Immortal Reign

  The wine had quickly worked to ease some of Magnus’s stress, but it blurred his thoughts. Nothing Nic said made sense to him. “What nonsense are you speaking? Be clear. I need to know what happened, Nic!”

  Nic threw the stick to the side. “You keep calling me that, yet it’s not my name.”

  Magnus hissed out a breath of frustration. “Oh? And what would you prefer? Nicolo? Lord Nicolo, perhaps? You just told me my grandmother is dead at the hand of my father.”

  “That shouldn’t surprise you. Your father is a reckless murderer, just like you have the tendency to be.” Nic regarded him for a moment. “It’s time to get to the point, I think.”

  There was something in his otherwise familiar brown eyes that Magnus didn’t recognize.

  It was the look of a predator.

  “Cleo is in danger,” Magnus said, more carefully now. “We need to get back to Amara’s compound.”

  “You’re right. She is in danger. And I need you to give her a message for me.”

  Magnus’s heart thudded as he studied Nic, trying to figure out why he was so strange tonight. “You’re not coming with me?”

  “Not quite yet.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Only this.” Nic held his hand out, and a flame appeared in his palm. “Have you guessed yet? Or do you still want to call me Nic?”

  Magnus stared at the flame as if hypnotized. Then his gaze shot to Nic’s eyes. They weren’t brown like before. They were blue. And glowing.

  It couldn’t be.

  “Kyan,” he managed.

  He nodded. “Much better. Knowledge is power, they say. But I think fire is the only power that matters.” He stepped closer to Magnus. “Your little golden princess is the chosen vessel for the water Kindred, but the ritual went awry, thanks to your grandmother’s weak magic and your father’s stupid choice to end her life. You will tell Cleiona that she needs to come with me and Olivia when we arrive. Without a fight. Without an argument.”

  Magnus grappled to make sense of all this. That Nic was Kyan. That Cleo was in danger—and not only because of Kurtis.

  “Go near her and die,” Magnus growled.

  “Resistant, aren’t you?” The fire god blinked, a smile curling the corner of his stolen mouth. “I will brand you with my fire to help ease this along. Then you won’t be able to resist any command I give you.”

  His entire fist lit with blue flames, the same blue as his eyes. Magnus had seen this blue fire before, at the road camp during the battle with the rebels. Bodies touched by this fire shattered like glass.

  Magnus stumbled backward as Kyan reached for him, and he frantically eyed the darkness for a way of escape.

  “Why did you choose Nic?” Magnus asked, hoping to distract Kyan somehow. “Wasn’t there anyone better?”

  Kyan laughed. “Nicolo has a soul of fire.”

  “Because of his hair? More the color of carrots thrown into a horse’s trough than fire, if you ask me.”

  “Outward appearances mean nothing. All mortals are partial to one element. Nicolo’s is fire.” Kyan raised a red brow. “Just like you.”

  “Never knew we had anything in common.” Magnus moved backward as Kyan reached for him. “Touch me and you’ll lose that hand.”

  “Quite an empty threat from someone without a weapon.” When Kyan reached out again, Magnus grabbed his wrist, wrenching it backward and away from him.

  Kyan’s fiery hand extinguished in an instant, and the fire Kindred frowned.

  “How did you do that?” he asked.

  “Do what?” Magnus growled.

  The blue glow in Kyan’s eyes brightened. “Unhand me or die,” he snapped.

  “Happy to.” Magnus shoved Kyan as hard as he could. With fury flashing through his gaze, Kyan staggered backward and tripped over the campfire.

  Magnus didn’t wait. He took the opportunity to turn and run into the forest, plunging into darkness immediately. He was certain that Kyan was on his heels, waiting to grab him, to burn him . . .

  He slammed into something solid, something—or someone—that grabbed ahold of his shoulders.

  “Magnus! It’s me, Ashur. I was watching you . . . you and Nic.”

  “Ashur.” Magnus searched the Kraeshian prince’s familiar face, barely visible as the clouds parted enough to allow a sliver of moonlight. “We have to get out of here. That’s not Nic.”

  “I know.”

  “How did you find me?”

  Ashur grimaced. “I wasn’t searching for you.”

  Magnus had so many questions, but there was no time for answers. “I have to find Cleo.”

  Ashur pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head. “I’ll take you back to the compound. Follow me.”

  CHAPTER 8

  NIC

  PAELSIA

  Nic remembered being at the bottom of a pit.

  Reunited with Cleo.

  Reunited with Ashur.

  Trapped and unable to escape, but at least they were together.

  But a moment of hope for a future—any future—was quickly quashed when the incorporeal fire Kindred had taken over his body, sending Nic’s consciousness spiraling downward into a bottomless abyss.

  He could still see, he could still hear, but he couldn’t think. Couldn’t process what had happened to him or make any sense of what it meant. It was like being lost in an eternal dream.

  But when Magnus grabbed Kyan’s wrist, something very strange had happened.

  Nic woke up.

  The first thing Nic clearly saw was Magnus, covered in dirt from head to toe, staring at him like he was a monster.

  The second thing he thought he saw was Prince Ashur Cortas, barely visible in the shadows behind the Limerian prince.

  “Ashur!” he wanted to call out, but he couldn’t form the words.

  Kyan still had control.

  Still, Nic sensed Kyan’s confusion over the sudden jolt of cold, unfamiliar magic. So much so that the fire Kindred didn’t pursue Magnus or even notice Ashur’s presence.

  What had happened?

  Nic knew this much: Prince Ashur had a great interest in magic. He had explored the world far beyond Kraeshia and Mytica in search of any trace of magic.

  On a Kraeshian ship, during the trip from Auranos to Limeros before the confrontation in the Temple of Valoria over the water Kindred, Ashur had told Nic about many treasures he’d sought, wishing to acquire, before he and his sister had set their sights upon the Kindred.

  “There’s an amulet said to allow one the ability to speak with cats,” the prince told him one day during a brief visit, his lightly accented voice like honeyed wine.

  Nic, the Cortases’ prisoner at the time, hadn’t been entirely swayed by the prince’s palpable charm, but he could never resist a good story. “What kinds of cats? Housecats? Wildcats?”

  “I would imagine both.”

  “Why only cats? Why not dogs, or ice wolves . . . or warlogs, even?”

  Ashur frowned. “What in the world is a warlog?”

  “It’s like a rabbit . . . rat . . . thing. But not a rabbit or a rat. They’re quite tasty with the right sauce, actually.”

  “A rabbit-rat thing,” Ashur repeated slowly.

  “Exactly.”

  “Why would you wish to communicate with it if you’re going to eat it?”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to communicate with it, I was just trying to clarify . . .” He sighed. “Forget it.”

  “No, no. Please continue explaining this to me. The logic of Nicolo Cassian is fascinating.” Ashur regarded him in the shadows of Nic’s small locked cabin, where Amara believed him to be unconscious or restrained. “Would you tell this warlog that you meant to eat it? Or would you just ask it how its day has been?”

  “Well . . .?
?? Nic considered this carefully. “If I could communicate with it, I wouldn’t want to eat it. So, yes, I suppose I would like to know how its day had been.” Then he scowled at Ashur, his cheeks growing hot. “Are you laughing at me? I’m amusing to you, am I?”

  Ashur’s smile only grew. “Endlessly so.”

  The point was, Ashur knew magic. And it wasn’t until he’d been present in the forest beyond the campfire that Nic could think as clearly as this, even if it was only to remember a trivial conversation with the prince.

  Ashur had done something to help Nic. Some spell, perhaps.

  Nic wasn’t sure.

  And neither was Kyan. The fire Kindred left the campfire and returned to the cottage where he’d been staying since the failed ritual.

  Olivia waited for him there. She sat outside on the ground by the door, her hands entwined in a fresh growth of weeds that would be green and lively in the daylight. Beneath the meager moonlight they looked unpleasantly like the grip of a gigantic black spider.

  The earth Kindred had spent the last two days surrounding their temporary home—a meager stone cottage—with lush greenery.

  Kyan eyed it with distaste. “You’ll draw attention to us with all of this fresh life. Paelsia is a wasteland.”

  “Not for long. I will restore it all to how it was long ago.” She looked up at him, unable to mask the cold look in her gaze before he saw it. “I couldn’t restore them.”

  Nic knew she meant the former owners of this cottage—an elderly couple that had resisted giving up their home. Their corpses lay close enough that the scent of burned flesh still lingered in the cool night air.

  “You don’t have that particular power, dear sister.” This came out more harshly than Kyan had intended. “Earth magic requires a spark of life on which to grasp hold.”

  “Oh, much gratitude for explaining that to me, Kyan. I wouldn’t know such a thing, would I?”

  The cutting manner in which she said this almost made him wince. “Apologies.”

  “All these mortals will be gone soon enough, anyway. We’ll have a fresh canvas on which to start anew.” Olivia stood up and brushed her hands on the front of her dress. “Did you find Prince Magnus?”

  “No,” Kyan lied. “It would have been convenient to have him enslaved to me, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Fine.” The earth Kindred’s face twisted with annoyance, distorting Olivia’s immortally beautiful features. “Then you need to set your sights on finding the sorceress and wooing her back to our side. We can’t finish this without her.”

  Kyan summoned patience. “I know.”

  It wasn’t as if Nic could hear the fire Kindred’s thoughts, but he could clearly sense them. Lucia was vital to them, more so than Kyan had ever believed.

  The fact that he had to go to her, this mere girl who had destroyed his former shell, to beg for her help . . .

  Kyan would rather burn the world right now and be done with it all.

  But he couldn’t.

  He desperately needed to be reunited with the others—water and air.

  Cleo and Taran.

  Panic coursed through Nic at the thought that Cleo was in terrible danger and he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

  He had to try to gain control. If he could think, he wasn’t gone. He wasn’t dead.

  Focus, he told himself.

  He focused on his hand. His right hand. He concentrated on trying to move it, something that had once been an easy and totally unconscious decision.

  He tried to move it, to raise it up ever so slightly, but not enough for Kyan to notice.

  He failed to move his hand. But he did move his little finger—ever so slightly.

  Not much, but it’s a start, he thought grimly.

  “He’s still waiting for you,” Olivia said as she went to the door of the cottage and opened it. “And asking so many questions I decided I needed the silence of outside.”

  Kyan followed her into the cottage, sweeping his gaze across the meager home. He nodded at the hearth, and a fire lit within it. Then he shifted his gaze to the young man cowering in the corner.

  They’d found him wandering nearby with two of his friends. Kyan had burned the friends into oblivion immediately but thought this one—Lord Kurtis Cirillo—might be useful to him.

  “I don’t know w-why you’re doing this, Nicolo,” Kurtis stuttered. “But my father is a great and powerful man. He will pay you as much gold as you want for you to release me unharmed.”

  Kyan just stared at him, finally allowing himself to smile.

  He loved mortals the most when they begged.

  “My name is Kyan.” He lit his hand up with flames, enjoying the look of terror that entered Kurtis’s wild gaze.

  Nic, however, felt an odd jerk of sympathy for Kurtis, even though he thoroughly despised the former kingsliege. A swift death would be so much kinder than what Kyan had in mind.

  Kyan cocked his head. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

  CHAPTER 9

  LUCIA

  PAELSIA

  Magnus would have thought her mad to stay here as Amara’s guest a moment longer than necessary.

  And so Lucia embraced the thought of leaving this strange, dusty compound. It was her birthplace, but it wasn’t her home.

  Limeros was her home. She craved her chambers at the palace and knew several trustworthy nursemaids there who could help her with Lyssa.

  However, they were not headed for Limeros.

  Her father wanted to go to the Auranian palace, where he could speak with Lord Gareth Cirillo. Gareth had remained grand kingsliege during the king’s lengthy absence.

  Through Lord Gareth the king wanted to find his son, Kurtis.

  And Lucia wanted to help him.

  The evening before they were set to leave for the Auranian palace, Lucia searched the compound for Jonas, finding him sharpening his sword by his temporary quarters.

  “Are you coming with us?” she asked. “Or are you staying in Paelsia?”

  He looked up from his work, as if surprised to see her. “Should I come with you?”

  Lucia had been forced to spend time with Jonas when he’d been tasked to return her to her father and brother, but now— after all this time together—the thought of parting from the rebel felt oddly painful.

  But she certainly wasn’t going to admit that out loud.

  “Cleo needs you,” she’d said instead.

  Jonas’s brows raised. “She said that?”

  “When Kyan returns, she will need all the help she can get. And I know Taran has chosen to stay with her until everything is resolved.”

  His expression grew thoughtful. “You make it sound like a minor inconvenience with a simple solution.”

  Hardly. Lucia needed time herself to strengthen her magic, to figure out how best to trap the fire Kindred—and now the earth Kindred as well—in their crystal prisons.

  “I know it isn’t,” she allowed.

  Jonas studied her. “For what it’s worth, I’d already decided to come with you to Auranos. I feel a great need to keep a close eye on you, princess. Both you and Lyssa.”

  She searched his face, looking for any sign of deception, but found nothing but sincerity.

  Jonas Agallon was, quite possibly, the most honest and forthright person she’d ever known in her life. She’d come to value him.

  And the thought that she wouldn’t have to bid him farewell eased something unnamable within her.

  And so they left the royal compound—Lucia and Lyssa, her father, Cleo, Jonas, Taran, Felix, an attendant named Nerissa, and a guard by the name of Enzo. They began their five-day journey south, with the empress’s full permission, taking a ship from Trader’s Harbor to the Auranian City of Gold.

  Lucia didn’t speak to Cleo. The other princess had gon
e into seclusion since learning of Magnus’s death.

  She loved him, Lucia realized without anyone confirming it for her in as many words.

  This thought made her hate the princess just a little less.

  The waters along the channel from King’s Harbor to the palace city were a blue-green that reminded Lucia of the aquamarine orb Cleo kept with her in a velvet drawstring pouch. A perfect match for the princess’s eyes.

  Lucia would rather have that orb safely in her possession, along with the other three, but she hadn’t yet made any demands.

  To think that Cleo had the power of a goddess within her . . .

  Part of her felt jealous. The other part felt . . . sympathy.

  As Lucia watched the banks of the wide river pass from the deck of the ship, she twisted her amethyst ring, deep in thought.

  The ring protected her from her magic, once erratic and nearly impossible to control. It had protected her from Kyan when he’d taken his monstrous form, something she dreamed about most nights, and not only during the dream that Jonas had witnessed.

  Kyan had wanted to kill her, and he would have succeeded had it not been for the mysterious magic within the ring.

  A ring that Cleo had given to her of her own free will.

  It was the greatest treasure—apart from Lyssa—that belonged to Lucia. She prayed that it might help her defeat Kyan when the time came.

  And when the time came, she prayed that her magic would also be there without fail or doubt.

  The City of Gold appeared in the distance, a glittering and spectacular sight under the sun, surrounded by blue water and seemingly endless rolling hills of greenery. Lucia longed for a different sight, that of an obsidian-black castle in the center of stark white perfection.

  Home.

  Would she ever see home again? Perhaps it would remind her far too much of Magnus—her brother and her best friend.

  He was yet another person she had betrayed, and now it broke her heart to know she would never have the chance to make amends for this.

  Lucia, with Lyssa in her arms, disembarked from the ship, and as they walked along the lengthy wooden dock to reach a series of waiting carriages that would take them the remaining short distance to the palace, Lucia shielded her eyes from the sunlight to look up at the shining City of Gold with its glittering wall. The towering spires of the palace were in the direct center of the guarded city.