dismay.

  “I will help her,” Taran said calmly. “And then the four of us will be reunited, all-powerful. Unstoppable.”

  Magnus turned a look of horror on the rebel. “What are you—?”

  “Kill him now,” Kurtis barked.

  Taran flicked his wrist again. Magnus found himself airborne for a split second before he hit the frost-covered wall hard enough to shatter bone. He fell to the ground in a heap.

  “Pick her up,” Kurtis said to Taran. “You’re stronger than me, and it’s a bit of a journey.”

  Taran did as he suggested, lifting Cleo’s limp body easily into his arms. “Where are the others? I’m still gaining my senses. Everything is unclear. I can’t yet sense them.”

  “The Temple of Cleiona,” Kurtis replied.

  Their voices grew more distant. Magnus couldn’t move, could barely think. They believed they had left him for dead, and yet . . . he wasn’t dead. The cold weight of the bloodstone on his middle finger was a constant reminder of the magic he wore, pressed against his skin.

  But he feared that magic wouldn’t be enough this time, especially when the world faded away around him—to utter blackness.

  He was woken up by a gentle nudge.

  “He’s so dreamy, isn’t he?” It was a girl’s voice, slurred and drunken.

  “Oh my goddess, yes!” another girl responded. “I mean, when I saw him on the balcony at the palace, he seemed so cold, so unapproachable. But up close like this? So cute, right?”

  “So cute,” her friend agreed. “The princess is so lucky.”

  “Should we fetch a medic to help hi
m?”

  “I think he’s just drunk. You know what they say about Prince Magnus and wine.”

  “Good point.” Another nudge. “Prince Magnus? Your highness?”

  Magnus blinked, trying to clear his mind of the darkness, trying to focus on what little light there was in the conscious world. He was still in the alley where he’d cornered Kurtis. The sky above had darkened, the sun gone from the sky. It was early evening now. His eyes focused on two girls about Cleo’s age looking down at him with great interest.

  “Where . . . is she?” he managed. “Where is Cleo?”

  In unison, they both cooed with happiness. “We were hoping you two would find happiness together,” the first girl said. “I mean, you are so perfect for each other.”

  “I didn’t like her at first,” her friend responded. “But she’s really grown on me.”

  The first girl nodded. “You’re so dark and broody, your highness. And she’s, like, a ray of sunshine. So perfect.”

  “So perfect,” her friend agreed.

  “I need to go.” Magnus tried to push himself up to his feet, and the girls knelt to help him. He let them, since he still felt incredibly unsteady, then he staggered off in the direction of the palace.

  “Farewell, my prince!” the girls called out behind him.

  Magnus’s mind was racing when he got back to the palace. Ashur, his arms laden down with books from the library, was the first person who crossed his path.

  “Magnus . . .” Ashur began, his eyes wide with concern.

  “He has her,” he managed.

  “Who?”

  “Kyan.” Magnus gripped Ashur by his shoulders. “The Kindred—the air Kindred—it’s taken control of Taran’s body completely. He and Kurtis Cirillo took Cleo.”

  Ashur dropped the books, and they scattered across the floor with a thud. “Taran was resting in his chambers. I left him only a short time ago.”

  “Trust me, he’s not there anymore.”

  Magnus wished very much he hadn’t sent Valia away. He needed all the help he could get, but there was no time to find her again. “I need to get to the Temple of Cleiona,” he said.

  “Is that where the princess has been taken?” Ashur asked.

  Magnus nodded. “They have a substantial lead, so I need to go immediately.”

  Ashur nodded. “I’m going with you.”

  CHAPTER 23

  CLEO

  AURANOS

  The first thing Cleo saw when she opened her eyes was a white marble pillar.

  She foggily registered it as familiar, similar to the pillars in the palace throne room. But this was larger and even more ornate, its surface carved with the images of roses.

  She’d seen something exactly like it at the Temple of Cleiona.

  Cleo took a sharp breath in.

  This is the temple, she thought.

  She stared around at the massive hall. It was three times the size of the palace throne room with a high arching ceiling. The last time she’d been here, when she had joined Lucia, Alexius, and Magnus to retrieve the newly awakened earth Kindred, it had been abandoned and in ruins after the elemental earthquake during her wedding. The floor split with wide cracks that descended into darkness. The high roof shattered and broke away, sending chunks of stone crashing to the ground.

  But it wasn’t crumbling anymore. Miraculously, it had been restored to its former glory.

  “Did you sleep well, little queen?”

  Cleo’s stomach flipped at the sound of the familiar voice. She pushed up from the cold stone floor so quickly that a wave of dizziness crashed over her.

  Nic.

  Nic was there, standing in front of her, smiling his crooked grin, his carrot-red hair as messy as always.

  Cleo’s first instinct was to rush into his arms.

  Her second was to clench her fists and attack.

  This wasn’t Nic. Not her Nic. Not anymore.

  Frost began to snake from beneath Cleo’s thin leather slippers, coating the floor of the temple.

  “Excellent.” Kyan glanced down at this, arching a red eyebrow. “I like to see that. It means we’re very close now, the magic within you so near the surface.”

  “You bastard,” she spat.

  He casually moved to his left and took a seat on one of the long wooden benches that lined the temple, the same benches that had seated the hundreds of guests at Cleo’s wedding.

  “Wrong,” he said. “I have neither a mother nor a father, so that label cannot possibly apply to me. Unless you simply meant it as an insult thrown at one you despise.” He cocked his head, his expression thoughtful. “How sad that mortals would choose this particular word as a curse. It’s not as if actual bastards have any say in their parents’ decisions, is it?”

  She clenched her fists at her sides, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

  “I forgive you, by the way,” Kyan said.

  “Forgive me?” She gaped at him. “For what?”

  “For trying to put a knife through this chest only moments after I first acquired it.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “I know you were confused. It was a difficult night for us all.”

  The dizziness hadn’t left her yet, and it took all her strength just to remain standing.

  Olivia then entered the temple, walking down the aisle until she stood at Kyan’s side. Her face was as beautiful as any Watcher Cleo could have imagined, her dark flawless skin a beautiful contrast against her saffron gown. Beautiful, yes, but Cleo knew she never would have guessed Olivia’s secret had Jonas not told her directly.

  But now she wasn’t a Watcher. She was the earth Kindred.

  “Greetings, Cleiona,” she said.

  Cleo moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, desperately trying to find her voice. “I assume you’re the one responsible for the restoration here.”

  Olivia smiled, then waved her hand. A hundred paces away from Cleo, next to a window etched with a beautiful spiral design, a fallen column she hadn’t noticed until now rose up and mended itself before her very eyes.

  “It’s my honor to bring the beauty back to this magnificent building,” Olivia said.

  Cleo grimaced at the blatant display of magic. It was a reminder that she had to be very careful about how she addressed the earth goddess. “Very impressive.”

  “Thank you,” Olivia said with a smile. “You need to know that we are not your enemies. We want to help you through your transition so that it won’t have to be as traumatic as Taran’s was.”

  Taran. Cleo remembered that he’d been in the alleyway, appearing as if out of nowhere.

  As if summoned by his name, Taran approached them from Cleo’s right. The web of fine white lines that had appeared on his face during his most recent suffocation spell had disappeared completely, as had all his other lines. His skin was unblemished, apart from the air magic spiral on his palm.

  “Taran . . .” Cleo whispered, her mouth dry.

  “Yes, I’ve decided to keep that name,” he said to her, “as a tribute to this strong, capable vessel, to show how much I appreciate it.”

  Cleo went very still. “So Taran is gone?”

  He nodded. “Once the ritual is completed properly, all remaining traces of him will be only a memory.”

  “And that will be very soon,” Olivia said firmly.

  Cleo’s heart clenched. So that meant Taran wasn’t gone. Olivia wasn’t gone. Not yet, not completely. There was still hope.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cleo saw Kurtis Cirillo emerge from the shadows of the cavernous temple behind her, his arms crossed over his chest.

  She spun to face him. “Where’s Magnus?” she demanded.

  Kurtis smirked at her. “Let’s just say that he won’t be coming to your rescue any time soon, princess.”

/>   Panic swelled within her, thick enough to choke her. She wanted to launch herself at him, to claw out his hateful eyes. But she forced herself to take a breath.

  “Kurtis . . .” Kyan began.

  “Yes?”

  “Wait outside.”

  “But I want to be here,” he replied tightly. “I want to watch the princess lose herself to the water Kindred. You said I could!”

  “Wait outside,” Kyan said again. Not a suggestion, a command.

  Kurtis’s face blanched, his body stiffened, and he nodded with a jerk of his head. “Yes, of course.”

  Her gaze narrowed, Cleo watched the weasel leave the temple.

  “Apologies for Kurtis’s rudeness, little queen,” Kyan said evenly. “His presence isn’t necessary, and I know he causes you great anxiety.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” she muttered, now watching Kyan very closely.

  “How do you feel?” Kyan asked, studying her. “There’s no pain, I hope.”

  “You’re very lucky that Kyan is in such a fine mood tonight,” the voice of the water Kindred said inside Cleo’s mind. “You’d be wise not to make him angry.”

  Surprisingly good advice, really.

  Advice Cleo chose to take. For now.

  “No, there’s no pain,” Cleo confirmed.

  Kyan nodded. “Good.”

  She scanned the temple for any sign of Lyssa, knowing that Kyan had kidnapped her. “Do you think Lucia will come to you? That she’ll help you?”

  “I have no doubt of it,” Kyan replied.

  Such cool confidence. Was he right? Or was he delusional?

  She couldn’t forget that this monster with the face of her best friend had burned villages to the ground and killed thousands, including her beloved nursemaid.

  Cleo brushed her hand against the side of her skirt to feel for the aquamarine orb that had been in her pocket, relieved to feel it was still there, and knowing it was a miracle that no one had discovered it while she’d been unconscious.

  She needed to use this opportunity to gather information she might be able to use. As much of it as she could.

  Cleo swallowed back her fear. “So what happens now?”