Gathering Darkness (10 page)

Again, her outrage sparked a smile from him. “You control your destiny, princess. No one else.”

She studied him with bemusement in her eyes. “You are the most frustrating boy I've ever met.”

This made him laugh aloud. “I'm sure it's a close race with the prince.”

“You seem rather obsessed with Magnus. Perhaps next time I should try to arrange a meeting between the two of you instead.”

“You're already thinking ahead to the next time we meet. I like that.”

Color rushed into her cheeks. “Don't be so self-assured, rebel.”

He tried to repress his grin. “I've told you what I need from you. Now tell me what
your
plan is, princess.”

“My plan?” She touched her chest. “Why do you think I even have one? Perhaps I'm simply grateful to still be alive.”

Jonas knew that if she didn't feel there was still a chance to reclaim her throne, she would have escaped long ago. With Jonas, with her friend Nic, with someone who could help her escape the Damoras forever.

“You won't be alive for long if you continue to stay in the midst of your enemies,” Jonas said. “Do you think I'm wrong?”

Cleo looked unflinchingly into his eyes. “No, you're not wrong.”

She trusted about as easily as he did. He'd managed to gain a lot of that trust, but there was still some ground to rebuild between them after so long without contact.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked.

“You would help me?”

“I have no personal interest in Auranos, but I don't want the King of Blood to hold it under his thumb a day longer than he has to. More land gives him more power. If I can't do it myself, I'll help anyone who has the means to destroy him. Could that person be you?”

She gave him that look that was half distrustful, half endlessly hopeful. “It could be.”

“Then consider me at your service, your highness.” They didn't have much more time. He'd already stayed too long and Felix would be wondering where he was. “You can send word to me through Nerissa.”

Cleo's brow shot up. “The seamstress from Hawk's Brow?”

He nodded. “She's working at the palace as a servant. If you hear any information, no matter how minor it might seem to you, get a message to Nerissa and she'll deliver it to me.”

“You're still aligned with her? And you trust her?”

He nodded. “She's proven herself, time and time again.”

Her gaze grew more scrutinizing. “Yes, I'm sure she has.”

What was that he saw in her eyes? Mistrust? Or jealousy? Certainly not the latter, although the thought was intriguing.

Cleo's serious expression then gave way to a smile so bright and beautiful it could stop the cruelest killer in his tracks. “Once my enemy, Jonas Agallon now wishes to be my shining hero. How times can change.”

Not so long ago, he'd despised Cleo, who had stood by Lord Aron while his brother bled to death. He'd blamed her every bit as much as the coward who'd held the blade.

But as far as she'd fallen, as much as she'd had to endure, she was still a pampered princess who had no idea what a life such as Jonas's had been like.

And he had no desire to be anyone's personal hero.

Cleo could potentially help him, and he her. That was all that would ever be between them.

The thought made everything so much simpler.

“Do you have anything else to say to me?” she asked after silence stretched between them.

“Only this.” He grabbed her, pressed her up against the wall, and kissed her hard and deep. He let her go, pulled his cloak up over his head, and slipped out of the temple.

Perhaps things weren't that simple after all.

CLEO

AURANOS

C
leo walked away from her secret meeting with Jonas filled with new purpose, which had very little to do with the rebel's stolen kiss.

Not that it hadn't been a rather intriguing way to end their conversation.

She might not be a fighter, wielding a sword for the rebel cause, but she had eyes and ears. Information was power, and the king had gotten a bit lazy with the private conversations he held in corridors and dark corners.

Cleo already knew of a certain alcove in the heart of the palace where a hidden observer could overhear many interesting secrets.

She used to frequent this hiding spot to spy on her sister and her friends, until Emilia caught Cleo being nosy and told their father, who had scolded Cleo about minding her own business.

But minding one's own business wasn't very interesting. Or useful.

The day after meeting Jonas, she came upon Magnus and the king talking in this very alcove. She quickly drew back around the corner and hid in the crevice between two columns where she could peer out, unseen, for a clear view of the area just outside of the throne room. Hanging on the white marble wall behind father and son was a gigantic tapestry of the Limerian coat of arms—a cobra before a pair of crossed swords.

She pressed her hands against the cool marble and strained to hear them.

“Gregor, the rebel boy, knows something,” the king said. “He's denied what he told you in Limeros over and over, but I know he's lying.”

“Don't be so sure,” Magnus replied. “He attacked me in clear view of a dozen guards while raving about Watchers. He could simply be insane.”

Cleo's breath caught. She immediately knew whom they were speaking of—the moment had been branded into her memory. Gregor was the boy who'd attacked them during their wedding tour, claiming that a Watcher guided him in his dreams.

He had nearly killed her—and perhaps would have succeeded if Magnus hadn't shoved her out of the way.

But instead of having him executed on the spot, Magnus had ordered him delivered here to the palace dungeon.

It seemed now that he was still alive.

Interesting.

“He can't be mad,” the king said. “I need him to be sane. He has a clue, a connection to the Sanctuary. I have sent word to Xanthus that I want more information, but I've heard nothing from him.”

“There's no way for you to contact Melenia yourself?” Magnus asked.

“Don't you think I already would have if I knew how?” There was a hard edge to the king's response. “I've done everything she's asked of me. The road is finished. Yet now . . . nothing. A silence stretches out with no information, no guidance. Nothing but a boy with ties to Melenia's world. And he will answer me, I swear on the heart of Valoria he will.”

“Of course he will, Father.”

“I will question Gregor again later today one last time and I want you there by my side.” The king grasped Magnus's shoulder and gazed at him fiercely. “The Kindred will be mine.”

The
Kindred.

So what Prince Ashur told Nic was true
, Cleo thought. The king sought the very same magic that she did.

Her chest tight, Cleo started to hurry away, but as soon as she turned, she stopped.

Cronus stood a few feet behind her, a mountain of a man with his arms crossed over his broad chest. She couldn't speak, couldn't summon the ability to say something witty or disarming.

Cronus grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her down the hallway, his grip bruisingly tight. They'd gone twenty paces before she finally found her voice.

“Where are you taking me?” she managed, fighting to free herself to no avail.

“Be quiet.”

“How dare you! Unhand me this instant.” She tried with all her might to sound authoritative, royal. Like someone a mere guard—even a captain—should obey.

She knew she didn't fool him.

Deadly silent, he engaged her with neither conversation nor threats. He came to a door, opened it, and thrust her inside. He slammed the door behind her, plunging her into darkness.

When Cleo was eight years old, she'd had a particularly cruel nanny who, when she hadn't been as well behaved as Emilia, would lock her in dark rooms, promising that demons from the darklands would come in and punish her.

When her father learned of this, he'd relieved the woman of her duties and cast her out of his palace, forbidding her to return. The king had released Cleo from the darkness himself and gathered her into his arms, promising her that she was safe, that no demons would ever harm her.

The darkness frightened her to this day.

“Be brave,” she whispered to herself, pacing back and forth in the small space. “Be strong.”

After what seemed like hours, she pushed aside the tears streaking her cheeks and stood quietly, waiting in silence for her destiny to claim her.

Finally, the door creaked open. She raised her chin, put her fisted hands at her sides, and tried to remain calm in the face of the king's wrath.

But it was not the king at the door. It was Magnus. With Cronus right behind him.

The prince peered around. “It's too dark in here.”

Cronus unshuttered a small window, letting in some sunshine, and used a torch to light three lanterns set into the walls.

“Leave us,” Magnus said.

“Yes, your highness.”

The door clicked shut behind the guard.

Cleo didn't know why she was surprised not to see the king. After all, why would the king come to deal with her himself? Of course he would send his heir, his most loyal minion.

Her husband.

She couldn't breathe.

“Overhear any interesting conversations lately?” Magnus asked.

“I don't know what you mean.” She tried to look haughty, though she felt anything but. “That brute dragged me in here and locked me up like some common prisoner. I demand he be punished!”

“You
demand
, do you?” Magnus crossed his arms and leaned against the wall by the door, his face half-masked by shadows. “What you should be doing is thanking Cronus for alerting me, rather than my father, about your indiscretion.”

She would never admit to spying. To do so would be to sign her own death warrant. “I've done nothing wrong.”

“I'm sure you don't really believe that.”

Unfortunately for this situation, Cleo could always count on Magnus not to dismiss her as a silly young princess who meant no harm, as many others would. “I heard nothing of interest.”

“It really doesn't matter what you may or may not have heard. If my father knew you were listening to us, he would ensure those pretty ears of yours would never hear anything else ever again.”

Her stomach clenched up. She didn't doubt that the merciless king would dole out such a punishment, and she didn't overvalue herself in his eyes, especially now that the wedding tour was over. “And what would you prefer? A simple beating, perhaps?”

“It's so helpful of you to offer suggestions.”

Cleo had to get out of that dark room of despair any way she could. One person blocked her way to freedom—to hope and possibility—and was studying her with more curiosity than accusation.

Perhaps she could try to use that curiosity to get out of here unharmed.

“I can't help it if your father chooses to speak so openly,” she said. “It wasn't as if I was crouched in a cupboard in a private room. You were in the hallway. I happened along and knew if I showed my face while you were in the midst of such an intense discussion, it would anger the king.”

“Of course. What were you to do but stand in the shadows and listen?”

She couldn't give in to her fear. She was no ordinary sixteen-year-old girl. She was a princess. A rebel. And she could take charge of this situation. Not all was lost.

She needed to push Magnus off the solid ground he currently stood upon. And she believed she knew what to say to make him lose that careful balance.

“I didn't know you believed in magic,” she said.

Magnus blinked. “What makes you think that?”

“Talk of legends doesn't normally transpire between those who think they're too civilized to follow such trivial subjects.”

Magnus sighed and leaned against the wall, perhaps to try to appear bored and unaffected. “You have a talent for talking in riddles. I prefer plainer words.”

“You'll have to see Princess Amara for that. She prides herself on her bluntness.”

“Our Kraeshian visitors are irrelevant to this discussion.” He cocked his head and intensified his gaze, as if it would help him to unravel her mysteries. “What do you know of the Kindred, princess?”

The word never failed to make her heart skip a beat. “Nothing at all.”

“My, you answered quickly. Far too quickly. Which makes me think you actually know a great deal, especially considering the books I've seen you reading lately. Books about magic and witches and Watchers.”

“And sorceresses,” she added, watching him carefully for a reaction and seeing only the slightest flicker in his dark eyes.

“Allow me to give you a small piece of advice, princess,” Magnus began. “Whatever interests my father, move far away from it. He obsesses over legends and searches for treasures that may or may not exist. And he doesn't like to share.”

The confirmation sent a shiver down her spine. “I'd never expect him to.”

“Good.”

And with that his expression went blank. She knew wouldn't be getting any more information out of him today. But this was enough for now.

“May I leave now?” she asked quietly.

“Not yet.” He studied her for an uncomfortable stretch before speaking again. “I have one more question.”

“Yes?” said Cleo, fearing what would come next.

“Why do you pursue a friendship with my sister?”

“Because I like her,” she blurted, blindsided by the question.

“You're lying.”

Anger rose inside of her. “I'm not lying.”

“I don't believe it's possible for you to like Lucia. She's a Damora, and therefore your enemy.”

“She's different.”

His gaze raked over her, as if searching her for weapons and expecting to find another Kraeshian bridal dagger hidden behind her back. “You hate me, you hate my father, you hate anything to do with Limeros. Lucia is part of all of that. Do I believe you're like any other girl who wants to have friends and go to banquets and giggle with her friends? Perhaps you were once, not so long ago, but not anymore. Everything you do, everything you say, is aimed toward your goal to destroy us.”

He was far more perceptive than she'd like him to be. He was causing her to lose her composure, her sense of control. Conflicting emotions welled up in her chest too quickly to hold down. “You don't know anything about me.”

“Wrong. I know
everything
about you. Your hate fuels you, it gives you purpose. I see it in your eyes at this very moment.” He fell quiet for a spell. “Don't get me wrong, I understand why you hate me so much.”

The last thing she wanted to talk about was this, again, with
him
, but still her words poured forth; the bottomless pain in her heart had to go somewhere because it was killing her to try to keep it inside.

“You killed Theon.”

His expression tightened. “I can never change that fact.”

“You also stood by while the king, your
father
, murdered Mira. She was innocent. Harmless. You could have stopped him.” This time she made him flinch.

He was ashamed. She saw it in his eyes.

“Anyone else you wish to name, princess? Get it out. It's healthy to unleash pain on the one who caused it. I can take it.”

“You killed Aron. More proof that you destroy everyone in your path, whether they deserve it or not.” Her words were quiet, but filled with hatred.

“What did you just say?” His voice was equally soft, but there was now danger in his tone.

She suddenly realized her mistake.

There was no one other than Jonas who could have told her about Aron's death, and Magnus could
not
know she'd seen or spoken to him. She had to pull herself together. Overhearing a conversation was one thing, but meeting secretly with a rebel was another altogether.

“Well . . . you may as well have killed him. Aron was inexperienced. You knew how inexperienced he was. The king thrust him into a position of grandeur. He was vain and stupid and didn't realize he didn't stand a chance on the battlefield. I'm not saying you
personally
killed him . . .”

Magnus stepped closer to her, pressing her back against the wall, his gaze alone sharp enough to pin her there.

He drew so near that she could smell the sweet wine on his breath.

To her knowledge, Magnus had never drunk before. He hadn't had a sip during their entire wedding tour. But ever since he'd returned from the battle in the mountains, his habits seemed to have changed.

“No, princess,” he said. “That's exactly what you're saying.”

“You're paranoid.”

“You think I killed Aron? That's quite an accusation. Why would I waste my time killing a pompous little peacock like your former betrothed? He was nothing more to me than dirt under my fingernails.”

“He was meaningless,” she agreed.

“Entirely. He was a pathetic excuse for an Auranian, not that I think highly of any Auranian. But I'd assumed that most wouldn't fall on their knees to lick the boots of their conqueror. At least, not nearly as quickly as the former kingsliege did. Taking every order, all with a smug smile on his face. Following through, no matter who got hurt, who got killed.”

A muscle in Magnus's cheek twitched and he wrenched his gaze from Cleo's, but not before she saw the bolt of raw pain pulse behind his eyes.