Falling Kingdoms

by Morgan Rhodes

  Cleiona was the rival goddess to Valoria. One was thought of as good; one was believed to be evil. But this difference depended entirely upon in which kingdom one stood. In Limeros, Cleiona was considered the evil one and Valoria pure and good, representing strength, faith, and wisdom. They were the three attributes that Limerians put before all else. Every coat of arms stitched to adorn the walls of the great hall or anywhere else, every parchment that her father signed, every portrait of the king himself held these three words.

  Strength. Faith. Wisdom.

  Limeros devoted two full days a week to prayer and silence. Anyone in the many villages and cities right up to the forbidden mountains who broke this law was fined. If they couldn’t pay the fine, they were reprimanded in a harsher manner. King Gaius had the common areas patrolled to make sure everyone stayed the course, paid their taxes, and strictly followed the command of their king.

  Most didn’t protest or cause a problem. And Valoria, Lucia was sure, would approve of her father’s stern measures—as harsh as they sometimes seemed.

  Limeros was a land of cliffs, vast moors, and rocky ground; a frozen place for most of the year, covered in a sparkling layer of ice and snow before it gave way to greenery and blossoms for that precious glimpse of summer. So beautiful—sometimes the beauty of this kingdom brought tears to Lucia’s eyes. The window in her chambers looked out past the gardens to the seemingly endless Silver Sea, leading to faraway lands, and the sheer drop from the black granite castle walls to the dark waters crashing upon the rocky shore below.

  Breathtaking, even when the winter had closed in and it was near impossible to go outside without being fully wrapped in furs and leathers to keep out the biting cold.

  Lucia didn’t mind. She loved this kingdom, even with the expectations and difficulties that inevitably came from being a Damora. And she loved her books and her classes, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. She read everything she could get her hands on. Happily, the castle library was second to none. Information was a valuable gift to her—more precious than any gold or jewels, such as those given to her by some of her more ardent suitors.

  That is, if those suitors could get past her overprotective brother to give her those gifts. Magnus didn’t think that any boy who had shown interest in Lucia thus far was worthy of the princess’s attentions. Magnus had always been equal parts frustrating and wonderful to her. Lately, however, she wasn’t so sure how to gauge his ever-shifting moods.

  Lucia looked up into his familiar face as he cast her book to the side carelessly. The thirst for knowledge didn’t spread evenly between the siblings. Magnus’s time was taken up by his own classes, mostly horsemanship, swordsmanship, and archery—which he claimed to despise. All of which the king insisted upon, whether Magnus displayed a keen interest or not.

  “Cleiona’s also the name of the youngest Auranian princess,” Magnus mused. “Never really thought about it before. Same age as you are, right? Nearly to the day?”

  Lucia nodded, picking the book up off the lounge where it had fallen and tucking it under a pile of her less controversial books. “I’d like to meet her.”

  “Unlikely. Father hates Auranos and wishes for its ultimate demise. Ever since...well, you know.”

  Oh, she did. Her father despised King Corvin Bellos and wasn’t afraid of expressing his opinion over meals in a fearsome burst of anger whenever the mood struck. Lucia believed the animosity had much to do with a banquet at the Auranos palace more than ten years ago. The two kings had come nearly to blows due to a mysterious injury Magnus had received during the visit. King Gaius hadn’t returned since. Nor had he been invited.

  The reminder of this trip made Magnus absently touch his scar—one that stretched from the top of his right ear to the corner of his mouth.

  “After all this time, you still don’t remember how you got that?” She’d always been very curious about it.

  His fingers stilled as if he too had been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. “Ten years is a long time. I was only a boy.”

  “Father demanded whoever cut you should pay with his life.”

  “He wanted the culprit’s head delivered on a silver platter, actually. Seeing a crying, bleeding child troubled our father. Even when that child was me.” His dark brows drew together. “Honestly, I don’t remember anything. I only recall wandering off, then feeling the hot trickle of blood on my face and the sting of the wound. I didn’t get upset until Mother got upset. Perhaps I stumbled down a set of stairs or whacked myself on the edge of a sharp door. You know how clumsy I am.”

  “Hardly.” Her brother moved with the grace of a panther—sleek, quiet. Many might think him deadly, given he was the son of the iron-fisted King Gaius. “I’m the clumsy one in this family.”

  “I beg to disagree with that.” His lips curved to the side. “One of grace and beauty, my sister, with a multitude of suitors at her beck and call. Forced to be siblings with a scarred monster like me.”

  “As if that scar makes you a monster.” The thought was laughable. “You can’t be blind to how girls look at you—I even see maids here in the castle wistfully watch you pass, even if you never notice them. They all think you’re devastatingly handsome. And your scar only makes you more...” She took a moment to think of the right word. “Intriguing.”

  “You really think so?” His chocolate-brown eyes glinted with amusement.

  “I do.” She brushed his dark hair, long overdue for a trim, off his cheek to inspect the faded scar closer. She slid her index finger over it. “Besides, it’s barely noticeable anymore. At least, I don’t see it.”

  “If you say so.” His voice sounded strangled now and his expression had shifted to one of distress. He roughly pushed her hand away.

  She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  Magnus stepped back a few feet from her. “Nothing. I—I came up here to...” He ran a hand through his hair. “Never mind. You probably wouldn’t be interested. There’s some impromptu political meeting downstairs Father has called. I’ll leave you to your studies.”

  Lucia watched with surprise as he swiftly left her room without another word.

  Something was troubling her brother. She’d noticed it lately, each day worse than the last. He seemed distracted and deeply distressed by something, and she wished she knew what it was. She hated to see him so upset and not know how to help ease his pain.

  And she also wished very much that she could share her own secret, the one she’d been hiding for nearly a month—the one no one knew. No one at all.

  Pushing aside her fear and uncertainty, she prayed to the goddess for enough strength, faith, and wisdom to weather the dark storm she feared was drawing closer.

  • • •

  Magnus followed the noise downstairs toward the castle’s great hall. He pushed past several recognizable faces—boys of his age who considered him their friend. He offered them stiff smiles and received the same in return.

  They weren’t his true friends—not one of them. They were the sons of his father’s royal council, who were basically required to be acquainted with the Limerian prince whether they liked it or not. And a few, as Magnus had overheard in passing, didn’t like him at all.

  Irrelevant.

  He assumed every one of these boys—and their sisters, who would be more than eager if Magnus chose one of them as his future bride—was ready to use him whenever the occasion called for it. He was happy to do the same when it served his purposes.

  He trusted not a single one of them. Only Lucia. She was different. She was the only one with whom he could ever be truly himself without putting on any act. She was his closest confidant and ally. They’d shared so many secrets over the years, trusting each other to keep their silence.

  And he’d just escaped from her chambers as if they’d been set on fire.

 
The secret of his growing desire for Lucia would have to be kept silent from everyone. Especially her. Forever. He would keep it buried deep in his chest until the fiery pain left only ash where his heart once was. He was already half there to begin with. Maybe when his heart had finally been burned away, everything would be easier.

  It had been more than a month since the banquet, and he hadn’t learned anything of interest that would elucidate the enigmatic conversation he’d heard between his father and Sabina. He’d asked Amia to pay special attention as she eavesdropped throughout the castle. If she ever heard Lucia’s name, she was to report immediately back to him. The young maid had eagerly agreed to this much as she eagerly agreed to anything Magnus had ever required of her.

  In the hall, his father’s voice was raised as he addressed the crowd of three hundred men. Those in attendance appeared to hang on his every word, their gazes fixed solely upon the king. Behind the king on the wall was one of the few pieces of artwork that the hall still held on its cold, flat walls—a large tapestry of the king himself perched upon his favorite black stallion, sword in hand, looking strong and stern and royal.

  Magnus cast up his eyes. His father loved being the center of attention.

  “A murder.” The king’s voice boomed through the hall. “Right in the middle of the Paelsian market a month and a half ago. It was a cool but beautiful day when Paelsians were out enjoying the sunshine, marketing their wares, trying to make a decent living for themselves and their families. But this was disrupted by a few wicked Auranian royals in their midst.”

  Murmuring surrounded Magnus. News had already reached some about the murder of the wine seller’s son, but for others this was the first time they’d heard of it. Magnus was surprised that anyone actually cared.

  He was surprised that his father seemed to care. When it had been mentioned to Magnus at Lucia’s birthday banquet, he hadn’t thought much of it. Later, when his father learned of it, the king had simply shrugged a shoulder.

  Seemed as if he’d changed his mind. Perhaps it was due to the influence of the young, dark-haired man who stood next to the king. The one who had recently returned from a trip across the sea.

  Magnus’s cheek began to twitch.

  His name was Tobias Argynos. He’d been brought to the castle to become the king’s valet a year ago and soon thereafter was taken fully into his confidence. If the king needed something, Tobias would get it. The king considered him an asset and treated him as a favorite son.

  If whispered rumors held any weight, then Tobias was a favorite son—the king’s bastard born twenty years ago to a beautiful courtesan in Auranos.

  Magnus had never taken to believing in idle gossip. But he would never completely ignore it, either. Whispered stories could turn to shouted truths as quick as day became night. Even so, it wouldn’t jeopardize Magnus’s position in the kingdom. He was the rightful heir today, tomorrow, and always. Still, the way the king had warmed to Tobias when he’d only been cold to Magnus all his life troubled him more than he’d ever admit out loud. The rightful prince received a scar on his face while the bastard stood next to the king as he gave speeches to a rapt audience.

  Then again, fairness or kindness had never been King Gaius’s goals. Strength, faith, and wisdom above all.

  “Paelsians have suffered,” the king continued. “I’ve watched this and my heart has bled for our poor neighbors. Auranians, on the other hand, flaunt their riches for all to see. They are shamefully vain. They have even begun to deny religion and prayer and instead raise up their own images as idols as evidence of their hedonism and excess. It was a selfish young lord—Lord Aron Lagaris—who killed the impoverished wine seller’s son. The murdered boy was a fine and handsome young lad, one who could have grown up to help lead his people out of the squalor they have faced for generations. But he was cut down as a spoiled lord tried to show off in front of a princess—Princess Cleiona. Yes, named for the evil goddess herself, she who murdered our own beloved of beloveds, Valoria, goddess of earth and water. The two watched Tomas Agallon’s young life bleed from him in front of his own family. They didn’t feel sorry for the pain they caused that family and all Paelsians.”

  More mumbled conversation as the crowd listened to the king’s tale.

  “This isn’t just a murder. This is an insult. And I, for one, am deeply outraged on behalf of all Paelsians, our neighbors who share a border with us all the way east to the Forbidden Mountains. The time is coming for a reckoning—one a thousand years in the making.”

  The mumbling grew louder and, Magnus could tell, it was in agreement with what the king was saying.

  Tales spread about the opulence in Auranos. Streets paved in gold. Precious jewels woven into noblewomen’s hair, discarded at the end of the day. Riches wasted on lavish parties that lasted for weeks. And, most distasteful of all, the fading interest in hard work and devout religion—the building blocks of Limerian society.

  “What are you doing, Father?” Magnus said under his breath, bemused.

  A strong hand clutched Magnus’s shoulder and he turned with alarm to face a man whose name escaped him: a large, hulking member of the king’s council, whose gray beard covered most of his face. Small, beady eyes flashed with excitement.

  “Your father is the finest king Limeros has ever known,” the man exclaimed. “You should be very proud to be his son.”

  Magnus’s lips thinned. Proud was one word he’d never use to describe how he felt toward his father, today or any other day. A fake smile stretched his cheeks. “Of course. And never prouder than I am at this very moment.”

  • • •

  It was a week after the king’s speech. Magnus’s muscles were burning—he had just finished another swordplay lesson. Now, after cleaning up and changing into fresh clothes, he moved through the castle trying his best to resemble a shadow. It was a game he liked to play to challenge himself, to see how far he could get before anyone took notice of him. In the black clothing he favored, he could usually get quite far.

  Today he’d avoided Lucia after seeing her briefly over breakfast. All afternoon, she’d stayed in her room studying.

  Good. Out of sight, out of mind.

  The lie slid smoothly.

  Moving silently, he came across a boy waiting in the huge, high-ceilinged downstairs foyer with its winding staircase cut precisely into the stone walls. A son of local nobles, he knew. Again, Magnus was terrible with names. It wasn’t a memory issue, it was a lack-of-caring issue. He remembered the names of people who interested him or who served a purpose in his life. This boy didn’t interest him at all. Although the boy’s interest in Lucia was another thing altogether.

  At previous gatherings Magnus had observed in the boy’s watchful eyes that he was one of many who had a crush on Lucia and that he was waiting for the potential opportunity to spend time with her and solidify their…friendship.

  As Magnus did with many such suitors, he circled the boy like a sea monster, eyeing him with acute displeasure until beads of perspiration formed on the boy’s pale forehead.

  Lucia had called Magnus handsome, but he knew many found his appearance—dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, and, of course, the scar—to be intimidating and menacing. That he was King Gaius’s son and heir to the Limeros throne only solidified this impression. Some kings earned their people’s respect through love—as his grandfather had done. His father, however, preferred to earn their respect through fear and bloodshed. Different process. Same result.

  Magnus could use the perception that he was just like his father. He had before; he would again. One should use every weapon available when there was the need. Right now, there was the need.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Magnus told him thinly.

  The boy nervously dug the toe of his leather shoe into the gray marble floor. “I—I’m just...I’m not here to stay long.
My parents thought it would be nice if I took Princess Lucia for a stroll around the palace grounds. It’s not too cold today.”

  “Yes, how nice.” The words were acid on his tongue as jealousy flashed through him like a bolt of lightning. “But she isn’t interested in walks around the palace grounds. Not with, well...not with you.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  Magnus forced a tense look on his face as if he’d said too much and now felt guilty. “It’s really none of my business.”

  “No, please. If you have any advice for me, I’d welcome it. I know you and Lucia are very close.”

  Magnus told hold of the boy’s shoulder. “It’s just that she’s mentioned you to me.” This would be an excellent time to know the boy’s name—Mark, Markus, Mikah, something like that. “And she made it clear that if you ever stopped by, you should not be encouraged any further. She means no offense, of course. But...her interests in a potential suitor lie elsewhere.”

  “Elsewhere?”

  “Yes. So that is where I suggest you go. Elsewhere.”

  “Oh.” The boy’s voice was weak and reedy. Already defeated.

  Magnus had no patience for anyone who would be manipulated so easily. If the boy was truly interested in Lucia, he should be able to stand up to any adversity, including an overprotective older brother.

  Weak things are so very easy to break.

  If the boy had a tail, it would be tucked between his legs as he scurried away from the castle and back to his parents’ villa. And that was the end of Mikey. Or whatever his name was.

  With a victorious smile on his face, Magnus returned to slowly prowling the castle hallways. It didn’t take him long before he came across something a bit more pleasant than one of his sister’s admirers.

  Amia smiled at him as they passed in the hall and then curled her finger, beckoning him to follow as she disappeared behind the corner up ahead. She led him into a small room used as the servants’ chapel and closed the door behind them. They were alone. The girl bit her bottom lip, but her cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I feel as if I haven’t seen you in ages, my prince.”