Gathering Darkness (15 page)

If Lysandra wasn't mistaken, the world was burning right now.

“Lys! Help!” Tarus yelled. A guard was hauling the boy backward toward the dungeon, away from the sudden chaos.

She didn't hesitate. She lunged toward the fallen executioner and turned to slice through her bindings with his discarded ax. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the royals being ushered away toward the safety of the palace by a flank of red-uniformed guards who stepped over bodies strewn on the ground below the dais.

Lysandra jumped down from the stage, shoving and punching anyone in her path as she tried to get to Tarus.

An iron bar of an arm came around her throat from behind. She clawed at it, fighting and kicking. A man had fallen to the ground nearby, screaming, his body ablaze.

“Let go of me!” she shouted.

“Why? Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

She froze. The firm arm was clad in the hateful red uniform, but as soon as she heard him speak, she stopped fighting.

Her captor loosened his hold just enough for her to spin around and confirm his identity.

“Jonas!” The word was nothing more than a throaty rasp.

He didn't greet her with a smile, not even a smug, self-satisfied one. He didn't even look at her; his gaze was fixed on the crowd, his expression deadly serious.

“That explosion hit closer to you than I wanted,” he growled. “Idiot doesn't know how to follow orders. He killed too many people today. And he came damn close to killing you, too.”

Jonas wasn't remotely gentle as he began yanking her along with him, following Tarus and the other guard through the melee. Thousands of spectators fled the explosions, and the detonations kept coming. One after another after another.

Two guards raced past them without giving them a second glance. A third slowed his steps and cast Lysandra a sour look.

“Where are you going with the prisoners?” he demanded of Jonas and the other guard—another disguised rebel, Lysandra had figured out—who had Tarus by his shirt.

“I was told to take them back to the dungeon until this area is secure,” Jonas said. “Unless you want to take them?”

“No. Carry on. And make haste.” The guard continued on his way.

“Oh, I'll make haste,” Jonas spat past his gritted teeth.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Lysandra growled. “Because you're doing a great job so far.”

“Good to see you, too. Oh, and you're welcome for saving your arse. Now shut up.”

Jonas moved so swiftly that Lysandra nearly tripped over her own feet. She was weak from dehydration and hunger, from grief and fear. What did he think he was doing? He and this other boy had just risked their own necks to rescue her and Tarus. Idiots!

“You don't think anyone will recognize you dressed like that?” she hissed. “It's not like that uniform covers your face.”

“What part of
shut up
don't you understand?”

“Who's that with Tarus?” She eyed the boy now ten paces ahead of them.

“A friend. Now do me a big favor and please act like a prisoner so we don't draw more attention.”

Lysandra shut up.

The four of them reached the guarded opening in the eastern wall that allowed the river to flow through the heart of the city, providing it with its main water supply. The frightened crowd was trying to squeeze through the exit as fast as they could.

A guard stepped in front of them. “Where do you think you're going?”

“We're leaving,” Jonas replied.

“You're leaving the city with the prisoners?”

“Yes, that was the plan.”

The guard looked closely at Jonas's face, and Lysandra's heart sank. “You—I know you. You're Jon—”

The hilt of a sword struck the guard suddenly in the head. He fell to reveal another guard standing behind him, one whose carrot-colored hair stuck out at all angles and clashed with the crimson shade of his uniform.

Jonas flashed him a smile. “Good to see you, Nic.”

The redheaded guard grinned back at him. “It's good to be seen.”

“When your friends wake up, please thank them for lending us their uniforms. They were very useful.”

“
If
they wake up they'll be blamed for letting a couple rebels get the better of them. Nice display back there. I'm almost impressed.” Nic slapped Jonas on his back. “Now get out of here and don't look back.”

Without another moment's delay, the four of them fled the city. Jonas and his friend discarded their stolen uniforms in a nearby forest where they'd hidden their regular clothes, as well as some food and water for Lysandra and Tarus. They made them drink and eat as they walked, putting as much distance between them and the city as possible.

Finally, once they were several miles away, Jonas stopped when Lysandra stumbled. Her legs were weak.

He regarded her with alarm. “I'm going too fast for you.”

“No, it's fine. I'm just clumsy.”
And exhausted
, she thought.
And in shock.

“You didn't look injured back in the city. . . .” He checked her skin, pulling her hair away from her shoulders.

She pushed his hand away. “I'm not.”

He didn't look convinced, he looked worried. “Did those bastards hurt you?”

She was still in a daze, uncertain if this was real or a dream. “They were about to chop off my head.”

“They kept us in a dark cell and barely fed us,” Tarus said, his voice quavering. “But they didn't beat us. They beat up Gregor, badly, when he wouldn't talk.”

“Gregor,” Jonas repeated, his eyes flicking to Lys's. “Your brother's in the dungeon too?”

All she could do was nod until she found her voice. “He was. The king killed him. He made me watch.”

Jonas clenched his jaw and he swore under his breath. “Lys . . . I'm so sorry.”

“Me too.” She let out a shuddery breath, weary from her grief. She wished so much that Gregor were here, too. Then she remembered their new companion. The older, dark-haired boy peered at her with silent curiosity, his arms crossed over his chest. “Who're you?” she said.

“Sorry, I should have already made the introductions,” Jonas said. “Lysandra, Tarus, this is Felix Gaebras. Not only do you owe him your lives, but so do I. Without him, none of this could have happened.”

“Pleasure,” Felix said.

Lys's first instinct was to demand more answers, but words vanished before she could speak.

Jonas was right. If it weren't for Felix, and for Jonas, she'd be dead. She decided to reserve judgment on this boy until she got to know him better.

She nodded toward Felix. “Are you responsible for the explosions?”

“Nope,” Felix said. “That would be Jonas's other new friend.” “
Friend
might be overstating matters after what happened back there,” Jonas growled. “Petros likes to watch things burn too much. He's got no control. He could have killed Lys and Tarus.”

Felix shrugged. “They're fine. Anyone standing there ready to watch your friends lose their heads deserved what they got. Nothing to feel guilty about.”

Jonas hissed out a long breath. “I suppose you're right.”

Lysandra was still stunned. “Why?” she choked out.

“Why what?” Jonas asked.

“You risked your life—both of your lives—to save us.” She reached for Tarus's hand and squeezed it.

“And?”

“And . . .” She shook her head. “And it doesn't make sense. There are more important things for you to be doing right now.”

“Really, Lys?” Jonas shot her an impatient look. “And what if it were me in that dungeon? Would you have let me rot there until they hacked me into little pieces so you could go on doing more important things? Or would you have been busting your arse trying to save me?” He barked out a laugh. “Forget I asked. Of course you'd have been much more practical than that. The life of one rebel wouldn't be worth the risk, right?”

There was no questioning what she would have done if the tables had been turned. She would have risked anything to save Jonas.

“I did it because Brion would have wanted me to, that's why,” Jonas said, turning away. “End of story.”

Brion. Another boy taken before his time because he stood up to those who oppressed him. Brion, who had loved her in spite of—or because of—her fierce, argumentative nature.

“Understood,” she said softly.

“Now come on. Let's move. They'll be searching for the two of you as soon as they realize you're gone.”

“Where are we going?” Tarus asked.

“Paelsia. I'm taking you back to your family, kid.”

“But, Jonas—”

“No buts. You're too young for all of this. You get another year stronger and then you can join me again if you want.”

“But I—” Any further protest died on Tarus's tongue, and Lysandra saw a whisper of relief slide through his eyes. “Fine. If that's your official order, I'll do as you say.”

“It is.”

Lysandra's mind relaxed for the first time in what felt like ages. The thought of Tarus with a chance to be relatively safe was a huge relief.

“What about me?” Lysandra asked. “I don't have a family to go home to anymore.”

“Yeah . . . you. You're more of a problem.” Jonas exchanged a look with Felix. “So I guess what you do now is your choice, Lys.”

Mere hours ago, she was as good as dead. Now her whole future was ahead of her.

“What's your plan?” she asked. “If it's still to kill the king, he was out in the open today. You could have taken a shot.”

“He wasn't my priority today. I couldn't lose focus for anything. But now that you're free, my old plan is new again. I won't rest until the king has lost his throne and his power is taken away forever. Until he has taken his last breath. Until all Paelsians are free to control their own destinies.”

Lysandra and Jonas locked eyes. “Then we have the same goal.”

He nodded once. “Then I guess you're staying with us.”

“I guess so.”

Just when she'd been ready to accept her death, her fire had returned. It had been trampled, but it had never been fully extinguished.

Lysandra was alive. Her spirit was renewed.

And she was ready to fight again.

LUCIA

AURANOS

H
ow fascinating, to study the face of someone who knew she was moments from death.

Lucia hadn't been present for the last set of executions, but there had been plenty of them in Limeros during King Gaius's reign. In the past she'd always found it an unpleasant necessity, but she'd never felt sorry for the criminals. After all, those who lost their heads had chosen to commit crimes. They'd known the punishment but had acted unjustly anyway.

Her father had also put many accused witches to death over the years—all cruel women who'd used their magic to hurt others. After her
elementia
had awakened, he'd explained to Lucia how her magic was different from theirs.

The witches' magic was evil, strengthened by blood sacrifice and dark deceit.

Her magic was pure, prophesized. It was good.

“Barbaric,” Cleo said under her breath as the two rebels were brought to the stage.

“Didn't your father have executions?” Lucia asked Cleo. A boy with bright blond hair darted through the audience and caught her eye. He was one of few who didn't stand with the crowd, transfixed by the king's speech. In fact, he moved in the opposite direction with a lit torch in his hand, drawing annoyed looks from those he brushed past.

“Of course he did,” Cleo replied. “But they weren't public spectacles like this.”

Was it cruel of Lucia not to care about the fate of these two rebels? She searched her heart, trying to find some sense of unease about their impending deaths, but found she had no sympathy for them at all. They'd chosen their path, and this is where it had led. They had no one to blame but themselves.

Out of nowhere, just as the girl rebel—a savage little thing with a wild mass of black curls and a demonic look on her face—was about to die beneath the ax, a thunderous boom sounded out.

“What was that?” Lucia exclaimed, but before anyone could answer, the dais was rocked by another explosion that knocked her off her feet. She lost her balance and fell off the platform, straight into the crowd. The world spun in circles as she got to her feet, disoriented.

“Father!” she called out, but she couldn't see him, nor could she see Magnus or Cleo or any guards. Down on the ground, she was surrounded by unfamiliar faces wracked with panic and fear. No one paid her any attention as people ran for their lives, fleeing the fire.

To her left was a man ablaze, twitching on the ground . . . reaching for her, his mouth contorted as he screamed . . .

She thought back to that fateful day when the king had her break down the palace entrance with her magic. It seemed so simple a request.

But magic met with more magic, and a fiery beast had risen up and crashed down, destroying the palace entrance and killing everyone in its path.

She scrambled out the burning man's way before he could grab her skirts and set her on fire as well.

“Magnus!” she cried. She took hold of the edge of the dais, trying to climb onto it again, but the flow of the massive crowd swept her along with it and more panic swelled within her.

She hadn't been out among commoners like this without protection in . . . well, she had never been left unattended in her entire life. But no one looked in her direction, as they were all busy searching for safety and escape.

The crowd pushed Lucia along until she was out of the palace square. Finding herself on a city street, she craned her neck in search of a clear path back to the castle.

“Are you lost, princess?” A man's large hand curled around her wrist. “Allow me to assist you.”

She spun to face him, fear taking hold inside of her. “Let go of me.”

He frowned. “If you'll just—”

Any of these strangers could mean her harm, and she didn't want to be manhandled by any of them. And this man knew who she was and could take her hostage as leverage against the king.

“I said,” she hissed, “
let go of me
.”

With barely a thought she summoned fire magic to heat up her skin. Instantly, the man released her with a yelp, his hand now blackened and burnt, his eyes wide with pain and confusion. She turned and ran away from him as fast as she could, her skirts swishing around her legs.

Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, but she felt a swell of pride over what she'd done. Instead of allowing fear to rule her, she'd protected herself. Anyone who wanted to hurt her would be wise to keep their distance.

She gasped as she spotted a familiar face in the crowd. It was Princess Amara, in a burgundy gown, her long ebony hair loose and flowing past her shoulders. Amara's eyes widened as the girls locked gazes.

“Lucia!” Amara closed the distance between them and grasped hold of her hands, wincing as people ran past them without a second glance. “I'm so thankful I found you. I decided to visit the palace today, but wanted to wait until the king returned from the execution before my attendants announced me. And then . . . the explosions. I—I lost track of my guards.”

“Thank the goddess we found each other.” Lucia linked arms with Amara and guided her into an alcove where they found shelter. They watched the swarms of people scatter in all directions as they escaped from the palace square.

Rebels were responsible for this, no question. They'd meant to cause a distraction and rescue their compatriots.

The thought infuriated Lucia.

A boy ran against the crowd, eyeing his surroundings with distaste and suspicion before disappearing into a bakery. Lucia immediately recognized him from the moments just before the blasts—the blond boy with the lit torch, which he still held in his grip like a weapon.

“That boy, he's the one,” she whispered.

“The one?” Amara repeated. “What do you mean?
Who
do you mean?”

“The one responsible for the explosions. He must be.” It was a gut instinct more than anything else, but one worth pursuing. She knew it. The boy couldn't be allowed to escape. He was a murderer and had come very close to killing her family.

Lucia scanned the area for a guard to alert, but there were none close by.

“Come on,” she urged, pulling Amara by her arm. “We can't let him get away.”

Amara didn't protest as Lucia led her into the bakery. The place smelled of cinnamon and vanilla; several trays of sugar cookies and pecan tarts had been left, untouched, on the countertop. Lucia scanned the room until her gaze fell upon the boy in the far corner. The light from his torch flickered, illuminating his widening eyes in the dark interior of the shop.

“This is all your fault, isn't it?” Lucia said sternly.

He met her gaze directly without even a flinch. “You shouldn't be in here, girl. You'd be smart to leave me alone or you might get burned.”

He didn't seem the least bit ashamed, nor was he trying to deny her accusation. “Why would you want to hurt so many people?”

He snorted. “Why do you care? You look just fine to me. Not a bit of dirt on your pretty gown. Be gone, both of you. Or else.”

It seemed he didn't know who she was.

“I care because I don't like it when innocent people are blown apart simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She stole a quick glance at Amara to make sure she hadn't frightened her, then drew closer to the boy. “You helped the rebels escape.”

His eyes narrowed, glittering in the firelight. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

Even now that the horror was over, he didn't seem to want to let go of his torch for a moment.

“Bringing fire into a building like this is dangerous,” Lucia said.

“Then I suggest you stay away from me.”

“He's rather rude,” Amara observed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You should use your magic on him.”

Lucia's gaze snapped to her with surprise. “What did you say?”

Amara fixed her with a patient look. “I've heard the rumors. There are so many of them about you. My father has heard them as well. In fact, you're one of the reasons he asked me to come here. You're King Gaius's secret weapon, a girl of prophecy and magic.”

Lucia's first impulse was to lie, to deny Amara's rumors. But why should she constantly have to deny what she was and what she could do? She knew her father considered the Kraeshians to be his enemies, but that he took solace in the fact that Emperor Cortas would have Lucia's magic to contend with if he ever chose to attack Mytica.

The king expected so much of her—almost as much as she expected of herself.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the boy said, rolling his eyes. “I have other places to be.” He attempted to dodge and slip between the two princesses, brandishing his torch to show he'd burn them if they got too close.

Casting a dark look at him, Lucia summoned air magic. Suddenly, the boy was slammed backward against the wall and pinned in place, his torch extinguished.

Once again, the magic required barely a thought. Some days it was so very easy for her.

Lucia then extended her hand and summoned a dancing flame into her palm.

“What—?” he managed. “What
are
you?”

A smile had crept onto Amara's face. “I knew it. You have magic at your fingertips. It's incredible.”

Lucia raised an eyebrow, pleased by the stunned reactions such a simple trick could garner. “It certainly can be.” She drew closer to the boy, allowing the hatred she felt toward him to flicker through her and brighten her fire. “Tell me your name.”

He couldn't take his eyes off the flame in her palm. “Petros.”

“You're a rebel.”

“Not usually. But today I was, I guess.” His eyes reflected her fire. “You're absolutely amazing. You're like a goddess—a beautiful goddess.”

His praise pleased her for the briefest of moments. The way he regarded her, as if she was something he should worship. “Am I?”

“Like the goddess Cleiona. The perfect embodiment of fire and air.”

And with the utterance of that name, her pleasure vanished. “Cleiona murdered Valoria, my goddess, trying to steal her magic. How dare you compare me to an evil creature like that?”

He blanched. “Apologies. Please forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”

“Are you going to question him?” Amara said. “Or let him stare adoringly at you all day?”

“A fair point,” she agreed.

Amara looked at her not with awe or fear at her very real magic. Rather, she seemed pleased and impressed.

It was a nice change from the terrified reactions her
elementia
usually received.

“All I want to know is
why
,” Lucia said to the boy. “Why would you assist the rebels today? Do you wish to defeat my father for reasons of your own?”

“Your father . . .” Petros's brows drew together before recognition dawned. “You're Princess Lucia.”

“Give the boy a prize,” Amara said with a smirk.

“I am,” Lucia said to him. “Now answer me.”

“They asked me to help.”

“
Who
asked you to help?”

“Jonas Agallon. He wanted to rescue his friends. He saw my fire displays and thought I could help. For me, any chance to work with fire—to watch it rise up and destroy anything in its path. . . . It's what I love the most. And I can tell you like it too, princess.”

Jonas. That name had been coming up an awful lot lately. Jonas Agallon, the rebel leader accused of murdering the queen. Which was all fine with Lucia. It had saved her from having to do the deed herself.

Such dark thoughts
, a voice said inside her.
To use your magic is to summon malevolence. Be careful or it might consume you.

“I need to leave,” Lucia said, her voice small and uncertain as doubt descended.

She lost her focus for a moment, and Petros managed to break free of her air magic. He pushed off from the wall, shoving her out of the way in his haste to get to the door. But Amara was there, blocking his way.

He glared at her. “Get out of my way or I'll kill you.”

“I doubt that.” She reached into the folds of her gown, pulled out a dagger, and sank it into his chest.

The boy looked down with shock. He touched the hilt with trembling fingers, then fell hard to his knees and crumpled fully to the ground. A pool of blood began to seep out and surround him.

Lucia's eyes widened. “I wasn't expecting that.”

Amara reached down and yanked the dagger from the boy's body, wiping off the blade with a clean white handkerchief. “I'm sure he wasn't, either. No loss to the world, I'd say. Kraeshians like to deal with criminals swiftly and with finality. We don't tend to waste much time on incarceration and public executions.” She glanced over at Lucia. “I hope this isn't a problem for you. He was going to get away . . . and he knew your secret.”

Lucia had thought Amara merely a spoiled princess from another land. But she was much more than that.

Lucia eyed her now with wariness.

“If you're worried I'll tell anyone what I saw here”—Amara tucked her weapon away and moved closer to Lucia—“don't be. I can be very discreet.”

“What do you want from me?” Fire magic crackled down Lucia's arms, ready for summoning if Amara said the wrong thing.

Amara wasn't the only one willing to end a life today if there was no other choice. She would protect herself—and her family—at any cost.

Confidence flickered on the foreign princess's face. “I want to be your friend, Lucia. That's all I've wanted since I arrived in Auranos. I hope you'll give me that chance.” She smiled. “The crowd must have dissipated by now. It's time to make our way back to the palace.”

“You go without me,” Lucia said. “I need time to think.”

Amara didn't argue. “Very well. Be safe, Lucia. I'll see you again soon.”

She turned and stepped over Petros's body, not looking back at Lucia on her way out of the bakery.