Crystal Storm

by Morgan Rhodes

  The very suggestion of an alliance with Gaius rendered Jonas utterly speechless. The others—Nic and Olivia—remained silent as well, their expressions tense.

  “Oh?” It was Felix’s dry growl, like the warning of a caged beast, that broke the silence. “Did you decide this before or after you allowed Amara to let me take the blame for killing her family?”

  The king raised a dark brow and regarded Felix. “I never allowed Amara to do anything. She makes her own choices. By the time I knew what had happened, it was too late to intervene. I was told you were already dead. Otherwise, I would have done whatever I could to free you.”

  Felix kept his gaze fixed squarely on the king, his single eye bereft of anything except cold malice. “Of course you would have. Why would I ever doubt your word, your highness?”

  With a sigh, the gaunt and sickly-looking king turned to Jonas. “You have every reason to hate me. But you must hear me now and realize that together we are strong. We have a common enemy now: Amara Cortas.”

  “Your wife, you mean,” Jonas managed to choke out.

  “Of necessity and circumstance only. I have no doubt she’s already conspiring to have me killed, especially now that she has taken control of Mytica and knows her soldiers far outnumber mine. I have now dedicated myself to fixing some of my more recent mistakes, starting with casting Amara out of this kingdom.”

  “Sounds like a fine start,” Jonas allowed.

  The king moved forward slowly, wincing as if sudden movement caused him pain, and stretched his hand out. “I ask that we put our differences aside until this goal is achieved. What do you say?”

  If he wasn’t so stunned, Jonas would have laughed. The King of Blood had just offered him—the very same person he’d accused of murdering Queen Althea—an alliance.

  Jonas looked around at the others, all of whom were staring at him and the king with silent shock. Nic’s and Cleo’s faces were pale, and Felix’s top lip curled with disgust. Olivia kept her eyes emotionless and unreadable as always. Enzo, Cleo’s guard who dressed in civilian clothing, stood with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. In contrast, Magnus had taken a seat and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his head cocked to one side.

  Finally, Jonas gripped the king’s hand in his right, meeting his gaze directly. “What do I say, your highness?” With his left hand, he thrust his jeweled dagger into the monster’s heart. “I say go to the darklands, you lying son of a bitch.”

  The king grunted weakly, excruciating pain apparent in the weak sound. Jonas twisted the knife deeper then, until Gaius staggered backward.

  Dimly, Jonas heard Nic howl in victory at this act, just as Enzo slammed into him, taking him to the floor. Felix was there in an instant, pulling Enzo off of him. Another one of the king’s guards appeared and wrenched Jonas’s arms behind him. A flash of blond hair joined the pile—Cleo was trying to pull the second king’s guard back from Jonas. Magnus was on his feet, his grim focus on the king. Olivia stood in Jonas’s periphery, waiting. She only ever intervened if he was in mortal danger.

  The rage Jonas felt, his hatred of the king, buzzed anew within him, making him tremble. As he watched the dying king from his prone position, not a single part of him felt even the slightest fraction of regret.

  Finally, he’d been given this chance. And he’d damn well taken it.

  “See?” he said, looking up at Magnus. “I keep my promises.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Magnus said, his attention still on his father, as if curious rather than gratified at this act. “It’s just a shame you couldn’t have done it before now.”

  “And what do you mean by that?” Jonas eyed the prince, puzzled as to why he seemed disappointed by the situation at hand. Jonas had done exactly what Magnus had wanted him to do, had accomplished the task that had sent him to Kraeshia in the first place.

  “Milo, let Jonas up.” Cleo had the unfamiliar guard by his arm.

  “He assassinated the king,” Milo snapped.

  “No,” Magnus said. “Death has chosen to take its time when it comes to my father.”

  “Jonas, look at him,” Felix urged.

  King Gaius was no longer lying there on the bloody floor. Instead, miraculously, he was kneeling and bleeding profusely into the worn wooden slats, the hilt of the dagger sticking straight out of his chest.

  The king’s agonized expression was fixed upon Jonas.

  “He’s not dead,” murmured Nic, shaking his head with disbelief. “Why is he not dead?”

  In a sudden and unnaturally stilted motion, King Gaius grabbed hold of the dagger’s jeweled hilt. With his narrowed gaze still focused upon Jonas, he yanked the blade from his flesh, roaring mightily as he did. The blade clattered to the floor as he pressed his hands against the wound.

  “This is magic at work,” Jonas managed to say through his utter shock.

  “How incredibly perceptive of you,” Magnus said flatly.

  “Explain to me what’s happening!”

  Magnus nodded at Milo. “Release the rebel. I can’t talk to someone pinned like a beetle to a board.”

  Milo released the pressure on Jonas’s arm. Jonas immediately got to his feet and looked accusingly at Magnus, who shared an unsubtle and knowing look with Cleo. Cleo’s jaw tightened, and Magnus rolled his eyes.

  “Very well,” the prince said. “I’ll try to be brief in my explanation. What’s happening is the result of a potion he took many years ago, a potion that has ensured that, no matter what kind of final, fatal blow destiny throws his way, my father has some time to . . . linger after being killed.”

  “I’m not sure that’s exactly how it works,” Cleo said patiently.

  Magnus sighed and gestured at his struggling father. “Close enough?”

  “I suppose so. Good goddess, Jonas, is that Aron’s dagger?” Cleo asked, aghast. “Have you really kept that horrible thing all this time?”

  “Answer my question,” he said, far more sharply than he’d meant to address the princess. Finally, he’d done the thing he’d been yearning to do for so long, but once again the fates would not see him succeed—not even after delivering a fatal blow.

  “You didn’t kill the king,” Cleo replied tightly, “because the king already met his death days ago.”

  As Jonas tried desperately to process this incredible statement, a woman descended the stairs. She was older, with lines around her eyes, and she wore a dark gray cloak that matched her hair. She entered the meeting hall, regarding all present with a steady stare, until finally her gaze fell upon Gaius.

  She lingered upon the image for only the briefest of moments before shooting the darkest of glares directly at Jonas. “You did this to my son?”

  A cool shiver moved up his arms, over his shoulders, and down his spine at the barely controlled rage in her words.

  Her son?

  “It’s fine,” the king said gaspingly, reaching for the woman’s sleeve as she rushed to his side.

  “This is not fine. Not at all.” She looked again to Jonas, and with her stare came the frigid sensation of ice freezing him in place. “You would dare attempt to murder your king?”

  “He’s not my king,” Jonas snarled, refusing to show any weakness or doubt. “He murdered my friends in his ill-gotten war, executed those who refused to bow before him, and enslaved my people to build his precious Imperial Road. Not one person in this room would argue that he doesn’t deserve to die for his crimes.”

  She balled her hand into a fist. “I would.”

  “No, Mother,” Gaius said, his voice hushed. “Let him be. We need him. I believe we will need all these young people to regain what Amara has taken.”

  Slowly, the king rose from the ground, and Jonas couldn’t help but take an uncertain step back from him. The deep wound from the blade had stopped bleeding. The only si
gn that there had been a dagger in his heart only a handful of moments ago was his torn shirt and the blood on the floor.

  “Only the darkest of magic could make something like this possible,” a new voice said.

  Jonas turned sharply to see that Ashur Cortas now stood behind them at the entrance to the inn.

  “Ashur!” Cleo gasped. “You’re alive! But—what? How?”

  Ashur’s dark brows raised. “More dark magic, I’m afraid.”

  She spun to face Nic, whose expression remained neutral. “You knew about this?”

  He nodded. “I know, it’s a shock.”

  “A shock? He was dead, Nic! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was getting around to it. Thought I’d let you deal with the Taran issue first.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said, her voice pinched. “You’re so helpful, really.”

  “Somehow, I get the feeling that you don’t really mean that.”

  Jonas’s gaze shifted to see that Magnus’s expression was grim.

  “I’m getting so damn sick of magic,” the prince muttered. “And everything else over which I have absolutely no control.”

  “It’s lovely to see you again too, Prince Magnus,” Ashur said with a nod.

  “So kind of you to find us, your grace,” Nic addressed Ashur, his voice without any respect. “I’d begun to think you’d grown gills and a tail and started to swim back to Kraeshia.”

  “Not today, I’m afraid,” Ashur replied curtly.

  “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Shall we tell everyone about your phoenix resurrection now or later?” Nic asked.

  Ashur’s expression tensed at Nic’s acidic tone. “It seems to me, Nicolo, that there are more pressing matters at hand. I’m right, aren’t I, King Gaius?”

  The attention of the group returned to the king, who was hunched over next to his mother. “Indeed you are, Prince Ashur.”

  “An alliance against my sister.”

  “Will that be a problem for you?”

  “No. Provided you don’t kill her, that’s not a problem at all.”

  “Wait,” Felix said from his position by the fireplace. “You know I was counting on killing her. Are you really going to take that away from me?”

  Ashur shot Felix a stony look.

  “Fine. It’s a topic we’ll save for another day,” Felix said.

  “Prince Ashur, you are the rightful heir to your father’s title,” the king said. “Take it from Amara, and all of this could be over.”

  “And you’re now her husband, I’ve heard. Why aren’t you by her side, guiding her decisions?”

  “It’s not that simple for me anymore.”

  “Nothing important is ever simple, is it?”

  “The King of Blood wants us to work as a team,” Jonas said, shaking his head. “It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. That’s not what I want.”

  Gaius let out a breath of frustration. “I know very well what you want, rebel. You want me to die. Well, I assure you, I will be dead soon enough.”

  “Gaius . . .” his mother hissed. “I won’t have you speaking like this. I won’t!”

  He silenced her with a wave. “My first priority is to regain control over my kingdom. Mytica does not now, nor will it ever, belong to the Kraeshian Empire.”

  “Were it not for the magic rumored to be lying dormant here,” Ashur said, “I can assure you, neither Amara nor my father would have bothered with this tiny island.”

  “I assume you’re aware that Amara poisoned your father and brothers,” the king countered. “She’s without remorse when it comes to getting what she wants.”

  Nic’s dark laugh cut through the tension in the room. “That’s funny. Without remorse, he says, as if he deems it a fault. The very man who broke my sister’s neck for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His laughter ceased all at once. “You look like death, your majesty. And I can only hope you’re suffering right now.”

  “You won’t talk to the king that way, Cassian.” It was Milo, the guard, who said this.

  Nic glared across the room at him. “Or what? Are you going to get your friend to help beat me up?”

  Milo smiled while cracking his knuckles. “I can do it myself just fine.”

  “Thought you were wasting away in the dungeon.”

  The guard’s smile darkened. “I have you to thank for that, don’t I?”

  “You do.” Nic’s eyes narrowed. “What are you going to do about it, Milo?”

  “So many things. Give me time.”

  “Milo, is it? Listen to me very carefully.” Ashur’s voice was low, like the quiet snarl of a caged beast. “If you ever attempt to harm Nicolo, I swear I will personally skin you alive.”

  Jonas’s eyes shot to Milo. He saw that Milo’s only reply to this threat was a surprised blink.

  Cleo spoke then to the king, after glancing worriedly between Nic and the guard. “You gave Mytica to Amara,” she said, disgust clear in her voice. “Can’t you simply take it back?”

  “You understand nothing,” the king bit out. “None of you do. Emperor Cortas would have taken Mytica by force had I not acted when I did. Tens—no, hundreds of thousands would have died in that war had I not made my proposal to him.”

  “Oh, yes,” Magnus drawled. “My father: the savior of us all. We should erect statues in your honor. Shame that there are already dozens of them throughout Limeros.” Magnus glowered at him. “Quite vain, now that I think about it. The goddess Valoria would not approve.”

  “To the darklands with the goddess and with all the Watchers as well,” the king snapped. “We need none of their help to get rid of Amara.”

  “Don’t forget about Kyan,” Jonas added.

  The king glanced at him. “Who is Kyan?”

  Jonas couldn’t help but laugh. “I would truly love to stay here and strategize with you, your highness, but I grow weary of this charade. I will not work with you now, tomorrow, or ever.”

  “Tell me, your highness,” Felix said slowly, “do you still have the air Kindred?”

  Gaius shot him a dark look.

  “The air Kindred!” his mother exclaimed. “You have it? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I do have it,” he said simply.

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  Jonas tried to catch Cleo’s eye, but she seemed to be occupied in a silent conversation with the prince. As they looked at one another, all amusement disappeared from Magnus’s face.

  “If this is true, and when I’m strong enough to locate my granddaughter,” the woman said, “then victory is ours for the taking.”

  Once again, Jonas laughed coldly. “So that’s the key to your grand plan, is it? Princess Lucia? I think you’ll be disappointed to see what a cold, vicious, bloodthirsty snake she’s become. Then again, she is a Damora, so perhaps you’ll be neither surprised nor disappointed.”

  The old woman studied him. “Jonas, is it?”

  “That’s my name.”

  “My name is Selia.” She drew closer, the anger in her eyes now gone, as she took his hands in hers. “Stay with us and learn more about our plans. I agree with my son that, despite our differences, we can still work together. Try to see this logically. Together we are strong.”

  Could she be right? “I don’t know . . .”

  “Stay,” Cleo urged. “Please consider it, at least. For me.”

  He met her earnest cerulean eyes with his. “Perhaps.”

  Magnus stood up. “You suggest the rebels stay here?” he said accusingly to his grandmother. “In this very inn? That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

  “I disagree,” the king said. “My mother is right. We can find a compromise. A temporary one. We have the s
ame enemy now.”

  Without even being sure of whether he was about to agree or disagree with either Damora, Jonas opened his mouth to speak, when a roar of fury broke the relative stillness of the meeting hall.

  Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and Taran stormed into the meeting hall. In an instant, his furious gaze fixed upon Magnus.

  Jonas’s dagger—the one the king had pulled from his chest—lay on the floor. As Jonas spotted it, so did Taran, who snatched it up in a heartbeat and closed the distance between him and the prince.

  Taran arched the dagger at Magnus, but the prince caught Taran’s wrist before he made contact. Cleo let out a sharp shriek.

  “You’re dead,” Taran yelled.

  Magnus fought hard to keep the blade from cutting him, but Taran had taken him by surprise and possessed the vengeance-driven rage to double his strength.

  Then Felix loomed behind Taran, bringing his arm around the rebel’s throat and wrenching him backward. “Don’t make me whack you again. I lost my piece of wood.”

  Jonas moved to join him, wrestling the dagger from Taran’s grip.

  “I’ll kill you,” Taran spat out at the prince as Felix dragged him backward. “You deserve to die for what you’ve done!”

  Magnus offered no rebuttal to this. All he did was stare at the boy, his expression stony.

  “I think we all deserve to die for something we’ve done,” Jonas said, relieving a bit of the tension brewing between the prince and the rebel. “Or for something we’ve failed to do.”

  The prince broke his steely mask to send a glare of disbelief at Jonas. “Is it only my imagination, or did you just help to save my life?”

  Jonas grimaced at the thought. “Seems that way, doesn’t it?” He glanced over at Cleo. Her expression was filled with relief. Surely the princess hadn’t wanted to see any more blood spill tonight, he thought. Not even Magnus’s. “I may be about to make a horrible mistake, one I’ll regret for the rest of my life, but I have decided to accept this alliance—this temporary alliance—until Amara has been cast from these shores.”

  He waited for Ashur’s response to this. The Kraeshian prince’s expression remained grim, but he nodded. “I can agree to that. Amara needs to realize what she’s done. Even if she feels she was in the right for her actions, it was the wrong path for her to take. I will do what I can to help you.”