He’d heard these platitudes so many times they’d become no more than words that held no true meaning. “Tell me, did Elena Bellos love you in return, or was it a sad and hopeless obsession that turned both your heart and soul to solid ice?”
His father didn’t answer for so long that Magnus thought he might have stood up and left. He turned his gaze away from the busy tavern to be sure the king was still beside him.
“She loved me,” he finally said, his voice nearly inaudible. “But that love wasn’t enough to solve our problems.”
Magnus clenched his goblet. “Are you going to tell me a tale of love and loss now—about a boy meeting a girl?”
“No.”
The thought that his father would dangle this epic love story before him without sharing it fully was as expected as it was frustrating.
“Then why are you even here?”
“To share the lesson I learned. Love is pain. Love is death. And love strips one of their power. Had I to do it all over again, I wish I’d never met Elena Corso. I’ve since come to despise her.”
“How romantic. Since she married Corvin Bellos, I assume she felt the same.”
“I’m sure she did. And now, I’m reminded of her every day of all that I’ve lost by that deceptive little creature, Cleo. She has become your fatal weakness, Magnus.”
The hatred had returned to Gaius’s voice. Magnus met his father’s cold eyes. “Your ongoing hatred for Cleo seems incredibly misplaced to me. The witch who cursed Elena is the one you should blame.” Magnus let out a breath in shock as he realized something. “You do, don’t you? That’s why you’ve condemned so many witches to their deaths over the years—to pay for that witch’s crime. You might say you despise Elena, but you still love her—even beyond death. Why else would you have taken Grandmother’s potion?”
“Think what you want.” A muscle in the king’s cheek twitched. “The potion was the only way to burn away the grief, the pain, and leave only strength behind. But now that strength is gone, stripped away when I fell from that cliff. The pain and grief is back, worse than ever before. And I hate it. I hate everything about this life, what I’ve had to do, how I’ve spent all this time obsessed with nothing but power. But it’s over now.”
“So you keep promising.”
Magnus needed out of this noisy, smoky tavern. He needed the time and the space to clear his head.
When he stood up, the king grabbed his arm. “I beg you, my son, send Cleiona away before she destroys you. She doesn’t truly love you, if that’s what you think. No matter what she tells you, she speaks only lies.”
“The King of Blood begging. Now I’ve heard everything.” He sighed. “I’ve had enough to drink for tonight. Such a pleasure to have had this chat with you, Father. Try to make it back to the inn without dying. I’m sure your mother would be very upset.”
He left without another word, hating how conflicted he felt about what to think, what to feel.
In the narrow alley outside the exit he’d taken, someone blocked his way to the main road, a large man with wide shoulders and a dark look on his face.
No one else was in sight.
“Yeah, I thought I recognized you the other night,” the man said. “You’re Prince Magnus Damora of Limeros.”
“And you’re horribly mistaken. Sorry to disappoint.” Magnus tried to elbow past him, but the man’s large mitt of a hand shot out to clutch his throat, drawing him close enough that Magnus could smell the ale on his breath.
“Ten years ago, your father burned my wife alive, claiming she was a witch. What say I do the exact same to you as retribution?”
“I say you let go of me immediately.” Magnus glowered at him. “Your need for vengeance has nothing to do with me.”
“He’s right.” The king stepped forward and pushed back his hood. “It has to do with me.”
The man gaped at him as if not believing his own eyes.
“Apologies for the loss of your wife,” the king said, the single lantern above the exit door lighting his near-skeletal face. “I despise witches for reasons far too long to list here and now. But I’ve rarely executed one who hadn’t dealt in blood and death. If your wife is now in the darklands, that’s exactly where she belongs.”
The man’s face reddened with rage, and he stepped forward with a sharp blade in his hand. Magnus watched his father as he stood there unmoving, his skin sallow, his shoulders hunched. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—fight for his life.
Did he want to die?
The man’s attention was fully on the king now, burning hatred in his eyes as he surged forward.
Magnus moved before he even realized his own intentions, grasping the man’s hands, stopping the blade before it met its mark.
“If anyone deserves the right to kill my father, it’s me,” he growled. “But it won’t be tonight.”
He wrenched the sharp blade around so that it sank into its owner’s chest instead. The man cried out in pain before he slumped to the ground. A pool of blood flowed freely from the fatal wound.
There was a moment of utter stillness in the alleyway before the king spoke again. “We must leave before anyone comes by to witness this.”
Magnus had to agree with him. He wiped the blood from his hands on his black cloak, and quickly they returned to the Hawk and Spear Inn.
“Don’t take that act to mean that I don’t hate you,” Magnus said.
The king nodded grimly. “I’d think you were a fool if you didn’t. Still, despite your hatred for me, I want to give you something.”
“What?”
“The air Kindred.”
There was no way in the world that the King of Blood would hand over a piece of the Kindred to anyone, not even his own son. And yet, the king led Magnus upstairs to the room he’d been in for two straight days.
Magnus scanned the space. “Where’s Selia?”
“In the courtyard.” The king nodded toward the window. “Your grandmother likes to do her Oldling rituals nightly at this hour under the moonlight, which is why I was able to slip away.”
The king went to the straw bed, lifted up the blankets, and felt beneath the mattress. He frowned. “Help me lift it,” he said.
“That weak, are you? So you really would have let that man kill you while you simply stood there waiting?”
“Just do as I say.” The glare his father shot him was much more familiar than any talk of sharing and regrets.
“Fine.” Magnus went to his side and lifted the mattress so his father could search beneath.
Shock flashed through the king’s watery, bloodshot eyes. “It’s gone.”
Magnus regarded him skeptically. “How convenient, considering you were about to give it to me. Please, Father, spare me such acts. As if you’d hide that kind of a treasure in such an obvious place.”
“It’s not an act. It was here. I’ve been too ill to find a better place to hide it.” His expression darkened. “That little princess of yours stole it.”
It had to be a lie. Yet another lie. Magnus couldn’t believe otherwise, not over something this important.
Before he could reply, the king stumbled past him to leave the room. Magnus followed him down to the hall, where Cleo still sat with Jonas.
Magnus couldn’t believe his eyes. It took every last piece of restraint he had not to make Jonas his second kill of the night.
Cleo shot up to her feet at the swift entry of both the king and Magnus. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Did you steal the air Kindred?” Magnus asked, not liking the drunken slur to his words.
“What? I—I wouldn’t even know where it is!”
“Yes or no, princess?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she lifted her chin. “No.”
“She lies,” the king said.
“The king of
lies wishes to accuse the princess, does he?” Jonas practically spat out, his hands fisted. “How ironic.”
“Where is your earth Kindred?” Magnus demanded.
Cleo’s brow furrowed into a frown as she slid her hand into her pocket, her eyes growing wide. “It’s gone. It was here, I swear it! I keep it with me all the time!”
A wave of nausea came over Magnus. There was a thief among them. And whoever it was would soon deeply regret their actions.
It wasn’t long before the loud voices drew everyone to the room, wondering what was going on. Both Milo and Enzo had their weapons drawn, ready for a fight.
Magnus scanned the group. Everyone was accounted for—Nic, Olivia, even Selia had joined them, her face flushed from whatever ritual tonight’s moon had earned. Everyone except one.
“Where is Prince Ashur?” asked Jonas, frowning. “He was here earlier with Cleo and me.”
“I haven’t seen him today,” Olivia replied. “Perhaps he’s gone out.”
“Perhaps. Anyone know where he went?”
Enzo and Milo both shook their heads.
Selia went to the pale king’s side as he made his way to a chair to sit down. “Gaius, darling, what are you doing out of bed?”
Magnus ignored them, his attention fully on Nic, who had remained silent. While the others argued about the location of the prince, Nic slipped out of the room. Magnus immediately followed him down a hallway toward the front door.
When Nic noticed that Magnus was close, his shoulders tensed.
“Looking for someone?” Magnus asked, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I want to go outside to get some fresh air.”
“He took both of the crystals, didn’t he? And he told you his plans.”
Nic shook his head but didn’t make eye contact. Magnus had no more patience for lies tonight. He grabbed the front of Nic’s tunic and shoved him against the wall.
“Where is Ashur?” he snarled.
“You’re drunk.”
“Extremely, not that it makes any damn difference right now. Answer me! Ashur stole the crystals, didn’t he?”
Nic gritted his teeth. “You think the prince tells me anything?”
“I have no clue what the prince whispers in your ear, but I’m not blind. I know there’s something between the two of you, that you’re closer than you’d like to let on. And I know that you know more about this than you’re telling me.”
Jonas approached from around a corner, his expression tense. “What are you doing to him?”
Magnus didn’t release his hold on the boy. “Nic knows Ashur’s secrets, and I’m going to find out what they are.”
“Answer the question, Nic,” Jonas said, his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you know where Ashur went?”
Nic scoffed. “What? Are the two of you working together now?”
“No,” Magnus and Jonas both said in unison, then glared at each other.
Nic sighed. “Fine. The prince left not long ago to go to his sister. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen to a word I said. He’s determined to do what he can to talk sense into her and if he can’t, he’ll claim the title of emperor.”
Magnus’s stomach dropped. “And he’s taken her the air and earth Kindred. What a lovely gift, considering Amara has the water Kindred.”
A glimmer of worry finally moved through Nic’s gaze. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t he?” Magnus tried to keep his grip on Nic’s shirt so that the fool couldn’t slip away, but his vision had started to swim. Too much wine, too quickly. It would take till the morning for its effects to wear off. “Perhaps Amara magically summoned the crystals out of their hiding places and they flew on the wings of summer butterflies to reach her.”
“I’ll say it one more time.” Nic’s eyes narrowed. “Let go of me.”
“And if I don’t? Will you call out for the princess to come and save you?”
“I hate you. I yearn for the day when I see you dead and buried.” He sent a dark look at Jonas. “A little help?”
“Nic, you need to think,” Jonas said evenly. “If Magnus is right about Ashur—”
Magnus sent a withering look at the rebel. “Did you just call me by only my given name?”
Jonas rolled his eyes. “Amara Cortas cannot be allowed more power than she already has. And if her brother’s taken her the Kindred, it’s the worst outcome possible. She could release three elemental gods just like Kyan.”
“I know,” Nic replied. “I get it.”
“Do you?”
“So it’s my fault? Are you going to let his majesty break my neck? For what? Being unable to stop Ashur from doing what he wanted to do? He has a mind of his own.”
“I promise his majesty is not going to break your neck.”
“Now, let’s not be hasty,” Magnus said, enjoying the momentary flash of fear that entered the boy’s eyes.
He’d never kill Nic.
Cleo would never forgive him.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Magnus said. “You will go after Ashur and stop him from doing something unforgivably idiotic out of some bizarre and misplaced sense of Kraeshian familial loyalty. And you will retrieve the crystals he stole by any means necessary.”
Nic regarded him with incredulity. “I won’t leave Cleo again.”
“Oh, you certainly will. And you’re leaving immediately. You will return with the Kindred, or my patience with you is at an end.” Magnus wracked his blurry mind to come up with a way to get Nic to do as he commanded. “You may hate me, but you’ve seen for yourself that I’ve kept your precious princess breathing all these months when others have wished her dead. I swear to the goddess I’ll stop protecting her if you don’t do exactly as I say.”
Nic flinched, but his glare remained. “Cleo would be fine even without your so-called help.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. In a time of war—and make no mistake, that is exactly what this ‘peaceful’ Kraeshian occupation really is—no one is safe.”
Nic had no reply to this; all he did was glower.
“Threats or no threats,” Jonas said with impatience, “the prince is right. Nic, you need to go after Ashur. We both do. I should have accompanied Felix and Taran when they left. There’s no reason for me to be here.”
“No reason, rebel?” Magnus shot him a look. “That’s strange. Here I thought you were enjoying pawing at the princess’s skirts, looking for table scraps.”
Jonas glared at Magnus. “I would receive far more than you ever would.”
Magnus smirked at him. “Don’t be so sure about that.”
Jonas’s expression only darkened further at that. “We’re done here. Nic, grab what you need for the journey to Basilius’s compound. Hopefully we can catch up to Ashur before he arrives. And Magnus?”
“Yes, rebel?”
Jonas’s eyes narrowed. “Harm one hair on the princess’s head, and I swear to whatever goddess you give a damn about, I will make you beg for death.”
CHAPTER 19
AMARA
PAELSIA
A single golden hawk circled above the Paelsian citizens gathering to hear Amara’s speech. She stood at the open window in her chambers and looked out at the crowd of eager faces. Many were bewildered to be inside their former chief’s private compound; its gates had been locked to the public during his command over this dusty kingdom. Today they had their first glimpse of the labyrinthine city, which reminded Amara greatly of the City of Gold, only instead of precious metals and jewels, it was made from clay, brick, stone, and dirt.
“Your grace, I wish you would reconsider this speech,” Kurtis said from behind her. “You are much safer inside, especially with the news of rebels nearby.”
She glanced from the window at the ever-present kingslie
ge. “That’s why I have guards surrounding me at all times, Lord Kurtis. Rebels are always nearby. Unfortunately, I can’t make everyone see my point of view. There are those who opposed my husband’s reign, my father’s reign. And there are those who will oppose mine as well. No, I will speak to my citizens today, those who would embrace me without question and the handful who doubt my intentions here. I must give them hope for the future—hope they’ve never had before.”
“Which is a lovely sentiment, your grace, but . . . Paelsians are known savages, quick to violence.”
She found his choice of words offensive. “There are those who say the same of Kraeshians,” she replied with growing annoyance. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me before. I will speak today.”
“Your grace—”
She held up her hand, choosing to drop the smile from her lips. “I will speak today,” she said firmly. “And no one will tell me I can’t. Especially with the news of rebels, and with dissent even among my own soldiers, I need the support of these people for the future of my reign. And I will not have anyone tell me what I can and cannot do. Do you understand me?”
He immediately bowed deeply, his cheeks flushing. “Of course, your grace. I meant no disrespect.”
The door opened, and Nerissa entered, bowing her head. “It is time, empress.”
“Good. I’m ready.” Amara stroked the silk of her gown. It was the one she wore for only the most special of occasions in Kraeshia. She took it with her whenever she traveled just in case there was the opportunity to wear such a splendid piece. Its shimmering stitches and shining beads of emerald and amethyst sparkled under the Paelsian sun as she emerged from her large villa.
An entourage of bodyguards waited outside for Amara, and with Nerissa by her side, she approached the large podium on a wooden stage high above the crowd of four thousand, who were elbow to elbow in the chief’s former fighting arena.
These were her new subjects. They would hang on her every word and spread the news of her glory to all who would listen. And one day soon, they would be the first to revere her as a true goddess.
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