Crystal Storm (Falling Kingdoms #5)(46)

“It’s late.”

“And . . . ?”

Enzo straightened his shoulders. “I think it’s best that you stay here, where it’s safe, princess.”

“I appreciate your opinion, but I disagree. Magnus is there, and I’m surprised and rather dismayed that you didn’t go with him. What if he’s recognized?”

“The prince made it very clear to me that my sole duty is to ensure your safety, princess.”

She blinked rapidly, as if trying to wink away her surprise at this interesting revelation. “Really. Well, that makes things much simpler. You will come with me to fetch the prince and ensure that neither of us are put in harm’s way.”

She allowed him no time to argue as she turned and exited the inn, leaving the door open behind her for Enzo to follow and pulling up the hood of her cloak to cover her hair and shield her face.

Enzo trailed close behind her without further argument as she eyed the people on the street, the carriages moving past, the sound of horse hooves clopping against the gravel road. She followed the sound of drunken laughter and music toward the tavern that surely had to be Magnus’s destination. Above the large wooden doors was a bronze sculpture of a bunch of grapes on a vine.

She read the sign. “The Purple Vine. How appropriate a name for a tavern in Paelsia. And how deeply uninspired.”

The prince was so drawn to the taste of wine that he didn’t care what would happen if anyone recognized his royal face. He loved to drink so much that he was willing to risk getting killed in the midst of a stormy brew of Paelsians. And what a truly stupid way to die that would be, she thought.

“I’ve heard of this place,” Enzo said, looking up at the entrance. “Nerissa once worked here as a barmaid.”

She raised a brow at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “She said it was an interesting experience.”

“I had no idea she’d lived in Paelsia.”

“She’s lived everywhere, it seems. So unlike me, who has never ventured beyond Limeros until now. How boring she must find me.”

“I assure you she finds you anything but boring.” To hear Enzo speak of her friend made Cleo’s heart ache. She had no doubt Nerissa could look after herself, better than any other girl—and possibly boy—she’d ever known, but . . . Cleo couldn’t help but worry for her safety. She hated the thought that she might be in danger while being forced to work close to Amara.

Cleo took a deep breath as she and Enzo pushed through the front doors. Inside the tavern were at least two hundred smelly, dirty patrons.

She scanned the faces, searching for Magnus in the crowd.

This tavern was unlike anything she’d experienced during her two previous visits to Paelsia. Her knowledge of the area was limited to poor markets, decrepit villages, and wide expanses of wasteland.

And the locked sheds of angry, vengeful rebels, she reminded herself.

This place, despite its rather rough and shabby interior, looked like it could exist in Hawk’s Brow, the largest city in Auranos. Lighting the large room were dozens upon dozens of candles and lanterns set up along the bar and tables. Hanging on the high ceiling above were several large wooden wheels, each one set with candles on the spokes. The floors were nothing more than hard-packed earth; the tables and chairs were made of roughly chiseled wood.

To Cleo’s left was a small stage upon which a young woman with black hair and golden streaks painted upon her tanned skin writhed around rather explicitly. Around her neck was a large white boa constrictor, the likes of which Cleo had only ever seen in illustrated books.

“Enzo, please, just help me look for Magnus. Start with the areas with the most wine.”

“Yes, your highness.”

Cleo drew the hood of her cloak closer to cover her hair and tried to ignore the leering glances of many of the brutish-looking men who passed her. When she felt someone cup her buttocks from behind, she spun around to punch the offender, but her swinging fist connected only with air.

Furious, she tried to spot whoever had touched her in the crowd, but she froze in place when she heard a familiar name shouted out.

“Jonas!” It was the painted snake-woman, pausing her performance to run to a young man in the audience. “Jonas, is that really you?”

Cleo, eyes wide, looked toward the stage.

Jonas had returned from Kraeshia. And of all the places in Mytica he could have turned up, he was here!

How could this be?

She turned to look at Enzo, but another face caught her attention instead. A young man strode through the crowd, moving in opposition to the sea of faces turned toward the stage

Bronze hair, tanned skin, tall, and leanly muscled . . .

All she could do was stare, certain that her eyes deceived her.

“Theon,” she whispered, the name catching in her throat.

The memory slammed into her then of a moment when everything seemed clear—she loved him, and nothing else mattered. Not his station, not the disapproval of her father, not the stern look that Theon had given her before he kissed her, tinged with fear at the thought that he’d lost her forever.

And then the sound of hoof beats when Magnus and his soldiers arrived.

The pride in her heart as Theon faced Magnus’s men and won.

And the horror as she watched the life leave Theon’s eyes forever as Magnus stabbed him in the back.