Gathering Darkness

  Cronus would be missed, but he’d had to die. He wouldn’t have obeyed Magnus’s command to stand down over the king’s order to execute Cleo.

  He closed the door behind them to hide the carnage inside and they hurried down the dank and narrow dungeon corridor.

  Very few in the palace knew who was being held in that private cell. With the wedding soon to commence and servants and guards scurrying to accommodate the last-minute arrangements, Magnus reasoned that it could take hours before anyone would learn the truth.

  He had some time. Not much, but he hoped that it would be enough.

  They finally cleared the dungeon and were outside. Magnus turned to Cleo, who was staring up at the brilliant late-afternoon sky as if she’d never expected to see it again.

  “You said you know where Lucia and Alexius have gone,” he said.

  She nodded. “I must confess, it’s only a guess. But I’m certain it’s the right one.”

  “Where?” When she didn’t answer right away, he took her by her arms and nearly shouted it. “Where?”

  “Limeros,” she finally replied.

  Limeros? His homeland was far from here; it would take days to reach by ship. “Why Limeros?”

  Instead of gazing at him with gratitude for saving her life, Cleo glared at Magnus with her same old defiance. “Because the water Kindred can be claimed at the Temple of Valoria. Lucia told me this only today, just before the guards took me. If I’m right, and if Alexius wants more from Lucia than her hand in marriage, then that’s where I think they’re headed. And what better way to lure her away from her family than with the promise of eloping to the home she’s missed for months?”

  Another crystal uncovered and ready to be claimed. Magnus’s gut told him Cleo was right about everything.

  “Then that’s where we’re going,” he said firmly. “To Limeros.”

  She gasped. “We?”

  “Yes, princess. We.”

  CHAPTER 28

  NIC

  AURANOS

  Five hundred invited guests attended the wedding of Lord Gareth’s daughter, held at the Auranian palace—those of importance in this kingdom who’d pledged their loyalty to its new king, and those who’d made the journey here from Limeros. An invitation to such an important event could not be ignored.

  Even Prince Ashur and Princess Amara were among those gathered for the ceremony of the plain girl in the elaborately beaded and embroidered gown. Her new husband was a thin but handsome young man from northern Limeros whose expression—which Nic couldn’t help but note from his position by the entrance of the throne room—was pinched as their vows were exchanged.

  The banquet was to be held next in the great hall, a mass movement of the gathered from one large venue to the next, overseen by the palace guards.

  Nic edged closer to the prince and princess of Kraeshia when he noticed that they moved against the flow of the crowd, like salmon swimming upstream.

  “We’ve made our appearance for the ceremony,” Ashur informed one of his green-uniformed personal guards. “We wish to return to the villa. No need to extend our stay here any longer than absolutely necessary today. Likely, the king won’t even notice we’ve left.”

  “Yes, your highness.”

  Without another word, or even a glance in Nic’s direction, the Kraeshians quietly left through the nearest exit.

  Lucky them.

  Nic then went to stand sentry at the entrance of the great hall and wearily watched as the wedding guests ate heaps of food, listened to boring speeches, and toasted a bride and groom he couldn’t care less about.

  Cleo was nowhere to be seen. At least one of them had managed to avoid what promised to be an endlessly painful evening.

  King Gaius made his speech to the bride, orating about how he’d known her since she was a young girl, that she’d been as important to him as a second daughter. When the guests toasted the newlyweds, Nic had felt his bland and hastily eaten dinner churn unpleasantly at the insincerity of it all.

  His speech complete, the king descended the dais. Nic watched as a guard approached him, leaning in close enough to speak confidentially.

  On the king’s face, his perfect smile turned to stone.

  He strode out of the hall without another word, the guard following dutifully behind him.

  Clearly, he’d been given bad news.

  Good, Nic thought darkly.

  Shortly after this, Nic noticed several guards leaving their posts. Strange—the wedding would continue on until late that night and the king had insisted on extra protection. He didn’t want to risk repeating the death and destruction that had tarnished Cleo and Magnus’s wedding. But why was everyone leaving?

  Nic soon realized he was one of the few guards who remained in the hall.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Idas, one of a mere handful of guards who didn’t treat him like a pile of dung. Idas didn’t treat Nic well, either, but compared to Burrus and Milo, who were both currently held in the dungeon on suspicion of assisting the rebels escape, Idas was as a close to a friend as he had here.

  “Trouble,” Idas replied.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Cronus is dead.”

  Nic inhaled sharply. “How?”

  “His body was found in the dungeon along with another guard’s. Both stabbed.”

  “Who did it?”

  “Apparently it was a prisoner who managed to escape. But our job tonight is to keep watch over the wedding. We’ll leave the hunt for fugitives to the others.”

  Cronus? Killed by a common prisoner? Cronus had given Nic the impression he was practically immortal—a skilled warrior forged from steel, virtually indestructible.

  It seemed that was only an illusion.

  “Do me a favor?” Idas asked. “If you happen to spot Prince Magnus among the guests, tell me. The king will want to alert the prince about Cronus the moment he shows his face.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Idas then went off to speak in whispers with another guard.

  A prisoner had escaped and managed to kill two guards in the process? That just didn’t happen. Sure, there were escape attempts every now and then—such as what had happened with Jonas’s friends. But, to Nic’s knowledge, a prisoner had never successfully escaped the dungeon itself.

  Until today.

  But who had the prisoner been?

  As Nic watched three more guards leave the hall, he found his curiosity was piqued enough to provoke him to leave his station. Not that it would matter. After all, who was monitoring the guards’ duties tonight? Certainly not Cronus.

  No one paid him any attention as he made his way back toward the throne room. King Gaius stood at the archway, surrounded by more than a dozen guards.

  “. . . in addition to the main search, which takes precedence,” the king said, “you will locate both Prince Ashur and Princess Amara, and, as quietly as possible so as not to disrupt the banquet, arrest them while they’re still under this roof. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, your highness.” The men echoed one another.

  “The emperor will have second thoughts about coming anywhere near my kingdom when he learns his beloved son and daughter are being held at my mercy.”

  Nic doubted his ears. He’d expected to overhear only the king’s reaction to Cronus’s death, not a command to arrest the Kraeshians.

  It didn’t make sense.

  And yet . . . if King Gaius believed the Emperor of Kraeshia meant to destroy him, making Mytica the latest in a long list of conquered kingdoms, then this was a smart move. Possibly the king’s only move.

  However, the king didn’t seem to know that the Kraeshians had already left the palace, well over an hour ago.

  Nic slipped away without being noticed by the king. Just another guard in the group
. Same uniform, same duties.

  Different allegiances.

  After all, Nic was a rebel now.

  • • •

  He wanted to find Cleo and tell her of his plans, but there was no time.

  It wouldn’t be long before news reached the king that Ashur and Amara were no longer in the palace. The king would then send guards directly to the villa to make their arrests.

  He left the palace without permission, knowing every decision he made now would change his future. For better or worse, he didn’t know for sure. All he knew was that he had information, and he potentially had powerful allies who needed it in order to survive.

  Then there was the simple yet horrible thought of Ashur, imprisoned in the dark dungeon, at the mercy of the king, never to be free again. . . .

  That wouldn’t happen. Not if Nic had anything to say about it.

  It was an hour’s ride to the villa. To his knowledge, he wasn’t followed. It was fully dark when he arrived, the moon bright in the evening sky.

  He jumped off his horse and approached the entrance of the villa. A green-uniformed guard stepped into his path, his ugly mug showing disdain for this boy in red.

  “Has the prince arrived back yet? I must see him immediately,” Nic said. “I have a message from the king.”

  Not a lie—it was a message. Although it certainly wasn’t one the king would have wanted to arrive ahead of time.

  “I can deliver the message,” the guard growled, thrusting out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  “It’s too important—too private—to be written down.” Nic crossed his arms. He refused to be intimidated by anyone tonight. “I’m the only one who can relate it.”

  The guard’s stern expression quickly turned to boredom, and he relented, allowing Nic inside. A servant showed him out to the same patio in the courtyard where the prince and princess had offered him an alliance, only now the beautiful gardens were in shadows.

  Nic began to pace as a thousand thoughts and worries swirled through his mind—thoughts and worries that he hadn’t let himself consider on the rebellion-fueled ride.

  It wasn’t long before Prince Ashur appeared at the edge of the garden with a smile on his lips. “Nic. I was just told you’d arrived. What a pleasant surprise. I would have thought you’d be much too busy tonight at the wedding to visit.”

  Nic’s mouth went dry, his heart pounding hard as a hammer. “I am busy, but I wanted—no, I needed—to see you.”

  “How intriguing.” Ashur glanced at a servant waiting in the doorway. “Bring us something to drink.”

  The servant bowed and departed.

  “Please sit.” Ashur gestured toward the plush patio seating, the area lit by torches. “The guard told me you have a message from King Gaius?”

  “Yes, that’s right . . .” But then his words faltered.

  Treason against the crown. That was what he was about to commit.

  A treasonous tongue would ensure his execution. Would coming here tonight put Cleo in jeopardy? Had he made a horrible mistake?

  Ashur watched him carefully, his expression grave. “I sense being near me makes you uncomfortable, which is why I haven’t mentioned it since, but what happened between us that night in the alleyway . . . I know it was unwelcome. I want to apologize for being so bold.”

  Nic didn’t want to talk about that now. He wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to talk about it. But still, questions rose inside of him, questions that had tormented him since that night that he couldn’t hold back now. There was no time for this, but he couldn’t help but ask it. “Why me? Why would you—I mean, other than to get me to reveal what I know about Cleo . . . I get that. It’s not uncommon around here for someone to do whatever it takes to get somebody to talk. But did I give you the impression that I wanted . . . ?” He winced and found he couldn’t continue.

  This really wasn’t why Nic was there tonight.

  He had to focus. He had to decide if he was going to tell Ashur the king’s plans and hope it was the right decision or make up a meaningless message from the king and get out of there as quickly as he could before someone at the palace noticed his absence.

  More guards were probably already on their way.

  “I shouldn’t have brought this up,” Ashur said, his expression strained. “There’s no reason for you to feel uncomfortable around me. I mean you no harm.”

  Nic groaned, his storming emotions in turmoil. “I don’t think you want to harm me. And you’re wrong. I’m not sorry you kissed me.”

  “No?”

  Damn. Enough of this.

  Nic’s cheeks had suddenly grown very warm. He was tired of being timid, fearful, and uncertain. He may have been once, but no longer.

  He met Ashur’s gaze directly. “I overheard the king give orders to arrest you and Princess Amara. He believes you’re still at the banquet, but I saw you leave so I came here myself to warn you. He means to detain you in the dungeons indefinitely to prevent your father from launching an armada.”

  There, he’d said it.

  And now he felt as if he were going to be sick.

  “I see.” Ashur leaned back in his chair, seemingly unfazed by the monumental information Nic had just committed treason in order to tell him. “Why would you tell me this?”

  “Because I hate him,” he replied simply and truthfully. “Because he killed my sister. Because he destroyed everything I love, and to this day controls the fate of my dearest friend. He is evil. And he needs to be defeated.”

  Ashur watched him intently for another long moment, then nodded. “You made the right decision.”

  “You need to flee immediately.”

  “Kraeshians do not flee.” He fixed Nic with a slow smile. “Ever.”

  “Pardon me for saying, but when his fleet of guards arrive here they will far outnumber yours—and you’ll be taken easily. The king will win.”

  “You underestimate me. And you underestimate my sister. Much gratitude to you, Nic, for following us here with this warning.” He reached across the table and placed his hand on top of Nic’s. “I appreciate it more than you know.”

  Nic studied Ashur’s hand: dark and flawless against his own pale, freckled skin. “You’re welcome.”

  Ashur glanced toward the entryway as his servant returned with a tray bearing a pitcher of apple cider and two silver goblets. Nic yanked his hand away from Ashur’s as she set it down on the table between them. As the servant left, another figure brushed past her.

  “We speak of her,” Ashur said, “and she appears as if by magic.”

  As she emerged onto the patio, Amara’s gaze fell on Nic. “Has Princess Cleo decided to align with us?”

  “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “No, Amara, Nic is here to warn us of the king’s plans. They’re exactly what we expected. He means to capture us both tonight.”

  She sighed with annoyance. “How deeply inconvenient.”

  How could neither sibling seem frightened by the possibility of spending the rest of their life in the dungeon?

  Ashur filled the goblets with cider and pushed one toward Nic. “I’d like to make a toast.”

  “To what?” Nic asked. He raised his glass and found that his hand still shook with anxiety despite the unexpected atmosphere of absolute serenity at the villa.

  “I have a suggestion,” Amara said. “Let’s drink to Princess Lucia, the sorceress reborn. The girl who will lead us to the Kindred.”

  Nic’s stomach flipped upon hearing Amara repeat the same secrets Cleo had entrusted him with. “To Princess Lucia,” he whispered.

  He took a quick sip of the sweet drink.

  “Magnus has been of no use to me at all,” Amara said, crossly. “Pity. I had plans for him, but now they’ll have to change. He either knows nothing, or he’s unwilling to share even
a sliver of information.”

  “That sounds like the prince,” Nic admitted.

  “Tell us more, Nic. Tell us everything you know about the search for the Kindred.” Amara sat down next to him, took his hands in hers, and stared into his eyes. “The king is as much our enemy as he is yours. He fears our father. Join with us and we will offer absolute protection to both you and Cleo.”

  He’d already come halfway. He may as well continue.

  After another healthy sip from the goblet, he took a deep breath and quickly related everything he knew, everything Cleo had told him—about the awakened crystals, about the blood magic ritual needed to claim them. When he was done, he felt purged of darkness.

  “So Cleo doesn’t have one in her possession yet,” Amara said.

  “No, not yet.”

  “I see.” She appeared to ponder this as a servant approached and whispered into her ear. “Yes, very good. Go ahead and send him out here.”

  “Please, your grace,” Nic spoke again to Ashur. “I urge you to leave this villa immediately.”

  “You worry too much,” Ashur replied with a smile.

  “And it seems as if you don’t worry at all.”

  “I simply choose my worries very carefully.”

  A flash of red caught Nic’s eye. He turned to see who had now emerged onto the patio, and, jumping up to his feet, he knocked over his goblet and spilled the rest of his cider across the tabletop.

  Burrus, his enemy, stood before him.

  “What are you doing here?” Nic demanded. “You’re supposed to be in the dungeon.”

  “Not anymore,” the thug replied.

  A thought hit Nic like a sucker punch. “You’re the prisoner who escaped, who killed Cronus. Aren’t you?”

  Burrus snorted. “Hardly. I was freed yesterday. Milo is still inside and he can rot there as far as I’m concerned. Now shut up, maggot. I didn’t come here for you.” He glanced at the princess. “I have information.”

  “Very good,” she said with a nod. “Tell us.”

  Nic watched with shock as a slow and unpleasant realization had begun to set in.

  The Kraeshians had more than one Limerian guard in their pocket.