Frozen Tides

by Morgan Rhodes

  Cleo looked up at Nic’s reflection in her mirror. “It does sound rather difficult to believe when the story’s put like that. Do you think he’s lying?”

  “Apologies, but did you just ask me if I think Prince Magnus, the King of Blood’s son and the brother of a power-crazed sorceress, would lie to the former princess of Auranos? Are you being serious right now?”

  Nic’s smugness had a way of annoying Cleo to no end—especially because he was often right to be smug and suspicious. And right now, she wanted to hold on to the belief that Magnus was being sincere. After all, if Magnus did want his father dead, he’d need Jonas’s help to carry that through. And if he cared only for Limeros, and didn’t want the trouble that came with controlling all three kingdoms, then all of this really did make sense.

  Luckily, Nic wasn’t the only person whose opinion she trusted.

  It was so wonderful to have Nerissa, the pretty girl with short dark hair and more wisdom in her eyes than any eighteen-year-old she’d ever seen, back with her. For the seemingly small favor of bringing Nerissa up north from Auranos, Cleo was grateful to Magnus without reservation. He could have easily denied her request.

  Not that Cleo would have accepted that response as final.

  Cleo grasped the girl’s hand. “Nerissa, what do you think?”

  Nerissa placed an opal-handled hairbrush down on the vanity table and looked back at Cleo’s reflection. “You say you’ve already agreed to go along with this new plan,” she said, “so I think you should stay true to that agreement. At this stage in the prince’s scheme, there’s very little to do with you, and much more to do with Jonas. Nothing has really changed, it seems. Except, perhaps, your ongoing question of whether the prince is capable of being honest about his true agenda.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Cleo said.

  “You said he’s forgiven you for conspiring with Jonas.”

  “He says he understands why I did what I did.”

  Nic let out an exasperated groan. “How have you two not figured this out yet? If the prince’s mouth is moving, he’s lying.”

  Cleo’s eyes flashed with frustration. “And what if he isn’t lying this time? We just give up the first chance we’ve had in months to reclaim our kingdom?”

  “But what if he is, once again, misleading you? Cleo, damn it,” he swore under his breath, “I can’t lose you, too. Got it?” His tone was fierce, but his eyes had grown glossy. He rubbed at them and turned away from her. “I need some air, even if it might turn my lungs to ice.”

  He left the room, and Cleo rose to her feet to go after him.

  “Let him clear his head,” Nerissa said, placing her hand on the princess’s shoulder. “It’ll give you the time to do the same.”

  “Nerissa . . . I don’t know what to believe anymore. Everything used to be so clear and now . . . I’m just so confused.” Her voice caught. “I haven’t even had a chance to speak to Jonas privately.”

  Magnus had put the rebel and his friends up somewhere on the far side of the castle, but Cleo didn’t know exactly where. And the prince made it clear he wasn’t going to tell her.

  “Yes, of course you need to talk to him,” Nerissa said. “But first you need to talk to the prince. If you peel back the layers of animosity and suspicion and . . . confusion you feel, perhaps your sense of clarity isn’t as marred as you think it is.”

  The thought of talking to Magnus after all that had unfolded in the throne room sent a shiver running through her.

  No. She wouldn’t allow herself to fear him. Hate him? Loathe him? Distrust him? Yes. But never fear. She’d decided that long ago.

  Still, Cleo shook her head. “It’s the Limerian day of silence. I wouldn’t even know where to find him.” Cleo had never experienced a single day of silence at the Auranian palace, and to witness such quiet in a place as stark as this northern castle was about as jarring as she could imagine.

  “This day of worship will only make it much easier to find and speak to him in peace,” Nerissa reasoned. “Everyone in Limeros has gathered in the temples and village centers to worship their goddess. And I happen to know exactly where the prince has gone to do his worshipping.”

  “Where?”

  “He’s right here in the palace, spending the day in the royal temple.” Cleo gave her a look of surprise—she hadn’t even known there was a royal temple on the palace grounds—and Nerissa smiled. “I’ve made very good friends with Enzo, the young palace guard. He’s full of useful information. Much gratitude for introducing us, princess.”

  “Very good friends, are you?” Cleo knew all about Nerissa’s proficiency with manipulating willing and gullible men and couldn’t help but be amused. “I’m glad to see you’re already having fun so soon after your arrival.”

  “Limeros is far more enticing than I’d previously guessed. And, frankly, so is Enzo.”

  “Well, I’m just glad that one of is happy here.”

  Nerissa’s smile widened. “Go and have that talk with the prince. I have great faith that you—more than anyone else—can summon words from Prince Magnus today.”

  • • •

  Cleo walked to the west side of the castle, flush against the high cliffs. She came to the end of a corridor and pushed open two tall ebony doors engraved with a twisting maze of snakes. Inside, she’d expected to find a small replica of the central temple near Ravencrest—dark and foreboding, so unlike the temples devoted to Cleo’s namesake goddess, which were adorned with mosaics, gold, and jewels.

  Instead, while this small palace temple did have black stone floors and hard wooden pews in front of an obsidian altar, it had another feature so surprising to Cleo that she couldn’t hold back a gasp. Across the temple from its entrance were three floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the Silver Sea, giving her a full view of the setting sun, the sky alive with colors—red, orange, purple, and indigo.

  She managed to tear her gaze away from the stunning sight, then scanned the room for worshippers. She saw only one figure, Prince Magnus, seated at the front, facing the windows with his back to her.

  She walked slowly down the aisle and sat in a pew directly behind the prince.

  “This view,” Cleo said after a few moments. “I can see why you’d choose to spend the day here. So beautiful—and, I must admit, so unexpected in a place like this.”

  He didn’t reply, but Cleo wasn’t discouraged. She scooted over and leaned forward against the back of his pew. His dark brown hair had grown quite long in the last months, and he hadn’t bothered to trim it. He didn’t smell of warm leather, as he did when he went riding. Today, he smelled only of sandalwood, as usual, and of citrus. Was that a hint of lemon she caught?

  Lemons were a delicacy here in frozen Limeros, very expensive to import.

  “Do you put sugar on your lemons?” she asked. “I’ve never been able to eat them without sugar. I’ve always preferred to have my lemons squeezed and made into a sweet drink.”

  Again, Magnus didn’t reply, but if nothing else, this was much more pleasant than arguing.

  Her gaze settled on his scar—a jagged line that stretched from the top of his right ear to the corner of his mouth. The king had done this to Magnus, sliced his cheek for trying to steal a pretty dagger during a visit to the Auranian palace.

  He’d been seven years old. To receive such a violent punishment at such a young age . . .

  “Why are you here?” he finally asked, his deep voice just above a whisper.

  The sound of his broken silence jarred her from her thoughts. “He speaks.”

  “Only to ask why you’ve interrupted me at such an obviously inappropriate time.”

  “I know about the traditions of the day, but even so, you spend far too much time alone, thinking. So much solitude isn’t good for the soul.” She glanced down and saw a leather-bound book balancing on his lap. “Are you doing some more research on magic?”

  “How wonderful that you’ve chosen to be so talkative
today, of all days.” He gripped the edges of the book, whose cover was stamped in gold with the name LUKAS and an outline of what looked like a small country or island.

  “Lukas. Your middle name,” she said.

  “Very good, princess. You’ve been paying attention.” He traced his index finger over the letters. “And this is where that name comes from. The Isle of Lukas.”

  That’s right. The isle was familiar to her, a fifty-mile journey from the southwest tip of Auranos, but she hadn’t thought of it in ages. “I’ve heard of it. I wanted to visit some summers ago, but at the time my father was furious at me for sneaking some friends of mine into a royal ball and refused to send me as punishment.” She frowned. “They teach art lessons there, don’t they?”

  “Among other things.”

  She saw now that the book did not come from the library, but rather was a sketchbook, similar to the one her sister used to have. Emilia had attended art lessons on the island, the same summer she’d discovered that her archery skills far surpassed her talent for drawing trees and flowers. Cleo’s mother had also been a student there long ago. Elena Bellos’s sketchbook was one of the only mementos that Cleo had of the mother who’d tragically died giving birth to her.

  “You were named after an island?” Cleo asked.

  “The queen wanted to use my grandfather’s name, Davidus, as she believed I’d one day become a great king, like he had been. It was my father who insisted upon Lukas. He spent a season on the isle when he was young, just as I did only three summers ago. I suppose the fact that he named me after the place suggests that he valued his time there. Or perhaps he hated it and wanted a constant reminder. He’s never bothered to explain to me his reasons.”

  Cleo couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re saying that both you and King Gaius are former fine arts pupils? Don’t Limerians frown upon such frivolous pursuits?”

  “There’s something honorable in learning how to perfectly render something’s likeness—the kind of honor that makes my father think art can sometimes be a worthy pastime.”

  “Perfectly, you say. Let me see for myself, then, how well you can render.” He remained still, his hands still grasping the sketchbook, so she leaned farther over the bench. “Come on, don’t be bashful.”

  Feeling bold, she reached out and took it out of his hands, and he didn’t stop her.

  Cleo expected to flip through the book and find nothing more than half-filled pages of abandoned, uninspired sketches from Magnus’s bored summer on Lukas. Instead, she found that the entire sketchbook was full, from beginning to end, with dozens of beautiful drawings, each one different and more impressive than the next. “These are incredible,” she said, unable to look away from her most surprising discovery yet.

  The first half of the book was filled with drawings depicting various glimpses of the Isle of Lukas, from sprawling landscapes, to intricately detailed close-ups of small rodents with bushy tails, to portraits of young people Cleo assumed to be Magnus’s classmates. But when Cleo reached the second half, she noticed an abrupt change in subject matter. The rest of the sketchbook contained only portraits, and they were all of Lucia.

  Lucia gazing out of a window, Lucia walking through the gardens, Lucia holding a flower, Lucia smiling, Lucia laughing.

  Each one depicted her perfect likeness, no detail left uncared for. Only the portrait on the final page was unfinished. The only thing Magnus had sketched were two eyes that were unmistakably Lucia’s—drawn so vividly they seemed to pierce right through Cleo.

  He’ll always be mine, Lucia seemed to be saying to her. This is the only proof you need.

  Magnus pulled the book away from her and glanced down at the final picture of his adopted sister.

  Cleo’s mouth had gone dry. “This is why you came here today, why you wanted to be alone. Not to honor this day of worship, but to look at your sketches. You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”

  Magnus didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened. She moved to sit right next to him, and when she placed her hand on top of his, he tensed, but didn’t pull away.

  “You love her,” she said.

  “More than anything.”

  She’d always known this to be true, no matter what had happened between her and Magnus. Still, something inside Cleo twisted unpleasantly at his easy admission. She pushed past it. “And she loves you too,” she said. “But she’s not herself right now. That man, Kyan . . . he’s manipulating her.”

  “The man of fire. I’ve heard rumors of him in recent months. I used to think that’s all they were: rumors.” He looked down at Cleo’s hand. “You know, it doesn’t feel like all that long ago that we were sitting in a different temple, having another grave conversation.”

  She remembered that night in the City of Gold far too clearly. Her need to align with him was so strong that she thought it might actually be a possibility.

  “Rather than always fighting,” she’d said to him, “we could find a way to help each other.”

  Since then, Cleo had learned a great deal about the dangers of just letting her true thoughts pour right out of her mouth. Those were the kinds of thoughts that could later be used against her as weapons. “You were drunk that night,” she said, trying to put on a dismissive tone.

  “I was. Far too drunk. That was also the night I took Amara to my bed. I found I needed to be with someone much less . . . belligerent than you. It was refreshing, for a while.”

  She tried not to react with any of the displeasure she felt about this subject. “We all make harsh errors in judgment.”

  “Indeed.” For the first time since she’d entered the temple, his flat, dark eyes met hers directly. “It’s too bad, really. We made an incredible match, Amara and I. Her skills as a lover are beyond compare—even to those of the most coveted courtesan. Perhaps if she’d confided the true reason of her visit to me, I would have shared the Kindred with her.”

  Cleo withdrew her hand from his, her blood turning to acid. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Really? Is that any less believable than a secret union between you and Jonas Agallon?”

  She’d been wrong. His eyes weren’t flat and emotionless; they were full of simmering outrage. “I thought you said you understand why I did that.”

  “Understand? Yes. Approve of? No. You have a stunning talent for concealing the truth. I rarely meet a liar as skilled as you are. Congratulations, princess.”

  How had it taken her this long to realize that he was furious with her?

  “So what?” she said, abandoning all hope of staying diplomatic and diving right into interrogation. “Were you lying too? About this new alliance? About what will happen afterward?”

  “Finally, the princess reveals her true intentions, the real reason you’ve come up to me on this day of worship. You’ve no interest in the details of my past at all.”

  “Can’t it be both? Why can’t I want information about my future and be curious about your past as well?”

  “We’re done here.” He stood up and walked toward the exit, and she hurried after him to block his path.

  “No, we’re not done here,” she hissed.

  “Answer me this, princess. What exactly is there between you and Agallon? Is it more than a friendly alliance between a princess and a rebel?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He glared at her as if she were a child purposely avoiding an answer. “Are you in love with him?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Under any other circumstances I wouldn’t care, of course. But if the two of you were in love, it would make it much more complicated for the three of us to go forward.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “A yes or a no would suffice. I’ll take your response as a . . . probably. Good to know, princess. Much gratitude.”

  She grabbed his arm and held on tightly.

  He glared down his nose at her. “Let go of me.”

  “Not yet. I need you to hear wh
at I have to say to you.”

  Cleo sought to hold his gaze, trying to see past the anger and uncertainty in his eyes. Was there anything else there? The new mask he wore was marvelous, thicker and stronger than ever, covering every emotion but anger.

  But every mask could be cracked.

  “What do you need to say to me?” he finally prompted.

  She took a deep breath and stood as tall as she could. “I did fall in love with someone. Someone whom many would say was completely wrong for me. But I didn’t care.”

  He now studied her for a long, heavy moment. “Did you, princess? And who was that?”

  Boldly, she placed her hand over his heart to feel its swift pace.

  He looked down at it, his brows drawing together as he met her eyes.

  “Do you really want to know?” she asked, her voice now soft.

  He was silent so long that she wasn’t sure he’d ever speak again. Then, finally he nodded once. “Yes.”

  He watched her with a darkening gaze as she bit her bottom lip. She’d seen that darkness in his eyes before, and she knew it didn’t come from anger.

  “Princess,” he urged. “Tell me.”

  She met his eyes directly. “His name was Theon Ranus,” she said. “And you murdered him.”

  Magnus pulled away from her, the growing tenderness in his expression slamming shut like an iron door.

  “Sometimes I forget about that day.” She tried to ignore the pain in her heart as she spoke. “But something always ends up reminding me. Good evening, Magnus.”

  Cleo left the temple and didn’t look back.

  • • •

  There was a message waiting for Cleo when she returned to her chambers.

  Meet me in my room.—Nerissa

  Cleo rushed to the servants’ wing and knocked on Nerissa’s door.

  “Good, you’re here,” Nerissa said, opening the door immediately and grabbing Cleo’s wrist to pull her inside. She peeked out the door, glanced up and down the hallway, then turned around to grin at the princess. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk. But please, don’t be long.”

  “Nerissa, what are you—?”