Crystal Storm

by Morgan Rhodes

  “Good.” Jonas then pointed at Taran, whom Felix still had in his grip. “I understand your grief and outrage, but your lust for vengeance has no place here.”

  Taran scowled back at Jonas, clutching Felix’s iron bar of an arm across his throat. “You knew what I came here for before we left Kraeshia’s shores.”

  “I did, but that doesn’t mean I agreed to it. Now I’ve made my decision. You will not make another attempt on Prince Magnus’s life. Not while we’re engaged in this alliance.”

  “Did you hear that through your battered skull?” Felix asked Taran, his voice as rough as gravel as he clamped his arm tighter. “Or should I repeat it to you slower?”

  “I abandoned a rebellion to come here and avenge my brother.”

  “A rebellion doomed to fail before it even began,” Ashur added.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. I don’t take pleasure in this knowledge, but I know it. Perhaps one day the empire my father built will be torn apart, but it won’t be any time soon.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Yes, I suppose we will.”

  Taran shifted his angry gaze to Jonas again. “You would join them freely, by your own choice?”

  “I would,” Jonas confirmed. “And I urge you to consider staying as well. We could use your help.” He paused. “But don’t misunderstand me, Taran: If you attempt to end Prince Magnus’s life again, I’ll end yours.”

  CHAPTER 15

  AMARA

  PAELSIA

  The god of fire had been very specific about where he wanted Amara to go to achieve infinite power. It was a place, he said, that was touched by magic. A place that even the immortals themselves recognized as a seat of true power.

  She instructed Carlos of the change of plans. She would not be moving into the Limerian palace after all. No, instead her destination would be farther south into Paelsia, to the former compound of Chief Hugo Basilius.

  Carlos didn’t question these orders but instead made immediate plans. With five hundred soldiers, Amara, Nerissa, Kurtis, and Amara’s captain of the guards made their journey into the central kingdom of Mytica, which Amara hadn’t yet experienced.

  From the window of her carriage, she gazed out with surprise as the ice and snow of Limeros melted and gave way to parched earth, dead forests, and very little wildlife.

  “Has it always been like this here?” she asked with dismay.

  “Not always, your grace,” Nerissa replied. “I’ve been told there was a time, long past, when all of Mytica from north to south was warm and temperate, always green, with only mild changes from season to season.”

  “Why would anyone choose to live in a place like this?”

  “Paelsians have very little choice in their fates—and they are well known for accepting this, as if this acceptance has become a religion unto itself. They are a poor people, bound by the rules their former chief and the chief before him set into place. For example, they can only sell wine legally to Auranos, and wine is their only valuable export. Much of the profit is taxed, and these taxes were claimed by the chief.”

  Yes, Paelsian wine, infamous for its sweet taste and its magical ability to bring about swift and pleasurable inebriation with no ill effects afterward.

  It was the wine Amara had brought back with her to Kraeshia to poison her family.

  No matter what was said about the drink, she swore she would never drink Paelsian wine because of this memory.

  “Why don’t they leave?” she asked.

  “And go where? Very few would have enough coin to travel overseas, even less to make a home anywhere but here. And to journey into Limeros or Auranos is not allowed for Paelsians without express permission from the king.”

  “I’m sure many move around as they please. It’s not as if the borders are fully monitored.”

  “No. But Paelsians tend to obey the laws—most Paelsians, anyway.” Nerissa settled back into her seat, her hands folded in her lap. “They shouldn’t give you any problems, your grace.”

  If nothing else, and after so many problems in the past, this was a relief to know.

  Amara continued to watch the barren landscape outside the carriage window during the four days of their journey from Lord Gareth’s villa, hoping to see the dirt and death change to greenery and life, but it never did. Nerissa assured her that farther west, nearer to the coastline, it improved, and that most Paelsians made their homes in villages in that third of the land, and very few closer to the ominous-looking, black and gray spikes of the Forbidden Mountains on the eastern horizon.

  This kingdom was as far from the lush richness of Kraeshia as anything Amara had ever experienced, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to stay here very long.

  For the last leg of their journey, their entourage used the Imperial Road, which wound its way in a curious manner throughout Mytica, beginning at the Temple of Cleiona in Auranos and ending at the Temple of Valoria in Limeros. It passed directly by the front gates of Basilius’s compound.

  The gates were open, and a short man with gray hair awaited them, flanked by a dozen large Paelsian men wearing leathers, their dark hair plaited in tiny braids.

  When Carlos helped Amara down from her carriage, the man nodded curtly at her.

  “Your grace, I am Mauro, Chief Basilius’s former chancellor. I welcome you to Paelsia.”

  She swept her gaze over the small man, a full head shorter than herself. “So you have been in charge of this kingdom following the chief’s death.”

  He nodded. “Yes, your grace. And I am therefore at your service. Please, come with me.”

  Along with the empress’s main group of bodyguards, including Carlos, Amara and Nerissa followed Mauro through the brown stone gates and into the compound. A stone path wound through the walled village, leading them past small, straw-thatched cottages similar to those Amara had seen as they’d passed through several towns on their way to the compound.

  “These homes are where the chief’s troops were once quartered. Alas, all but a handful were killed in the battle to take the Auranian palace.” Mauro gestured to other spots of interest as they followed him through the compound, which at one time had been the home of more than two thousand Paelsian citizens.

  There were shops here that once provided bread, meat, and produce brought to the compound from Trader’s Harbor. Mauro showed them a barren area that held the stalls of local vendors, allowed through the gates on a monthly basis.

  Another area, a clearing with stone seating, had been used as an arena for entertainment—duels and fights and feats of strength the chief had enjoyed watching. Another clearing was spotted with the remnants of bonfires, where the chief would enjoy feasts.

  “Feasts,” Amara said with surprise. “In a kingdom like this, feasts are the last thing I’d expect a leader to enjoy.”

  “The chief needed such pleasures to fuel his mind and help him explore the limits of his power.”

  “That’s right,” she mused. “He believed he was a sorcerer, didn’t he?”

  Mauro gave her a pinched look. “He did, your grace.”

  Chief Basilius sounded to Amara like a narrow-minded, selfish little man. She was glad that Gaius had killed him after the Auranian battle. If he hadn’t, she would have done so herself.

  Despite the heat of the day, the sun already beating down upon her, Amara felt the temperature around her rise. “I know it doesn’t look like much, little empress, but I assure you that this is exactly where we need to be.”

  Amara didn’t reply to Kyan, but she acknowledged his presence with a small nod.

  “We are close to the center of power here,” he continued. “I can feel it.”

  “Over here”—Mauro indicated a large hole in the ground, about ten paces in circumference, dropping down twenty paces into the dry earth—“is the holding place t
he chief used for prisoners.”

  Amara glanced down into the pit. “How did they get down there?”

  “Some were lowered by rope or ladder. Others were simply pushed.” Mauro grimaced. “Apologies if such imagery is unpleasant, your grace.”

  She gave him a sharp look. “I assure you, Mauro, there is likely nothing you can tell me of the treatment of prisoners that I would find surprising or unbearable to hear.”

  “Of course, your grace. My apologies.”

  She grew weary of men and their half-meant apologies. “Carlos, see that my soldiers are given adequate quarters after this long journey.”

  “Yes, empress.” Carlos bowed.

  “You will be staying here, Empress Amara.” Mauro indicated the three-story building nearby, made of clay and stone, the largest and sturdiest in the entire village. “I can only hope it will be acceptable to you.”

  “I’m sure I can make do.”

  “I have arranged for a small market to be presented to you later today, to show you the wares of your new Paelsian subjects. Some lovely needlework, for example, might interest you. And some beaded baubles for your beautiful hair. Another vendor travels here from the coast to share the berry stain she’s created that will paint your lips . . .” Mauro faltered as her expression soured. “Is there a problem, your grace?”

  “You think I’m interested in needlework, baubles, and berry lip stains?” She waited for his response, but his mouth only moved without any utterance of sound.

  From behind her, she heard a snicker.

  She turned sharply, her gaze fixing upon the guard—her guard—who had a grin fixed upon his face.

  “Do you find that amusing?” she asked.

  “Yes, your grace,” the guard replied.

  “And why is that?”

  He glanced at his compatriots to either side of him, neither of whom met his gaze. “Well, because that’s what women enjoy—ways to look prettier for their men.”

  He said it without a moment’s pause, as if it were obvious and not in the least bit offensive.

  “My, my,” Kyan breathed into her ear. “That is rather insolent, don’t you think?”

  She did indeed.

  “Tell me. Do you think I should buy some lip stain to please my husband when he finally returns to me?” she asked.

  “I think so,” he responded.

  “That is my goal as empress, of course—to please my husband and any other man who happens to glance my way.”

  “Yes, your grace,” he replied.

  It was the last thing he would ever say. Amara thrust the dagger she kept with her into the guard’s gut, staring into his eyes as they went wide with surprise and pain.

  “Disrespect me, any of you,” she said, casting her gaze to the other guards who regarded her with surprise, “and die.”

  The guard who’d spoken unwisely fell to the ground. She nodded at Carlos to remove the body, and he did so without hesitation.

  “Well done, little empress,” Kyan whispered. “You show me your worth more and more with each day that passes.”

  Amara turned a smile toward Mauro, whose expression now held cold fear. “I look forward to the market. It sounds lovely.”

  • • •

  Later that day, accompanied by Mauro and the royal guards, Amara and Nerissa explored the market, which consisted of twenty carefully selected stalls that, as promised, mostly carried frivolous products—specifically beauty and fashion items.

  Amara ignored the embroidered scarves and dresses, the lip stain, the creams meant to remove blemishes, and the sticks of coal to ring one’s eyes and tried instead to focus on the vendors themselves—Paelsians, young and old, with weary but hopeful expressions as she approached them.

  No fear, no dread—just hope.

  How odd to find this in a conquered kingdom, she thought. Then again, the Kraeshian occupation of Mytica had been mostly peaceful so far, especially in Paelsia. Still, Carlos had made her aware of rebel groups who conspired against her, both in Limeros and Auranos.

  That caused her no troubles. Rebels were an unavoidable pest, but one that could usually be swatted away easily.

  Amara watched as Nerissa moved closer to a stall to inspect a silk scarf the vendor had thrust out toward the young woman.

  “I’m pleased to see that you’re settling in nicely,” Kyan whispered warmly in her ear. Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice.

  “I’m trying my best,” she replied quietly.

  “I fear I must leave you now for a time as I seek the magic we need to perform the ritual.”

  The thought alarmed her. They’d only just arrived! “Now? You’re leaving now?”

  “Yes. Soon I will be restored to my full glory, and you will be powerful beyond your belief. But we need the magic to seal this.”

  “Lucia’s magic. And her blood.”

  “Her blood, yes. But not the sorceress herself. I will find an alternate source of magic. However, we will need sacrifices—blood to seal the magic.”

  “I understand,” she whispered. “When will you return?”

  Amara waited, but he didn’t respond to her.

  She then felt a rustle at her skirts and looked down. A little girl, no more than four or five years old, with jet-black hair and freckles on her tanned cheeks, approached Amara tentatively, holding out a flower to her.

  Amara took the flower. “Thank you.”

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” the girl asked breathlessly.

  “And who do you think I am?”

  “The one who’s come here to save us all.”

  Amara shared a droll look with Nerissa, who’d returned to her side now wearing the colorful scarf, then smiled down at the child again. “Is that what you think?”

  “That’s what my mama tells me, so it must be true. You will kill the evil witch who’s been hurting our friends.”

  A woman approached, clearly embarrassed, and took the little girl’s hand. “Forgive us, empress. My daughter doesn’t mean to bother you.”

  “It’s no bother,” Amara said. “Your daughter is very brave.”

  The woman chuckled. “More like stubborn and foolish.”

  Amara shook her head. “No. It is never too early for girls to learn to speak their minds. It’s a habit that will make them braver and stronger as they grow up. Tell me, do you believe as she believes? That I have arrived to save you all?”

  The woman’s expression darkened, and her brows drew together with worry and doubt. She looked Amara in the eyes. “My people have suffered for more than a century. We were under the command of a man who tried to fool us into believing he was a sorcerer, who taxed us all so heavily that, even with the great profits from the vineyards, we have been unable to feed ourselves. This land we call home is wasting away beneath our feet, even as we speak. When King Gaius vanquished Basilius and King Corvin, many of us thought that he would help us. But no help has come. Nothing has changed; it has only worsened.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  The woman shook her head. “But then you arrived. That evil sorceress was here, destroying us village by village, but when you came, she disappeared. Your soldiers have been strict but fair. They have weeded out those who oppose them, but those people are no loss to us: Your detractors are the same men who sowed discord in our kingdom in the days after Basilius’s army stopped offering the little protection they once did. So do I believe, as so many here do, that you are the one who has arrived to save us all?” She raised her chin. “Yes, I do.”

  After her guards moved Amara past the woman and her daughter to the next area of the market, the woman’s words stayed with her.

  “May I make a bold suggestion, your grace?” Mauro asked her, and she spared a glance at the little man who followed her around like a trained dog.

/>   “Of course,” she said. “Unless it’s a suggestion for me to buy lip stain.”

  His face blanched. “Not at all.”

  “Then proceed.”

  “The Paelsian people are open to your leadership, but word must spread further. I suggest that we open the compound gates to allow your new citizens entry to hear you speak to them about your plans for the future.”

  A speech, she thought. It was something Gaius would enjoy doing much more than she would.

  But Gaius wasn’t here. And now that she had the fire Kindred to advise her on accessing the magic of her aquamarine orb, she had run out of reasons to allow the king to continue living for much longer.

  “When?” she asked Mauro.

  “I can spread word immediately. Thousands will journey here from surrounding villages to hear you. Perhaps a week?”

  “Three days,” she said.

  “Three days is perfect,” he cooed. “Yes, it will be wonderful. So many Paelsians, with open arms and open hearts, ready to obey your every command.”

  Yes, Amara thought. A kingdom of people ready to do her bidding without question, who accepted a female leader without argument, would be incredibly useful.

  CHAPTER 16

  MAGNUS

  PAELSIA

  Magnus pondered the twelve people taking up residence at the Hawk and Spear Inn, realizing that nearly half of them wanted him dead.

  “And you’re definitely one of them,” he muttered as Nic trudged through the meeting hall, glaring as he passed the prince. Magnus was sitting alone at a table in front of a sketchbook he’d found in a drawer in his room. “Cassian, look,” he called. “I drew a picture of you.”

  Magnus raised the sketchbook. His fingers smeared with charcoal, he held up a page on which he’d drawn an image of a skinny boy hanging from a noose, his tongue dangling from his mouth, two morbid Xs where the eyes should have been.

  Nic, allegedly a very friendly fellow to everyone else in the world, shot Magnus a look of sheer hatred. “You think that’s funny?”