Frozen Tides (6 page)

The thief eyed him. “As if you'd actually help a stranger.”

Kyan nodded. “If every mortal looked at others as their friends, not as their enemies, the world would be a much better place, wouldn't it?”

Lucia regarded Kyan with total bemusement. He sounded like the Limerian priest who used to give long sermons about the goddess Valoria and her virtues.

Trust strangers. Give of yourself. Be kind.

She'd once believed in such nonsense.

“That's so incredibly kind of you,
friend
,” the thief said, smiling. Then he raised his dagger and stabbed it down, hard, pinning Kyan's left hand to the table. “But I'd really prefer to get what I asked for. Give me that bag of coins now, or I'll stick my dagger in your eye next.”

Lucia stared at Kyan with shock as the fire god calmly studied his impaled hand. “I offered to help you, and this is what you do?” he asked, dismayed.

“I didn't ask for your help. Only asked for your gold.”

Kyan slowly pulled his hand toward himself, forcing the blade to slice between his fingers.

The thief grimaced and nearly gagged. “What the—?”

Now free from the dagger, Kyan rose to his feet, his previously peaceful expression only a memory. His eyes had shifted from amber to blue, so bright that they glowed in the dimly lit tavern.

“Your weakness disgusts me,” he said. “I need to cleanse it from this world.”

The thief took a step backward, raising his hands in surrender. “Look, I don't want any trouble.”

“Really? You could have fooled me,” Lucia said, her skin still crawling from the lecherous way the man had looked at her. “Kill this pathetic mortal, Kyan, or I'll do it myself.”

She felt the heat before she saw the fire. A narrow whip of flames snaked toward the man, licking his boot and slowly winding up his ankle, calf, and thigh like a vine of fire. Every patron in the tavern took notice as chairs skidded against the wooden floor and men and women collectively rose to their feet with alarm.

Lucia watched fear flicker in their eyes as they watched the strange fire entangle the thief.

The thief stared at Kyan with wide eyes. “No! Don't—whatever you're doing—don't do this!”

“It's already done,” Kyan replied simply.

“You—what are you? You're a demon! An evil beast from the darklands!”

The flames engulfed his mouth and face until his entire body, head to toe, became a torch. Then, suddenly, the fire turned from deep amber to brilliant blue—just as Kyan's eyes had.

The thief screamed. The shrieking sound reminded Lucia of a frightened rabbit caught in the jaws of an ice wolf.

The crowd around them scrambled, tripping over each other in their rush to get outside. The thief continued to burn, and the fire caught hold of the dry wooden chairs, wooden tables, wooden floor. Soon the entire tavern was ablaze.

“He deserved to die,” Kyan said, calmly.

Lucia nodded. “I agree.”

Still, Lucia felt shaky as she followed him through the flames—flames that didn't burn or even touch her. She glanced over her shoulder as the screaming finally stopped and watched as the thief's body shattered like a blue crystal statue hitting a marble floor.

Once outside, Lucia took one more look at the burning tavern.

There was no one in this world who could stop them from reaching their goal. A god and a sorceress—they were the perfect match.

Lucia glanced down at Kyan's hand.

His wound had healed so perfectly, it was as if it had never been there in the first place.

FELIX

AURANOS

I
t was fun being one of the bad guys again.

No remorse, no conscience. Free to be cruel and uncaring. Creating chaos and instilling fear wherever he went with a song in his heart.

Good times.

Felix had just spent three very enjoyable days in shiny and extravagant Hawk's Brow, the largest city in Auranos. First, he'd beaten up a man for no particular reason and then stolen his clothes, only to find that his fine leather shoes were disappointingly tight. He'd bedded two gorgeous blondes—identical twins, in fact—and hadn't even bothered to learn their names. And then he'd robbed a busy tavern of nearly two hundred centimos while the barkeep had his back turned.

Felix Graebas, a highly valued assassin for the Clan of the Cobra before his short leave of absence, had returned to the life he was meant for.

He tossed his Kindred crystal up into the air and caught it, enjoying the familiar weight of it in his grip.

“Where to?” he asked the air magic swirling inside the orb of moonstone, then held it to his ear. “To the City of Gold, you say? What an excellent idea. Let's you and I pay a visit to the king.”

The last time he'd seen the king, he'd been given a very special assignment: find Jonas Agallon and infiltrate his band of rebels, learn as much as he could about their plans, kill Jonas, and then swiftly return to report his findings to the king.

Instead, Felix had decided that this would be the perfect time to redeem himself for his past wrongdoings and become a good, upstanding citizen rather than a cold-blooded killer working for the King of Blood.

What a laugh.

Hopefully, despite the unexpected delay in his travels, the king would welcome him back into the fold with open arms. He'd be back to cutting throats and burning villages by the following week.

Felix was passing through a small village nestled in a forest when he heard someone call out to him.

“Young man! Young man! Please, I need your help!”

Ignore her,
Felix told himself.
You don't
help
people, you
kill
them. Even helpless old ladies if they're foolish enough to get in your way.

“Young man!” The old woman scurried up to him and grabbed hold of his shirt sleeve. “Goodness, child, didn't you hear me? Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

He pocketed the air Kindred. “First of all, lady, I am not a child. And, secondly, where I'm going is none of your concern.”

She put her hands on her hips and looked up at him. “Well, never mind then. All I know is I need help, and you're tall and you look strong enough.”

“Strong enough for what?”

She pointed at a nearby tree. “Up there!”

Felix frowned and peered up into the thick tree, heavy with leaves. Perched precariously on a branch high above their heads was a small gray-and-white kitten.

“Somehow my darling little kitty got herself up there,” the old woman explained, wringing her hands, “and now she can't get back down. She's so very frightened, can't you see? And so am I. She's going to fall or get snatched up by a hawk!”

“You really do have to be watchful for hawks,” he said, then snorted. The woman stared at him blankly. “
Watchful
.
Hawks
. Get it?”

She pointed again, more frantically this time. “You must climb up the tree and save my kitty before it's too late!” The kitten let out a tiny but plaintive
mew
, as if to emphasize the dilemma.

It was rather unfortunate for this woman that Felix had happened along in her time of need. Had he been Jonas Agallon, he'd likely have already rescued the cat, and would now be busy milking a goat for its dinner.

Even just that brief thought of the failed rebel leader had managed to darken Felix's mood.

“I don't save kittens, lady,” he growled.

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, please. There's no one else around to help right now.
Please
do this, in Goddess Cleiona's name. She loved animals—all animals, big and small.”

“Yeah, well, I'm Limerian and our Goddess Valoria only liked animals if they ate kittens for breakfast.”

A hawk passed overhead, its shadow crossing Felix's path. The woman shielded her eyes from the bright sun as she looked up at it with panic.

Felix wasn't sure if it was a real hawk or a Watcher, but it did look rather hungry for small felines.

Cruel and uncaring, remember?

He glanced at the woman who looked up with him with such hope that he might help her.

Damn it.

It didn't take very long at all to climb the tree, grab the cat, and return to the ground.

“Take it,” he said gruffly, shoving the furry handful away.

“Oh, thank you!” She gratefully took the kitten into her arms and kissed it multiple times. Then she grabbed Felix's face and noisily kissed both his cheeks. “You are a hero!”

He just glared at her. “I am most definitely not a hero. Now, do
me
a favor and forget you ever saw me.”

Without another word, he began walking away from the old woman, her cat, and the stupid tree of shame.

• • •

He reached the city late that afternoon, when the sun had begun to slip behind the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of red and orange.

Felix took a deep breath as he approached the first palace entrance. Two guards crossed their sharp spears in front of him, stopping him from taking another step. He sized them up. Both massive men made Felix's own tall and muscular frame look puny in comparison.

“Greetings, friends,” he began with a grin. “Lovely day, isn't it?”

“Go away,” the mountainous guard on the left said.

“Don't you want to know who I am and what business I have here?”

“No.”

“Well, I'm going to tell you anyway. The name's Felix Graebas, and I'm here to see his majesty, the king. No appointment necessary. He's not expecting me, but I assure you he'll know who I am and want to speak with me personally.”

Two spears now pointed directly at his throat. “And why's that?” the smaller guard snapped.

He cleared his throat, determined to hold fast to his courage. “Because of this.”

Without making any sudden moves to provoke them to put their spears to use, Felix pulled up his sleeve to show the snake tattoo on his forearm that marked him as a full member of the Clan of the Cobra.

“And?” The guard didn't seem to know the importance of what he was looking at.

“You might not personally know what this mark means, but believe me when I say that the king will be
very
angry if he were to find out you turned me away. I'm one of his favorite and most accomplished assassins. I know you wouldn't want to make the king angry, would you? You both seem like men who value having all of their limbs intact.”

The large guard's eyes narrowed as he peered at the tattoo again, his lips thin. After a rather torturous silence with the pointy end of both spears still pointed at Felix, the guard nodded once.

“Follow me,” he said.

Felix was ushered into a dark salon off the main foyer. The little room was decked out with a mosaic floor of silver and bronze and massive tapestries on every wall. Hanging front and center was the Auranian crest, which featured a hawk and the credo O
UR
T
RUE
G
OLD
I
S
O
UR
P
EOPLE
.

Felix guessed this room must not be used often since it still displayed a relic of the former royal family.

After what felt like a small eternity, a man came to the archway and peered in at him. He had a sharp nose and black hair that was graying at the temples.

“You are the one who has asked for an audience with his majesty?”

Felix straightened his shoulders and tried to look all official. “I am.”

“And you say you are . . .” He looked down at a piece of parchment in his hands. “Felix Graebas.”

“That's right.”

The man pursed his lips. “What business do you have with the king?”

“That's something I need to address privately, with only him.” He crossed his arms. “Who are you? His valet?”

At this, he received a rather unpleasant smile. “I am Lord Gareth Cirillo, grand kingsliege and high advisor to the king.”

Felix whistled. “That sounds fancy.”

He'd never personally met Lord Gareth before, but he was well aware of his name, and that he was the wealthiest man in Limeros, apart from the king himself.

Lord Gareth blinked slowly. “Guards, take this boy into custody immediately.”

“Wait . . . what?” Felix was barely able to move a muscle before several guards approached from behind the archway and grabbed hold of him.

“There is a warrant out for your arrest.”

“What? On what charges?”

“Murder. And treason. It was so kind of you to turn yourself in today.” Lord Gareth gestured toward the archway. “Take him to the dungeon.”

Felix refused to walk at the guards' violent prompting, so they dragged him. His stolen shoes squeaked and scraped against the decadent floor.

“Treason? No, wait! I have to see the king. He—he'll want to
see me. I have something he wants. Something of great value.” Felix hesitated, not wanting to show his hand so soon but finding he had no other choice. “I have a piece of the Kindred.”

Lord Gareth halted the guards and regarded Felix for a moment of contemplative silence. Then he began to laugh. “The Kindred is only a legend.”

“Are you sure about that? If I'm lying, I'll end up in the dungeon anyway. But if I'm telling the truth, and you don't inform the king about it, you'll end up holding your own severed head in your hands.”

“If you are lying,” Lord Gareth said, narrowing his gaze, “you won't even make it to the dungeon.”

With a nod from the grand kingsliege, a guard brought the heavy hilt of his sword down against Felix's head, and everything went black.

• • •

When Felix came to, he had only one thought: The dungeon didn't smell nearly as bad as he would have expected it to. As he pried open his eyes, he realized that was for a very good reason. He wasn't in the dungeon.

He was in the throne room, lying flat on his back at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the royal dais. And there was the king seated upon the golden throne he'd stolen.

Or won, depending on what side one was on.

This throne room was nearly identical to the one in the north, only where the Limerian one was dark and gray and hard, this one was gold and bright and . . . hard.

Felix pushed himself up to his feet and bowed deeply, ignoring the pounding pain in his head.

“Your majesty.”

Standing to the right of King Gaius was Lord Gareth. His arms
were crossed, and his lined expression was dour as he peered down his sharp nose at Felix.

“Felix Graebas,” the king addressed him. “I've been very disappointed not to receive word from you in all this time. Many believed you to be dead, which would have been a loss for both the Clan and for Limeros. But here you are, alive and well.”

Felix spread his hands. “Allow me to explain my lengthy silence, your majesty.”

“The only reason you're still breathing,” the king said, leaning forward on his throne, “is because I very much would like an explanation. And make it a good one. I've been disappointed many times by those I formerly held in high estimation in recent months. I cannot tell you how much I despise being disappointed.”

Lord Gareth's expression darkened. “Your majesty, I don't understand why you've chosen to give this stupid, insolent boy even a moment of your valuable time. He's committed treason, and treason is punishable by death.”

“At what time did I commit treason, might I ask?” Felix ventured. “I don't seem to recall.”

The king's attention remained firmly on Felix, his gaze sharp and assessing. “You don't seem to recall assisting Jonas Agallon in freeing two rebel prisoners I'd chosen to execute? You have no memory of being responsible for the explosions that caused the deaths of many loyal citizens?”

Felix blinked. “I have no idea what you're talking about, your majesty.”

Lord Gareth let out an exasperated huff. “You were seen, you stupid boy. The guards' uniforms you and the rebel stole didn't cover your faces.”

Oh, shit.

“I can explain,” he began.

“Save your breath,” the king hissed. “I had given you the task of getting close to the rebel, not to assist him in opposing me.”

Had Felix honestly thought it would be so easy to stroll into the palace and go back to life as usual after all he'd done?

His mouth had gone dry, but he tried to find the words to speak. To explain. “I served you and the Clan very well for many years, your highness. I gave my life over to the kingdom and I learned how to survive, how to thrive in that environment, and how to kill in your name without question. I was only eleven when the Clan took me in.”

“Eleven, yes.” The king nodded. “I remember you, Felix, more clearly than any of the others. When you were brought before me—a boy only a year older than my own son, who had seen his family killed, his village destroyed—you did not look at me with fear. You met my eyes with defiance and strength. Eleven years old. I knew there was something special within you. A rough spirit that I could harness to create greatness. I thought I had succeeded. Clearly, given your recent choices, I was wrong. Admit to your crimes, boy, and then let's be done with this foolishness.”

There was once a member of the Clan of the Cobra, an old man who'd served as the group's wise guardian. When he was on his deathbed, he'd said that, in life, a man only comes to a few crossroads that can shape his future for good or for bad. Sometimes one recognized these crossroads, and could stop and think about the right decision. But other times, the choice could only be seen with the clarity that came afterward.