Gathering Darkness

by Morgan Rhodes

  “I have. But I confess I’m not sure what to do now.” Then she quietly and quickly launched into the most bizarre story Nic had ever heard—of magic, prophecies, and princess sorceresses.

  By the time Cleo finished, Nic was dizzy.

  “Unbelievable,” he managed to say.

  “But it’s all true,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You’re the only one I trust in the world right now.” She inhaled shakily. “Lucia’s magic is associated with the Watchers. This ring belonged to the original sorceress—they say it helped to control her magic and kept it from corrupting her. With this ring, with Lucia, I’ll be able to find the Watchers’ greatest treasure . . . the Kindred itself.”

  This was dangerous information, but Cleo was not wrong to trust him. He would never say a single word to put her life at risk, not even under torture. And not even if he were promised a boatload of gold in return.

  With Mira gone, Cleo was now the closest thing Nic had to a sister. She was his family now—but then again, she always had been.

  He hadn’t realized until now how heavily the secrets he’d been keeping had been weighing on him. He needed to unburden himself, to trust her as she trusted him.

  He should have done so days ago.

  Despite Cleo’s assurance that they were out of earshot, Nic scanned the area before deeming it was safe to continue to speak in complete privacy.

  “Prince Ashur asked me about your ring,” he began. “He knows what it is, Cleo, and he’s very keen on finding the Kindred for himself.”

  Her face went pale. “When did he speak to you?”

  “After our argument. He followed me to a tavern, hoping to squeeze information out of a drunk palace guard busy feeling sorry for himself. I told him nothing. Not that I knew very much then.”

  Cleo looked stricken. “What else did he say?”

  “He believes great magic exists in Mytica and that King Gaius is also after it. And he thinks your ring is a key factor in all of it.”

  Nic hadn’t had a drop to drink since that night. He’d stayed sober, vigilant, waiting for the prince to approach him again with more questions.

  But he hadn’t. Even at the banquet after Princess Amara had arrived, Nic had been stationed by the doors, and Ashur hadn’t even glanced in his direction once.

  She twisted her hands in her lap. “What do we do, Nic?”

  “This might sound crazy, but I think he could be an ally,” Nic said softly. “The Kraeshains are powerful. With their father’s vast army at their backs, much more powerful than King Gaius. An alliance might help you win your throne back.”

  “What would make you believe they might align with us?”

  “A gut feeling.”

  She searched his face. “What else did he say to you to give you such an impression?”

  What else did he say? Nothing. It was more about what else he did.

  He wanted to tell her everything, but he still hesitated. Some recent details of his life were difficult for him to put into words.

  “Nic . . .” Cleo squeezed his hand. “What is it? You look so distressed.”

  “Distressed? No. No, everything’s fine. Well, as fine as it can be.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He thought back to later that night, when Ashur had followed him out of the tavern and onto the streets.

  “It’s just . . . something else happened that night that I’m not sure how to interpret. Then again,” he chewed his bottom lip, “I was really drunk that night.”

  “Tell me. It obviously troubles you, whatever it is.”

  That was a rather grand understatement. “He did something.”

  “Did what?”

  The princess trusted him with her deepest and darkest truths. He knew he had to give that trust in return, even about this. “He . . . kissed me.”

  Cleo blinked. “He what?”

  The words came faster now. “At first I was certain I’d misinterpreted it, maybe imagined the whole thing. But it happened, Cleo.”

  She stared at him, bewildered. “You’re saying that Prince Ashur Cortas, the most infamous and sought-after bachelor in all of the Kraeshian Empire, kissed you.”

  “I know!” He shot up from the bench and began pacing back and forth, raking his hands through his messy red hair. “I know!”

  She considered this. “I suppose that explains why he hasn’t taken a wife yet. He prefers—”

  “What?” Nic spun around to face her and then lowered his voice so as not to draw the guards’ attention. “Seventeen-year-old palace guards who shovel the shit of the king’s dogs?” He grimaced. “Pardon my language. No—no, he must have been trying to mess with my head, have me tell him secrets. Maybe he thinks I like boys instead of girls. Maybe he was trying to manipulate me. Kraeshians are very sneaky, you know!”

  “Calm yourself.” Cleo stood up and took Nic’s hands in hers to make him stop moving. “I see that this bothers you. But it shouldn’t. It’s fine.”

  “Fine? How is this fine?” He’d lost sleep over it, trying to figure out how and why it had happened and why he hadn’t done a single thing to stop it.

  “The prince approached you, Nic . . . you in particular out of everyone in the palace.”

  “Because he knows I’m your friend.”

  “Perhaps that wasn’t the only reason.” She twirled a long lock of her pale golden hair around her fingers. “You have a connection with the prince now. You need to find out if Prince Ashur and Princess Amara could possibly be our allies, as you suspect. I can’t afford to turn my back on any possibility at this point.”

  His heart thudded loudly in his ears. “I don’t know.”

  “Nic, please. You have to be brave. For me. For Mira. For everyone we’ve lost. I empathize with your misgivings, but this is more important than a kiss. You need to go to Prince Ashur and find out if he can help us.”

  Damn. He couldn’t refuse Cleo this request, not if it might mean all the difference in the world in getting her throne back.

  “I don’t know when I can get away from the palace to pay a visit to the Cortas’s villa,” Nic said. “My leash is nearly as tight as the king’s hounds’. And, to be honest, Cleo, I’m not totally convinced we would be wise to align with them so soon.”

  “You’ll have to be subtle.” Cleo’s expression was haunted with worry. “But Ashur approached you personally. He won’t consider it strange if you speak with him in private again. Our futures are on the line, Nic. The future of Auranos and all of its citizens is at stake.”

  “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “Yes, it is.” She looked up at him, her eyes filling with hope. “So will you do this for me? For us?”

  A thousand thoughts surged through his mind, half rooting for and half ruling against this request. But in the end, only one thought remained.

  “Of course I will, Cleo.”

  CHAPTER 9

  JONAS

  AURANOS

  It was only last night that Jonas received the news from Nerissa, a former seamstress and currently an invaluable rebel aid. She had managed to coax the names of the imprisoned rebels from the lips of a palace guard, and, had written them down on a note she’d left for him at a tavern in a nearby town, their established meeting place.

  When Jonas read the names, he’d nearly shouted for joy

  Cato, Fabius, Tarus . . . and Lysandra. All confirmed as prisoners in the palace dungeon.

  But he’d sobered quickly.

  To be alive and held prisoner at the whim of the vicious Limerian guards and the bloodthirsty king could be a fate worse than death.

  He would do anything—anything—it took to free Lysandra and the others. And he hoped tonight’s journey to the city would be another step toward that goal.

  “Far be it for me to quest
ion you,” Felix said, “but in the event that this plan doesn’t work, do you happen to have another one?”

  “Nerissa will continue to help us whenever and however she can.”

  “I’m still surprised your key rebel is a girl.”

  “My key rebel is a girl, but she’s not Nerissa. Still, I don’t know what I’d have done without her.”

  Felix shrugged. “To me, girls are meant to be pretty companions, not rebel comrades. They’re good for washing our clothes and preparing meals after a long day.” He flashed Jonas a grin. “And, of course, they’re excellent for warming beds.”

  Jonas eyed him with an edge of amusement. “You might want to keep that opinion to yourself when you meet Lysandra.”

  “She’s not pretty?”

  “Oh, she is. Extremely pretty, in fact. But she’ll hand your arse to you on a rusty platter if you ever ask her to cook your meals or wash your clothes. And especially if you invite her to warm your bed.”

  “If she’s as pretty as you say I might try to change her mind.”

  Jonas’s grin widened. “Good luck with that. I’ll be sure to bring flowers to your grave.”

  Felix laughed. “So, do you think your contact will show?” he asked as they entered the City of Gold. After going on a couple of scouting missions and further confirmation from Nerissa, they learned that security had been ramped up to the highest level ever. Sneaking into the palace would be impossible.

  Sneaking into the city, however, was another matter.

  “We’ll soon find out,” Jonas replied. To be cautious, they both wore long, hooded cloaks, but, despite the heavy presence of guards—at the gates, stationed in the towers around the city walls, patrolling the streets by foot or on horseback—no one paid much attention to them.

  Finally, they reached their destination, and Felix swept his gaze over to the well-traveled cobblestone road. “I’ll patrol out here. If anything feels wrong, I’ll signal you.”

  “How are you going to signal me?”

  “Trust me, you’ll know.”

  Trust me.

  So much about Felix reminded Jonas of Brion that trusting him was a gut instinct. It was so easy to pour his soul out over their campfires each night, telling Felix about what had gone wrong, and how Jonas wished he could fix it so everything would turn out the way it was supposed to. Right back to that fateful day when he and his brother, Tomas, had returned to their father’s wine stall to find a lord and a princess from a neighboring kingdom making a purchase.

  Life had been hard but wonderfully simple before that day. It wasn’t as if Jonas was fighting to turn back time. No, he didn’t want that. What Paelsians needed the most was truth and freedom. With those two prizes they might be able to find a way to rule themselves. No throne required.

  “Hey.” Felix clasped Jonas’s shoulder. “Don’t fret. It’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not fretting.”

  “If your contact doesn’t arrive soon, though, we’ll have to leave. It’s too dangerous to be this close to the palace, especially with your pretty face plastered up all over the place.”

  Jonas had to agree with him there.

  He left Felix outside and slipped into the small temple wedged between two populated taverns. A ten-foot-tall marble statue of the goddess Cleiona stood near the entrance. She had long flowing hair, a peaceful yet haughty expression, and the symbols for fire and air—the elements she embodied—etched into her upraised palms. Her robes, despite being carved from marble, were thin and diaphanous and left very little to the imagination.

  Those breasts alone are worth worshipping, Jonas thought as he passed the statue.

  He pulled the hood of his dark cloak closer around his face as he entered the grand altar room. There were only three other people inside, sitting in pews with their eyes closed.

  He took a seat near the back and waited.

  There were no temples in Paelsia. No official religion, no deities. However, during his brief visits to Paelsia in recent days, he’d begun to see small clay idols in the deceased Chief Basilius’s likeness. It sickened him, knowing that the chief had been a liar and a thief, selfishly living high and mighty in his compound while his people starved.

  Jonas didn’t mourn his loss, not for a single moment.

  He waited in the quiet temple, the rhythm of his heartbeat his only way to know much time had passed. Finally, he heard the creak of the main doors opening, followed by footsteps.

  “Wait outside,” the new worshipper said firmly to the guard at her side. “I need to be alone with my prayers.”

  “Yes, princess.”

  Jonas pulled farther back into the shadows and watched Princess Cleo walk up the aisle and across the row of benches facing a large mosaic of the goddess, making her way toward the back of the temple through an archway. He slipped off the bench and, glancing at the entrance to make sure that the guard had left, followed her down a passageway about twenty paces long that led to a smaller room. Hundreds of candles blazed with light on narrow shelves, celebrating and acknowledging the goddess’s fire magic.

  Cleo lit a candle and carefully placed it next to the others.

  He waited in silence.

  “I received your message,” she said without turning around.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. It’s good to see you again.” After all the hardships he’d faced, seeing the princess in person lightened his heart. “Are you going to look at me?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Come on. Didn’t we part as friends?”

  “Did we? I seem to recall the last time we met you were horribly injured and all of your friends were dead.”

  He flinched at the reminder of that terrible day. “I wanted you to come with me.”

  “And what? Live in the trees with a group of Paelsians who despise me simply for being who I am?”

  He let himself imagine a future just like that—he and Cleo living together in a tree house surrounded by birds and squirrels, far above the rest of the world.

  The ludicrous thought almost made him laugh.

  No, his life was much more earthbound and practical than that—and so was hers.

  “Perhaps not,” he allowed. “Palaces with large comfortable beds to share with your new husband are much more to your liking, I’m sure.”

  She spun around, her eyes blazing, and slapped him. Or, at least, she tried to—Jonas caught her wrist before the blow landed.

  So quick to resort to violence—so unlike most Auranians, who were much more likely to drink and eat and stare adoringly at their own reflections than to fight for themselves. “Easy, your highness. A clandestine meeting with a wanted criminal isn’t the best time to make a scene. There are potential witnesses snoozing not so far away.”

  “You were silent for so long I thought you were dead.”

  “I didn’t know you cared.”

  She let out a grunt of frustration. “Someone secretly tucked your message into my sketchbook. I was lucky to have found it in time to make my excuses to come here.”

  “Didn’t know you were an artist, either.”

  Cleo glared at him, her arms crossed over the bodice of her violet gown. Her dress was not nearly as revealing as what the goddess out front wore, but Jonas certainly wasn’t complaining.

  “Clearly,” she said slowly, unpleasantly, “you’re alive and well and ready to make light of everything I say.”

  She was every bit as forthright as he remembered—it was one of his favorite qualities about her. She didn’t bother with proper royal etiquette in his presence, which was fine by him. Frankly, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until this very moment. “Hardly, your highness. Much gratitude for meeting with me.”

  “You’re being hunted like a wild boar. It was fo
olish of you to enter this city.”

  “And yet, here I am.”

  “I’ve already heard about your victory at the road camp.”

  He frowned. “That was no victory.”

  “Perhaps not overall, but you finally got your revenge on Aron, didn’t you?” She wrung her hands, making her large amethyst ring glint in the candlelight. “I’m not saying that he didn’t deserve it, of course. He did. And I hate that I feel any grief for him at all. But he’s just one more piece of my previous life that’s now been taken from this world.”

  Jonas frowned. “Who told you I killed him?”

  “I assumed . . .” A shadow of confusion crossed her expression. “It wasn’t you?”

  “No.” He couldn’t lay claim to slaying the murderer of his brother and his friend. “I arrived too late to do the deed myself. But I would have, if your new husband hadn’t stolen the opportunity from me.”

  She stared at him. “You’re saying . . . that Magnus killed Aron. But why?”

  Apparently, this wasn’t common knowledge at the palace. “Because Aron Lagaris killed Prince Magnus’s mother.”

  “What?” She grappled for words, a rush of nameless emotions playing on her face. “But . . . but they’re still saying you’re responsible for the queen’s murder.”

  Of course they were. Otherwise, his wanted posters would have been nothing more than fuel for a campfire. “Did you think I was guilty?”

  “No, not for a moment. You don’t kill women indiscriminately—even one married to the king. You hold yourself to a higher standard than that.”

  It pleased him to know she knew this about him, even if everyone else seemed ready to jump to the worst conclusion. “Sadly, Lord Aron didn’t hold himself to the same standard.”

  “Magnus killed Aron because Aron killed his mother,” she repeated under her breath shakily.

  A stab of jealousy pierced through him at the sound of Cleo so casually mentioning the prince’s name, but he tried to ignore it.

  He didn’t have time for such petty emotions. It was time to get to the point of this meeting.

  “Not long ago I asked if you’d become my spy inside the palace,” he said. “I’m asking you again.”