“Of course I do.” The prisoner’s eyes glittered in the torchlight. “Cleiona Bellos. A former princess whose kingdom was stolen by the King of Blood before she was forced into marriage to his son and heir. Then the king lost his precious kingdom to the Kraeshian Empire, so now you have nothing at all.”
If only he knew the truth. She actually had everything she ever thought she wanted. The symbol on the palm of her left hand continued to burn, as if the lines were freshly branded upon her skin.
Water magic, fused with her very being.
But as untouchable as if a wall divided her from the power of a goddess.
“He’s already been questioned to no avail,” Amara said. “This may be a waste of our time.”
“You don’t have to stay,” Cleo replied.
Amara was silent for a moment. “I want to help.”
Cleo actually laughed at that, a low chuckle in her throat that held no amusement. “Oh, yes, you’ve been so helpful, Amara. Endlessly helpful.”
“Don’t forget, we’ve all suffered because of Kyan,” Amara said defiantly. “Even me.”
Cleo bit back a response—something cold and cruel and accusatory. A game of who had suffered the most between the two of them.
But there was no time for such pettiness.
Amara had offered all but her very soul to help Kyan in order to gain power. Cleo knew how persuasive he could be, since she had experienced it herself when the incorporeal fire Kindred whispered promises in her ear last night.
Kyan wanted his three siblings free from their crystal prisons and in possession of new flesh-and-blood vessels, and Amara had made sure that a selection of sacrifices were ready.
Kyan had only half succeeded.
Nic. Olivia.
Both gone.
No, she thought. I can’t think about Nic now. I need to stay in control.
Cleo forced herself to focus only on the bruises on the former guard’s face and body. Yes, he’d been questioned like Amara said. But he hadn’t been broken yet.
She didn’t spare a moment of sympathy for this prisoner and his current predicament. “Where is Kurtis Cirillo?”
She said the name like something she’d spat out and squashed into the ground with the heel of her boot.
The man didn’t blink. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t?” Cleo cocked her head. “Are you sure? He is the one you’d begun to take orders from, rather than the empress, isn’t he?”
He cast a disparaging glance toward Amara. “I don’t take orders from any woman, I don’t care who she is. Never have and never will. You have a difficult road ahead of you, princess.”
“Empress,” Amara corrected.
“Is that official?” he asked. “Even with your older brother still alive? I believe the title of emperor is rightfully his.”
“Ashur murdered my father and brothers,” she replied curtly. “He is my prisoner, not my rival.”
Amara’s ability to lie was second to none, Cleo thought.
“Answer the princess’s questions truthfully,” Amara said, “and I promise your execution will be swift. Continue to be evasive, and I promise you will suffer greatly.”
“Again”—the man had the audacity to smirk at her—“I don’t take orders from women. I have many friends here among your guards. Do you think they’ll follow your command to torture me without hesitation? Perhaps they’ll refuse such a command. A few bruises and cuts are just for show, to make you think you’re in control here. Perhaps they’d free me to torture you instead.” He snorted. “You’re just a little girl who’s deluded herself into thinking she has power.”
Amara didn’t react to his rant other than shaking her head. “Men. So full of yourselves, no matter what station you hold. So full of your own bloated self-importance. Don’t worry. I would be happy to leave you chained up in here, without food, without water. I can easily make this a forgetting room like we have back home.”
“What’s a forgetting room?” Cleo asked.
“A room in which one is left in darkness, solitude, and silence,” Amara replied, “with only enough plain, tasteless food to sustain life.”
Yes, Cleo had heard of such a punishment. Prisoners were left alone until they went mad or died.
Some of the amusement had disappeared from the prisoner’s eyes at the threat when he glanced at Cleo. Less amusement, but still no fear.
“I don’t know where Lord Kurtis is,” he said slowly. “So why don’t you be on your way now, little girl?”
“I know you were present when Prince Magnus disappeared.” Cleo had to speak slowly to keep her voice from trembling with her growing frustration. “Nerissa Florens has confirmed that you were there. That you knocked him unconscious and dragged him away. This isn’t up for debate or denial; it’s a fact. Tell me where you took him.”
Nerissa had told Cleo not to come here—to let others search for Magnus and Kurtis. She wanted Cleo to rest.
It was an impossible request.
Nerissa had wanted to stay with Cleo today, but Cleo had insisted she join the search for Magnus.
Despite the bruises and cuts on the prisoner’s face, his hateful smirk had returned. “Very well. You really want to know? Lord Kurtis had us bring the prince to this very room. Right here.” He looked up at the thick iron chains. “These exact restraints. But then Lord Kurtis dismissed me, told me to go back to work. So that’s exactly what I did. What happened after that, I don’t know. But I do know something . . .”
Cleo had started to tremble as she imagined Magnus here, chained right where this prisoner stood. His face bloody, beaten. His body broken.
“What do you know?” Cleo snarled through clenched teeth, drawing closer to the prisoner. So close that his sour stench became nearly unbearable.
“Lord Kurtis is obsessed with the prince—obsessed with killing him, that is. So, my guess? That’s exactly what he did.”
White-hot pain seared into Cleo, and she swallowed back the urge to sob. She’d already imagined a thousand horrible things Kurtis could have done to Magnus.
More reason to stay awake. More reason to fight for answers, because she wasn’t ready to give up.
“Magnus is not dead,” she bit out. “I won’t believe it.”
“Perhaps Lord Kurtis cut him up into many bloody pieces, strewn about Mytica.”
“Shut your mouth,” Cleo growled.
It was suddenly hard to breathe.
Drowning, she thought with rising panic. I feel like I’m drowning again, yet I’m wide awake.
From deep inside the walled compound’s prison, she heard a loud rumble of thunder.
“Kurtis promised you something for your loyalty,” Amara said. “What? Rescue, perhaps? Fortune?”
She had to be right. Kurtis would need all the help he could get after crossing Amara.
“You must know where he is,” Cleo said, her voice not much more than a painful croak. Each breath was labored, and the burning sensation in her palm was impossible to ignore.
The man regarded her now with bemusement. “Stupid girl, you’re better off without that family alive. You should be thanking Lord Kurtis. And me.” His glittering gaze moved to Amara. “Smartest thing you did was lock King Gaius up. He would have slit your throat the moment he could.”
“Perhaps,” Amara allowed.
“Is he as dead as I am?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
After Kyan and Olivia had disappeared last night, Amara had King Gaius thrown into a cell, along with Felix and Ashur. They were three men who presented a threat to the empress, in different ways. Three men she preferred to keep in separate locked cages.
“Did you say that I should . . . thank you?” Cleo managed.
“I said it. I meant it.” He laughed, but it sounded raw now. “S
ome called him the Prince of Blood, didn’t they? One who followed in the footsteps of his father? His blood was so red as it hit this dirt floor. And the crunch that his bones made as they broke . . . like music to my ears.”
“Shut up,” Cleo snarled.
Suddenly, the prisoner’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, his lips moving as if he sought his next breath but couldn’t find it.
“What?” he croaked out. “What . . . is happening?”
Cleo tried to stay calm, but it had grown more difficult with every hateful word this prisoner uttered. Nerissa was right—it had been a horrible mistake to come here.
She needed to find Taran. He now had the air Kindred within him, battling for dominance of his mortal body. She’d all but ignored him since last night, lost in her own grief, her own suffering.
She shouldn’t have. She needed him. She needed to know how he was coping.
Her hand burned. She looked down at the water symbol, and her eyes widened. Small, wispy blue lines had begun to spread out from the symbol itself.
“You’re a witch!” the prisoner gasped.
Was that what he thought? That she’d drawn an elemental symbol on her palm, hoping to summon a small piece of water magic like a common witch?
I’m not a witch, she wanted to say.
I don’t know what I am anymore.
Cleo looked around at the small, dark room. This was the very room where Magnus had suffered.
“Is he dead?” she managed, her words barely understandable. Then she yelled: “Answer me!”
“By now?” the prisoner gritted out. “I have no doubt that he is.”
All the breath left Cleo’s body as she stared at this monster.
“You’ve said enough,” Amara snarled at the prisoner.
“Yes, he has,” Cleo said.
Then she allowed her hate and grief to surge forward. In an instant, the burning sensation in her left hand turned to ice.
The prisoner’s eyes bugged, his mouth opening wide as he let out a pained scream that cut off abruptly. He froze in place, his hands restrained in the metal cuffs, the heavy chain attached to the wall.
“What are you doing to him?” Amara gasped.
“I . . . I don’t know.”
Her pain and rage had triggered something inside her that she couldn’t control. But instinctively she knew what was happening. She sensed every trace of water in the man’s body as it turned to solid ice.
A chill fell over the cell like a shroud. When Cleo exhaled, her breath formed a frozen cloud just as it did on the coldest days in Limeros.
Then the prisoner’s frozen body shattered into countless pieces of ice.
Cleo stared with shock at what was left of the man as her mind cleared. Stunned silence filled the dungeon cell for several moments.
“You killed him,” Amara said, her voice hushed.
Cleo slowly turned to face Amara, expecting to be greeted with a look of horror, of fear. Perhaps the empress would fall to the ground and beg for her own life.
Instead, Amara regarded her with what appeared to be . . . envy.
“Incredible,” Amara breathed. “You showed us all a little water magic last night, so I knew it had to be possible. But this? Truly incredible. Perhaps Gaius was wrong about what he said. You—you and Taran—can use the Kindred elementia within you without it destroying your mortal bodies.”
As if every ounce of strength had suddenly left her in a rush, Cleo collapsed to her knees, bracing herself on her hands. The ground was wet, the icy fragments from the prisoner already starting to melt.
She’d wanted this for so long—to possess the magic of the Kindred.
But now the Kindred possessed her.
Cleo touched the pocket of her gown where she’d placed the aquamarine orb, which was the former prison of the water Kindred. She’d tried to touch it last night, to hold it in her bare hand, but it was impossible. The pain had been so immediate and intense that she’d shrieked and dropped the orb.
Taran had experienced the same thing. He didn’t want the moonstone orb anywhere near him, had called it a “cursed marble” and thrown it across the room. Today, he’d joined the search for Magnus with a flank of guards appointed by Amara, along with Enzo—a former Limerian guard—and Nerissa, as far away from the compound as he could get.
Taran’s moonstone—along with the obsidian orb that had contained the earth Kindred before it possessed Olivia—now sat in a locked cabinet to which Cleo wore the key on a gold chain around her neck.
But Cleo decided to keep the aquamarine orb with her, protected in a velvet drawstring pouch. She chose to go with her gut on this decision, rather than her brain, which told her to throw it into the Silver Sea and let it sink to the very bottom.
Amara extended her hand to Cleo. After a moment of hesitation, Cleo took it and allowed the empress to help her to her feet.
“What you just did . . . if you could do that at will, you would be unstoppable,” Amara said slowly. “You need to learn how to control this magic.”
Cleo eyed the girl with fresh skepticism. “Be careful with your advice, Amara. You might accidentally help me reclaim my kingdom.”
Amara’s expression turned thoughtful. “I only wanted Mytica because I wanted the Kindred. Now Kyan is out there somewhere with Olivia, as we speak. We don’t know for sure when they’ll come back, but we know they will. And when they do, we need to be ready to fight.”
An image of Nic came readily to Cleo’s mind, his messy red hair and crooked smile never failing to brighten even her darkest of days.
Kyan had taken Nic away from her as surely as if he’d slit his throat.
She hated Kyan. And she hated this magic inside her.
Amara leaned against the wall, grimacing as she ran her hand gingerly down her broken leg. “We’ve had our problems, I won’t deny it. And you certainly have many reasons to hate me. But now we share the same enemy who could destroy everything either of us has ever cared about. Agreed?”
Cleo nodded slowly. “Agreed.”
“Both you and Taran must find a way to use this magic within you to defeat Kyan and Olivia.” Amara paused to take a breath. “Succeed, and I will give Mytica back to you and you alone.”
Cleo couldn’t believe her own ears. It was the last thing she ever would have expected to hear from the empress of Kraeshia. “You would agree to that?”
“I would. I swear this upon my mother’s soul.” Amara nodded firmly. “Think about what I’ve said. All of it.”
She knocked on the door, and Carlos opened it, looming within its frame. He looked into the room and frowned with confusion at the small chunks of ice melting into the dirt floor.
Amara reached for his waiting arm. “Assist me outside, Carlos. We’re done here.”
Carlos flicked a look at Cleo, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Cleo raised her chin, holding his gaze until he looked away. She didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust any Kraeshian—especially the ones who made great promises to her.
Defeat Kyan, regain her kingdom.
But they were only words.
If she did harness this magic in a way she could use to defeat Kyan that wouldn’t destroy her in the process, she wouldn’t need Amara to give her back her kingdom. She would simply take it.
Cleo cast a last glance at the dungeon cell before she left it, her heart a heavy weight in her chest.
I will find you, Magnus, she promised silently. I swear I will.
She followed Amara and Carlos down the hallway, up a short flight of stairs chiseled out of heavy stone, and they emerged into the compound grounds that had once been the home of Hugo Basilius, the chieftain of Paelsia. The compound itself was like a small, humble duplicate of the Auranian City of Gold—but with far more stone and mud in its construction than jewels and pri
stine white marble imported from overseas.
The rainstorm had washed away any remaining traces of blood from the dozens of dead bodies—guards that Selia Damora had murdered with her magic to help the fire Kindred—around the large, thirty-foot-deep pit in the exact center of the compound.
The rain had stopped, but the clouds were thick and dark, making midday appear more like dusk.
She couldn’t simply go back to the chambers Amara had lent her, doing nothing. The wait for news about Magnus would drive her mad.
If there was so much magic inside her, why did she feel so powerless?
Then she heard a sound. A loud bang.
It was coming from the closed entry gates, which were twenty feet tall and took six guards great effort to open and close.
A guard rushed up to Carlos, out of breath. “We have a situation, captain.”
“What is it?” Amara demanded before Carlos had a chance to answer.
“Someone is at the gates, demanding entry.” The man cringed as the bang sounded out again. The ground itself shook with the booming sound.
“It’s Kyan, isn’t it?” the empress said, her voice filled with fear. “He’s returned.”
Oh goddess, Cleo thought as panic gripped her throat. Not yet. I’m not ready.
“It’s not him, empress,” the guard said.
Amara’s fear disappeared in an instant. “Well, what is it, then? A rebel attack? Wouldn’t our scouts have forewarned us?”
“It’s not rebels.” The guard straightened his shoulders, but it didn’t mask how nervous he looked. “It’s . . . worse than that.”
“Worse?”
Two more bangs made the ground beneath Cleo’s feet shudder. The air filled with the sound of guards shouting orders. A hundred men, weapons in hand, flanked either side of the gate just as it splintered down the center.
Untouched, the gate swung wide open from some invisible force.
Guards stormed forward, but then each one flew backward, clearing a pathway for the intruders.
Two cloaked figures, one armed with a sword, entered and walked directly toward Cleo, to where she stood, tensely, with Amara and Carlos to her right.