Gathering Darkness

  Well, they had not. Nor would they ever. She shivered with disgust at the memory of standing so close to him on the balcony the previous night.

  Loathing, as Lucia had said earlier, was a pale word to represent her feelings toward the prince. Every time she thought she might see something more in him, something pained and vulnerable that pulled at her, she had to stop and remind herself of the unspeakable things he’d done and why she would hate him forever.

  “If I am with child,” Cleo said as she brushed a hand over the folds of the pale blue gown that hid her flat belly, “it would be a very welcome surprise.”

  Amara’s gaze grew sharper, as if she was assessing every inch of Cleo with much more scrutiny than she had last night.

  “It’s so wonderful that you’re visiting,” Cleo said, changing the subject. “My father extended an invitation to your family years ago.”

  “Auranos is very beautiful, but Father always believed that such beauty held no true value. I, however, completely disagree.”

  Cleo exchanged a glance with Lucia, who seemed mildly alarmed by Amara’s candor. Cleo kept her mouth shut, the corners of her lips turned up into what she hoped was a pleasant expression.

  “You must find life here so different from Limeros, Lucia,” Amara said, reaching out to touch a rose, carefully avoiding its thorns.

  “It couldn’t be more different,” Lucia agreed.

  “All that ice and snow, all those jagged cliffs. It’s much more pleasant here, isn’t it? If I spent more than a half-day in frozen Limeros I might throw myself into the sea so I could drown and be free from such unthinkable conditions.” She laughed, then realized that both Cleo and Lucia were gaping at her in shock. “Apologies. Kraeshians are known to speak their minds without hesitation. Don’t hate me for being blunt.”

  “Of course not.” Lucia offered a smile. “No apologies necessary. Such bluntness is . . . refreshing. Isn’t it, Cleo?”

  “Oh, yes,” Cleo agreed. “So refreshing.”

  Amara considered Cleo closely. “I have to say, I’m surprised to see how well you’ve adjusted to your new life. I half-expected you to be confined to your chambers, allowed out only for meals. That the Damoras seem to trust you, their former enemy’s daughter, fascinates me.”

  Amara might use the word blunt. Others would say rude.

  Cleo struggled to find an appropriate reply. “My father was defeated because he wouldn’t bow down and surrender to King Gaius. Such conflicts are common over the world, in many kingdoms. I can only be grateful that King Gaius didn’t punish me for my father’s choices, and that he’s given me a home here with his family.”

  The words tasted rancid in her mouth.

  “And you’ve accepted it? Accepted your new family?”

  Family. The word made her soul cringe. “As best as I can.”

  “Cleo is a welcome addition. She’s like a sister to me now,” Lucia said.

  While Cleo’s throat burned from having to speak such lies, her heart was lightened to hear Lucia call her sister. The fact that Lucia was willing to come to her defense after all but ignoring her just minutes before proved that Princess Amara’s admitted lack of tact might have the power to make friends of enemies.

  “What a lovely sentiment, Lucia,” Amara said, her gaze moving down to Cleo’s hand. “What a lovely ring, Cleo. Wherever did you get it?”

  Cleo resisted the urge to cover up the amethyst. “Thank you. It belonged to my mother.”

  “It’s very beautiful.” Amara’s accented voice was even. “It’s almost magical how beautiful it is, really. You’ve very lucky to have it.”

  Cleo’s stomach began to tie itself in knots.

  She’d been wearing the ring every day now, hidden in plain sight where it couldn’t be lost. It didn’t appear to be any more special than her turquoise necklace or golden bracelet, and yet Amara had noticed it specifically, calling it magical.

  Prince Ashur had questioned Cleo once before about the legend of the Kindred. And now Amara was here, telling her that this kingdom had more value than her father had ever believed . . .

  “If you’ll excuse us, Princess Amara,” Lucia said, linking her arm with Cleo’s, “I’m afraid we’re rather late for our next class. Our tutor will be very upset with us.”

  “You attend classes here together?” Amara said with raised brow.

  “Oh, yes.” Cleo was quick to back up Lucia’s lie. “Today is embroidery. A very useful skill, but our tutor’s surprisingly strict.”

  Cleo hadn’t taken a class in any subject since before the palace was attacked. Back then, she thought her education nothing more than a waste of her time that could have been better spent with her friends, but now the thought of her old classes filled her with bittersweet memories of a happier time.

  When all of this was over, once she’d finally reclaimed her throne, she would take many classes and learn everything about every subject possible.

  Except, perhaps, embroidery.

  “Then you’d better hurry. Farewell,” Amara said. “I’ll see you again soon.”

  “Yes. Very soon, I hope,” Cleo said and smiled sweetly.

  “I find her deeply unpleasant,” Lucia said once they were out of earshot. “She’s lucky I didn’t set her hair on fire.”

  “You could do that?” Cleo said, alarmed and intrigued by Lucia’s frankness.

  “If I wanted to.” Lucia glanced at her with the hint of a smile. “It’s so strange to me . . .”

  “What is?”

  “Being near you is so calming. I thought it was only an illusion the other day, but now I know it’s real.”

  “Don’t you see?” Cleo squeezed Lucia’s arm. “We were meant to be friends. Despite the difficulties we’ve had, this is right. Trust in that. Trust in me. I can help you with your magic.”

  “Perhaps,” Lucia allowed, a light frown creasing her forehead.

  Cleo’s ring had taken on a slight glow from being so close to the sorceress. She repressed a smile.

  Perhaps was a firm step in the right direction.

  CHAPTER 5

  MAGNUS

  AURANOS

  At the king’s request, Magnus and a select group of guards had set out to escort the prince and princess of Kraeshia to a large villa an hour’s journey northeast of the palace.

  Rather than argue, he had instead grasped hold of the chance to leave the city and clear his head. The trip had been uneventful, surrounded as they were by a swarm of guards both Kraeshian and Limerian, including Cronus, the captain of the palace guard, who rarely strayed far from the king’s side. That Cronus had been assigned to join the party today was proof that the king took at least some interest in Magnus’s safety when he traveled beyond the city walls.

  At last, they reached the villa.

  “It’s beautiful,” Princess Amara said as she and her brother emerged from their carriage.

  “Yes,” Prince Ashur agreed, sweeping his gaze across the lush green hills the expansive villa was nestled within. “More than adequate. It was very generous of the king to give us such a beautiful place to stay.”

  Magnus nodded. “He’ll be pleased that you like it.”

  His father disliked the Kraeshians, but so far Magnus had found them to be nothing more than an inconvenience, akin to persistent vermin that were immune to swatting. And his father refused to do anything more than swat at these pests, for fear that they’d alert their father and bring war down upon him.

  It was unusual for King Gaius to fear anything. Yet ever since the royal wedding, where he’d nearly been killed by the earthquake, the king seemed to be increasingly fearful of his own mortality.

  He should be.

  Magnus dismounted from his black stallion and approached the large villa.

  The front door swung open and a boy no older than five or si
x ran out along the pathway. Reaching Magnus, he staggered to a halt and looked up at the prince with wide eyes.

  “You’re Prince Magnus, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “My mama has nightmares about you.” His little fists were clenched at his sides. “I won’t let you hurt her!”

  Cronus stepped forward, but Magnus held up his hand to stop him.

  “I assure you, young man,” he said, crouching down in front of the boy so they were at eye level, “I mean your mother no harm. But I’m very pleased to see she’s protected by such a fierce warrior.”

  A woman with a large belly hurried toward them and gathered the boy into her arms. Her face was pale and drawn—qualities that were now more common than ever since the king’s victory.

  “Apologies, your highness,” the woman said nervously. “My son, he . . . he speaks without thinking. He meant no disrespect.”

  “None was taken.” The child’s words held no threat, only a mild sting that Magnus tried to ignore. The front door swung open again, and now a man exited the villa and joined the woman and boy. “And who are you?” Magnus asked.

  The man put his arm around the woman and regarded Magnus warily. “I am Lord Landus. Apologies, Prince Magnus. We know we should have already departed, but we were delayed. My wife is with child and her mornings are currently wracked with illness. I assure you, we’re leaving now to make way for your”—his gaze moved to the Kraeshians and his jaw grew tense—“honored guests. Just as your father requested.”

  “This is your home?” Magnus was taken aback; he had thought this was an abandoned property. Now he realized that his father had simply cast out its residents, surely with threats of imprisonment or worse. Why did this surprise him? The king had never ruled his people with the weight of a feather when a stone would suffice.

  The man smiled, but it gave off anything but warmth. “It belongs to King Gaius now. And to you.”

  “Then be on your way and don’t waste anymore of the prince’s time,” Cronus said, approaching like a hulking shadow at Magnus’s side.

  “Of course.” Fear flickered in the lord’s eyes. “Farewell, your highness.”

  Magnus watched the three go on foot down the forest road. The little boy looked back at him over his mother’s shoulder with confusion. He didn’t understand why he had to leave his home, with no idea when, or if, he might be able to return.

  They’re Auranian, Magnus reminded himself when he found he couldn’t turn away. What do you care of their fate?

  “Hopefully they’ve remembered all their personal belongings and won’t have to disturb us again,” Princess Amara said as she stepped inside the foyer. She looked up at the stained-glass ceiling and chiseled, winding staircase with a growing smile. “Yes, this is quite acceptable. The king knows how to treat his valued guests. I’m going to explore.”

  Prince Ashur stopped and stood in the doorway. “You do that, sister.”

  Amara disappeared up the stairway, followed by her handmaiden.

  “Apologies for my sister’s rudeness,” Prince Ashur said. “I’m not sure she understands what just happened.”

  “What’s to understand?” Magnus asked, feigning friendliness. “You needed a place to stay, and this is that place.”

  “We would have been just fine at the palace. We don’t want to be any trouble.”

  No, of course you don’t want that.

  Magnus turned to Cronus, who still stood at his side. “You’ll wait outside with the others until I’m ready to leave. I won’t be long.”

  Cronus bowed his head. “Yes, your highness.”

  Magnus and Ashur stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind them. Ashur barely spared a glance for the fine architecture, rich tapestries draped on the walls, and colorful mosaic tiled floor.

  “Not to your liking?” Magnus asked.

  “It’s fine, of course,” Ashur said, his attention obviously elsewhere. “I must say, I’m pleased we’re finally getting a chance to speak privately.”

  “Are you?”

  Ashur nodded. “I’m curious to learn more about Mytica. Given your recent travels, I knew you were the one I should speak with.”

  Small talk about geography? How incredibly dull. “What do you want to know?”

  “I want you to tell me about the Kindred,” he replied without hesitation.

  The word landed like a blow. Magnus fought to appear impassive and give no sign that his heart had begun to beat rapidly. “My, that is a rather large subject to cover. But, unfortunately, it’s also not a worthwhile one. Why would you be interested in the stuff of legends and storybooks?”

  “Because I don’t believe it’s just a legend. I believe the Kindred do exist.” Ashur looked at Magnus like a book he was trying to read.

  This was what the king feared—outsiders going after his treasure.

  Magnus’s treasure.

  “Is that why you’re here?” Magnus asked. “To seek more information about the Kindred?”

  “Yes,” Ashur replied simply.

  Kraeshians had no history of magic in their kingdom, nor did they typically have any cultural interest in such subjects. They were famous for preferring hard facts and common truths, and that the prince defied this trend proved he was either a bored royal with too much time on his hands . . . or a legitimate threat, just as the king suspected.

  Magnus forced a smile. “Most . . . intelligent people think the story of the Watchers and their eternal search for the Kindred is one that’s simply told to keep children well behaved and fearful that magical hawks are witnessing and judging their every naughty act.”

  “There’s also the prophecy of a sorceress reborn whose magic will light the path to this source of ultimate power.”

  So, Lucia’s prophecy was known beyond Mytican shores. Magnus’s stomach sank at the thought, but he ignored the unpleasant sensation as best he could and held the prince’s gaze without flinching. “I’ve also heard this rumor. In fact, there are a handful of accused witches in the dungeon as we speak. Perhaps you’d like to ask them if they’re sorceresses?” He forced another smile. “Don’t waste your time on such silly ideas, Prince Ashur. There are plenty of other attractions for you to explore before you set sail back to your home. I’d be happy to suggest several you might wish to see.”

  The steady, unwavering sharpness in the prince’s gray-blue eyes unnerved Magnus more than he’d like to admit.

  “Have you heard about the being of fire?” Ashur asked.

  Magnus frowned at the sudden change the subject. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Ashur casually ran his hand along the base of the marble banister. “There was a young man seen summoning fire magic in the forest where the recent rebel battle took place. I believe there was a rather large wildfire during that attack, yes?”

  “There was.” Magnus felt no need to lie; Ashur could have learned this information from many different sources. “The fire killed many. I don’t know how it started.”

  Ashur crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “By all reports the flames were supernatural in origin—elemental, in fact. A touch of this fire could turn a man’s flesh to crystal that could shatter with a single touch.”

  Magnus’s gut twisted as he remembered the strange fire that had licked at his ankles as he emerged from the tent after Jonas Agallon’s escape. He’d seen its effects. He’d been having nightmares about it for days.

  “How odd.” Magnus shook his head. “But it sounds like all you’ve heard are peasants’ rumors. The same goes for this . . . what did you call him? A being of fire?”

  Ashur turned his attention to a mahogany table across the foyer carved with a fine pattern of flower petals. On top of it was a vase filled with fresh flowers, which Ashur now studied with a botanist’s interest. “This person murdere
d a guard whose associate says they first thought the young man was an escaped slave. But then he noticed that the fire symbol had been burned into his hand, and that his eyes turned from amber to blue with a strange light. With a mere glance, he burned his victim to death with the crystallizing flame.”

  Magnus realized he’d stopped breathing. Amber was the crystal commonly associated with the fire Kindred. “What are you saying?”

  Ashur spread his hands. “I’m not sure, really. I wanted your take. I thought you might know something.” Ashur studied Magnus from head to toe, seemingly unimpressed. “I see I was wrong. Pity.”

  Magnus’s hackles rose. “I would caution you not to take rumors or gossip as truth. Especially rumors and gossip repeated by someone as unreliable as a guard or a servant.”

  “I’m not surprised you say that, given a few other rumors I’ve heard around the palace.” Ashur smiled, an exact replica of sincerity, which made Magnus envy his ability to pour on charm while speaking such unpleasant words. It reminded him of his father.

  “Other rumors?” Magnus asked. “Such as?”

  “Nothing worth mentioning.”

  Just then Amara descended the stairs, thankfully interrupting them. “Are you two going to stay down here all day? Or will you explore with me?”

  “Exploring sounds like an excellent idea,” Magnus said, offering her his arm as she reached the last step. He felt the irresistible need to put an end to his conversation with the prince. “Let’s take a look at the gardens. I’ve been told they rival the beauty of the palace’s.”

  “Yes, let’s. Ashur?”

  The prince waved. “Go on ahead. I’ll join you shortly.”

  With Princess Amara’s handmaiden trailing a discreet distance behind them, Magnus and Amara went outside to the gardens, which were as beautiful as rumor had promised.

  It was obvious that this was not merely a grand home that had been built for nobles. This was a home filled with love—love that had been lavished on every inch, every piece of furniture, every colorful tile or marble surface. The private gardens were vast, ending at a stone wall two hundred paces from the villa. Every color of the rainbow was accounted for in the roses, violets, hydrangeas; the apple, pear, and olive trees. It smelled like life itself out here—sweet and vibrant.