Frozen Tides (17 page)

“It is.”

The emperor stood, strode briskly over to Gaius, and peered at the orb. “How interesting.”

“I've come here to warn you,” Gaius announced, pulling the orb closer to him and away from the emperor, “that if you attempt to conquer Mytica, my daughter will fight back with the power of a sorceress who can capsize entire fleets of ships. Who can freeze the Silver Sea with a single thought. Who can incinerate your soldiers into piles of ash and dust. Who, with the swipe of her little finger, can steal the breath of any enemy who dares cross her path. No army, no matter how large, can compete with the strength of her
elementia
.”

The emperor's lips were thin, his gaze fierce. “And your offer?”

“I am offering you a share in my treasure. This,” he said,
indicating the orb, “will be yours. Once I reveal the secret to unlocking the power within this crystal, it will give you the gift of air magic. In return, you will agree to embrace Mytica, not as a conquest but as a partner, and you will share your empire with me equally.”

So
this
was why the king had come to Kraeshia. Amara was both stunned and impressed by his audacity.

The tension now hanging in the air was nearly as visible as smoke.

“Half of my empire in exchange for a polished rock?” Despite his sarcasm, there was a glimmer of worry in the emperor's expression that made Amara believe he no longer found any of this funny.

“That's right,” Gaius said, calmly gazing at the crystal.

This banquet was far more exciting than Amara had anticipated. Even though she knew the king had lied and bluffed his way into this situation, he did possess at least one Kindred. And Lucia
was
the prophesied sorceress.

Her father would be wise to take the king very seriously.

“You say you know how to unlock the magic within the Kindred,” Amara said. “Can you share with us how you came to know this secret?”

Gaius gripped the orb of moonstone and studied Amara for a moment. “I know this secret because my mother told it to me. She was a witch, one with vast knowledge of the immortals' world. She knew that one day I would be the one to find and possess the Kindred, so of course she told me what to do once I claimed my destiny.”

Amara considered his words. “Your story is sweet, but it makes me wonder why so many accused witches in Limeros have been executed on your order over the years if your own mother was one
herself. I'm sure there's a fascinating explanation there that has nothing to do with the laws of your goddess.”

When he met her gaze this time, his eyes were black and cold and bottomless. “You have no idea, princess.”

The emperor stepped forward, halting the conversation between Amara and the king. “What's to stop me from taking that crystal and killing you right now, Gaius?” Felix and Milo rose to their feet, and the emperor flicked his hand dismissively at them. “Unless you're a couple of sorcerers, you can't protect your king from me.”

“You could kill me and take this Kindred,” the king acknowledged. “But it will be useless to you if you don't know how to unlock its magic.”

The emperor scoffed. “I could torture the secret out of you in minutes.”

The king didn't flinch. In fact, his gaze grew hard and steely. “You would do so at your own peril. Besides, such a secret would do you no good at all, here in Kraeshia. And should you arrive in Mytica without me, my daughter will be waiting to destroy every last one of you.” He pocketed the orb. “I've had my say and I've made you my offer. Surely you'll want to take some time to think about it. This meeting is over.” He nodded at his guards.

Felix offered Amara a slight shrug and another small grin as he accompanied the king out of the room.

“Father?” Dastan said quietly when all had fallen silent in the hall.

“It seems I have a great deal to think about,” the emperor replied.

Yes,
Amara thought.
You certainly do.

• • •

Later that evening, Amara wandered the hallways, feeling too energetic to retire to her chambers for the night. She couldn't
stop thinking about the way the king had taken full command of that meeting. She'd wondered why he'd been so foolish to come here, thinking it was a mistake for anyone to try to confront her father.

She'd forgotten King Gaius's reputation.

He was ruthless, power hungry, and now claimed his mother had been a witch.

Fascinating.

Her reverie was broken when she bumped into Felix.

“Stop,” she said.

“Stopping,” he replied, then gestured at the doorway beside him. “Luckily, this is my room anyway.”

“I know you didn't grow up in a palace, but you should at least know that it's not very smart or polite to wink at a princess, especially during a formal event,” she said.

“Well, I've never been accused of being smart or polite before.”

She regarded him for a silent moment. He was tall, and she liked the broadness of his shoulders. And despite the fact that he kept tugging at his collar, she also liked the way he filled out his fine tailored clothing.

“Your nose is crooked,” she said.

He touched it, then frowned. “It's been broken a few times. Frankly, I'm lucky to still have a nose.”

“It's quite ugly.”

“Um . . .”

“I like it.”

“Thanks?” He cleared his throat. “Is there something I can do for you, princess?”

“Actually, yes.”

“And what's that?”

“You can take me to your bed.”

Felix blinked. “I'm not sure I heard you correctly.”

“You heard me just fine. After a day of being ignored while two powerful, ruthless men discuss politics and magic, I'm in need of a little attention.” She slid her hands up his chest and to the nape of his neck, then pulled him closer and kissed him.

He didn't resist.

She smiled against his lips. “One night. That's all I want from you.”

He pushed open the door to his room with his elbow and gave her a wicked grin. “It would be my pleasure, princess.”

CLEO

LIMEROS

L
et me try to understand this,” Nic said to Cleo. He was with her in her chambers while Nerissa helped her with her hair. “Jonas Agallon storms into the palace grounds, holds a sword to the prince's throat, at which time Magnus learns you've been lying about working with Jonas for months, and, instead of killing you both, he's decided to give you your kingdom back?”

Cleo looked up at Nic's reflection in her mirror. “It does sound rather difficult to believe when the story's put like that. Do you think he's lying?”

“Apologies, but did you just ask me if I think Prince Magnus, the King of Blood's son and the brother of a power-crazed sorceress, would lie to the former princess of Auranos? Are you being serious right now?”

Nic's smugness had a way of annoying Cleo to no end—especially because he was often right to be smug and suspicious. And right now, she wanted to hold on to the belief that Magnus was being sincere. After all, if Magnus did want his father dead, he'd
need Jonas's help to carry that through. And if he cared only for Limeros, and didn't want the trouble that came with controlling all three kingdoms, then all of this really did make sense.

Luckily, Nic wasn't the only person whose opinion she trusted.

It was so wonderful to have Nerissa, the pretty girl with short dark hair and more wisdom in her eyes than any eighteen-year-old she'd ever seen, back with her. For the seemingly small favor of bringing Nerissa up north from Auranos, Cleo was grateful to Magnus without reservation. He could have easily denied her request.

Not that Cleo would have accepted that response as final.

Cleo grasped the girl's hand. “Nerissa, what do you think?”

Nerissa placed an opal-handled hairbrush down on the vanity table and looked back at Cleo's reflection. “You say you've already agreed to go along with this new plan,” she said, “so I think you should stay true to that agreement. At this stage in the prince's scheme, there's very little to do with you, and much more to do with Jonas. Nothing has really changed, it seems. Except, perhaps, your ongoing question of whether the prince is capable of being honest about his true agenda.”

“I suppose you're right,” Cleo said.

“You said he's forgiven you for conspiring with Jonas.”

“He says he understands why I did what I did.”

Nic let out an exasperated groan. “How have you two not figured this out yet? If the prince's mouth is moving, he's lying.”

Cleo's eyes flashed with frustration. “And what if he isn't lying this time? We just give up the first chance we've had in months to reclaim our kingdom?”

“But what if he
is
, once again, misleading you? Cleo, damn it,” he swore under his breath, “I can't lose you, too. Got it?” His tone
was fierce, but his eyes had grown glossy. He rubbed at them and turned away from her. “I need some air, even if it might turn my lungs to ice.”

He left the room, and Cleo rose to her feet to go after him.

“Let him clear his head,” Nerissa said, placing her hand on the princess's shoulder. “It'll give you the time to do the same.”

“Nerissa . . . I don't know what to believe anymore. Everything used to be so clear and now . . . I'm just so confused.” Her voice caught. “I haven't even had a chance to speak to Jonas privately.”

Magnus had put the rebel and his friends up somewhere on the far side of the castle, but Cleo didn't know exactly where. And the prince made it clear he wasn't going to tell her.

“Yes, of course you need to talk to him,” Nerissa said. “But first you need to talk to the prince. If you peel back the layers of animosity and suspicion and . . . confusion you feel, perhaps your sense of clarity isn't as marred as you think it is.”

The thought of talking to Magnus after all that had unfolded in the throne room sent a shiver running through her.

No. She wouldn't allow herself to fear him. Hate him? Loathe him? Distrust him? Yes. But never fear. She'd decided that long ago.

Still, Cleo shook her head. “It's the Limerian day of silence. I wouldn't even know where to find him.” Cleo had never experienced a single day of silence at the Auranian palace, and to witness such quiet in a place as stark as this northern castle was about as jarring as she could imagine.

“This day of worship will only make it much easier to find and speak to him in peace,” Nerissa reasoned. “Everyone in Limeros has gathered in the temples and village centers to worship their goddess. And I happen to know exactly where the prince has gone to do his worshipping.”

“Where?”

“He's right here in the palace, spending the day in the royal temple.” Cleo gave her a look of surprise—she hadn't even known there was a royal temple on the palace grounds—and Nerissa smiled. “I've made very good friends with Enzo, the young palace guard. He's full of useful information. Much gratitude for introducing us, princess.”

“
Very
good friends, are you?” Cleo knew all about Nerissa's proficiency with manipulating willing and gullible men and couldn't help but be amused. “I'm glad to see you're already having fun so soon after your arrival.”

“Limeros is far more enticing than I'd previously guessed. And, frankly, so is Enzo.”

“Well, I'm just glad that one of is happy here.”

Nerissa's smile widened. “Go and have that talk with the prince. I have great faith that you—more than anyone else—can summon words from Prince Magnus today.”

• • •

Cleo walked to the west side of the castle, flush against the high cliffs. She came to the end of a corridor and pushed open two tall ebony doors engraved with a twisting maze of snakes. Inside, she'd expected to find a small replica of the central temple near Ravencrest—dark and foreboding, so unlike the temples devoted to Cleo's namesake goddess, which were adorned with mosaics, gold, and jewels.

Instead, while this small palace temple did have black stone floors and hard wooden pews in front of an obsidian altar, it had another feature so surprising to Cleo that she couldn't hold back a gasp. Across the temple from its entrance were three floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the Silver Sea, giving her a full view of the setting sun, the sky alive with colors—red, orange, purple, and indigo.

She managed to tear her gaze away from the stunning sight,
then scanned the room for worshippers. She saw only one figure, Prince Magnus, seated at the front, facing the windows with his back to her.

She walked slowly down the aisle and sat in a pew directly behind the prince.

“This view,” Cleo said after a few moments. “I can see why you'd choose to spend the day here. So beautiful—and, I must admit, so unexpected in a place like this.”

He didn't reply, but Cleo wasn't discouraged. She scooted over and leaned forward against the back of his pew. His dark brown hair had grown quite long in the last months, and he hadn't bothered to trim it. He didn't smell of warm leather, as he did when he went riding. Today, he smelled only of sandalwood, as usual, and of citrus. Was that a hint of lemon she caught?

Lemons were a delicacy here in frozen Limeros, very expensive to import.

“Do you put sugar on your lemons?” she asked. “I've never been able to eat them without sugar. I've always preferred to have my lemons squeezed and made into a sweet drink.”

Again, Magnus didn't reply, but if nothing else, this was much more pleasant than arguing.

Her gaze settled on his scar—a jagged line that stretched from the top of his right ear to the corner of his mouth. The king had done this to Magnus, sliced his cheek for trying to steal a pretty dagger during a visit to the Auranian palace.

He'd been seven years old. To receive such a violent punishment at such a young age . . .

“Why are you here?” he finally asked, his deep voice just above a whisper.

The sound of his broken silence jarred her from her thoughts. “He speaks.”

“Only to ask why you've interrupted me at such an obviously inappropriate time.”

“I know about the traditions of the day, but even so, you spend far too much time alone, thinking. So much solitude isn't good for the soul.” She glanced down and saw a leather-bound book balancing on his lap. “Are you doing some more research on magic?”

“How wonderful that you've chosen to be so talkative today, of all days.” He gripped the edges of the book, whose cover was stamped in gold with the name LUKAS and an outline of what looked like a small country or island.

“Lukas. Your middle name,” she said.

“Very good, princess. You've been paying attention.” He traced his index finger over the letters. “And this is where that name comes from. The Isle of Lukas.”

That's right. The isle was familiar to her, a fifty-mile journey from the southwest tip of Auranos, but she hadn't thought of it in ages. “I've heard of it. I wanted to visit some summers ago, but at the time my father was furious at me for sneaking some friends of mine into a royal ball and refused to send me as punishment.” She frowned. “They teach art lessons there, don't they?”

“Among other things.”

She saw now that the book did not come from the library, but rather was a sketchbook, similar to the one her sister used to have. Emilia had attended art lessons on the island, the same summer she'd discovered that her archery skills far surpassed her talent for drawing trees and flowers. Cleo's mother had also been a student there long ago. Elena Bellos's sketchbook was one of the only mementos that Cleo had of the mother who'd tragically died giving birth to her.

“You were named after an island?” Cleo asked.

“The queen wanted to use my grandfather's name, Davidus, as
she believed I'd one day become a great king, like he had been. It was my father who insisted upon Lukas. He spent a season on the isle when he was young, just as I did only three summers ago. I suppose the fact that he named me after the place suggests that he valued his time there. Or perhaps he hated it and wanted a constant reminder. He's never bothered to explain to me his reasons.”

Cleo couldn't help but laugh. “You're saying that both you and King Gaius are former fine arts pupils? Don't Limerians frown upon such frivolous pursuits?”

“There's something honorable in learning how to perfectly render something's likeness—the kind of honor that makes my father think art can sometimes be a worthy pastime.”

“
Perfectly
, you say. Let me see for myself, then, how well you can render.” He remained still, his hands still grasping the sketchbook, so she leaned farther over the bench. “Come on, don't be bashful.”

Feeling bold, she reached out and took it out of his hands, and he didn't stop her.

Cleo expected to flip through the book and find nothing more than half-filled pages of abandoned, uninspired sketches from Magnus's bored summer on Lukas. Instead, she found that the entire sketchbook was full, from beginning to end, with dozens of beautiful drawings, each one different and more impressive than the next. “These are incredible,” she said, unable to look away from her most surprising discovery yet.

The first half of the book was filled with drawings depicting various glimpses of the Isle of Lukas, from sprawling landscapes, to intricately detailed close-ups of small rodents with bushy tails, to portraits of young people Cleo assumed to be Magnus's classmates. But when Cleo reached the second half, she noticed an abrupt change in subject matter. The rest of the sketchbook contained only portraits, and they were all of Lucia.

Lucia gazing out of a window, Lucia walking through the gardens, Lucia holding a flower, Lucia smiling, Lucia laughing.

Each one depicted her perfect likeness, no detail left uncared for. Only the portrait on the final page was unfinished. The only thing Magnus had sketched were two eyes that were unmistakably Lucia's—drawn so vividly they seemed to pierce right through Cleo.

He'll always be mine
, Lucia seemed to be saying to her.
This is the only proof you need.

Magnus pulled the book away from her and glanced down at the final picture of his adopted sister.

Cleo's mouth had gone dry. “This is why you came here today, why you wanted to be alone. Not to honor this day of worship, but to look at your sketches. You're worried about her, aren't you?”

Magnus didn't respond, but his jaw tightened. She moved to sit right next to him, and when she placed her hand on top of his, he tensed, but didn't pull away.

“You love her,” she said.

“More than anything.”

She'd always known this to be true, no matter what had happened between her and Magnus. Still, something inside Cleo twisted unpleasantly at his easy admission. She pushed past it. “And she loves you too,” she said. “But she's not herself right now. That man, Kyan . . . he's manipulating her.”

“The man of fire. I've heard rumors of him in recent months. I used to think that's all they were: rumors.” He looked down at Cleo's hand. “You know, it doesn't feel like all that long ago that we were sitting in a different temple, having another grave conversation.”

She remembered that night in the City of Gold far too clearly. Her need to align with him was so strong that she thought it might actually be a possibility.

“Rather than always fighting,”
she'd said to him,
“we could find a way to help each other.”

Since then, Cleo had learned a great deal about the dangers of just letting her true thoughts pour right out of her mouth. Those were the kinds of thoughts that could later be used against her as weapons. “You were drunk that night,” she said, trying to put on a dismissive tone.

“I was. Far too drunk. That was also the night I took Amara to my bed. I found I needed to be with someone much less . . . belligerent than you. It was refreshing, for a while.”