Frozen Tides (4 page)

“Fine. I need a disguise,” he said, raising a brow at Lysandra. “But so do you. A huge audience got a nice, long glimpse of you at your interrupted execution.”

She dropped her gear again. “You may be right.”

Jonas touched his dark brown hair, long enough to curl around his ears and drop down in front of his eyes if he didn't constantly push it back. “I'll cut my hair.”

“That's a start,” Galyn said. “And you're in luck. I have an eye
patch you can use. Got stung by a needle-bug a few years ago and had to wear it for a month.”

An eye patch? He tried not to grimace at the thought of losing half his vision, even temporarily. “Yeah . . . that sounds, uh, great. I guess. Thanks.”

Lysandra pulled a dagger out of her canvas bag. “I'll cut your hair as soon as I've done my own.”

She raised the blade to one of her long, curly locks, but Jonas caught her hand. “You're not cutting your hair.”

She frowned as he quickly disarmed her. “And why not?”

He couldn't help but grin. “Because I like your hair exactly as it is. Gorgeous and impossible to control, just like you.”

Her hands were on her hips, and he could tell she was fighting a smile. “Then what kind of a disguise do you suggest for me?”

His smile grew. “Simple. A gown.”

Lysandra's eyes widened. “A
gown
?”

“A pretty one. Silk, if possible. Galyn? Do you have anything lying around here that a guest might have left behind?”

The innkeeper chuckled. “Actually, I think I have one of my mother's old gowns around here somewhere.”

“Good,” Jonas said, deeply amused at the outraged look on Lys's face. “It seems we'll be ready and unrecognizable in no time. Let's get going.”

CLEO

LIMEROS

H
er sister, Emilia, once said that she could tell Cleo's mood by the state of her left thumbnail. Whenever Cleo was stressed or upset, she chewed it down to the quick. According to her nursemaid, she'd also sucked her thumb many years longer than the average child, so Cleo supposed that her nail-biting habit was a natural evolution.

A quick, sharp pain tugged at Cleo's scalp. “Ouch!” she exclaimed, pulling her sore thumb away from her mouth.

She saw her attendant Petrina's eyes widen in the mirror. The girl held a small swath of Cleo's long blond hair. “Oh, your grace, I apologize! I didn't intend to . . . I've never attempted this sort of style before.”

“Ripping my hair out by its roots is not the best way to learn,” Cleo said, her scalp still throbbing. She willed herself to be patient with Petrina, even though she was certain that even Nic could do a better job plaiting her hair.

How she wished Nerissa were here in Limeros, rather than being at the Auranian palace. Nerissa wasn't just a good friend
and Cleo's main connection to Jonas Agallon, but she was also an incredibly skilled attendant.

“I don't know what to say, your highness. The prince will be furious if he learns I'm inept. He'll have me punished!”

“The prince won't punish you,” Cleo assured her, patting her hand. “I won't let him.”

The girl looked at the princess with awe. “You must be the bravest person in the world if you can stand up to someone as strong and . . . determined as him. I admire you more than you know.”

Perhaps Petrina wasn't so stupid after all. She seemed a very good judge of character. For a Limerian.

“We should stand up to brutish boys whenever we can,” Cleo said. “They need to learn they don't hold all the power, no matter who they are. Or
think
they are.”

“Prince Magnus scares me. He reminds me so much of the king.” Petrina shivered, then bit her bottom lip. “Apologies. It's inappropriate of me to admit these thoughts to you.”

“Nonsense. You absolutely must feel free to speak your mind around me. I insist.” Even though Cleo wouldn't keep this uncoordinated girl as her attendant, she knew it was best to make friends wherever she could find them. “In fact, if you ever hear any news or information around the palace that you think I should know about, come to me immediately. I promise to keep every secret.”

Petrina's face whitened. “Are you asking me to spy for you, your grace?”

“No!” Cleo covered her immediate alarm with a bright smile. Nerissa was always happy to spy—she took to it as naturally as breathing. “Of course not. What a silly suggestion.”

“The king has always dealt harshly with spies. It's said he cuts their eyes out and feeds them to his dogs.”

Nausea rose within Cleo and she fought to hold on to her
pleasant expression. “I'm sure that's only a rumor. Anyway, you may be excused now.”

“But your hair—”

“It's fine as it is. Really. Thank you.”

Petrina curtseyed and left without further protest. Alone now in front of the mirror, Cleo studied her reflection, dismayed to see that her hair was a mess of half-finished braids and tangles at the back of her head. After working on it unsuccessfully for a few moments with the brush, she gave up.

“I need Nerissa,” she said aloud to herself.

Not only for her skills as an attendant, but also because Cleo needed to know if she'd received any word from Jonas. In Cleo's last correspondence with the rebel, she'd given him secret information on how to claim three of the Kindred orbs. However, since then she'd heard nothing from him.

For all she knew, Jonas had failed. Or, worse, he'd succeeded and sold the crystals to the highest bidder. Or, much worse than that . . . he was dead.

“Yes, Nerissa,” she said again, nodding to herself. “I desperately need Nerissa.”

But how could she convince Magnus to send for her?

Well, she would simply have to
demand
it, of course. She would not cower before the prince, not today and not ever. Though, truthfully, she'd been deeply appalled and confused by the dramatic display she'd witnessed with Lord Kurtis. It was as if Magnus had been possessed by the spirit of King Gaius, turning him cruel and heartless; into something everyone within a ten-mile radius should fear.

She narrowed her eyes at her reflection. “Clearly,” she said to herself, “you're forgetting that he
is
cruel and heartless. What happened in Ravencrest doesn't change that. For all you know, he was trying to manipulate you. Why do you constantly make excuses
for his foul behavior? Are you that much of a fool, to let a few pretty words and a regrettable kiss change your mind?”

Magnus had saved her from certain death in the Auranian dungeon, that was undeniable. But there were many reasons why he would have done it beyond her being . . . being . . .

How exactly had he put it?

“As if you've forgotten a single word he said,” she whispered.

But Cleo wasn't a romantic fool, a silly girl who believed a villain could become a shining hero overnight, even if he had saved her life once. She was a queen, who would reclaim her throne and destroy her enemies—
all
of them—once she possessed the magic and power she needed.

With one or more Kindred in hand, she would get justice. For her father. For Emilia. For Theon. For Mira. And for the Auranian people.

She jabbed her finger at the mirror. “Don't ever forget it.”

• • •

Her resolve was back in place and so was her courage.

She needed to see Magnus. She needed to know how safe they were at the palace while the king remained in Auranos, and if there was any news about the missing water Kindred. She needed to make sure he made immediate arrangements for Nerissa's travel. And she refused to remain in her chambers waiting for him to come to her.

While the Auranian palace was huge—so enormous that it was easy for even the most seasoned servants to become lost in its labyrinthine hallways—at least it had been filled with light and life. Bright paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, the hallways were well-lit with lanterns and torches, and its many windows looked out on the beautiful City of Gold. Cleo had always felt safe and happy there—until the day they were attacked and conquered.

In the Limerian palace, however, everything seemed dark and
dreary, with barely any artwork—cheerful or otherwise—to adorn the walls. The stonework was dull and unpolished, the edges rough and sharp. The only warmth seemed to come from the many fireplaces, vital to a castle built in a kingdom of constant winter.

Her steps slowed as she came across a hall of portraits. The paintings reminded her so much of the Bellos family collection that once graced the Auranian palace walls, it was as if they were rendered by the same artist.

Each Damora she passed held a stern expression and a serious gaze. King Gaius, keen-eyed and ruthlessly handsome; Queen Althea, regal and proper; Princess Lucia, solemnly beautiful with dark hair and sky-blue eyes.

She paused before Magnus's portrait. When he sat for it, he was much more of a boy than the man he'd recently become, so similar in appearance to his father. But the boy in the painting still bore that familiar scar on his right cheek—a scar his cruel father had given him as punishment for something trivial.

That scar was physical proof that the prince didn't always obey the king's command.

“Princess Cleiona.” A voice greeted her from around the next corner. “How lovely to see you today.”

It was Lord Kurtis, now standing before her, stunningly tall. He was even taller than Magnus, but with a more slender build with narrow shoulders and thin arms: traits of one who'd spent his life in leisure. His smile was amiable, and his green eyes reminded her of the olive trees in the courtyard back at her home.

“It's lovely to see you too,” she said.

“I'm glad our paths have crossed today.” His brows drew together. “I wanted to personally apologize for disrespecting your husband in front of you. It was incredibly rude of me and I'm deeply ashamed.”

Cleo tried to think of the best way to reply, and made a quick decision to speak her mind as bluntly as a Kraeshian would. “Perhaps you could have acted more diplomatically, but I think the prince's behavior was overly rude and uncalled for. Please accept my apology for your embarrassment.”

“I'd say embarrassment took second place to the fear that he'd actually have my throat cut, your grace. But thank you.”

“You were only standing up for what you believed was your duty.”

“Yes, but I should have known to show more care in my words and actions when it comes to the prince. After all, I already know . . .”

“Go on,” she prompted. “What do you know?”

He shook his head and lowered his gaze. “I shouldn't say any more.”

“No, you absolutely should.”

Kurtis looked concerned, as if he were wrestling with whether or not to speak, which only made Cleo more eager to hear it. “Please,” she said. “Tell me.”

“Well . . . when the prince and I were children, we didn't get along very well. My father would bring me here with him when he had business with the king, and Magnus and I were expected to spend time together, to become friends. It didn't take long for me to learn that the prince is not one to have close friends. He's . . . forgive me, your grace, but he was a rather sadistic bully of a boy. And I'm very sorry to see that little has changed over the years.”

A sadistic bully of a boy
. It sounded right on target for the son of King Gaius.

“I can only hope . . .” Kurtis trailed off again.

“What?”

He blinked. “I just hope that he hasn't been overly cruel to you.”

Cleo reached out and squeezed Kurtis's hand. “Thank you. But I assure you, when it comes to the prince, I can handle myself.”

“I don't doubt it for a moment. You're so much like your sister.” He smiled, but it quickly faded at the edges. “My deepest condolences on her loss, your grace. She was truly remarkable.”

Cleo tried to ignore the jolt of pain that came from being reminded of her sister, and regarded Kurtis with new interest. “You were a friend of Emilia's?”

“Acquainted, but I'm not sure I'd say that we were friends. We were rivals, really.” He raised a brow at Cleo's look of curiosity. “We met several years ago in Auranos, where we competed against each other in an archery tournament held in her honor. She was so talented, and she insisted that boys and girls should compete in the same matches.”

Cleo couldn't help but laugh at the memory of the festivals and competitions once held in the City of Gold. “Yes, Emilia was an incredible archer. I envied her. But, then again, it takes years of practice to hone a skill like that, and back then I preferred activities that were much less athletic.”

Attending parties. Drinking wine. Exploring markets. Having her hair braided and styled by skilled attendants. Being fitted for extravagant gowns. Spending time with good friends—not that any of them had sent a single letter or condolence since the deaths of her father and sister.

Kurtis nodded. “It was unusual for a princess of her status—not to mention an heiress to the throne—to take up such a hobby, but she deeply impressed me. And I was even more impressed when she became the champion of our match.”

Emilia must have loved that, Cleo thought. To have beaten the boys at their own game. “Please don't tell me you
let
her win.”

“Far from it. I tried my very best and came in second place . . .
a very
close
second place. I would have loved the glory of the win, especially at that young and vulnerable age. I'd always hoped for a rematch, but some dreams aren't meant to come true.”

“No, they're not,” Cleo mused. Her sister had practiced with her bow and arrow every day until she fell ill with the disease that stole her life. Cleo used to joke that Emilia could bring back enough venison for a whole year after just one afternoon hunting trip. Or, perhaps, defend the palace with the rest of the guards if they were ever attacked.

Cleo had no such skills with weaponry. She'd been able to defend herself so far with a sharp dagger and a great deal of luck. Otherwise, she was dependent on others to protect her from danger.

“Lord Kurtis . . .” she began, an idea suddenly brewing in her mind.

“Please, princess. It's just Kurtis. My friends needn't use my title to address me.”

“Kurtis,” she repeated with a smile. “You should feel free to call me Cleo.”

His olive-green eyes sparkled. “With pleasure,
Princess
Cleo.”

“Close enough.” She laughed. “Tell me, Kurtis, now that you've been relieved of many of your duties around the palace, you must have a great deal of time on your hands, yes?”

“I suppose I do. Although, I hope to be invited to future council meetings, at Prince Magnus's discretion of course. I believe I could still be of help.”

She wondered how likely it was that Magnus would agree to that. “Well, you've just reminded me of something my sister loved and did very well. I would like to take archery lessons to honor her memory, and it seems that you would make an excellent tutor.”

“It might seem vain to agree with you, your grace, but I would. And I'd be honored to be your tutor.”

“That's wonderful news, thank you. Can we meet every day?” she asked eagerly. “I tend to get bored with new hobbies unless I fully immerse myself in them.”

Kurtis nodded. “Every day it is. I'll try my very best to teach you well, princess.”

“Teach her well?” Magnus's deep voice cut between them. “Teach her
what
, might I ask?”