Gathering Darkness (9 page)

JONAS

AURANOS

I
t was only last night that Jonas received the news from Nerissa, a former seamstress and currently an invaluable rebel aid. She had managed to coax the names of the imprisoned rebels from the lips of a palace guard, and, had written them down on a note she'd left for him at a tavern in a nearby town, their established meeting place.

When Jonas read the names, he'd nearly shouted for joy

Cato, Fabius, Tarus . . . and Lysandra. All confirmed as prisoners in the palace dungeon.

But he'd sobered quickly.

To be alive and held prisoner at the whim of the vicious Limerian guards and the bloodthirsty king could be a fate worse than death.

He would do anything—
anything
—it took to free Lysandra and the others. And he hoped tonight's journey to the city would be another step toward that goal.

“Far be it for me to question you,” Felix said, “but in the event that this plan doesn't work, do you happen to have another one?”

“Nerissa will continue to help us whenever and however she can.”

“I'm still surprised your key rebel is a girl.”

“My key rebel
is
a girl, but she's not Nerissa. Still, I don't know what I'd have done without her.”

Felix shrugged. “To me, girls are meant to be pretty companions, not rebel comrades. They're good for washing our clothes and preparing meals after a long day.” He flashed Jonas a grin. “And, of course, they're excellent for warming beds.”

Jonas eyed him with an edge of amusement. “You might want to keep that opinion to yourself when you meet Lysandra.”

“She's not pretty?”

“Oh, she is. Extremely pretty, in fact. But she'll hand your arse to you on a rusty platter if you ever ask her to cook your meals or wash your clothes. And especially if you invite her to warm your bed.”

“If she's as pretty as you say I might try to change her mind.”

Jonas's grin widened. “Good luck with that. I'll be sure to bring flowers to your grave.”

Felix laughed. “So, do you think your contact will show?” he asked as they entered the City of Gold. After going on a couple of scouting missions and further confirmation from Nerissa, they learned that security had been ramped up to the highest level ever. Sneaking into the palace would be impossible.

Sneaking into the city, however, was another matter.

“We'll soon find out,” Jonas replied. To be cautious, they both wore long, hooded cloaks, but, despite the heavy presence of guards—at the gates, stationed in the towers around the city walls, patrolling the streets by foot or on horseback—no one paid much attention to them.

Finally, they reached their destination, and Felix swept his gaze over to the well-traveled cobblestone road. “I'll patrol out here. If anything feels wrong, I'll signal you.”

“How are you going to signal me?”

“Trust me, you'll know.”

Trust me.

So much about Felix reminded Jonas of Brion that trusting him was a gut instinct. It was so easy to pour his soul out over their campfires each night, telling Felix about what had gone wrong, and how Jonas wished he could fix it so everything would turn out the way it was supposed to. Right back to that fateful day when he and his brother, Tomas, had returned to their father's wine stall to find a lord and a princess from a neighboring kingdom making a purchase.

Life had been hard but wonderfully simple before that day. It wasn't as if Jonas was fighting to turn back time. No, he didn't want that. What Paelsians needed the most was truth and freedom. With those two prizes they might be able to find a way to rule themselves. No throne required.

“Hey.” Felix clasped Jonas's shoulder. “Don't fret. It'll be fine.”

“I'm not fretting.”

“If your contact doesn't arrive soon, though, we'll have to leave. It's too dangerous to be this close to the palace, especially with your pretty face plastered up all over the place.”

Jonas had to agree with him there.

He left Felix outside and slipped into the small temple wedged between two populated taverns. A ten-foot-tall marble statue of the goddess Cleiona stood near the entrance. She had long flowing hair, a peaceful yet haughty expression, and the symbols for fire and air—the elements she embodied—etched into her upraised palms. Her robes, despite being carved from marble, were thin and diaphanous and left very little to the imagination.

Those breasts alone are worth worshipping
,
Jonas thought as he passed the statue.

He pulled the hood of his dark cloak closer around his face as he entered the grand altar room. There were only three other people inside, sitting in pews with their eyes closed.

He took a seat near the back and waited.

There were no temples in Paelsia. No official religion, no deities. However, during his brief visits to Paelsia in recent days, he'd begun to see small clay idols in the deceased Chief Basilius's likeness. It sickened him, knowing that the chief had been a liar and a thief, selfishly living high and mighty in his compound while his people starved.

Jonas didn't mourn his loss, not for a single moment.

He waited in the quiet temple, the rhythm of his heartbeat his only way to know much time had passed. Finally, he heard the creak of the main doors opening, followed by footsteps.

“Wait outside,” the new worshipper said firmly to the guard at her side. “I need to be alone with my prayers.”

“Yes, princess.”

Jonas pulled farther back into the shadows and watched Princess Cleo walk up the aisle and across the row of benches facing a large mosaic of the goddess, making her way toward the back of the temple through an archway. He slipped off the bench and, glancing at the entrance to make sure that the guard had left, followed her down a passageway about twenty paces long that led to a smaller room. Hundreds of candles blazed with light on narrow shelves, celebrating and acknowledging the goddess's fire magic.

Cleo lit a candle and carefully placed it next to the others.

He waited in silence.

“I received your message,” she said without turning around.

“I'm glad.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. It's good to see you again.” After all the hardships he'd faced, seeing the princess in person lightened his heart. “Are you going to look at me?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

“Come on. Didn't we part as friends?”

“Did we? I seem to recall the last time we met you were horribly injured and all of your friends were dead.”

He flinched at the reminder of that terrible day. “I wanted you to come with me.”

“And what? Live in the trees with a group of Paelsians who despise me simply for being who I am?”

He let himself imagine a future just like that—he and Cleo living together in a tree house surrounded by birds and squirrels, far above the rest of the world.

The ludicrous thought almost made him laugh.

No, his life was much more earthbound and practical than that—and so was hers.

“Perhaps not,” he allowed. “Palaces with large comfortable beds to share with your new husband are much more to your liking, I'm sure.”

She spun around, her eyes blazing, and slapped him. Or, at least, she tried to—Jonas caught her wrist before the blow landed.

So quick to resort to violence—so unlike most Auranians, who were much more likely to drink and eat and stare adoringly at their own reflections than to fight for themselves. “Easy, your highness. A clandestine meeting with a wanted criminal isn't the best time to make a scene. There are potential witnesses snoozing not so far away.”

“You were silent for so long I thought you were dead.”

“I didn't know you cared.”

She let out a grunt of frustration. “Someone secretly tucked your message into my sketchbook. I was lucky to have found it in time to make my excuses to come here.”

“Didn't know you were an artist, either.”

Cleo glared at him, her arms crossed over the bodice of her violet gown. Her dress was not nearly as revealing as what the goddess out front wore, but Jonas certainly wasn't complaining.

“Clearly,” she said slowly, unpleasantly, “you're alive and well and ready to make light of everything I say.”

She was every bit as forthright as he remembered—it was one of his favorite qualities about her. She didn't bother with proper royal etiquette in his presence, which was fine by him. Frankly, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her until this very moment. “Hardly, your highness. Much gratitude for meeting with me.”

“You're being hunted like a wild boar. It was foolish of you to enter this city.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“I've already heard about your victory at the road camp.”

He frowned. “That was no victory.”

“Perhaps not overall, but you finally got your revenge on Aron, didn't you?” She wrung her hands, making her large amethyst ring glint in the candlelight. “I'm not saying that he didn't deserve it, of course. He did. And I hate that I feel any grief for him at all. But he's just one more piece of my previous life that's now been taken from this world.”

Jonas frowned. “Who told you I killed him?”

“I assumed . . .” A shadow of confusion crossed her expression. “It wasn't you?”

“No.” He couldn't lay claim to slaying the murderer of his brother and his friend. “I arrived too late to do the deed myself. But I would have, if your new husband hadn't stolen the opportunity from me.”

She stared at him. “You're saying . . . that
Magnus
killed Aron. But why?”

Apparently, this wasn't common knowledge at the palace. “Because Aron Lagaris killed Prince Magnus's mother.”

“What?” She grappled for words, a rush of nameless emotions playing on her face. “But . . . but they're still saying
you're
responsible for the queen's murder.”

Of course they were. Otherwise, his wanted posters would have been nothing more than fuel for a campfire. “Did you think I was guilty?”

“No, not for a moment. You don't kill women indiscriminately—even one married to the king. You hold yourself to a higher standard than that.”

It pleased him to know she knew this about him, even if everyone else seemed ready to jump to the worst conclusion. “Sadly, Lord Aron didn't hold himself to the same standard.”

“Magnus killed Aron because Aron killed his mother,” she repeated under her breath shakily.

A stab of jealousy pierced through him at the sound of Cleo so casually mentioning the prince's name, but he tried to ignore it.

He didn't have time for such petty emotions. It was time to get to the point of this meeting.

“Not long ago I asked if you'd become my spy inside the palace,” he said. “I'm asking you again.”

“What do you need me to do?”

Her answer came so swiftly that he needed to take a silent second to compose himself. “I need to know the king's next steps. Conquering Paelsia and Auranos were only the first. I have reason to believe there are ulterior motives behind his Imperial Road.”

Motives that called for an exiled Watcher to head the construction. And if the king had a Watcher building his road, then it was more than a way to link the three kingdoms—it was a means to get to magic.

Cleo looked at him with impatience. “Do you think that the king brings me in on his council meetings and asks for my opinion? I know nothing of his plans.”

“You're married to the prince.”

“So? You think that gives me special privileges?”

“Of course it does. That you're here at all shows me that you're not locked in your chambers as you were before your wedding.”

Her expression darkened. “Some things have changed, but others have stayed exactly the same. I can now leave the palace, but I'm still not permitted beyond the city walls. And I'm always surrounded by guards.”

“Except for now.”

She raised her chin. “Yes, you're absolutely right. I'm completely defenseless. If you decide I'm not as useful as you'd hoped, you could slit my throat and leave me behind as a message to the king.”

He was more amused than insulted by her absurd statement. “I could. But I think we've already established that I don't kill women.”

“Lucky me.”

He'd expected resistance, but now that he knew she was willing to listen to him, he considered his options. “Leaving aside the king and his road for a moment, there's something else I need to speak with you about. Several of my friends are currently being held in the palace dungeon.”

“Let me guess—you want to rescue them.”

He held her gaze. “I damn well want to try. Anything you hear about them, you must let me know.”

She stared at him for a moment in stunned silence. “You're going to get yourself killed.”

“Without a doubt.”

“And you're going to get me killed, too.” She wrung her hands, moving closer to the candlelight so it flickered softly against her golden hair. “As if I don't already have enough trouble as it is.”

Her fiery temperament had faded to mere embers in moments. Suddenly he felt compelled to ask her something that had been on his mind since her wedding day. “Does he abuse you?”

“The king?”

“No, the prince. Does he . . . hurt you?”

If she said yes, Jonas would find Magnus and kill him, no matter what the consequences. He would tear him apart and leave him in the Wildlands in small, bloody, twitching pieces for the beasts who lived there to consume.

She hesitated, a frown drawing her brows together. “No. Actually, he never speaks to me if he can help it.”

Jonas couldn't repress his sigh of relief. “Good.”

“Oh, yes, it's lovely to be completely shut out by those who control your destiny.”