Immortal Reign

by Morgan Rhodes

  Neela smiled. “But this gift is special. Come with me now to receive it.”

  Amara changed back into her casual gown and shawl. The rest of the day would be one of relaxation, meditation, and rest. Then she would be coiffed from head to toe, paint applied precisely to her eyes and lips, her black hair plaited and threaded with jewels, and the finished gown would be the last touch before the ascension ceremony itself.

  Leaning on her cane, Amara followed Neela through the hallways of the Emerald Spear. They passed several servants, all with eyes lowered to the ground. To look the Kraeshian royal family directly in the eyes was not permitted, since Amara’s father had felt it was confrontational.

  Priests and augurs also filled the halls, clad in long purple robes. They had journeyed to the Emerald Spear from across the empire to be a part of the Ascension.

  The long corridors were lined with intricately embroidered rugs that had taken a commissioned artisan half a lifetime to complete. Amara realized she’d never paid much attention to the beauty of her surroundings, to the exquisite vases and sculptures and paintings that peppered the palace halls, many obtained from the kingdoms her father had conquered.

  Stolen, not obtained, she reminded herself.

  These were the possessions of former kings and queens slain by the emperor as he moved across this world like a plague.

  What am I thinking? She shook her head to clear it of such dark thoughts.

  Her father was gone. Her older brothers gone.

  She’d heard not a word about Ashur.

  Amara knew she would be different from those who had ruled before her.

  They climbed the private spiraling staircase to the sixth floor and walked down another long hallway. At the end of the hallway was a familiar face, one that made Amara’s worries disappear and her smile return.

  “Costas!” As she drew closer to her trusted guard, he bowed before her. “How lovely to have you here to help me celebrate this important day.”

  “Empress,” Costas said. “I am here by request of Queen Neela.”

  Queen Neela. She’d noticed that many addressed her grandmother in this way now.

  But of course they would. She was the closest relative and the most trusted advisor of the empress.

  Her grandmother deserved such a title.

  Amara turned toward Neela, smiling. “Did you secretly summon Costas here as my gift? If so, much gratitude.”

  Neela shook her head. “No. However, Costas did acquire your gift, and he brought it here at great risk to himself.” She gestured toward the door next to the tall guard. “Your true gift is within this room.”

  How intriguing. What rare treasure had Costas brought for her at her grandmother’s request on the day of her Ascension?

  Amara went to the door, pressing her hand flat against its cool, smooth surface. Despite any misgivings or doubt, she swore she would enjoy every moment of today. To taste it. To savor it.

  Whatever this mysterious gift was, she had earned it.

  Amara opened the door and entered the small room. A woman dressed all in white turned to face her, then dropped her gaze to the floor. She bowed deeply and moved away from the small piece of furniture she stood before.

  It looked very much like a cradle.

  Her breath shallow, Amara moved forward, slowly, and looked inside.

  A baby with sky-blue eyes and a dark tuft of hair stared up at her.

  Amara gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth.

  Neela came to her side. “Do you like my gift?”

  “Madhosha, what have you done?” Amara asked, breathless.

  “Do you know whose child this is?” Neela asked.

  Amara could barely think, let alone speak. “It’s Lucia Damora’s daughter.”

  “You made no mention of her existence. I had to learn it from Costas. This child is the daughter of a prophesied sorceress and an immortal. A child of such extraordinary parents will contain incredible magic—magic we can use for so, so many things.”

  Amara’s grip on her cane tightened. “Madhosha . . .”

  Neela reached down into the cradle and stroked the baby’s tiny, velvet-smooth cheek. “What shall we name her?”

  “She already has a name. It’s Lyssa.” Amara turned to Costas. “You did this. You took her from her cradle—from the arms of a mother who will level the world to find her.”

  Costas’s expression remained steady. “She won’t.”

  “She will! The moment Lucia learns that you took her—”

  “I thought of that,” he interrupted her. “Of course I did. Queen Neela gave explicit instructions to make it appear as if the fire Kindred had stolen her. The only one who witnessed me enter the palace is dead. Burned as proof.”

  “More reason for the sorceress to focus her attention on this fire Kindred you could not find a way to control,” Neela said. “We will raise this child as your daughter, just as King Gaius raised Lucia herself. My apothecary tells me he can use her blood to create powerful elixirs to strengthen your reign. Elixirs to keep you young and beautiful for many, many years.”

  “Elixirs,” Amara repeated, again looking down upon the face of this stolen child, “to keep me young and beautiful.”

  “Yes.” Neela then kissed Amara on both of her cheeks. “I am so happy to have been able to give you this gift, one you will appreciate more with every passing year.”

  Every passing year that Queen Neela advised her on how to rule her people, how to control them, and how to punish those who would oppose them.

  I don’t want the gift of a stolen child, Amara thought with a sudden, clawing desperation in her chest. I don’t want any of this.

  What have I done?

  Still, uncertain how her grandmother would react if she blurted out the truth of how she felt, Amara instead forced a smile to her lips. “My gratitude to you, madhosha, for always looking out for me. For making today possible.”

  Neela squeezed her hands. “They will all bow before you. Every man who has ever made a Kraeshian woman suffer. And you will be the greatest and most fearsome ruler this world has ever seen.”

  Amara continued to smile her false smile as she left the nursery and headed back to her chambers.

  She walked as quickly as she could, fighting against the tears pricking the backs of her eyes.

  It had been her grandmother’s idea to poison her family.

  It had been her grandmother’s idea for her to kill Ashur if he proved to be a problem.

  It had been her grandmother’s idea to kidnap the child of a sorceress.

  Amara had trusted her grandmother all her life, had been willing to do whatever she said, knowing that Neela only wanted to help her gain power.

  Power that Neela could wield for herself.

  Her thoughts jumbled and unclear, her vision blurry, Amara didn’t see the person hiding around the corner that led to her wing of the massive royal residence.

  At least, not until they grabbed her.

  Her cane fell away from her grip before she could use it to fight back against the large hand that grasped her throat and pinned her up against the wall.

  The tip of a sharp blade pressed to her cheek.

  “Well, that was easier than I would have predicted,” Felix Gaebras growled. “Not enough security in the big green pointy palace to keep escaped criminals like me at bay. What a crying shame.”

  The sight of him was such a shock that Amara didn’t react, didn’t struggle, as he dragged her into her vacant chambers. He shoved her, and she stumbled backward and fell to the floor.

  The door clicked shut, the lock sliding into place.

  Amara glanced to the door. Felix had not sneaked into the Emerald Spear alone.

  “Nerissa,” Amara whispered.

  Her former attendant’s eyes narrowed cold
ly on her. “With Mytica so far behind you, I would have thought you’d have forgotten my name by now.”

  “Of course not.” Amara tried to swallow, tried to breathe. Tried not to seem afraid. “Are you going to stop Felix from killing me?”

  “No. Actually, I’m here to help him.”

  Amara stared at both of them for several long moments. And then she started to laugh, drawing glares from both Nerissa and Felix. The day had been so surreal—from the golden wings, to the fear in the dressmaker’s eyes, to the gift of a stolen baby with magical blood.

  “Stop laughing,” Felix shouted.

  “What is this?” Nerissa asked. “Are you mad?”

  “By now?” she managed. “Very likely. But you, Nerissa, an accomplice to the murder of an unarmed woman? I never would have taken you as that coldhearted.”

  Amara was struck by the certainty that the punishment she deserved had arrived far sooner than she’d expected.

  “I wish I could say the same in return,” Nerissa said softly.

  Amara sobered, narrowing her gaze on her former attendant. One who had looked at her not so long ago with kindness and patience. One who had shared stories from her painful past. “You told me that you and your mother survived so much under my father’s reign. You know what it’s like to be oppressed by men, to need to use them to get what you want. I would think you’d understand, if only a little, why I’ve done what I’ve done.”

  “What I told you about my mother being a courtesan was a lie.” Nerissa raised a thin eyebrow. “She did what was necessary to survive, yes. But on most days, my mother was an assassin.”

  Felix gasped. “You never told me that. We have so much in common!”

  Nerissa glanced at him. “Your mother wasn’t an assassin.”

  “No, but I am. Oh, Nerissa, you get more interesting to me every day. We could be partners after this. Vigilantes who slay horrible, evil creatures across the world! Although, if we could avoid sea travel, that would be wonderful. I’m still ill from our trip here.”

  Nerissa scrunched her nose. “That—all of it—is unlikely, Felix.”

  He frowned and brushed his fingers over his eye patch. “Is it the missing eye? Can’t do much about that, I’m afraid. Oh, wait. That’s the empress’s fault too. Another reason she needs to die.” He looked down at his knife, and his single eye narrowed. “I’m going to enjoy this so much.”

  Nerissa sighed wearily. “Are you trying to talk yourself into yet another dungeon?”

  “Definitely not.” Felix spun his dagger around on his hand with the skill of someone who played with sharp weapons daily. “Before I finally and happily do this, empress, I am obligated to let you know that this is on Prince Magnus’s orders. He’s not happy that you had his father killed.”

  Amara finally pushed herself up to her feet, balancing her weight on her good leg. Despite her problems, her will to survive remained as strong as ever. “It wasn’t me. My grandmother enlisted that assassin. I only learned of it when I arrived here last week.”

  Felix shrugged. “You say all of that like it matters. It doesn’t. The result is going to be the same. You being dead, that is.”

  Amara shot a look at Nerissa. “And you’re going to just stand there and watch him kill me?”

  “Yes. I am.” Nerissa crossed her arms and tapped her foot as if Amara’s death couldn’t come soon enough.

  “Before that night . . . with Kyan, when I betrayed all of you . . . I thought you believed in me,” Amara said, horrified by how weak she sounded. But it was still the truth. She had no more lies left within her.

  “I did. Against my better judgment, I really did.” Nerissa exhaled and shook her head. “But you’ve shown no remorse, no regret. Every decision you’ve made has been for your own gain, and countless people have suffered because of it.”

  Felix spun his dagger again. “And you say I talk a lot. Can we end this and get out of here?”

  End this.

  End her.

  Felix had countless reasons to want Amara dead. She actually didn’t blame him at all.

  She’d hurt him very badly.

  No. She’d tried to destroy him. But he’d survived.

  “I admire that,” Amara said.

  “What?” Felix growled.

  “You. I see now that you would have made a much better ally than an enemy.”

  He frowned at her. “I was hoping for more satisfying begging for your life at this point. This is extremely disappointing.”

  “It’s over,” Amara said.

  “Exactly my point.” Felix gave her a cold smile and stepped forward.

  She raised a hand and lifted her chin. “But you can’t kill me. Not right now. Later, perhaps. But not now. There’s far too much for you to do first, and you’re going to need a great deal of my help to do it.”

  “Nah. I think I’m just going to kill you,” Felix insisted and raised his dagger.

  Nerissa grabbed his wrist in midair, her eyes trained on Amara. “What are you talking about?”

  Amara racked her brain, trying to figure out exactly where to begin.

  “All right,” she said. “Listen to me very carefully . . .”

  CHAPTER 27

  JONAS

  PAELSIA

  They left the inn at dawn.

  Mia, the serving girl with amnesia—the one Lucia insisted was an immortal—was already awake, serving breakfast, and she provided them with some stale bread and honey for their journey.

  On their way into the Forbidden Mountains, Lucia barely spoke. She moved swiftly along the rough-hewn path, clearly determined to make headway.

  Jonas peered up at the jagged black peaks rising all around them and drew his cloak closer around his shoulders. There was a chill here, the temperature far colder than in the small village they’d departed earlier.

  It was a chill he felt more profoundly than just on the surface.

  It sank deep, all the way to his bones.

  “Do you know what I was told as a child about these mountains?” he said, feeling the need to make conversation.

  “What?” Lucia asked, her eyes still trained on the path ahead.

  He’d all but forgotten them until now—all the stories told by adults to children about the Forbidden Mountains. Jonas never had patience for tales of fantasy or magic. He much preferred to be out hunting, even when he could barely lift a bow.

  “I was told that they’re ancient witches, cursed for using their dark magic against the first king of Mytica, just after the world was created.”

  “I’ve heard other legends about them, but yours doesn’t surprise me at all,” Lucia said under her breath. “Witches are always blamed for everything when most of them don’t have enough magic to light a single candle.”

  “Why is that, do you suppose?” he wondered aloud.

  “What?”

  “Witches . . . they definitely exist. I know that now. But their magic is harmless, unlike the stories.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Even the weakest elementia can be strengthened by blood, which is apparently how my grandmother managed to help Kyan with his ritual. So if a witch strengthens her magic to a dangerous level, and if her intentions are dark, she is most definitely not harmless.”

  Jonas didn’t know how many witches there were—only that if one was descended from an exiled Watcher they had a chance to have magic within them. “I suppose you’re right. And we should be thankful that only you have as much magic as you do.”

  Lucia didn’t reply.

  “Princess?” he asked, frowning. “You still have your magic, don’t you?”

  She flinched. “It’s weakened again. I don’t know how much time it will take to return fully to me—or if that’s even a possibility.” Lucia looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide and glassy. Jonas fe
lt his heart drop.

  “You aren’t just a common witch,” he said, shaking his head. “You are a sorceress. The sorceress.”

  “I know. But it’s Lyssa . . . somehow she’s stolen my magic ever since I was pregnant with her. But I swear to the goddess, even if I don’t have a shred of elementia within me, I will save her, no matter what I have to do.”

  “And I will help you,” Jonas said firmly, even though the thought that her magic was no longer reliable enough to aid them in battle against Kyan chilled him. “I promise I will.”

  “Thank you.” Lucia held his gaze for a moment before she nodded and turned away from him. “Now keep walking. We’re almost there.”

  Jonas did as she said, one foot in front of the other.

  He forced himself to keep walking even though every step was a test of his courage. These mountains had always been a part of his life—a chilling sight in the far east, no matter where in Paelsia one went.

  They entered the foothills, and any remaining, struggling vegetation they’d passed in the previous dusty miles disappeared completely. The skies were gray, as if a storm stirred, and in the distance, above the mountains, even darker clouds blocked out the sun.

  As they moved deeper into the black mountains, Jonas realized it felt even colder than Limeros here. It was a frigid kind of cold; an iciness that sank into his bones and settled there. The kind of cold he knew couldn’t be chased away by a warm blanket and a campfire.

  He rubbed his chest over the spiral Watcher’s mark. The cold seemed to push deeper into him precisely in that spot, like the tip of a blade searching for his heart.

  “This place,” he began. “It feels like death.”

  Lucia nodded. “I know. There’s an absence of magic here . . . an absence of life itself. From what little I understand, that’s what has bled into Paelsia over generations, causing your land to wither and die.”

  Jonas looked around at their barren surroundings. He shuddered. “Like the rotten part of a peach that starts to spread through the whole basket.”

  “Exactly. Luckily, in the midst of all this death, is . . . that.”