Immortal Reign

by Morgan Rhodes

  “Go after her. Find her and bring her back here immediately. She couldn’t have gotten far.”

  Kurtis scanned the forest. “What direction did she take?”

  “Just find her,” Kyan boomed. “Fail, and you will burn.”

  Kurtis ran down the temple stairs and dashed into the forest.

  “If I go after the little queen,” Kyan muttered, “I might mistakenly scorch her beyond repair. Wouldn’t want that, would we, Nicolo?”

  How Nic desperately despised this monster.

  “You see? You’ve only made it worse for her,” Kyan continued. “There is no escape for the little queen. The water Kindred will rise whether she allows it or not. We cannot be stopped. We are eternal. We are life itself. And we will do anything to survive.”

  Blow it out your arse, you burned-up piece of cow dung, Nic thought.

  “This evening has proven one thing to me, Nicolo.” Kyan leaned against a marble pillar, running a hand absently through his stolen red hair. “The time has come to fully embrace the power that is already ours. The pieces are in place, the means to perform the ritual perfectly is at my fingertips. The little queen will rejoin me, Olivia, and Taran, and all will be well. For all eternity.”

  He gazed up at the temple with distaste.

  “But not here.” Kyan went silent, thoughtful. “I believe I know the perfect place.”

  CHAPTER 25

  MAGNUS

  AURANOS

  The temple lay before Magnus, utterly and completely restored to its former grandeur. Apart from the massive statue of the goddess Cleiona that still lay shattered at the top of the thirty chiseled stairs leading to the entrance, the temple was pristine.

  Juts of fire rose up from the ground and lined the marble walls, giving light to an area that would have been otherwise in darkness.

  At the forest line, with the temple in clear sight before them, Magnus and Ashur tethered the horses they’d taken from the palace stables. They’d ridden so fast there had been no chance for conversation.

  Magnus was about to say something to Ashur, some comment about it being earth magic that had to be the reason for the temple’s restored appearance, when Ashur hushed him.

  “Look,” Ashur said, nodding toward the temple grounds.

  Magnus peered around the trunk of a tree to see Kurtis emerge from the palace. He lingered at the top of the marble steps leading into the temple’s sanctuary for several moments, glancing behind him with annoyance before he stomped down the steps to the ground, where a long, winding stone pathway led through a series of overgrown flower gardens with several grand statues of the goddess.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Magnus growled.

  “Best not to show ourselves quite yet,” Ashur replied. “Just observe.”

  “Cleo’s in there.”

  “Likely, yes. And so are three elemental gods who could kill us with a single thought.”

  Magnus squeezed his eyes shut, summoning patience he did not possess. But he knew Ashur was right. They had to watch, observe, and then, when they got their chance, they would make their move.

  Kurtis lit a cigarillo, then disappeared around the left side of the temple.

  A moment later, two other figures emerged.

  Olivia and Taran.

  They walked side by side, leisurely, as if there was no rush, no worry, no urgency.

  Magnus knew they weren’t who they appeared to be. Not Olivia, Jonas’s friend, the one Magnus had believed to be a witch until his shocking discovery that she was much more than that. And Taran, a young man who had initially wanted Magnus dead for the murder of his twin brother, at least until they’d come to an understanding about past mistakes and regrets.

  Olivia and Taran were gone. Stolen.

  And Magnus swore he would do whatever he could to help restore them to their former selves, vanquishing the demons who’d stolen their bodies.

  Ashur gripped his arm, startling him from his thoughts. “It’s Cleo.”

  Magnus’s gaze shot back to the temple, where he was shocked to see Cleo’s golden hair, glowing from firelight along her path, as she ran down the stairs of the temple and into the forest a hundred paces away from him.

  He immediately started to move, to go after her. Ashur’s grip on him tightened.

  “Don’t try to stop me,” Magnus growled.

  Ashur’s expression was grim. “Are you sure it’s the princess anymore? It may be the water Kindred.”

  Magnus’s blood turned to ice at the thought. “I’m going after her.”

  “Magnus—”

  “Go,” he snapped. “Summon Valia again. If she can help us in any way, I will beg for her forgiveness for how rude I was to her earlier. Meet me at the Silver Toad tomorrow morning. If I’m not there . . . well, you’ll know that the princess is gone, and likely so am I.”

  He didn’t wait for any confirmation from the Kraeshian prince. He turned and ran in the direction Cleo had taken, into the woods on the east side of the temple. He ran as fast as he could in the near darkness, trying not to stumble and fall over the roots of trees along the forest floor.

  For a moment, Magnus feared he had lost her, but then he saw movement ahead.

  If she is the water Kindred, she may be trying to lure me to my death, he thought.

  That was not a hopeful thought. Or remotely helpful.

  His mind would do well to stay silent for now.

  The forest opened to a small clearing at the edge of a twenty-foot-wide river. Magnus staggered to a halt at the tree line and watched Cleo also come a stop, scanning right and left as if looking for a bridge in the meager moonlight.

  Magnus stepped out from the shadows.

  “I’m not sure it’s the best time for a swim,” he said.

  Cleo’s shoulders tensed.

  Magnus was ready for anything as she slowly turned around to face him.

  In the moonlight, her eyes shone, but their color was lost in darkness—grays and blacks with no trace of aquamarine. The frightening, vine-like lines on her throat, moving up over her jaw to her left temple, were almost black against her pale skin.

  “You found me,” she said in a half whisper.

  “Of course I did.” His throat thickened, making it hard to swallow. “Is it you?”

  She stared at him. “Who else would I be?”

  Magnus let out a sharp, nervous laugh at that. “Taran lost his battle against the air Kindred. And then they . . . they took you. What am I to think?”

  A small smile touched her lips. “It’s still me.”

  The knot in his stomach loosened a bit. “Good. You’re not getting away from me so easily. I swear, Cleo, I will fight for you until my very last—”

  And then something hit him hard from behind.

  Something sharp and painful.

  Cleo’s eyes went wide. “No!” she cried out. “Magnus, no!”

  He forced himself to look down.

  The bloody tip of a sword now protruded from his chest.

  He blinked, then fell to his knees as the weapon was yanked from his body.

  Vaguely he registered that the ground was cold and wet. It had started to rain hard, yet only a few moments ago there had been no clouds in the sky.

  “I don’t know how you did it before,” Kurtis’s reedy voice met Magnus’s ears as the kingsliege moved out from behind him. “I thought surely your little sister’s magic helped you out of your grave, but that doesn’t explain the alleyway. But no matter . . .” His teeth glittered in the moonlight as he grinned. “You’re dead, Magnus. Finally.”

  Magnus’s foggy vision found Cleo still standing at the water’s edge, her skin as pale as the moon itself. Her hair was slick from the torrents of rain beating down.

  The ground all around her was now coated with an icy layer.
>
  “I will kill you,” Cleo snarled.

  “I know you have no conscious control over this.” Kurtis gestured toward the ice. “So stop being a nuisance and let me return you to your new family.”

  Magnus tried to speak, but he couldn’t form words.

  “What is that?” Kurtis held a hand to his ear. “I’m always intrigued by the last words of my enemies. Louder, if you please?”

  “You thought . . .” Magnus managed, “it would be . . . that . . . easy?”

  Kurtis rolled his eyes. “Just die already, would you?”

  It took a moment before Magnus felt the wound begin to knit itself together.

  The look of utter shock on the young lord’s face as Magnus rose to his feet was almost worth the agony Magnus had just experienced.

  “Magnus . . .” Cleo gasped, tears spilling to her cheeks. “I thought yet again that I’d lost you. Just like I lost—” Her voice broke.

  She didn’t have to finish her thought.

  Just like she’d lost Theon.

  “I know,” he said grimly.

  Kurtis hadn’t tried to escape. He stood there, stunned by the sight before him. “This is dark magic.”

  “Oh, yes.” Magnus moved toward him, his fists clenched at his sides. “This is the darkest, blackest, foulest magic there is. If there is an opposite to elementia, I am in full possession of it.”

  He grabbed Kurtis by his throat and slammed him hard against the nearest tree trunk.

  “Mercy,” Kurtis sputtered. “Have mercy! I am branded by Kyan’s fire! I have no choice but to do what he says!”

  “Did you even know Kyan when you had me buried six feet beneath the ground?”

  Kurtis grimaced. “I beg for your forgiveness for every transgression I have ever committed against you. Please have mercy on me!”

  “You are a pathetic, sniveling coward,” Magnus spat.

  His absolute hatred for this piece of worthless shit who had threatened Cleo and tried to murder Magnus on three separate occasions spilled over.

  He had never wanted to kill anyone as much as this.

  “Listen to me,” Kurtis sputtered. “I think you will find me incredibly helpful if you let me go—” Then he gasped, a dry, wrenching sound from deep in his throat. “What are you . . . doing . . . to me?”

  As Magnus tightened his grip on his neck, Kurtis’s face began to turn gray and sallow in the moonlight. Thick black veins raced up his throat and covered his entire face in a gruesome web. His dark hair turned stark white from root to tip.

  The life faded from his eyes.

  When Magnus finally let go of him, the desiccated corpse of Kurtis Cirillo collapsed to the ground, his brittle bones snapping like dry twigs.

  Magnus stared down at him, astounded by what he’d just done.

  “Magnus . . .” Cleo was beside him now, her voice not more than a whisper. “How is this possible?”

  “The bloodstone,” he replied softly, sliding his right hand over the ring on his left middle finger.

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Did you know it could do that?”

  “I had no idea.” He waited to feel horror for what he’d done, but it didn’t come. “All I know is I wanted him dead. And now he’s dead. And I feel . . . relieved.”

  Cleo reached out a trembling hand toward him.

  “Be careful,” he managed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She let out a small, nervous laugh. “I assume that you don’t want me dead as you did Kurtis.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good,” she managed. “Because I desperately need you to kiss me right now.”

  And so he did kiss her, breathing her in and gathering her so tightly in his arms that her feet lifted off the ground.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “So damn much it hurts.”

  Cleo pressed her hands to either side of his face, looking into his eyes. “I love you too.”

  She was his goddess. His love. His life. And he would do anything to save her.

  On his finger was a piece of dark magic that had now saved his life three times. The one who created it a thousand years ago had surely been a god of death. This had been his ring then.

  But now it was Magnus’s. And he would not hesitate to use its horrible, terrifying, incredible death magic on anyone who might get in his way.

  CHAPTER 26

  AMARA

  KRAESHIA

  A week had passed since she’d returned to the Jewel of the Empire, and the world had not yet ended.

  Amara took that as an excellent sign to forget Mytica and enjoy every single moment of her day of Ascension. The day she would officially—and in all ways—become the absolute ruler of the Kraeshian Empire.

  She hoped very much that the ceremony would help to burn away any remaining traces of pain, uncertainty, or weakness unbefitting an empress.

  But even a strong, capable, and powerful ruler needed a pretty gown for a formal ceremony.

  “Ouch,” she said when she felt the prick of a needle wielded by clumsy hands. “Be careful!”

  “My deepest apologies,” the dressmaker said, jumping back, his gaze filled with horror.

  Amara stared at him through the reflection in the tall mirror in her chambers.

  What an incredible overreaction. It wasn’t as if she was going to kill him for being clumsy. She almost laughed out loud.

  “It’s fine. Just be careful.”

  “Yes, my empress.”

  Lorenzo Tavera was from Auranos, where he ran a famous dress shop in the city of Hawk’s Brow. Amara’s grandmother had learned that he’d been a favored dressmaker of nobles and royals alike. He’d even made Princess Cleo’s wedding gown, which by all accounts had been breathtakingly beautiful before being soiled by the blood of rebels.

  The golden gown Lorenzo had created for Amara fit tightly to her curves, the skirt flouncing outward from the knee in what looked like golden feathers. The bodice had intricate embroidery made of tiny crystal beads and larger emeralds and amethysts.

  The color of the gown made Amara think of the golden princess herself, and she wondered how Cleo fared in her current situation. Was she suffering, or had she already been lost to the water Kindred?

  My fault, she thought.

  No. She couldn’t dwell on such things. She couldn’t dwell on how she’d helped a demon gain power and how she’d left everyone, including her brother, far behind her.

  She couldn’t think about how Kyan was a god with an extreme distaste for the imperfect mortals that swarmed over this world, mortals he believed were led only by greed and lust and vanity, weaknesses he wanted to erase.

  Everyone everywhere would perish.

  “Dhosha, is everything all right?” Neela asked as she entered the room.

  “Yes, of course. Everything is fine.” Amara forced the words out, feeling as very un-fine as she possibly could, despite the glory of the day and the beauty of this gown.

  “Your beautiful face . . .” Her grandmother met her gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “You looked so pained and worried for a moment there.”

  She shook her head. “Not at all.”

  “Good.” Neela came close enough to touch the fine stitching of the gown. “Lorenzo, you have created a true masterpiece.”

  “Much gratitude, my queen,” the dressmaker said. “It is only by your grace that I have been given the incredible honor to dress the empress.”

  “It’s everything I dreamed it would be,” Neela said, sighing with appreciation. “What about the wings?”

  “Yes, yes. Of course. They are the most magnificent part of my creation.” Lorenzo reached into a silk bag and pulled out a large but delicate golden piece. It fit over Amara’s shoulders and gave the illusion of golden wings.

&nb
sp; Amara gritted her teeth, finding the addition to be a rather heavy and unnecessary burden. But she chose not to complain, since they added an ethereal, otherworldly touch.

  “Perfect,” Neela breathed, clapping her hands. “Today you will have everything I have ever wanted for you. I am honored to have been able to make all this possible.”

  In the week since Amara had visited Mikah Kasro in his forgetting room, where he would stay until he was brought out for his execution during the ceremony, she’d tried not to think about their conversation. A part of it had stayed in her mind, though, like a piece of stubborn food between her back teeth, nearly impossible to dislodge.

  “Your grandmother only believes in her own desire for power,” he’d told her.

  “I’m so glad you approve,” Amara said softly. “Did you come here just to get a glimpse of the gown, madhosha?”

  Lorenzo pricked her again with his needle, and she slapped his hand away. “Enough,” she scolded him. “Enough fixing of things that are already perfect.”

  Lorenzo backed away from her immediately, bowing deeply. “Yes, of course.” Again, there was that fear in his eyes. It was the same kind of fear she remembered seeing in the eyes of those who looked upon her father.

  Such power over others should please her.

  Instead, it gave her a cold, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “I will be a good leader,” she’d told Mikah. “My people will love me.”

  “And if they don’t?” he’d countered. “If they rise up and try to change what has been thrust upon them through no choice of their own, will you have them put to death?”

  “Dhosha,” her grandmother said sharply, as if she’d tried to get her attention more than once while Amara was lost in her thoughts.

  “Yes?”

  She looked around, pulling herself from her thoughts. Lorenzo was no longer in the room. She hadn’t even noticed him leave.

  “You asked me if I was here only to see the gown,” Neela said. “I am not. I’m happy to say that your gift has finally arrived from across the sea.”

  Amara shook her head. “You really didn’t need to get me a gift, madhosha. You’ve already done so much for me.”