Gathering Darkness (17 page)

MAGNUS

AURANOS

T
he Beast.

The name of the tavern was humorous to start with, but after Magnus had finished his second bottle of wine, he found it downright hilarious.

“Another bottle,” he barked. “Now.”

The server placed a third bottle of Paelsian wine in front of him.

“Silas Agallon Vineyards,” Magnus read aloud from the etching on the green glass bottle.

He was drinking wine made by Jonas Agallon's family.

Even more hilarity.

Despite his distaste for the kingdom itself, Magnus had quickly come to prefer Paelsian wine. Still, the place was a dry wasteland at best. And at worst, it was the site of bad memories and poor choices, of humiliation, defeat, and regret.

He drank straight from the bottle now, ignoring his goblet. How stupid that his father had forbidden such pleasures in Limeros all those years, citing religious reasons. Valoria had taught that to keep a clear mind was to keep a pure heart, and her people had obeyed. Magnus had always subscribed to this credo, believing that he truly preferred a clear mind to this . . . this . . .

Yes.
This
was better.

Drunk was much better than sober.

He cast a dark glance around the shadowy tavern. What few patrons remaining at this late hour had moved to tables in the back. The only people near Magnus were a couple of his guards.

He'd told them to leave him alone, but they'd ignored him. They were there “for his protection.”

Impudent bastards.

He raised the bottle. “To my sister and her shiny new tutor,” he said, tipping the wine toward the server before taking a long drink. “And to my father. Family—so important. So valuable. May they all rot together in the darklands one day.”

His own words amused him deeply, as did the server's horrified response to his toast.

Magnus was halfway through the third bottle when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“Your highness,” Cronus said. “It's time to leave.”

Magnus flicked the guard's hand away. “But I'm not nearly finished.”

“It wouldn't please the king to see you like this.”

“Oh, no! The king wouldn't be pleased. But I absolutely, positively want to please the king at all times. Don't I?” He took another swig.

“You've had enough to drink.”

“Did you wake up this morning and suddenly decide to become my wet nurse, Cronus? Apologies, but I have no desire to suckle at your nipple tonight.”

“I could carry you back to the palace, but I'd prefer to give you the chance to walk.”

The prince responded to the guard's rudeness with only a wry look. If anyone else spoke to him with such disrespect, Magnus would wish them dead. But having been the king's most loyal and trusted guard for too many years to count, Cronus had gotten used to speaking his mind when necessary without fear of repercussion. He'd established his place in any palace the Damoras should ever occupy. And one day he would be loyal and obedient to Magnus's every command.

But, unfortunately for Magnus, that day wasn't today.

“How kind of you. Walking is one thing I'm sure my father agrees that I do rather well.”

Cronus fixed him with an impassive expression. “The king himself sent me here to retrieve you.”

“And, of course, you obeyed without hesitation.”

“He knows that you've developed a fondness for wine.”

Magnus cast the guard a curious look. “Does he? And what does he think of that?”

“He's remarkably understanding. He knows what you've been through and forgives you your missteps. But he'd rather you drink inside the palace from now on, instead of at questionable establishments such as this, where one's words or actions could be used against him, no matter who he might be.”

“How thoughtful of him.” The lightness that the wine had infused into Magnus's head now began to darken at the edges. He stood up from his stool and faced the patrons at the back of the tavern. “My father forgives me for all of my missteps! He allows me to drink myself into a stupor as it will help me accept my destiny! I am the Prince of Blood, my father's heir—and the path to my future is set in stone. Do you fear me as you do him, you worthless peons?”

Cronus pushed firmly against his right shoulder. “Enough. This is no place for the crown prince to be, especially after yesterday's chaos. It's not safe here.”

“Don't touch me.” Magnus whacked the guard's hand away, but this time he was not so gentle.

Cronus remained patient as ever. “I'd prefer for you to leave this place of your own free will, but my orders from the king are clear. I'm to return you to the palace, and if need be, your highness, I will render you unconscious and drag you back.”

Cronus was fifteen years Magnus's senior and more skilled and experienced by far. He had no doubt that the guard could and would follow through with his threat.

Magnus might have been drunk, but he wasn't stupid.

“Fine,” he spat out. “I'm finished here anyway.”

The other guards glanced at each other warily as Magnus strode out of the tavern with Cronus directly behind him. The early evening air was warm and sweetly scented with roses—both the official flower and the official stench of Auranos.

Limeros smelled of ice. Paelsia of dirt. But Auranos smelled of roses.

Magnus hated roses. What other purpose did they serve besides looking pretty?

Though he stumbled as he walked along the narrow cobblestone road, he kept up a quick pace, and didn't once glance over his shoulder to see if the others were keeping up with him. He didn't care.

His steps finally slowed as he turned a corner to find six guards standing outside of a grand building with a façade of white marble flanked by pillars, sandwiched between two ordinary stone taverns.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“It's a temple of the goddess Cleiona,” Cronus said.

“Such places should be torn down,” Magnus muttered. Then, louder, “Why are there guards here? Have they abandoned Valoria to worship at another goddess's feet? Father wouldn't be too pleased about that, would he?”

Cronus went to consult one of the guards and returned a moment later.

“It seems that Princess Cleiona is inside. She's been given permission to worship here several times a week.”

This was the last thing Magnus expected to hear. To his knowledge, the princess hadn't been allowed to leave the palace since the wedding tour. “Why didn't I know about this?”

Cronus spread his hands. “It was the king's decision.”

“Was it.” Magnus's gaze was fixed on the temple doors. He should have been consulted about this. Why should she be given such privileges? “It wasn't the king's decision to make. He's not the one who was forced to marry her.”

“
All
decisions are the king's to make.”

This was completely unacceptable.

“Wait out here,” he commanded. “I want to inform the princess this is the last time she will be allowed to come here.”

He expected Cronus to protest, but the guard just nodded patiently. “Very well, your highness. Do what you must.”

Magnus pushed through the temple doors, leaving the guards to wait outside. The space looked like a miniature version of the grand Temple of Cleiona, where he and Cleo had been married, which had been big enough to hold thousands. That was, before the earthquake that had reduced it to a pile of rubble, making it unsafe for anyone to venture inside.

Though this temple was much smaller, it was still ornate and beautiful. White marble floors. Carved benches. A statue of the goddess peering at Magnus with what looked like disdain. The symbols of fire and air were etched into her upraised palms.

“You're not welcome here, Limerian,”
she seemed to sneer at him.

Too bad.

The temple was empty apart from the blond girl seated in the front pew. She gazed up at a gigantic mosaic depicting the goddess with the green valleys of Auranos behind her. On her left was a wildfire, burning with flames both orange and blue; to the right, a tornado.

Cleo gave Magnus a sidelong glance as he approached and sat down across the aisle from her, his attention fixed on the mosaic.

“Have you come here to worship?” she asked.

He repressed a laugh. “Hardly.”

“So you're here only to interrupt my prayers.”

“As if you're actually praying.”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Spare me such accusatory glares,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I've seen no sign that you're devout in your religious beliefs. You're the same as anyone in this hedonistic, self-centered kingdom. Your religion is nothing more than a series of pretty marble statues adorning gaudily ornate spaces.”

“You are entitled to your opinion.”

Her dismissive attitude would do nothing to help her cause tonight. “You come here to escape the palace even if it means you must be accompanied by a half-dozen guards. This is where you can think in private, perhaps about how best to destroy us.”

Cleo crossed her arms over the bodice of her gown. “Oh, so now you're a mind reader, are you? It's incredible that you have the talent to know exactly what's in my thoughts at all times.”

“You'd be surprised what I know about your thoughts, princess.”

She assessed him with a single sweep of her eyes. “You're drunk.”

“Am I?”

“You're slurring your words.”

He wasn't slurring anything. She likely said this only to wound him—a constant goal of hers. “Apologies for not making myself clear. I came in here to tell you this will be the last time you will be allowed here.”

She didn't seem overly concerned by his proclamation. “The king told me I could come whenever I wanted.”

“I don't care what the king told you.”

The princess raised her chin. “What right do you have to prevent me from doing something that has already been approved by your father?”

How obtuse she was being! He barked out a laugh. “What
right
? I'm your
husband
, princess. That gives me the right to stop you from doing anything that displeases me.”

She sighed. But Magnus could tell it was one of weariness rather than defeat. “By morning,” she said, “you'll have forgotten all about this conversation. Tell me, how much did you drink? A gallon? Did you fall face-first into your wine and swim around for a while?”

“I see you're attempting to change the subject.”

“I find that those who drink to excess wish to forget their troubles.”

“Oh, really? Is that what
you
do?”

She paused, seemingly undeterred by the jab. “I drink far less than I used to. I found it never led me to the places I wanted to be.”

“Oh, that's right. It led you into Aron Lagaris's bed, isn't that right?”

Her expression soured. “How kind of you to remind me.”

“But alas, you won't be finding yourself in his bed ever again. It would be a rather cold place to be now.”

He could tell she was fighting to keep her emotions in check, but her cheeks had gone very red. “You want me to leave, yet you don't seem in any hurry to leave yourself. What's out there you're trying so hard to avoid?”

“Everything.” He said it without thinking, without meaning to.

She studied him carefully. “I think you're drinking to forget about what happened to your mother.”

His chest tightened. “Shut your mouth.”

She swept her glance across the temple, which was empty but for the two of them. “You won't believe me, but I understand the pain you feel. Your need for vengeance.”

Their conversations rarely got as personal as this. “I feel nothing of the sort.”

“I don't believe you.”

“I don't really care what you believe, princess. And I'm not looking for a friend.”

“Perhaps you should be. From what I've seen, you've no other friends to speak of.”

That she seemed to know him so well unnerved him. “I don't need friends.”

She studied him for a silent, uncomfortable while, her brows drawing together. “You try so hard to be horrible, to be cruel, to remain detached from anything that might cause you pain. But I saw the look on your face as they dragged you away from the executions yesterday. You were frantic when Lucia went missing in the crowd. You thought she'd been hurt.”

The fact that she'd so easily noticed this weakness made him wince on the inside. “My sister can take care of herself, believe me. She was fine, only temporarily lost. And she returned to the palace not only unhurt but with a handsome new tutor in tow. How delightful for everyone.”

Cleo stood up and sat right next to Magnus. The gesture surprised him, but he didn't let it show.

“I find you . . . deeply confusing,” Cleo said. “More so with every day that passes.”

“Some girls are easily confused.”

“Time and time again you prove yourself to be vile and disgusting and hateful.”

This coaxed a fresh laugh from him. They'd finally returned to more familiar ground. “Your opinion is irrelevant to me, princess.”

“You are all of those things.” She nodded, as if agreeing with herself. “But the more I think about you, the more of an enigma you become to me. Yesterday was only another example. Before that, you could have exposed me to your father as an eavesdropper, but you didn't. You could have let that boy stab me in Limeros, but you stopped him. You defended me when Aron exposed my loss of chastity. The king would have cast me out otherwise. And you didn't tell your father about the bridal dagger Prince Ashur gave me.”

She made it sound as though he'd done these things deliberately, to help her. “You're imagining kindnesses that were anything but.”