Immortal Reign

  Lucia didn’t blame Taran at all for this. To have one’s body and one’s life stolen away by a greedy god . . .

  Death would be kinder.

  “I swear I will figure out how to imprison Kyan again and stop this—all of this. I won’t let him win.” Lucia stood up from the bench. “I need to check on my daughter now.”

  “Of course,” Cleo whispered.

  As she walked down the stone path and into the palace, Lucia’s mind spun with a thousand different scenarios of how to stop Kyan and help Cleo. Not so long ago, she wouldn’t have cared about the princess’s fate.

  The nursemaid met her halfway to the room that had been designated as Lyssa’s nursery.

  “Have you left my daughter unattended?” Lucia asked, alarmed.

  “She’s fine,” the nursemaid assured her. “She’s sleeping soundly. Nicolo stopped by and said he’d watch over her while I took my midday meal.”

  Lucia froze. “Nicolo Cassian?”

  She nodded. “It’s so good to see him again. I practically raised him and his sister as I did the princesses. Such a sweet boy.”

  Lucia didn’t listen to another word. She shoved the old woman out of her way and ran to her chambers, flinging open the door.

  He stood in front of the cradle with his back to Lucia, his red hair and the distinctive lankiness of his body silhouetted by the light from the balcony.

  “Get away from her,” Lucia warned, desperately trying to summon magic, any magic, to her hand.

  “She’s as lovely as her mother,” he murmured, turning to show that he cradled Lyssa in his arms. The baby’s gaze was fixed on his red hair as if fascinated by the bright color.

  Lucia’s heart stuttered to a stop at the sight of her daughter in the grip of a monster. “Put her down, Kyan.”

  Kyan turned and raised an eyebrow, his brown eyes finally fixing upon Lucia. For all he looked like Nic, right down to the freckles on his pale face, she could see the ancient fire god that now existed behind his gaze.

  “So, you’ve heard that I’ve found a new home,” he said.

  “I swear, I will end you, right here and now.” Lucia pulled the amber orb from her pocket, knowing she didn’t have the magic to live up to her threats—not today—but she prayed he didn’t realize that.

  “I only came here to talk,” Kyan said. “This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

  “Put my daughter down.”

  “I feel like an uncle to this little one. Lyssa is like family to me.” He gazed down at the baby’s face. “Aren’t you? You can call me Uncle Kyan. Oh, we’ll have great fun together if your mother ever forgives me for my horribly bad behavior.”

  Lucia gaped at him for a moment before she began to laugh. It sounded more like a hiccup. “You want me to forgive you?”

  “This young and healthy body has given me a fresh outlook on life.” He kissed Lyssa on her forehead before he gently placed her back into her cradle. “Your pregnancy was impossibly swift, wasn’t it? Magically so, I’d say.”

  When he turned to face Lucia again, she struck him hard across his face.

  So hard that her hand stung from the blow.

  Kyan’s brown eyes flashed with blue light, and he wiped the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” he hissed.

  Lucia fisted her hand, appalled at her own lack of control. But she’d needed to strike him, needed to try to hurt him.

  And she’d made him bleed.

  Kyan didn’t bleed. In his former body—that of a fellow immortal Melenia had chosen to be his original shell a small eternity ago—she’d watched as his hand was impaled by a dagger. It had been a bloodless injury that had healed in moments.

  If he bled, that meant that he was vulnerable.

  His gaze narrowed on the amber orb still in her grip.

  “You know what I can do,” Lucia said as evenly as she could. “You know I have the magic to imprison you just like Timotheus can.”

  It was the biggest bluff of her entire life, and she prayed that he couldn’t sense her dwindling elementia.

  “I didn’t come here for a confrontation,” he said simply.

  “Funny how seeing you holding my daughter after sneaking into the palace feels very much like a confrontation to me.”

  Kyan shook his head. “It’s unfortunate that we’ve come to this, little sorceress. We got along very well for a time. You helped me and I helped you until our unfortunate disagreement.”

  “You turned into a monster made of fire and tried to kill me.”

  “Not a monster, little sorceress. A god. And you should know, your grandmother’s magic was a pale comparison to yours. She failed in doing what I needed her to do.”

  Lucia took a breath, tried to remain in control of her erratic emotions. “I heard.”

  Kyan’s gaze flicked to the orb again. “Olivia is close by. If anything happens to me, anything at all, she will summon an earthquake great enough to send this kingdom and everyone in it into the sea, like nothing more than a tiny pebble cast into a deep pond.”

  She wondered if he too was bluffing. If he was weak and vulnerable, the earth Kindred could be the same, despite being within the shell of an immortal Watcher.

  Finally, she pocketed the orb. “Say what you came here to say.”

  He nodded, then ran a hand through his messy red hair. “I need to apologize for my treatment of you, little sorceress. And then I need to ask for your help.”

  Lucia almost laughed out loud at this.

  First Cleo, and now Kyan.

  It had been quite a day so far.

  “Go on,” she said.

  Kyan frowned and turned toward the balcony. “All I wanted was to be reunited with my siblings—flesh and blood, unlike we’ve ever existed together before. Free from our prisons to experience what it means to truly exist. And yes, I still believe this world is flawed. And yes, I would still burn it to ash and begin again.” He spared a glance at her. “But I would be satisfied simply to rule over this imperfect world. And you could be my most trusted advisor.”

  Ah, so he’d decided to be “charming” Kyan again. The same one who’d lulled her into the belief that she could be friends with a god.

  “Is that all?” she replied drily. “You just want to rule the world.”

  “Yes.”

  “And for that, you need my magic.”

  “Even if your grandmother hadn’t been killed, the ritual she partially performed still wasn’t right.” He stared down at his hands. The triangle symbol for fire magic was visible on his palm, but pale like an old scar.

  She frowned. “What’s not right about it?”

  “Nothing has been right since my awakening. Melenia intervened, as she always did. She helped me take form more than a millennium ago, and I suppose she felt herself knowledgeable enough to do it again when the time came. I woke in my former body without your direct intervention. I’m certain she sent one of her slaves to raise me with his or her blood—strengthened by the massacre of the battle I awoke to—far weaker than I should have been. Far weaker than if you’d done it yourself as it was meant to be.”

  Lucia fell silent, allowing Kyan to speak. She had wanted to know this since the beginning, why she had been able to see his location on the glowing map of Mytica during the location spell with Alexius, but she’d sensed that he was already awake.

  Idiotic Melenia, allowing her impatience to be reunited with her lover to taint her decisions.

  Perhaps Lucia should thank Melenia for her impatience, though. It had kept the fire god from awakening as powerful as he could have been.

  “Tell me, how are Cleiona and Taran?” Kyan asked after falling silent for a moment, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

  “Fine,” she lied.

 
He sent an amused look at her. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “They seem fine to me. Totally in control of themselves and their bodies . . . unlike Nic and Olivia. It only shows me even more how my grandmother failed you.”

  “She certainly did,” he agreed.

  “Perhaps they will learn to channel the magic within them as well as I can.”

  “You think so, do you?”

  “Sure.” It was what Cleo said she wanted—to control her magic.

  Kyan shook his head. “Cleiona and Taran cannot control what doesn’t belong to them. And if they try, they will fail and die.” He turned to lock gazes with her. “But I think you know this already.”

  Lucia tried so hard not to react, but she felt the truth of what Kyan said deep in her gut. “How do I save them?”

  “You can’t. Their lives are forfeit. Their bodies have already been claimed by my siblings.”

  “Then find other bodies, if you must.” Her heart pounded hard as she resisted what he said. “Is that even possible?”

  Impatience flickered in his brown eyes. “You aren’t listening to me, little sorceress. I am offering you the chance to salvage what is left of this world, to join with me and my siblings as we become all-powerful.”

  “With my help,” she reminded him. “With my magic.”

  Magic she didn’t currently possess at even a fraction of the strength she needed.

  She couldn’t help him even if she wanted to.

  “Everything was so perfectly aligned that night,” he said with annoyance. “The sacrifices, the storm, the location. It should have worked. But nothing worth having comes easily, does it? I need you to perform the ritual again, little sorceress—with your blood, with your magic. Fix what your grandmother began.”

  Of course this was why he needed her. It was not to apologize and make amends. It was to gain ultimate power.

  “When?” she whispered. “Do you want me to perform the ritual now? Will you threaten to kill everyone in this palace if I refuse?”

  “You do despise me, don’t you?” His jaw clenched. “No, I will not make any further threats today. I don’t want it to be that way between us anymore. All I need from you right now is a promise to help us.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  He sent a dark look toward her. “If you refuse, Cleiona and Taran will suffer greatly before they finally lose their fight against my siblings. The air and water Kindred will take control of their new shells. It’s only a matter of days. Then—even if it’s at a slightly lesser level than I’d planned—the Kindred will be reunited. And we will cause great pain and damage to this world that you value, little sorceress. You’ve seen what I can do, even at a fraction of my true strength, haven’t you?”

  Suddenly Lucia could barely breathe, remembering the many villages he’d set ablaze. The screams of his victims.

  The screams of her victims.

  “When?” she asked again, her voice barely audible.

  A smile touched his lips, erasing the serious look he’d had a moment before. “Pardon me for being vague, little sorceress, but you’ll know when. You are a part of this—your magic, Eva’s magic. It’s been a part of this from the very beginning.”

  Lucia squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block him out by any means necessary.

  “You’ve said what you came here to say,” she whispered. “Now please leave.”

  “Very well. Oh, and please don’t blame the nursemaid for leaving the room. She trusts this face. Many do. It’s a good face, don’t you think? Nicolo is not nearly as tall and conventionally handsome as my prior form, but I’m quite partial to his freckles.” He paused, as if waiting for a reply. When none came, he continued. “I will see you soon, little sorceress.”

  Kyan left the room without another word, and all she could do was watch him go. When he was out of sight, she rushed to the side of the cradle.

  Lyssa was fast asleep.

  CHAPTER 13

  MAGNUS

  AURANOS

  “I don’t think you understand,” Magnus said to the green-uniformed Kraeshian guard at the palace gates. “I am Prince Magnus Damora.”

  The guard pursed his lips, casting an appraising look over the length of him.

  “I’ll admit, you do bear a striking resemblance to the portraits I’ve seen of him,” he replied. “But the real Prince Magnus is dead.”

  “Clearly, you’re new around here.” Magnus glanced at Ashur, who wore the hood of his gray cloak over his head to keep his face from view.

  Ashur just shrugged.

  No help there.

  “I demand an audience with King Gaius,” Magnus said with as much royal dignity as he had left. “Who is my father. We’ll leave the determination of the status of my existence to him, shall we?”

  The guard sighed and waved the pair through.

  “He likely doesn’t care if he just allowed a potential assassin access to the palace grounds,” Ashur muttered to Magnus.

  Likely not.

  Upon entrance into the palace itself, they found themselves in a vast, seemingly endless hallway, every column along its length chiseled with artistic perfection.

  Some said the palace had existed in this very place when the goddess Cleiona ruled. Someone had to be blamed for importing this much annoyingly white marble into Mytica.

  “Frankly, I’m surprised your sister didn’t take my father’s life when she had the chance,” Magnus said, his voice now echoing against the marble walls.

  “I’m surprised too,” Ashur replied. “It’s very unlike her.”

  They encountered a guard who wore red as they walked.

  “Where is the king?” Magnus asked him.

  The guard’s eyes widened. “Your highness! I’d heard that you were—”

  “Dead?” Magnus finished for him. “Yes, that seems to be the general consensus. Where’s my father?”

  The guard bowed. “The throne room, your highness.”

  He felt the guard’s surprised gaze on him as he and Ashur continued down the corridor.

  “Limerians and Kraeshians working side by side,” he said under his breath. “How friendly.”

  “Amara has no further interest in Mytica,” Ashur said. “I’d be surprised if this occupation lasts more than another month before she requires the full strength of her army at the next place she plans to conquer.”

  “Let’s not count it as a victory until it actually happens.”

  “No, definitely not.”

  Ashur thought it best that Magnus see his father by himself. Magnus agreed. The pair parted ways as the hallway forked into two directions.

  The tall doors to the throne room appeared before Magnus, and he came to a halt, taking a deep breath into his lungs. Nervously, he twisted the heavy golden ring on his left hand as he summoned the courage he hadn’t thought he’d need today.

  Finally, he stepped forward and pushed the doors open.

  The king sat upon the throne, a position Magnus had seen him in—here and in Limeros—a thousand times before. There were six men at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the royal dais, each holding a piece of parchment.

  The business of a kingdom must continue, he thought. In good times and in bad.

  King Gaius looked up, and his eyes locked with Magnus’s. He stood up so quickly that the silver goblet he held clattered to the floor.

  Then he looked down at the men. “Leave,” he said. “Now.”

  They didn’t argue. Collectively, they filed past Magnus and swiftly exited the room.

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” Magnus said, his heart pounding hard.

  “You’re here,” the king said, his voice hushed. “You’re actually here.”

  “I am.”

  “So it worked.”

  Magnus knew exactl
y what he meant. He touched the ring, then pulled it off of his finger. “It did.”

  His father drew closer, his face pale as he inspected Magnus, walking an entire circle around him. “I had held hope for so long that the bloodstone’s magic might save you, but that hope had faded completely.”

  “It seems that everyone believes me dead,” Magnus said.

  “Yes.” The king drew in a shaky breath. “We know Kurtis buried you alive. And that he tortured you first. But you’re right here in front of me. Not a spirit, not a dream. You’re here, and you’re alive.”

  Magnus’s throat constricted, and he found himself at a loss for what to say, what to think. He didn’t realize it would be this difficult. “I’m surprised you seem to care. It’s not as if you haven’t attempted to send me to my grave long before Kurtis did.”

  “I fully deserve that.”

  Magnus held the ring out to him. “This is yours.”

  The king didn’t reach for the ring. Instead, he embraced his son so tightly that it became difficult for Magnus to breathe.

  “Unexpected,” Magnus managed. “Quite unexpected.”

  “I have failed you as a father so many times that I’ve lost count.” Gaius gripped Magnus’s face between his hands. “But you’re here. You’re alive. And now I have the chance to try to make amends to you.”

  “This certainly helped.” Magnus indicated the ring again. “Take it back now. It belongs to you.”

  King Gaius shook his head. “No. It’s yours now.”

  Magnus frowned. “Don’t you need it?”

  “Look at me,” the king said. “I have recovered from my afflictions. I have no need for the bloodstone’s magic anymore. I feel strong—stronger than I have in many years and ready to rule again . . . with your assistance, if you’ll give it to me.”

  Magnus swallowed hard. “I will. Of course I will.”

  “I’m very glad to hear that.”

  “I heard what happened with the ritual,” Magnus said when he found his voice again. “Is Cleo all right? Is she suffering at all?”