Gathering Darkness (12 page)

Magnus's back stiffened. Ashur had shared this rumor with him, but this was the first time he'd heard his father mention it.

“I've never heard of such a man,” Gregor said, shaking his head.

“No matter, I suppose.” The king leaned forward. “How do I find the Kindred, Gregor?”

Magnus felt a sudden sense of relief. For the king to dismiss such a fantastical notion so easily likely meant he'd found no truth in it.

“You're so sure that I know, but you're mistaken.” Gregor's harsh tone turned wistful. “I'm certain Phaedra means to contact me again—she wouldn't just leave me. She was good and kind and wanted the best for the world . . . but she had enemies. She feared something . . . or—or
someone
.”

“Perhaps she's dead,” Magnus murmured.

“Yes,” King Gaius agreed. “Perhaps this Watcher of yours is dead, and if so, she's no use to anyone, is she?”

“But Watchers are immortal.” Gregor's gaze flickered uncertainly between father and son, his chest heaving with labored breath. Then he seemed to summon his courage again. “You need me. I've had direct contact with a Watcher who chose me above any other mortal. I am her proxy in this world. That makes me special, valuable. I promise to work for you, your majesty. I ask only that you spare my life and the life of my sister.”

“Gregor, no!” Lysandra cried out, her voice breaking up with horror and disgust.

“Shut up, Lys,” he growled. “Do you want to die?”

“I'd rather die a rebel than kneel before this royal sack of shit.”

A guard backhanded Lysandra across her face so hard that she cried out.

Gregor jumped to his feet, but Cronus pushed him back down. “Forgive my sister,” Gregor managed. “She's always been hotheaded, but not me. I can see opportunity when it presents itself. You need me, your majesty. When Phaedra contacts me again, I will tell you everything, without hesitation. I'm not lying!”

“No, you're not lying.” The king reclined back in his throne, his hands grasping its golden arms. “You would do this, I can see that. You love your sister. That kind of loyalty is very important to me. Family is the most precious thing in this world. Family is the only way for us mortals to guarantee our own immortality. I respect the love you have for your family.”

Gregor let out a slow, shaky sigh. “Good.”

Father might really show lenience to this boy
, Magnus thought. Despite his initial resistance, Gregor was ready to turn his back on his rebel leanings and pledge his allegiance to King Gaius in order to save his sister's life.

The king regarded Gregor in silence. “The problem is, I think your Watcher is either finished with you or she's dead. And she told you next to nothing to begin with. She sounds worthless to me, unlike Melenia, who has made me great promises that I know she'll keep. And to me, this makes you just as worthless.”

“No, your majesty. That's not true!”

Lysandra struggled against the guard holding her in place, her gaze darting everywhere as if searching for a means of escape.

King Gaius didn't so much as glance in her direction. “Much gratitude, Gregor, for teaching me a very important lesson today,” he said. “Sometimes I allow myself to be led by impatience and anger. But I've waited a lifetime for the Kindred, and I can continue to wait until the time is right. After all, I already possess the key to unlock this mystery. I simply need to learn the proper way to use it.”

Panic dashed through Gregor's eyes. “I
can
help you. I can be invaluable to you!”

The king smiled, baring his straight white teeth. “Don't worry. You did prove to me that you weren't lying. That's a good thing. It means you can keep your tongue. And your sister will escape any overt unpleasantness. I'm not a monster who'd torture a young girl solely for his own amusement.”

“So we will still be executed together?” Gregor said, his voice dull with defeat.

“Not quite.” The king glanced at Lysandra. “Clean her up and make her beautiful—or as beautiful as a Paelsian can possibly be. I haven't yet been able to present a female rebel to the people as an example of how I don't make exceptions when punishing those who would oppose me.”

“What about my brother?” Lysandra spat. A trickle of blood slid down from the corner of her mouth where she'd been struck.

“Don't worry. Your brother will still be there to watch you die,” the king said. “Cronus, bring me the boy's head. I'll make sure it's put on a spike with the very best view of the palace square.”

A pained shriek escaped from Lysandra's throat. “No!”

Cronus didn't hesitate. He drew his sword as two guards grabbed Gregor's arms and held him in place.

Words of protest died in Magnus's throat. There was only one way this could end; Magnus knew his opinion was worthless now that the king had made his decision. Speaking up now would only make it worse.

Lysandra screamed and Magnus turned to her as she fought and clawed to free herself from the guards.

But there would be no stopping this.

“I'm sorry I failed you. Fight, little Lys. Fight till the very end!” Then the sword fell in one clean, heavy stroke.

Lysandra's horrified screams wedged themselves deeply into Magnus's chest, and he knew their echoes would haunt him from this moment forward.

There was no fight left in Lysandra after it was done. The guards effortlessly dragged her from the throne room to take her back to the dungeon.

Gregor's body was removed as well, and his head was placed on a silver platter.

“Well done, Cronus.” The king nodded, and flicked his hand. “Now take it away.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Cronus's expression was ice cold and emotionless—just as it always was after carrying out executions. It was the face of a man of stone rather than flesh and blood.

Cronus left father and son alone, with only a bloodstain where Gregor had been kneeling as evidence of what had happened only moments before.

Magnus was silent. His mind had gone black, no thoughts, just a dark, heavy cloud.

“It had to be done,” the king said.

“Did it?” His reply came out sharper than he'd meant it to. “A private execution of a rebel you'd previously found useful? No, I don't think it
had
to be done.”

The king shot Magnus a look of surprise.

“You did that because you wanted to relish in the look on that girl's face as you murdered her brother right in front of her,” Magnus went on. “You enjoyed it. You wanted to break the spirit you saw in her so she would accept her own fate without a fight. So her fiery spirit, which lingers despite having been locked up in your dungeon, doesn't rile up the execution crowd, which I know you'll pad with your most loyal minions. Well, let me be the first to congratulate you, Father, because you succeeded.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “What is wrong with you, boy? Why must you oppose everything I ever do?”

Magnus found it difficult to breathe as every bit of frustration, doubt, and anger directed at his father, feelings he'd tried so very hard to repress, surged to the forefront. “Because not everything you do is right!”

“I only do what I must to maintain my power here in this era of transition, so that one day you won't have as much to struggle with. This is a dangerous time for us, son. There is no room for dissent.”

“Is that why you ordered a piece of shit like Aron Lagaris to murder Mother? To lessen my struggle?”

The words were out before he could stop them, and they earned him a satisfying look of shock from the king. Why stop now?

“Funny, I thought you knew everything that happened in your kingdom, thanks to all your spies and informants,” Magnus continued. “But you didn't know this tidbit. You didn't know that Aron confessed to me, confessed that you had him take a knife to my mother in the dead of night, ending her life so you could blame it on Jonas Agallon.”

The king's expression of shock leveled out to neutral. “You're the one who killed Aron.”

His secret was out. Now he had nothing to lose. “I'd planned to bring him back here to answer for his crime, but he tried to kill me. Obviously, he failed. Seeing the life leave his eyes wasn't as satisfying as I'd hoped. But he wasn't the real criminal. He was only the weapon.
You
killed my mother and—”

“And now I assume you want me dead as well.” The king cut him off and rose from his throne, descending the steps so he stood face-to-face with Magnus. “Of course you do. Here.” He placed a silver dagger in Magnus's hand. “I will give you this one chance to end my life, if that's what you really want. Here and now. Do it.”

Magnus's hand trembled. “This is a trick.”

The king kept his gaze fixed on his son. “Althea was working against me. She opposed my quest to find the Kindred—she always did. She hated me and wanted to keep me from any power that might strengthen my reign. She wanted Lucia dead and I believe that she meant to kill you as well, to prevent me from having a true heir. She had to die, Magnus.”

Magnus's very bones shook. The hilt of the dagger felt like ice against his skin. “That was not your only option.”

“Yes, it was. I know some of my decisions have been harsh, but they've all been necessary.”

Lucia had told Magnus that their mother wanted her dead because she feared her magic, that she'd been giving Lucia a potion to keep her asleep for so long . . . but Magnus didn't believe that was reason enough for the king to murder her. Punish, yes. Banish, perhaps. But death? It didn't make sense to him and it never would.

“But Mother—” he began.

“Althea wasn't your real mother.”

The blunt statement hit Magnus like a fist to his gut. “What?”

The king gazed at him steadily. “She lost the baby she believed was you and went mad with grief. Shortly before this, another child had been born of my seed, and I gave that child—
you—
to her. You brought her back from the brink of insanity. She believed she was your mother up until her last breath, but she was never of your blood.”

Magnus stared at him, his mind reeling. “You're lying.”

“Your true mother was Sabina.”

He felt gut-punched again, and he staggered back from the king in horror. Sabina, his father's mistress, an evil, power-hungry witch. Dead now, killed by Lucia's magic. “Another lie! Sabina tried to kill me—she tried to kill me after she tried to
seduce
me.”

The king lowered his brow. “She was a complicated woman, I'll admit that much. Her passions sometimes went beyond what even I could understand. But it doesn't change the truth. You're mine and Sabina's only son. She hid her pregnancy from everyone. Only Sabina, I, and the midwife who helped you into this world ever knew what really happened.”

“No.” Bile rose in Magnus's throat. The world had shifted on its axis; the ground was now unsteady beneath his feet.

The king gripped Magnus's shoulders so tightly he winced. “You have the blood of both a witch and a king running through your veins. Every witch has ancestral ties to the Watchers.
You
have that. That is why I've always seen something special in you, something superior.”

Magnus couldn't accept this. All his life he'd known Sabina as his father's mistress and advisor, but to Magnus she'd never been more than another irrelevant presence he'd had to tolerate. He hadn't mourned her death for a moment. He'd hated her.

She would
never
be his mother.

Magnus's stomach was in knots, his heart a dark, heavy weight in his chest.

He wanted to drink. To allow that pleasant fog to spread through his mind until it obliterated all thoughts. “Why haven't you told me this before?”

A shadow of reverie crossed the king's face, making him appear older than his years. “I should have. I'm sorry I didn't. But now you see that Althea had no true claim over you. You are free of any lasting allegiance to her. She was a cruel and heartless woman. She always was.”

No, she wasn't
, Magnus thought.
Not always.

“So often I saw how starved you were for the love of a mother who wouldn't give affection to you. Her mind was faulty, her sanity shaky, especially these last eighteen years. All of this led her to make the mistakes that sealed her fate. She was standing in my way. In
your
way. You must accept these truths if we have any chance of moving forward. You are my son. My heir. We are one and the same.”

To be like the king—strong, ruthless, dominant, relentless in pursuit of his goals. This was what he'd always wanted.

And Sabina had been the same in so many ways.

“Everything I do is for you, Magnus.
Everything
. Please forgive me for withholding this truth from you and for anything I've done that has hurt you in the past. My only goal was to make you stronger. I love you, my son.”

The king pulled Magnus close in a tight embrace. Magnus stood like a statue, stony and silent, his mind trapped in turmoil.

He let the dagger fall from his grip and clatter to the floor.

His father had never embraced him like this before.

And for just a moment before he pulled away to leave the throne room, Magnus let him.

JONAS

AURANOS

J
onas's mood was as black as the night sky.

That evening he was in a village called Viridy, a half-day's journey northeast of the City of Gold. It wasn't his first visit; he had begun to use a tavern there as a central meeting place. He'd sent Felix on ahead to meet him there tonight, while he had spent the last day and a half following a whispered rumor about some rebels and a group of Paelsian slaves who'd escaped from the road camp alive. But that rumor had proven to be false.

Even though King Gaius's rule brought out a palpable edge of uneasiness amongst the people, affluence still glittered in Viridy like gold, much like every other Auranian town Jonas had visited. The streets were paved not in dirt and rock, but sparkling cobblestones. The storefronts were made not of clay, but of sturdy stone and wood.

This was the home of thousands of citizens who paid high taxes to whichever king sat his royal arse on the throne, but still they lived well. No one starved, wandering the streets in rags searching for their next meal. No one froze in alleys because they were denied warmth or shelter during a cold winter's night, as they did in Paelsia.

But unlike someone who'd actually experienced pain and squalor, the people here didn't appreciate what they had. That they took it all for granted put a sour taste in Jonas's mouth. He had no doubt they'd collectively crumple if their easy lifestyles were ever stolen from them.

On the whole, Paelsians—for all their struggles and naïve beliefs in unavoidable destiny—were a hardier breed than Auranians. They were survivors. It's what Jonas loved most about his people.

Walking along the side of the street, he felt a hand grip the sleeve of his hooded cloak, stopping him in his tracks outside an inn.

“You—” An ugly face cocked to the side as a man peered at Jonas through the shadows. “I know you.”

Jonas regarded the man warily. “Doubt that. Let go of me.”

“Yeah, I do know you.” A slow smile crept onto his face. “You're that rebel I've seen on the posters.”

Jonas's stomach sank. He'd prefer not to be recognized tonight if he could help it. “I've no idea what you're talking about.”

“Don't worry, kid. I'm impressed.” His slurred words were enough to prove he had been drinking heavily. It was a special day in Auranos, the Day of Flames, which honored one half of the goddess Cleiona's legendary magic. The holiday gave its citizens a reason to drink more wine than usual and dress in orange and yellow to represent the eternal fire of their deity. “I've been thinking I'd make a good rebel myself. Like to kick the arse of the King of Blood right out of the world of the living.”

“I think you have me confused with someone else,” Jonas said evenly.

He wasn't in a mood to recruit ordinary citizens. His meeting tonight was with representatives from an Auranian group of rebels whom he hoped could help him free Lysandra and the others.

Suddenly, a loud cracking sound made him jump and reel in the direction of a burst of sparkling yellow light. Somebody screamed, and a blond boy about sixteen years old raced down the street, his tunic ablaze. He launched himself face-first into a barrel of water.

“Not again,” the drunk mumbled. “Petros, you're a damn fool!” he shouted. “You're going to get yourself killed playing with fire like that!”

The boy pulled himself out of the barrel and cast a dark look at the drunk. “Mind your own business, old man.”

“You burn down our home and it's my business. I'll drown you in that barrel if you don't do as I say!”

The boy didn't offer anything more than a rude gesture in the drunk's general direction and a dour glare at Jonas before he jogged away.

“What was that all about?” Jonas asked.

“My idiot fire-obsessed son,” the man replied. “He likes to experiment with ridiculous concoctions that do little more than burn his eyebrows off. Tonight his excuse is that he is honoring the fire goddess by causing his trouble throughout the village with these works of fire. Foolish boy.”

Jonas had no time for chitchat with drunken locals about their troublesome sons. He needed to join Felix at the tavern in time for their meeting.

With a mumbled farewell and a word of good luck, he successfully slipped away from the man. Before he reached the tavern, he sensed someone else following him.

Two someone elses, to be exact, one of whom stepped out of the shadows and blocked his way.

“You look like that rebel the king's after.” The man was a half-foot taller than Jonas and had a long, crooked nose.

“I might look like him, but it's not me,” he said.

The second man had blond, greasy hair and a thin, rodentlike face. He yanked Jonas's hood right off his head to get a better look at him.

“Yeah, you're the one who stuck a dagger in the bitch queen. Don't be shy about it. We applaud you for a job well done.”

All the more reason to avoid them if they were the types to celebrate the death of a woman.

“Let me pass,” Jonas hissed.

“C'mon. It's a night of celebration. Try to be friendly.”

“Let me pass,” he said again, “or we're going to have a problem.”

The bald man laughed and elbowed his friend. “Not very friendly, is he? And here I thought you might be able to help us out.”

Jonas glared at them. “Really? And how did you think I might help you out?”

“The reward on the posters . . . it's a hefty one. While I appreciate anyone working to send the king back to his land of ice—to be buried in it, preferably—I could use that gold.”

Only more proof that the vast majority of Auranians were greedy and selfish.

Jonas didn't hesitate to fight his way out of the situation. He slammed his fist into the bald man's jaw, sending him staggering back to fall in a grunting heap on his backside. The blond one grabbed him from behind, and Jonas immediately felt the sharp, cold edge of steel at his throat. He stopped struggling. The bald man wiped the blood off his bottom lip with the back of his hand and pushed himself up off the ground.

They were alone in the street. It was dark, and the tavern was still a few streets away.

The bald man crossed his arms and grinned at Jonas through the darkness. The other one didn't move, his dagger still digging into Jonas's throat. “Yes, the king'll pay good coin to get his hands on you. It's your choice now, dead or alive. I really couldn't care less which.”

Before the bald one could signal his friend to cut Jonas's throat, Felix's voice sliced through the night, stopping them.

“Again? I leave you on your own for mere moments and you find yourself in yet another tight spot?”

“Afraid so. A little help, please?”

The bald man spun around and eyed Jonas's sizable friend with alarm.

“The reward is large enough to split three ways,” he said.

Felix crossed his arms. “Reward, huh? How much?”

Jonas stopped breathing. When all was said and done, he'd only known Felix for a couple of weeks. Did he have any true assurance that he wouldn't switch allegiances the moment it suited his purposes?

“Ten thousand Auranian centimos.”

“That's steep. A third of that could set me up in a nice villa for the next few years. Problem is, I've never liked to share. Sorry.”

Felix grabbed the bald man and pressed his knife to his throat, then shot a nasty look at the blond. “Release my friend. Now.”

Relief washed through Jonas. Why had he doubted him?

“We don't want any trouble,” the blond said.

Felix shrugged. “Could have fooled me.”

“He's a wanted criminal,” the bald man sputtered.

“The wine is flowing like water tonight, and by the smell you two have been swimming in it. This kid isn't who you think. Not even close. We're just a couple of farmer's sons out for a night of drinking in the name of the goddess. Nobody special. You should be thanking me for stopping you before you lost your own heads for bothering the king's guards.”

Finally, an edge of uncertainty crept onto their faces.

“Let him go,” the bald man growled. “Do it.”

Reluctantly, the blond released Jonas.

Felix shoved the bald man but didn't sheath his knife just yet. “Do we still have a problem here?”

“No problem.”

“Good. Now be off with you.”

Without another word, they scurried away.

Jonas knew he was having an off night when it came to watching his guard. On a normal day, he could have handled the two of them on his own without intervention.

It was embarrassing, really.

“Do me a favor?” Felix said, finally putting his weapon away.

“Sure.”

“Keep that hood up over that famous face of yours. It'll make things much simpler for us if you don't get recognized again. Got it?”

Jonas nodded with a jerk of his head. “Got it.”

• • •

The Silver Toad was owned by a rebel sympathizer who had readily agreed to let Jonas to use the tavern and inn when needed. Tonight the tavern was packed wall to wall with people celebrating the Day of Flames, spending all they had on wine, their coins glittering beneath the lanterns hanging from the rafters. Before he'd entered the tavern, Jonas had caught another glimpse of Petros nearby.

The boy continued to celebrate the goddess with his dangerous fire displays outside, causing patrons to jump up with surprise at the occasional explosions.

Jonas tried to ignore the distractions and focus on the task at hand as he waited for the Auranian rebels to show.

“How long are we going to wait?” Felix asked.

“As long as it takes.”

“They're not coming. This is their answer, Jonas. They're not going to help.”

“They promised they'd be here.”

“You sent a message requesting them to risk their necks to save a few of your friends—”

“I didn't put it like that.”

There was strength in numbers, and Jonas knew there were others who shared his goals to end King Gaius's reign and to help to free the Paelsians that had been enslaved to work on the Blood Road.

Despite his distaste for those who called this kingdom home, these were his allies. Auranians or Paelsians, they were united in their hatred of the king.

“They have their own plans,” Felix said. “They won't help us with ours.”

Jonas blinked hard, knowing Felix spoke the truth. Nobody was coming. He was a joke—the rebel leader who led his people to their deaths time and again. “Why are
you
still here if I'm so damn pathetic? Why haven't you taken off yet? Stick with me and you'll end up dead.”

“Promises, promises.” Felix regarded him patiently, his arms crossed over his chest. Then he went to the bar, returning quickly to Jonas's table with two large tankards of dark ale that splashed onto the wooden surface as he set them down.

“Drink up,” Felix said.

Jonas stared at the liquid offering. To their left, a band had started to play a song about the goddess's beauty. People were singing and stomping their feet on the floor in a drunken dance.

“Ale won't solve my problems,” Jonas said.

“But I doubt it'll make them any worse.”

Jonas took a long swig of the strong drink, and the liquid burned going down his throat. “I have to save her.”

“If what you've told me about Lysandra is true, she knows the risk you'd be taking. She won't want you to lose your head over her.”

Lysandra wasn't the type to want to be rescued by a boy. She'd probably be furious that Jonas had continued to obsess over her rather than focusing on bringing down the king.

She knew that, more than anything, Jonas wanted to be the one who dealt the fatal blow.

“Well, what do we have here?” Felix said. “There's a cute little thing looking right at you, friend. Please tell me you're willing to share.”

Jonas frowned and glanced over his shoulder at a girl who stood about a dozen paces away, eyeing him through the crowd. She pushed back the hood of the dark cloak she was wrapped in to reveal her short hair and dark brown eyes. She caught his eye, then made her way over to sit down at the table.

“Nerissa,” Jonas said, his mood immediately lightening. “It's good to see you.”

She flashed him a grin. “You, too.”

Seeing Felix eye the pretty girl with interest, Jonas flicked him a glance. “Nerissa Florens, this is Felix Gaebras.”

She assessed Felix with guarded interest. “Where'd you meet him, Jonas?”

“Traveling.”

“You trust him?”

“Yes.” And that trust had been proven yet again tonight—money wasn't as important as loyalty to Felix.

Her expression grew pinched. “I'm sure you'll forgive me if I hold back my enthusiasm. He looks like a hired thug.”

“Such charming words.” Felix shifted to the seat next to her, his smile widening. “And from such a charming mouth. Can it do anything besides talk?”

She held his gaze boldly. “It can bite.”

“Good to know.” The warning only seemed to intrigue Felix more.

He'd better be careful
, Jonas thought with amusement. Nerissa wasn't joking.

“I have news,” Nerissa said. “And a message. Which do you want first?”

His lightened mood vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

“The news,” Jonas said.

“The executions are set for the day after tomorrow. Midday in the palace square. The king's arranged for a large group of his most ardent supporters to surround the execution stage to ensure their cheers will be the loudest.”

The world slowed and darkened around Jonas. “It's too soon. I can't—I don't have enough time to do anything.” He swore under his breath, damning the Auranian rebels for not even hearing him out tonight. “How am I supposed to stop the execution of four rebels?”