Gathering Darkness

by Morgan Rhodes

  Burrus smiled cruelly. “Must make you so angry to have to bow down before her killer every day.”

  Burrus was right. Being forced to serve his sister’s murderer made Nic so angry he couldn’t see straight. The need for vengeance on those who had destroyed his life and his family consumed his waking hours and haunted his dreams.

  Helping Cleo destroy the king and his family was Nic’s sole interest now.

  Suddenly, the two thugs froze and glanced warily at each other as a carriage approached, stopping right in front of them. The door creaked open and Princess Amara craned her head out and gazed back at them.

  “Good day,” the princess said sweetly.

  “Good day, your grace,” the two replied, straightening their shoulders.

  Nic raised his hand from his crumpled position on the ground and gave a small, silent wave.

  “Your friend looks like he’s had a difficult day,” Amara said.

  “Don’t mind him,” Milo replied. “He ran into some thieves, nearly lost his life. Too weak to fight them off. Lucky for him we arrived before they killed him.”

  “Help him into our carriage. I’ll have my maids tend to his wounds back at the villa.”

  Milo and Burrus hesitated. To deny royalty a request, even from a foreign princess, would be a very unfortunate misstep.

  “Yes, your grace.”

  The two got Nic to his feet and roughly shoved him into the carriage.

  Burrus gave him a tight smile. “We’ll continue our conversation later.”

  The carriage door closed and Nic suddenly realized that the princess wasn’t alone in the carriage. Her brother, Ashur, sat next to her.

  Nic’s mouth went dry. “Your grace.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Nicolo,” Prince Ashur said, frowning as he assessed Nic’s condition. “Will you be all right?”

  Nic hunched over in his seat, sure that at least two of his ribs were broken. He had a series of shallow stab wounds peppering his entire body, but the blood didn’t show against the red of his uniform. His face felt as if it had been through a meat grinder; his right cheek throbbed with every beat of his heart.

  “I think so,” he managed. “Much gratitude to you both for your assistance.”

  “You’re Cleo’s friend, aren’t you?” Amara asked.

  “I . . . I am.” He spared a glance at Ashur, who studied him curiously.

  “Friends since childhood,” the princess continued.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Had the prince shared with his sister their discussion from that fateful night? Did she know Ashur sought the Kindred, or was that his secret? It would be only one of many secrets the prince kept behind those gray-blue eyes.

  They arrived at the luxurious villa which looked down upon a lush green meadow. The princess had two male servants assist Nic out of the carriage, helping him into the expansive home. After two handmaidens cleaned and bandaged his wounds, he was escorted to the villa’s courtyard, where he sat down gingerly on the patio. A servant handed him a goblet filled with peach juice, which he drank with enthusiasm.

  The princess sat opposite Nic, and suddenly the gravity of the situation lay heavily on his shoulders. Being pampered by the princess herself had certainly helped get him closer to the royals than any other guard would get without great effort. If his body didn’t feel so broken and bruised, he might have actually thanked Burrus and Milo for facilitating this opportunity.

  “Now, let’s get one thing straight,” Princess Amara said, breaking the silence. “I don’t believe for one moment you were set upon by thieves. Those two brutes did this to you—two against one. Would they have killed you had we not shown up when we did?”

  “I believe that was their plan,” Nic admitted. “I’m very grateful that you intervened. I owe you my life.”

  “Why would they want to hurt you?”

  “Because they don’t like me.”

  Amara laughed lightly at his honesty. “Yes, I believe their sentiment is now written all over your face.”

  Ashur walked out and joined them, sitting in a chair next to Nic while Amara rose to receive a flower arrangement a servant brought into the courtyard.

  “From King Gaius, who hopes you’re enjoying this villa,” the servant said. Amara nodded and waved her away.

  “King Gaius,” Amara repeated the name as she brushed her hand over the beautiful orchids. “How kind of him, don’t you think, brother?”

  “Very kind,” Ashur said dryly.

  “He banishes us to a forgettable location outside the palace walls, then sends flowers as a sign of friendship. Does he think we’ll be wooed by this paltry offering?”

  “I’m not quite sure what that man is thinking.” Ashur paused. “Perhaps our friend Nicolo might know.”

  Nic straightened his back, which only made his ribs hurt more. “Believe me, I’m just a lowly palace guard. You might want to talk to Cronus if you want some inside information. He’s quite chatty.”

  His description of the silently intimidating captain of the guards earned him a smile from the prince and a quizzical look from the princess. Perhaps she didn’t understand his sarcasm.

  Nic wanted to speak with Ashur alone, but Amara was making that impossible.

  Ashur leaned closer. “How are you feeling? Did they do any permanent damage?”

  Being near the prince, remembering what had happened in that alleyway, was much more difficult than he’d anticipated. “I’ll heal.”

  “You look very pale.”

  “That’s how I always look.”

  “You look fine to me, otherwise,” Ashur said, raising an eyebrow. “Happily, bruises fade and I’m sure you’ll be good as new before too long.”

  Nic shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I know you’re already well acquainted with my brother,” Amara said.

  Nic wasn’t sure how he should respond to her statement. “We’ve spoken before.”

  She studied him with open interest. “Ashur believes your relationship with Princess Cleiona makes you quite valuable.”

  “Oh?”

  “She sent you here today to speak with us, didn’t she?”

  He gaped at her. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s an educated guess. Please correct me if I’m mistaken. There’s no other reason for you to venture all this way, is there?”

  He cleared his throat and sipped some peach juice to compose himself. “If that’s what you believe, what reason would she have for sending me?”

  “So you can assess whether we’re friend or foe,” Amara said simply. “And she chose you because she trusts no one else.”

  Nic glanced at Ashur.

  The prince’s lips quirked up at Nic’s stunned expression. “My sister’s educated guesses are legendary in Kraeshia. She’s almost always right.”

  “The princess should know that we are worthy of her trust,” Amara continued, as if she hadn’t just directly stated what Nic had been trying to be extremely delicate about. “We are happy to offer our friendship to Cleo, but she needs to be willing to help us in return.”

  Nic drained the rest of his drink in a single gulp. No reason to deny anything. Now he had to gather as much information as he could. “What do you want?”

  “What we want,” Ashur said, “is the Kindred. My father has finally accepted there might be a treasure here worth claiming for Kraeshia. But he’s a man of brute force rather than delicate finesse. Many will die if he and his armada come here to challenge King Gaius. I’d rather prevent all of that, if possible.”

  From Ashur’s description, Emperor Cortas was every bit as fearsome as his public reputation, and every bit as ruthless as King Gaius. A shiver shot down Nic’s spine. “You think Cleo knows how to find the Kindred?”

 
“Yes,” Amara said, smiling.

  Nic fell silent, eyeing the two with doubt and suspicion. They were too eager to state their intentions, too ready to align. Was all of this just part of the simple Kraeshian candidness, or should Nic be heeding this as a warning?

  His first priority was to protect Cleo. He couldn’t tell them everything they wanted to know. Not until he trusted them completely.

  And he was far from that point.

  Ashur laughed. “I think we’ve scared him. Too much too soon, perhaps.”

  Amara slid her hand over her shiny black hair, patting a few loose strands back into place. “And here I thought you had him wrapped around your little finger. Has your infamous charm finally failed you, brother?”

  Nic felt what color he had left drain from his face.

  “Don’t be upset. You’re certainly not the first creature to be caught in my brother’s pretty net.” Amara leaned forward and patted Nic on his knee. “My goodness, you look like you’re ready to throw yourself off the nearest cliff.”

  Wrapped around his little finger? Pretty net? What exactly did Amara think she knew?

  Nic was not wrapped around anyone’s little finger. Except Cleo’s, perhaps, and that was entirely his choice. Cleo was family—the only family he had left. Ashur was nobody to Nic except a potential threat who already knew far too much.

  Amara voice took on a gentle tone. “Tell Cleo that we’re willing to share the treasure with her. We’ll take two crystals, and she can keep the other two. Once all is said and done, my father will invade and claim Paelsia and Limeros for Kraeshia. Auranos will remain under Cleo’s control. There will be no reason for further bloodshed if she complies with the emperor’s wishes.”

  Wishes? These sounded more like demands.

  No, this didn’t feel right at all. Coming here was a mistake.

  Ashur rose from his chair and walked toward the edge of the seating area, his face in shadow as he regarded Nic. “In addition, you will inform us about the king’s shifting plans. I’m positive that he also searches for the Kindred.”

  To even speak about this was to commit treason. If Nic were found out, the punishment he’d receive at the king’s command would make the beating he took from Milo and Burrus look like a gentle hug. He’d be joining the accused rebels tomorrow at their public execution, and not to watch, but to lose his head as well.

  He had to get out of there. He had to get back to Cleo and tell her everything, that he didn’t trust the Kraeshians—not yet. Only time would tell if they would be true to their word.

  “I’ll share your offer with the princess,” Nic said.

  “Kindly ask her to be swift about her response,” Amara said. “We can’t be expected to wait forever, can we?”

  “I will be sure to convey the message,” Nic said, his throat tight.

  He made excuses to leave, and Ashur walked him out to a waiting carriage bound for the palace.

  “Excuse my sister,” Ashur said. The sun shone more brightly on this side of the villa, turning his eyes more intensely blue than gray. “Sometimes she is a little too . . . enthusiastic. And impatient. She meant no offense.”

  “None was taken,” Nic said tightly.

  “She constantly underestimates me. I’m the youngest son, the brother with the least responsibility. She may be the baby of the family, but she goes after what she wants with every weapon in her arsenal.”

  This didn’t surprise Nic in the least. “And you?” he asked.

  Ashur smirked slightly. “I’m rarely interested in the same thing for more than a day or two unless I consider it of true importance. Often that which I find the most special is of little interest or value to others. But it doesn’t matter to me what anyone else thinks about my choices. What about you?”

  The deep tone of the prince’s accented voice was nearly hypnotic. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Do you care what others think of you?”

  Nic shied away from his gaze. “I’m a lowly palace guard, considered worthless by my peers. This was proven to you today on the roadside. When it comes to my destiny, your grace, I have no control over it or what others think of me.”

  The prince shook his head. “You’re dead wrong about two things.”

  “Really?” He turned away and crossed his arms over his aching rib cage, fighting not to roll his eyes. “What’s the first?”

  “No one controls your destiny but you.”

  “If you say so.” Nic hissed out a long breath. “And the second?”

  “That, to me, you are the very opposite of worthless.”

  Nic looked at the prince with surprise, but Ashur just turned and began to walk away.

  “May you have a safe trip back to the palace,” the prince said without turning around.

  • • •

  The guards assigned to escort Nic home unceremoniously shoved him out of the carriage five miles outside of the city walls.

  “You can walk from here,” one sneered.

  “Excellent,” Nic said. “Thanks so much for the ride.” As the carriage rode off, he added, “You rancid piles of horse dung.”

  Injured, bruised, exhausted, and humiliated, he began the walk across the green fields and forest land that would, further east, intersect with the king’s shiny new Imperial Road.

  He had no idea how to explain his day to Cleo. Everything about it felt so surreal that, if it weren’t for his aching rib cage and a back tooth that now felt a little loose, he would have believed it was all a dream.

  He thought he might save some time by taking a shortcut through a thatch of forest. Just as he started to praise himself for his first good idea of the day, a shadow swiftly approached him from either side. Before he knew it, Nic was on his back again, his breath knocked out of him.

  “We meet again,” said an oddly familiar voice.

  Nic blinked until his vision cleared enough for him to see Jonas Agallon crouching over him, pressing his jeweled dagger against his throat. It was the second time that Jonas had held that very dagger to Nic’s flesh.

  “You—” he began.

  “Don’t talk,” Jonas said. “Not yet. I’m going to explain something to you quickly before you speak. Understood?”

  The rebel’s face was cast in the shadows of the canopy of lush trees overhead. Insects buzzed a constant symphony all around. The heat, combined with all the blood he’d lost earlier that day, made Nic feel close to losing consciousness.

  He shot a glance at Jonas’s companion: a tall, tanned, and dangerous-looking boy standing with his arms crossed over his broad chest. Finally, Nic’s gaze returned to Jonas and he gave a small nod of agreement.

  “We’ve had our differences in the past,” Jonas said. “And seeing you in that red uniform, I’m not sure this conversation isn’t going to be a huge waste of my breath, but here it goes. I have friends who are scheduled to be executed tomorrow at midday. I need to save their arses, but I’m running out of options. Despite that uniform, I believe you to be loyal to Cleo. If you’re loyal to Cleo, you’re not loyal to the Damoras. In fact, I’m going to bet you hate them. Yes or no?”

  Nic managed to speak through gritted teeth. “Yes.”

  Jonas nodded once, his expression grim. “I want them dead. But first I need to help my friends. And to help my friends, I need assistance from someone trustworthy inside those walls, someone who wears your uniform. I know what’s being said about me and what I’m accused of. If I’m recognized, I’ll be killed on the spot and my murderer will get a nice fat reward.”

  “We gotta get out of here, Jonas,” his companion growled. “Let’s speed this up, all right?”

  Jonas didn’t take his eyes off Nic. “I’ll need your help tomorrow. You should know, saying yes may end up getting you killed, but I promise it’ll be a damn glorious death. If you say no, I won�
��t kill you. You can go back to your new life at the king’s knee. It’s got to be your choice. Your answer can seal your destiny, Nic—right here and right now. Are you with me? Or are you against me?”

  After this day of beatings and abuse and being made to feel worthless, Nic was finally being given a choice. By someone he’d hated since the moment he’d first learned his name.

  A Paelsian savage driven by vengeance.

  A rebel leader who’d failed many more times than he’d succeeded.

  The alleged murderer of Queen Althea.

  The kidnapper of Cleo.

  Jonas Agallon was about as trustworthy as a slimy sea snake.

  And no decision in his life had ever been easier.

  CHAPTER 14

  LYSANDRA

  AURANOS

  She remembered when the boys in her village would pick on her when she was six, maybe seven years old. Once, one particularly mean boy had tripped her on her way back from the forest, her arms weighed down with the wood she’d been sent to gather.

  She hadn’t seen his foot. And she hadn’t noticed the mud puddle beneath her until she landed face-first in it, the firewood flying out of her grip and falling into the muddy water after her. Ruined.

  “Lysandra’s a crybaby,” another boy had taunted as her tears began to flow. His friends joined in his laughter. “Boo hoo! Cry, Lysandra! Cry harder!”

  They’d run away when Gregor approached, but she could barely see him through her tears. The firewood was spoiled and it had taken her forever to gather enough dry twigs and branches. Without it, there would be no dinner. No warmth.

  She didn’t try to get up. She sat there, her skirts soiled, and she cried.

  “Stop it,” Gregor had said.

  But she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop crying, no matter how much she’d wanted to.

  “Stop it,” he said again, grabbing her wrists and pulling her roughly to her feet. “Stop crying!”

  “That boy—he pushed me. He’s so mean!”

  “And you’re surprised? He’s mean to everyone who lets him. C’mon, little Lys. I thought you were better than this.”