Gathering Darkness (3 page)

The guard trembled. “Yes. A handful were brought to the palace dungeon to await execution.”

“How many's a handful?”

“I don't know exactly . . . three, four? I'm not sure. I wasn't there!”

Jonas winced. Three or four? There were so few survivors. . . .

“Names?” Felix pressed harder on the guard's throat.

He sputtered, his face reddening. “I don't know. I'd tell you if I did.”

“How long till they're executed?” Jonas asked, trying to keep his voice steady. The thought of people he cared about trapped under the king's thumb turned his blood ice cold.

“It could be a few days, or maybe a few months. Please, spare my life! I've told you all I know. Show mercy to me now, I beg of you.”

Felix regarded him for a long, silent while. “How about I show you the same mercy you would have shown us?”

One swipe of Felix's blade, and the guard was silenced forever. His body slumped to the ground to join his fellow fallen guards in the flickering firelight, and Jonas found he couldn't look away.

“You know I had to do that, right?” Felix said, his voice as cold as stone.

“I know.”

There was a hardness in Felix's eyes that was foreign to Jonas. They showed no flicker of remorse for what he'd done, nor did they show any joy.

It was true: The guard would not have shown them mercy. He would have executed them without a moment's hesitation.

“Much gratitude for saving my life,” Jonas said as Felix wiped his blades on the mossy ground before sheathing them.

“You're welcome.” Felix peered into the dark forest. “I think your friend ran away.”

“He'll be safer staying far away from me.” Jonas studied the bodies littering the area, then turned back to Felix warily. “You're an assassin.”

With his fighting skills, his ease with a blade—it would have been obvious to anyone that he was a trained killer.

The coldness faded from Felix's eyes as he grinned. “Depends on the day, really. One does what one must with the talents they have.”

That would be a confirmation. “So now what? I have far less gold than the wanted posters offer for my head.”

“Somebody's a bit of a pessimist, isn't he? With the king's eyes everywhere lately, looking for anyone causing trouble, what I want is someone watching my back while I watch his. Why not partner up with the infamous Jonas Agallon, I say?” He glanced in the direction Rufus ran off. “I'm not seeing much competition. You need me. Simple as that.”

“You want to be a rebel?”

“What I want is to cause trouble and create mayhem wherever I can.” Felix's grin widened. “If that makes me a rebel, then so be it. How about I start by helping you save your friends?”

Jonas continued to eye Felix with wariness, his heart pounding as fast as it had during the fight. “The guard was only telling us what we wanted to hear. We've no way to know if my friends are really in the palace dungeon.”

“There are no guarantees in this life, only strong possibilities. That's enough for me.”

“Even if they are there, the dungeon would be impossible to breach.”

Felix shrugged. “I kind of like impossible challenges. Don't you?”

Despite his best efforts to ignore it, hope had begun to well up in Jonas's chest. Hope often led to pain. . . .

But hope could also lead to victory.

Jonas studied the tall, muscular boy who'd just taken out five guards single-handedly. “Impossible challenges, huh?”

Felix laughed. “The most enjoyable ones. So what do you say? Shall we be partners in anarchy?”

Felix was right about one thing: Jonas didn't have a long line of skilled rebels waiting to fight by his side.

He relented, grasping hold of the fluttering hope inside of him and smiling. “Sounds like a plan.”

Felix grabbed Jonas's outstretched hand. “And I promise I won't run off into the forest with my tail between my legs like your friend back there.”

“I'd appreciate that.” Plans and schemes were already racing through Jonas's head. The future suddenly seemed infinitely brighter.

“Tomorrow we get started on freeing your friends,” Felix said. “And sending as many of the king's guards to the darklands as we can.”

As far as friendships went, Jonas thought, this was an excellent beginning.

MAGNUS

AURANOS

M
agnus had no appetite for a celebratory feast, yet that's exactly what greeted him the day after he returned to the Auranian royal palace in the City of Gold. He'd just endured a grueling ride back from Paelsia and was now required to attend a banquet honoring his victory against the rebels.

Guests drank without restraint as bottle upon bottle of sweet Paelsian wine flowed like spring water. Not so long ago, Magnus would never have indulged in such frivolous things, which were forbidden in his homeland of Limeros.

But things had changed. Now, he'd decided, he would indulge whenever possible.

He arrived late. A few hours late, actually. He couldn't care less about punctuality, but as the guest of honor he was supposed to have made a grand entrance, and it seemed as if he'd missed his initial introduction. He managed to enjoy three goblets' worth of sweet wine before he was interrupted.

“Magnus.” The sound of the king's voice cut through him like a blade. It was the first contact he'd had with his father since his return; Magnus had been purposely avoiding him.

He turned to meet his father's cold, appraising gaze. King Gaius had dark brown eyes, just like Magnus's, and their hair was the same nearly black shade—the king's had not yet shown any sign of graying. His father wore his finest formal surcoat, made from richly woven charcoal gray cloth and bearing the Limerian symbol of intertwining snakes in red silk thread on the sleeves. Magnus wore a nearly identical coat, which was much too stiff and restrictive for such a warm day.

Standing with the king were Prince Ashur, a visitor from across the sea who had by now far outstayed his welcome in this kingdom, and a beautiful girl Magnus didn't recognize.

“Yes, Father?” Magnus's sheer hatred for the man before him caused his throat to constrict. He fought with all his strength to not let that hatred show on the surface.

Not here. Not yet.

“I'd like to introduce you to Princess Amara Cortas of the Kraeshian Empire. The princess has joined her brother Ashur as our most honored guests. Princess, I present my son and the heir to my throne, Prince Magnus Lukas Damora.”

How Magnus wished he were anywhere else. Meeting new people and appearing cordial was such an unpleasant chore, even when he was in a relatively good mood. Which he wasn't.

Magnus tipped his goblet to the Kraeshian siblings.

He had heard rumors of Princess Amara's beauty, and now he saw all of them proven to be true. Her pitch-black hair was swept up into a tight coil at the back of her long, graceful neck; her skin was as dark and as flawless as her brother's and her eyes a pale, silvery blue to match his.

Magnus forced a smile and bowed his head. “An honor, princess.”

“No,” Princess Amara said, “it is
my
honor to have been welcomed into your father's palace so graciously after giving barely any notice at all of my arrival.”

“My sister is full of surprises.” Ashur's deep voice held the edge of a Kraeshian accent, just as his sister's did. “Even
I
wasn't made aware of her arrival until late last night.”

“I missed you terribly,” she said. “I couldn't bear to wait until you decided to return home. You left us with no idea of how long you'd be gone.”

“I like Mytica,” he replied. “Such a charming little cluster of kingdoms.”

Magnus noticed the slightest twitch in the king's cheek at the word
little.
Perhaps Prince Ashur had not meant it to sound dismissive, but . . .

It sounded dismissive.

“You're both welcome to stay in my little kingdom for as long as you like,” King Gaius said, his tone free of any noticeable animosity.

One thing Magnus endlessly admired about his father was how he always managed to slather on the charm when necessary. It was a talent Magnus had yet to acquire.

“Where has your lovely wife gone?” Princess Amara asked Magnus now. “I only had a chance to meet her briefly, when I first arrived.”

Now, there was a word that made Magnus's cheek twitch.
Wife
. He glanced around the crowded banquet hall, at the several hundred guests seated at long tables, mounds of food and drink set before them, swarms of servants ensuring no glass was fully emptied. A quintet of musicians played their instruments in one corner like a cluster of noisy crickets.

How different this was from the austere ways of Limeros, where there were few parties and it was rare to ever hear the sound of music. And how swiftly his father had altered his previous tastes and interests, adapting to new laws and rules in order to blend in with his surroundings. He was deceptive: a chameleon hiding in plain sight.

Magnus supposed it was easier to adapt to Auranian ways than to force a newly conquered kingdom to change their lives overnight. That would only lead to more rebellion than his father already had to contend with, and the Limerian army was spread thin across the entire continent.

It was all going according to the king's plan.

Or perhaps his father had begun to enjoy music and banquets and golden thrones more than he'd ever admit out loud.

“My wife? I don't know where she is,” Magnus replied, taking a sip of his wine and beckoning a serving girl over to refill his goblet. He looked around the room again. All the faces blended together, and he couldn't see the pale golden color of Cleo's hair anywhere in the crowd.

“I'm sure she's very happy to have her new husband back by her side after such a long time apart,” Amara said.

“It wasn't all that long.”
Quite frankly, not nearly long enough
,
he thought.

“Even a single day apart is far too long for two young people in love,” Ashur said.

The wine Magnus had drunk nearly rose in his throat. “What a delightful sentiment, Prince Ashur. I had no idea you were a romantic.”

“Ashur is the most sought-after bachelor in all of Kraeshia.” Princess Amara hooked her arm through her brother's. “He's refused several potential brides. Father fears he'll never settle down.”

“What can I say?” Ashur replied. “True love has yet to find me, and I'll settle for nothing less.”

“Which makes you that much more desirable. Even here, you've easily managed to capture every woman's attention.”

“Lucky me.”

“If you'll excuse us,” King Gaius interjected, “I must have a word alone with my son. Please, enjoy the rest of the banquet.”

“Much gratitude, your highness,” Amara replied. Touching Magnus's arm, she said, “I hope to see you again soon.”

Magnus smiled and, despite the girl's unquestionable beauty and grace, the gesture felt so false it was actually painful. “I insist that you do.”

As Magnus followed the king out of the crowded room, several guests tried to catch his attention, offering greetings and congratulating him on his victory in Paelsia, where he thwarted the rebels from halting the construction of the Imperial Road.

Magnus then noticed the sharp glare of Nicolo Cassian, the young palace guard stationed by the great hall doors.

“Did you keep her warm for me while I was away?” Magnus said to him in passing, feeling the first flicker of pleasure all day as Nic's expression grew more hateful, his face turning so red it almost matched his hair.

Nic would really have to learn to control his emotions if he wanted to stay out of trouble.

The foolish boy was in love with Cleo. And, as far as Magnus knew or cared, Cleo felt the same toward him. Yet he sincerely doubted that Cleo's eye could be caught by a lowly guard, even one she considered a friend.

The king took him to the throne room, a grand hall with high ceilings and chiseled marble steps that led to an enormous and ornate golden throne studded with rubies and sapphires. The Auranian tapestries and banners that had previously hung above the throne had been discarded for those of Limeros, but the room had otherwise remained just as it was when King Corvin Bellos ruled this affluent kingdom.

The king's guards stood just outside the heavy doors, leaving them alone in the cavernous room.

Magnus regarded his father in silence, willing himself to stay calm. He didn't want to speak first for fear he'd say something he'd regret.

“We have a problem, you and I,” the king said as he took a seat upon the throne.

A breath caught in Magnus's chest. “What do you mean?”

“The Kraeshians.” The king's expression soured, his features turning sharp and unpleasant in an instant. “Those little fools think I don't know why they're here. But I do.”

This was not what Magnus had anticipated. “And why are they here?”

“They're here on behalf of their emperor father, who hungers for more power and destroys everything in his path to get it.”

“Is that so? And what do you propose to do about it?”

“I will let nothing disrupt my plans. And if those two spies find out how close I am to seizing my treasure, I know they'll try to steal it.”

Worry and doubt flooded his father's eyes. Magnus had never before seen such weakness in him, this man whose confidence was perpetually blinding, no matter what he was saying or doing.

The king had lofty goals to match his incessant greed and ruthlessness. He sought the Kindred, the four crystals that held the essence of
elementia
—elemental magic. They were lost a millennium ago, but any mortal who possessed them would become a god.

Magnus had seen magic side by side with death in the shadows of the Forbidden Mountains, and he knew with deep certainty the Kindred were real.

And they would be
his
, not his father's.

“Anyone who would dare try that would surely regret it, no matter who they are,” Magnus said.

The king nodded, and the shadow of uncertainty faded. “The battle at the camp—I've been told you handled yourself well. Sometimes I forget how young you are.”

Magnus bristled. “I'm eighteen.”

“Eighteen is still very young. But you've grown so much this last year. I can't tell you how proud I am of all that you do, of all that you've had to endure and rise above. You are everything I ever dreamed you would be, my son.”

There was a time when hearing such words from his father would have been like receiving a sip of water just before dying of thirst.

Now, after everything he'd learned, he knew this was only a manipulation uttered by the man Magnus hated more than anyone else in the world.

“Thank you, Father,” he said tightly.

“I was disappointed to hear of my kingsliege's fate.” Before Magnus could comment, the king continued. “But he was unskilled in battle. It's no surprise he fell so easily to a rebel's blade.”

The image of Aron Lagaris's pale face and glossy, dead eyes flitted through Magnus's mind.

“He will be missed,” he said evenly.

“Indeed.”

The king stood up and descended the stairs to stand face-to-face with Magnus. Magnus fought back the urge to reach for his blade. He had to be calm.

“Melenia hasn't contacted me in weeks.” The king's voice held frustration as he spoke of the mysterious immortal who allegedly advised him in his dreams. “I don't know what she's waiting for, and I need to know how to use Lucia's magic to light our path. After all this time, your sister can still barely control her
elementia
and I can find no one trustworthy enough to tutor her.”

“Lucia's prophecy remains true. She is the one who will lead you to the Kindred, not Melenia. Lucia is the key to all of this and I will always have faith in her—more than anyone else.”

His words stuck in his throat all the more because they were the truth.

He still believed in Lucia, even if she no longer believed in him.

The king clasped Magnus's shoulders. “Of course, you're right. Lucia will lead the way. It is my destiny to possess the Kindred's magic for myself.”

No, Father
, Magnus thought. My
destiny.

“I'll keep an eye on the Kraeshians,” he said. “If they show any sign of wanting what's ours, we can deal with them together.”

The king nodded and pressed his hand against Magnus's scarred cheek, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Yes. Together.”

Magnus left the throne room. He walked swiftly down the hall until he reached a place where he could pause, unseen by his father, and will himself to stop shaking with anger. With frustration. The need to avenge his mother's murder and bring his father to justice crawled over his skin like ants.

The wine he'd had was no help at all; it had only blurred his vision and his mind.

He needed air. Badly.

He continued down the hallway until he found an exit to a large balcony overlooking the palace gardens. Illuminated only by moonlight, even he had to admit they were excruciatingly beautiful. The sweet scent of roses wafted up to where he stood on the balcony, about thirty feet above. His shoulders hunched, he clutched the cool marble banister and inhaled.

Suddenly, a small movement caught his eye. Down in the gardens, along the mosaic pathway winding its way through the lush area, he saw three figures: his adopted sister, Lucia, walking with the Kraeshian prince and princess.

He found he could not look away.

“Someone looks rather unhappy tonight.”

The voice cut through his concentration and tightened the muscles in his back.

Without turning around, he said, “I thought I was alone out here.”

“And yet, clearly, you're not.”

“I would
like
to be alone out here.”

“I'm sure you would. But I was here first. Actually, I was here for sixteen years before you arrived and murdered practically everyone I know and love, so I believe that definitely grants me the right to this particular balcony.”