Crystal Storm

by Morgan Rhodes

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” she murmured into his ear. “I don’t want to leave you. I love you, Magnus. So much.”

  His heart twisted. “You said love wasn’t enough to fix this.”

  “I was angry. Everyone says horrible things when they’re angry.”

  “But Nic . . .”

  “I must have hope that he’s alive. He has to be. He knows I’d be furious with him if he let himself be killed. Now look at me, Magnus.”

  He finally turned around and was greeted by the sight of her at his side, her beautiful face lit by the sliver of moonlight streaming through the window, her hair like spun gold, her eyes dark and bottomless.

  “I need you to do something very important for me,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Kiss me.”

  He almost laughed. “If I kiss you right now, I assure you, I won’t be able to stop.”

  “I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want you to ever stop. Whatever happens, Magnus, we’re in this together. I chose you. And I need you. Unless”—she raised a brow—“you’re too drunk and you’d rather I leave.”

  His gaze darkened. “Hardly. But the curse . . .”

  “The curse is a fantasy, nothing more. Put it out of your mind.”

  “Not sure I can.”

  “It seems that I must be the one to make the first move tonight . . .” She brushed her lips along the length of his scar, from his cheek to his lips. “Like this.”

  “Cleo . . .” he managed as he pulled her into his arms, but suddenly it wasn’t Cleo that Magnus held. He found that he clutched only air and blankets.

  He realized with dismay that she’d never been there at all. It had only been a dream.

  But it didn’t have to be.

  He needed to talk to her, to get her to see reason. She would, he knew she would. And together they would find out the truth about Nic.

  Magnus sat up, determined that today would be better than yesterday, but his head felt as if it was ready to explode. He groaned and gripped his temples, doubling over from the pain.

  The wine. Paelsian wine had no ill aftereffects on those who drank it. All other inebriants, though . . .

  Did others willingly choose to endure pain like this to forget about their problems for a night?

  Magnus was furious with himself for giving in to something that had weakened him to this degree, but he had to overcome it. He had to focus on his goals.

  He would go after Ashur himself. The Kindred needed to be reclaimed—for himself, for Cleo, for Mytica. And the way he currently felt, anyone who got in his way would die a very painful death.

  The inn seemed strangely empty this morning. The princess’s bedroom was vacant, the door open. Magnus’s grandmother was nowhere to be seen, neither in the courtyard nor in the meeting room.

  The king, however, was waiting for him at the dining room table, a full breakfast in front of him. The innkeeper’s wife—Magnus hadn’t bothered to learn her name—eyed him nervously as he entered and took a seat.

  “Eat something,” the king told him.

  Magnus eyed the spread of dried fruit, goat cheese, and freshly baked bread with disgust. The scent of it made him want to vomit.

  The thought of any food at all made him nauseous.

  “I’ll pass,” Magnus replied. “You look . . . well.”

  “I feel well.” The king wore Xanthus’s golden ring on his left index finger. He raised his hand and inspected it. “Hard to believe there’s so much magic in this small piece, enough to restore me to my former self so quickly.”

  “How long will it last?”

  “Ah, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

  “Selia didn’t tell you?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Gone.”

  Magnus frowned, and a fresh wave of pain coursed through his head. “Gone where?”

  The king tore a piece of bread off a loaf, dipped it into a bowl of melted butter, and chewed it thoughtfully. “Food even tastes better to me now. It’s like a veil of apathy has been lifted from each of my senses.”

  “How delightful for you. I ask again, where is my grandmother?”

  “I sent her away.”

  Magnus blinked. “You sent her away.”

  “That is what I said.”

  “Why?”

  The king put down his fork and held Magnus’s gaze. “Because she doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as we do.”

  Magnus shook his head, trying to make sense of this. “She saved your life.”

  The king scoffed. “Yes, I suppose she did.”

  “You speak, but you make no sense. Did the bloodstone steal your sanity while it restored your health?”

  “I’ve never felt more sane than I do at this very moment.” He glanced at the door where Milo now stood. “Milo, my good man, come and eat some breakfast. Magnus won’t be having any, so why let perfectly good food go to waste?”

  “Thank you, your highness,” Milo said. “Is it true what I’ve heard? That Nicolo Cassian is dead?”

  The king raised his brows.

  “It’s possible,” Magnus allowed.

  Milo smirked. “That is mildly disappointing. Pardon me for saying so, but I always hoped to kill him myself.”

  Magnus found himself nodding in agreement. “He did have that effect on people.”

  “Where’s Enzo?” the king asked. “There’s plenty of food here for him as well.”

  “Enzo has left, your majesty,” Milo replied a bit reluctantly.

  The king put down the bread and looked at the guard. “Where has he gone?”

  “With the princess.”

  The tentative way he said it made Magnus’s stomach churn. “Please be so kind as to tell me that the princess has gone shopping in the city and will return later.”

  “Apologies, but I don’t know where they’ve gone, only that they left at dawn.”

  Magnus’s heart began to race, and he shot an accusatory glare at his father. “What have you done now?”

  The king shrugged, his expression unreadable. “I won’t mince words with you this morning, my son. Your grandmother is gone. And so is the princess. Neither will return here.”

  Magnus stood up so quickly that his chair fell over backward. “I need to find her.”

  “Sit down,” the king hissed.

  “You threatened her, didn’t you? Both her and Selia. You chased them away.”

  “Yes, I suppose I did. All while you slept away your drunken stupor until midday. You need to start thinking as clearly as I do, Magnus. Now that I’ve been restored, it’s time for us to take action.”

  “Is that right?” Magnus could feel his voice getting louder and louder. “Action is what we need? Let’s see . . . there’s you, there’s me, and there’s Milo currently representing the once-great Limeros. That makes three of us against Amara’s army. And we don’t have Lucia with us, since you sent away the one person who could have found her!” He swore under his breath. “I need to find Cleo.”

  “You need to do no such thing. That girl has been a plague upon us since the first moment she entered our lives.”

  “Us? There is no us, Father. You think that anything is different now? A few encouraging words and pained looks do not make everything all right. You can try to stop me from leaving, but I promise you’ll fail.”

  Magnus went straight for the door of the inn, his head in a daze. Cleo must have gone to Auranos, he thought. He’d start there. Someone would know where to find her.

  Thank the goddess she’d been wise enough to take Enzo with her. But one single guard to protect her in the face of Amara’s massive occupation wasn’t nearly enough.

  “Magnus, don’t leave,” the king said. “We need t
o discuss strategy.”

  “Discuss strategy with Milo,” he growled. “Anything you have to say is utterly irrelevant to me.”

  Magnus flung open the door, ready to storm out of the room, but three men were already standing there, blocking his way.

  “Prince Magnus Damora,” one said, nodding. He looked at his companions. “See? I told you it was him. The prince of Limeros in the middle of Basilia. Who would have believed it? I remember you from your wedding tour. I brought my wife and children to see a pair of royals in their shiny, perfect clothing, to show them what we could never have as the lowly Paelsians you’ve always seen us as. And here you are, dressed like one of us.”

  “So pleased to meet you, whoever you are.” Magnus’s eyes narrowed. “And now I suggest you get out of my way.”

  “There’s a price on your head—yours and your father’s.”

  “Is there?” Magnus gave them a thin smile. “And what price is on your heads if I detach them from your bodies?”

  The stranger and his friends laughed at this as if it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. “All of us? Even the Prince of Blood couldn’t take us all on.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “Kill them,” the king suggested. “We don’t have time for nonsense today.”

  “That’s the first good idea you’ve had,” Magnus replied under his breath.

  But before he could make a move to grab for a weapon, or say another word, three spears sailed through the air, impaling each man from behind.

  The three dropped to the ground at Magnus’s feet.

  Magnus looked up. Behind the men, there was a veritable army of soldiers in green uniforms.

  Amara’s army.

  Magnus slammed the door shut and staggered back into the inn. “We have a problem.”

  “Yes, I see that,” the king replied.

  “I take it Amara doesn’t believe whatever story you told her anymore if she’s sent her army for you.”

  “I assumed it would only be a matter of time.”

  Magnus glared at him. “How can you sound so damn calm about this?”

  There was a banging on the door. “Open up in the name of Amara Cortas, empress of Kraeshia!”

  Milo was there in front of them, sword in hand, as the front door splintered inward and Amara’s guards came spilling into the inn. Magnus now had his sword at the ready, but all he could do was watch as Milo—the guard he still felt deep gratitude toward for intervening when his and Cleo’s lives had been threatened at the cliffside—fell after slaying only two guards.

  With a roar of anger, Magnus moved forward, raising his weapon.

  The king put his hand on Magnus’s shoulder to stop him.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  A tall, muscular uniformed soldier strode forward, the others making way for him. “Drop your weapon. Surrender, or die here and now.”

  Magnus, his jaw clenched, looked down at Milo, blood pooling next to his body. Milo had wanted to fight, had wanted to kill as many of these Kraeshians as he could for the king and for Limeros.

  But he couldn’t kill them all. And neither could Magnus.

  This fight was over before it had barely begun. Amara had won.

  CHAPTER 26

  LUCIA

  PAELSIA

  “I swear to the goddess,” Lucia said, clutching her belly, “this child wishes to be the death of me.”

  She’d never assumed that carrying a child would be simple. In the past, she’d seen pregnant women who’d complained about their backs hurting, their ankles swelling, and constant nausea. But she knew this was different.

  The road Jonas promised would lead to her family was winding and rocky. Every time the horse-drawn cart took a turn too fast or hit a boulder, she wanted to cry out from the pain.

  “Do you want me to have the driver stop again?” asked Jonas.

  “No. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

  The rebel had been very quiet during the journey, which, due to multiple stops, had taken them nearly an entire day since leaving his sister’s cottage.

  She had to ask.

  “Does your sister hate you because of who I am? That you brought me to her home?”

  “That would be more than enough, I think. I was wrong to bring you there thinking she’d be willing to help you. But my sister hates me for other reasons. Valid reasons. I can’t argue that I didn’t abandon my family. Even though I thought I was keeping them safe by staying away, I see now that it was the wrong decision. I should have been there when my father died.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He eyed her. “You are?”

  “Despite what you believe of me, I’m not utterly heartless.”

  “If you say so.”

  She groaned. “Please keep talking, even if it’s only to insult me. When you’re talking, the pain seems to lessen a little.” She scanned what she could see of the landscape, which had turned from rural to much more populated, with buildings closer together and roads that seemed smoother and well traveled. “Is it much farther?”

  “Not much. I’ll talk to ease your pain the rest of the way. The last time I saw my father I decided that I never wanted to be like him. But I still should have been there when he died. Like so many Paelsians, he accepted life as it unfolded before him, never working to change it. He believed blindly in Chief Basilius. I suppose I did too, for a while. At least, until I saw for myself that the chief had none of the magic he claimed and that he allowed Paelsians to starve while he lived like a true king in his compound, thanks to his high tax on Paelsian wine. He made me so many promises of a brighter future—he even wanted me to marry his daughter.”

  It was odd—the sound of the rebel’s voice did seem to soothe her. At least until he mentioned that particular name. “Chief Basilius wanted you to marry his daughter? Which one?”

  “Laelia.” He studied her. “Why do you look so surprised by this? Because the daughter of someone like Basilius would have nothing to do with a wine seller’s son?”

  “That’s not why.”

  “Trust me, she wasn’t complaining.”

  “My goodness, rebel, is your previous betrothal a touchy subject for you?”

  “No. I barely think about it—or her—anymore. I have no interest in marriage.” His jaw set, and he continued to mutter, as if to himself. “That leads to children, and children . . . I just don’t see myself raising one, no matter how important it might be.”

  She frowned at him. “Of course not. You’re still young.”

  “So are you.”

  “I didn’t choose this.”

  His expression remained grim. “I keep wondering just how many of us actually get a choice in our futures, or whether they’re already set and we’re doomed to simply think we have control over our lives.”

  “So philosophical. For your information, I looked surprised about your betrothal to Laelia only because I recently discovered that Gaius Damora isn’t my father by blood. He had me kidnapped because of my prophecy. My real father was Chief Basilius. Laelia is my sister.”

  Jonas blinked. “I’m surprised you’d share this with me.”

  “Why? We’re making conversation, and such a secret doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

  His brows drew together. “So you’re Paelsian.”

  She laughed weakly. “That is all you take from that revelation?”

  Jonas swore under his breath as he studied her face. “You actually look like her, now that I’m paying attention. Like Laelia. Same blue eyes, same hair color. Fewer snakes, though. And you’re so pale right now. You really aren’t feeling well, are you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “So is it a sorceress thing, this quick pregnancy? All that elementia inside you?”

  “I think it has m
ore to do with my visit to the Sanctuary. The quickness happened only after I returned to Paelsia.”

  He regarded her with shock. “You’ve been to the Sanctuary? The actual Sanctuary where the immortals live?”

  She nodded. “Briefly. A Watcher named Timotheus has been tolerating my existence because of my prophecy. Sometimes he visits my dreams. I knew I needed to see him, to ask for his help. To be honest, he wasn’t all that helpful.” Jonas’s shoulders had stiffened at the name. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Timotheus, you said?”

  “He has visions . . . about me, about this world, and about his world. But he’s secretive about the visions that have to do with me.”

  “I’m sure he is.” Jonas’s expression was unreadable. She wasn’t sure if he was fascinated by what she was saying or bored out of his mind.

  “Anyway . . .” Lucia gazed around at the large village that the cart had entered, hopeful that this journey would soon end. “He hasn’t visited my dreams even once since I returned here. Either he can’t do that anymore or he’s leaving me to discover my fate by myself. As you said, it might already be decided without any input from me.”

  Jonas didn’t reply to this, and it was some time before he said another word. “The father of your child . . . was he good or evil?”

  She was about to say that that was a strange question, but given that she already knew Jonas perceived her as nothing but evil, she decided his question was valid enough.

  “I believe Alexius was good, but he was manipulated to do evil by another. He was commanded to take my life, and when the time came, he refused and took his own.”

  “He sacrificed himself for you.”

  Bringing up memories of Alexius made the pain in her belly shift to her heart. She tried to think of him as little as possible to avoid any pangs of remorse or grief about the immortal.

  “He fought against the magic that forced him to move me from place to place like a piece upon a game board. He taught me more about my own magic. He even taught me how to steal the magic from others to weaken them. I didn’t know why he did this at the time, but in the end . . . I understood. He was teaching me how to kill an immortal.”

  “You killed an immortal by stealing all of his magic?”