Crystal Storm

by Morgan Rhodes

And the horror as she watched the life leave Theon’s eyes forever as Magnus stabbed him in the back.

  “If your guard had backed off when I told him to, this wouldn’t have happened,” the son of the King of Blood had said.

  “He’s not just a guard,” she’d whispered in reply. “Not to me.”

  Often, it felt as if it had happened a thousand years ago. Other times, it was as if he’d died only yesterday.

  Yet here he was.

  “Princess?” Enzo asked, frowning at her look of absolute shock.

  Cleo didn’t answer him. Her legs were numb as she began to move without thinking, wending her way through the crowd toward him.

  Hot tears splashed her cheeks, and she viciously wiped them away.

  The crowd thinned this far from the stage, which allowed her to keep her murdered bodyguard in sight. Tight in his grip flashed the glint of a sharp blade.

  And then she saw Magnus.

  This apparition of the young man she’d loved and lost approached Magnus, who stood at the bar, eyeing Theon with as much disbelief as Cleo did. Then, so quickly she almost didn’t see it, Theon grabbed Magnus, hard, and pressed the blade to his throat.

  She screamed inwardly, her entire body turned to coldest ice in an instant. She looked now to Magnus, his expression resolute, his jaw tight, his dark eyes void of emotion.

  “Cleo?” Someone was blocking her path—a boy with freckles and red hair. “Oh, Cleo! You’re here! You’re alive!”

  “Nic?” She spared him a moment’s glance before grabbing his shoulder and digging her fingers in. Behind him, she watched as blood trickled down Magnus’s throat from where this ghost from the past dug his dagger into his flesh. “What’s going on? Why is this happening?”

  Suddenly, a third person approached the silent altercation between Magnus and Theon, which had so far gone unnoticed by the rest of the patrons, whose gazes were still directed toward the stage. It was a young, dark-haired man, broad-chested and heavily muscled, wearing a black eye patch.

  He held a chunk of wood in his grip, and with it he hit the ghost of Theon, hard, on the back of his head. The dagger clattered to the floor, and the victim’s body slumped, unconscious, next to it.

  “Magnus!” Cleo called out.

  Finally, Magnus tore his gaze from the young man on the floor to meet Cleo’s.

  His eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  She gaped at him. That was what he chose to say to her right now?

  The brute nodded down at the body. “He’s not going to be happy with me when he wakes up.”

  Cleo rushed to Magnus’s side, quickly assuring herself that the wound on his throat was shallow. She spun to face the young man with the eye patch. “Who are you?” she demanded.

  He bowed. “Felix Gaebras, lovely young lady. At your service. And who are you?”

  “This,” Magnus said, gingerly touching his neck, “is Princess Cleiona.”

  Felix’s eyes widened. “Ah, so this is the Golden Princess. It all makes sense now.”

  “And who”—she pointed at the floor with a shaky finger—“is this?”

  “That,” Felix replied, “is Taran Ranus, Theon’s twin brother.”

  Cleo felt herself go cold. “His twin brother?”

  Magnus’s jaw was tense. “It was so kind of Nic to introduce us tonight, don’t you think?”

  From next to her, Nic looked down at the unconscious young man, then met her shocked gaze. “I think we all need to talk,” he said.

  “Clearly!”

  “I agree,” Magnus said stiffly. “I know a place that is much more private than this. Find Jonas, and come with me, all of you.”

  Felix leaned down, picked up his unconscious associate, and threw him over his shoulder. “Where are Jonas and the others? Did the dancer tie him up with her snake and drag him away? I’ll go find him.”

  Cleo didn’t wait—she needed fresh air. She needed to breathe normally and bring her heart rate down to a regular pace.

  Twin brother, she thought, stunned. Theon’s twin brother.

  Yet Theon had never, not once, mentioned to her that he had a twin brother.

  Nic was at her side, swaying slightly with each step he took as Enzo escorted her outside. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure herself that Magnus was close behind.

  “You’re drunk,” she said, turning to Nic and finding herself exceptionally angry with him and with everyone present.

  “Extremely. And also extremely happy that you’re here.” He gave her a big sloppy kiss on the cheek, reminding her of the slobbering puppy her father brought back to her and Emilia after a long stretch of travels. As her heart rate returned to normal, she allowed herself to give in to her overwhelming sense of relief that Nic had returned from Kraeshia alive and well—and that he was here with her again.

  Felix exited the tavern, still bearing the weight of Taran Ranus.

  Behind him walked Jonas, who scanned the area before his gaze landed on Cleo.

  She watched as a smile spread across his handsome face.

  “I knew you were alive.” Jonas quickened his steps to reach her. He grasped her around her waist, and lifted her off the ground, spinning her around in the air. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Any other day, she would be smiling just as wide as the rebel. “Explain to me what is going on.”

  “Yes,” Magnus said, his dark eyes fixated on Jonas. “An explanation for your arrival in this city coinciding with our own would be greatly appreciated.”

  “I’m shocked to say, it’s almost good to see you too, your highness.” Jonas gave the prince the edge of a smile.

  It wasn’t returned.

  “Our friend here’s getting a bit heavy,” Felix commented.

  Magnus eyed the unconscious body he carried with a sour look. “Follow me.”

  Another girl joined their entourage, and Cleo recognized her instantly—she had accompanied Jonas and Lysandra when they were last at the Limerian palace.

  Cleo remembered her name: Olivia. But a proper greeting could wait.

  She hooked her arm through Nic’s as the group followed Magnus back to the inn. “Why are you so drunk tonight?”

  “Oh . . . so many reasons. I’ve recently come to believe you were dead, for one. Therefore, I was going to drown myself in ale to stifle my grief.”

  “I’m very much alive.”

  “And I’m very much happy to see that.”

  She allowed him a smile. “And there are other reasons for your thirst?”

  “None that have chosen to join us tonight, but I hesitate to mention that just yet. You’ve had quite enough of a shock already. I’m sure he’ll catch up eventually. He does that.”

  “You’re making no sense.”

  “No, I’m sure I’m not.”

  Her meager smile fell away when she glanced at Felix and his burden. “Did Theon”—it hurt to say his name, even after all this time— “ever say a single word to you about having a twin brother?”

  Nic shook his head. “Not a word. When I saw Taran at the docks in Kraeshia, I nearly keeled over with shock. Taran doesn’t talk about it, but I assume they were estranged. Still, he took the news of his brother’s death hard.”

  “Yes, I saw that.” She exhaled shakily. “How did he learn it was Magnus who killed Theon?”

  Nic shrugged. “I told him, of course.”

  Her stomach sank at the exact moment her anger began to rise. “Of course you did.”

  “I should have stayed by your side.” He took her hand in his, his drunken expression growing very serious. “I’m sorry I left you alone with him all this time.”

  Nic didn’t know about her feelings for Magnus. Of course Nic didn’t know—she’d spent her every breath denying her growing feelings for the prince for a y
ear. “It’s all right. I’ve . . . managed.”

  “Where should I put him?” Felix indicated his burden when they reached the inn.

  “I’m sure we can find a deep hole,” Magnus said.

  Cleo glared at him, then looked at Felix. “There are empty rooms on the second floor,” she said.

  Felix disappeared, returning quickly without Taran.

  They sat down in the meeting hall, and as Cleo looked around at the group, she couldn’t tell whether she was thrilled or horrified by how this night had turned out.

  Nic sat next to her at a table, and across from them were Jonas and Olivia. Felix and Magnus sat near the fireplace on the other side of the room near the bookcase, while Enzo remained standing near Cleo.

  “When did you arrive?” Magnus asked.

  “Today,” Jonas replied. “We’re still quite in the dark about what’s happening here. The only information we have comes from a single Kraeshian soldier who was willing to talk.”

  “And?”

  “He knew very little. Or, at least, very little that would help us. It appears, though, that you are on the run, your highness. And that your father is rather unhappy with how you handled things while he was away.”

  “That would be an understatement, yes.”

  Cleo watched Magnus with mild surprise. Despite how drunk he had to be by now, he seemed as sober as a Limerian priest.

  “The soldier,” Jonas said, nodding somberly at Cleo. “He told us that you were dead. That it happened after you escaped from Amara. That you froze to death.”

  “I very well could have had I not found shelter at the exact right moment.” She averted her eyes, trying to keep from making eye contact with Magnus, but she could still feel his gaze burning into the side of her face.

  “You were always a survivor,” Jonas said. “Nic despaired, but I had hope. And here you are.”

  Nic shrugged. “I despair. It’s what I do.”

  “There’s so much to tell you,” Jonas said. “And I’m sure there’s much you have to tell us.”

  “Far less than you might think,” Magnus said. “Amara thinks she’s ruling this kingdom now. But she’s wrong. And she will be defeated.”

  “And how do you think you will defeat her?” Jonas asked.

  “I thought we might start with the earth Kindred you gave the princess,” Magnus said, and Jonas’s shoulders tensed. “Do you still have that shiny little chunk of obsidian squirreled away somewhere, princess?”

  Oh, yes, she thought as she flinched. This was the Magnus she’d once despised—the one who would announce to everyone, seemingly out of spite, that she possessed the Kindred. She’d have to thank him for the reminder.

  Nic grunted out a sound of disgust. “Cleo, how have you maintained your sanity being around him this long? To have sustained this unnatural alliance with him . . . there must be some reason behind it that you haven’t told me.”

  “Please, Nic,” Magnus said. “We’re all friends here. Feel free to speak your mind.”

  “I just did.”

  Magnus rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry your carrot-stained head, Nicolo. The princess continues to tolerate me—just barely—focused solely on reclaiming her throne as soon as Amara is defeated and sent on her merry way. I recently suggested your Golden Princess return to Auranos, but she refused. Don’t try to tell me that this was my idea.”

  Cleo shot him a look as he met her gaze with something like defiance. Then she realized what he was doing.

  Nic hated him. Jonas was barely allied with him. And Theon’s twin had just tried to kill him.

  To reveal that she and Magnus were more than begrudging allies could cause unnecessary stress, especially now that they were all together.

  “Believe me, Nic,” she finally said. “I look forward to the day when I return to my kingdom. But that day is not today.”

  “Well, now that that’s settled,” Magnus said, “let’s discuss how to proceed, shall we?”

  Felix raised his hand. “I enthusiastically volunteer to kill the empress.”

  Magnus eyed him with interest. “How do you plan to do that?”

  “Now, I know some of you are probably going to suggest I use an arrow, aimed from afar,” Felix said eagerly. “But I’d really prefer to do it up close and personal. With my bare hands, if possible. I just want to see the look on her pretty face.”

  Magnus blinked. “I just remembered that you’re the one who sent me the flayed patch of your skin to prove your loyalty.”

  “I certainly did, your highness.”

  Cleo watched this young man warily, shocked by his words. Was he insane?

  However, he had saved Magnus’s life back at the tavern, and she was deeply indebted to him for that, so she supposed she would have to spend a bit more time around him, watching him, to see what he was truly like.

  There had been a time when she’d wished for Magnus to die for what he’d done to Theon just over a year ago—she had wanted to kill him herself.

  And yet, the moment Magnus’s life was in danger, she focused nowhere but on the prince. Any need for revenge had fallen away from her months ago, like shedding the skin of her former self.

  It wasn’t forgiveness that she felt. She still hated the boy Magnus had been that day.

  But she’d come to understand him over the months since, perhaps even better than she understood herself.

  “There is a threat far greater than Amara in Mytica right now, I’m afraid to say,” Jonas said, breaking Cleo’s reverie. He was wiping the dancer’s kiss marks from his face with a handkerchief handed to him by Olivia, and Cleo couldn’t help but find the contrast between this silly act and his solemn tone amusing.

  “Let me guess,” Magnus said. “You’re referring to my sister? I know you must be grieving your friend, Jonas, but there is no sense expending any of your vengeful energies on either Lucia or her companion, Kyan.”

  Jonas met Magnus’s gaze directly. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “You’ve searched for the Kindred. People have died over these crystals. You already revealed in front of everyone that Cleo has one in her possession, and we know that Amara has water and your father has air.”

  “Yes. This is all known to me, rebel. And we already know that Kyan has the fire Kindred.”

  “Wrong.” Jonas’s expression tensed. “Kyan is the fire Kindred.”

  Cleo stared at him, certain she’d heard him wrong. “What do you mean he is the fire Kindred?”

  “The magic you’ve been seeking—that we’ve all be seeking—it can think. It can speak. And it can kill without remorse. And three more just like Kyan are waiting to escape their prisons. They’re not magic rocks, princess, they’re elemental gods.”

  The room went silent, and Cleo frantically searched the faces of the others, hoping to find someone rolling their eyes. Hoping this was only an amusing lie to break the tension.

  This couldn’t possibly be true.

  But even Nic nodded his grim agreement.

  And at this very moment, right in her pocket, she held one of those very prisons.

  She looked at Magnus, his deep frown the only outward sign of his surprise.

  “Lucia must have helped him escape the amber orb,” Magnus said.

  “I think that’s obvious,” Jonas replied tightly, earning him a dark look from the prince.

  Cleo clamped her hands together to stop them from trembling. “Do we know for certain that whatever goals Kyan has are evil? The Kindred could still help us defeat Amara.”

  “I watched him burn Lys to nothing,” Jonas snarled. “Not even a single ash was left when he was through with her.” The rebel turned to Magnus. “Kyan is evil. And so is that bitch sister of yours.”

  Magnus rose to his feet, fists clenched at his sides
. “I don’t care what’s happened, you will not speak that way about Lucia in my presence. I won’t allow it.”

  “No? And do you think you can stop me?” Now Jonas also had his fists clenched, and the two of them drew closer together.

  “Perhaps he won’t stop you,” said a new voice, cutting into the conversation and causing the rebel and the prince to freeze where they were. “But I am certainly willing to try.”

  With that promise, the King of Blood entered the room.

  CHAPTER 14

  JONAS

  PAELSIA

  King Gaius Damora. The King of Blood. Murderer. Sadist, torturer, enslaver, betrayer. Enemy. Target.

  And currently standing in the very same room as Jonas.

  There had been many surprises this evening—the first being an encounter with Laelia Basilius, to whom Jonas had briefly, and reluctantly, been betrothed—but all of them disappeared from his mind the moment the king entered the room.

  Gaius swept his gaze over the group, ending on Jonas. “Jonas Agallon. It’s been a long time since I last saw you. I believe it was at my son’s wedding.”

  Jonas found he could do nothing but stare at the man who had killed so many and destroyed so much.

  “Magnus . . .” Cleo said from across the room.

  “Oh, yes,” Magnus said, his tone now void of the outrage over any slurs against his sister. “Did I forget to mention that I’m traveling with my father?”

  “You did,” Jonas replied tightly.

  “Yes,” the king agreed. “And it’s so good of my son to bring his new friends back here without prior notice.”

  Jonas fought to keep his composure, to not show how stunned he was. “Not as new as you might think.”

  King Gaius’s skin was pale, his face bruised as if he’d been held down and beaten. He leaned, as if casually, against the wall by the staircase, but there was something to the angle. A weakness, a frailty, that he’d never seen in the man before.

  “Go back upstairs,” Magnus snapped.

  “I don’t take orders from you.” The king smiled without humor at this. “Tell me, Magnus, do your new friends know we’re all on the same side now?”