Crystal Storm (Falling Kingdoms #5)(51)

Finally, he’d been given this chance. And he’d damn well taken it.

“See?” he said, looking up at Magnus. “I keep my promises.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Magnus said, his attention still on his father, as if curious rather than gratified at this act. “It’s just a shame you couldn’t have done it before now.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Jonas eyed the prince, puzzled as to why he seemed disappointed by the situation at hand. Jonas had done exactly what Magnus had wanted him to do, had accomplished the task that had sent him to Kraeshia in the first place.

“Milo, let Jonas up.” Cleo had the unfamiliar guard by his arm.

“He assassinated the king,” Milo snapped.

“No,” Magnus said. “Death has chosen to take its time when it comes to my father.”

“Jonas, look at him,” Felix urged.

King Gaius was no longer lying there on the bloody floor. Instead, miraculously, he was kneeling and bleeding profusely into the worn wooden slats, the hilt of the dagger sticking straight out of his chest.

The king’s agonized expression was fixed upon Jonas.

“He’s not dead,” murmured Nic, shaking his head with disbelief. “Why is he not dead?”

In a sudden and unnaturally stilted motion, King Gaius grabbed hold of the dagger’s jeweled hilt. With his narrowed gaze still focused upon Jonas, he yanked the blade from his flesh, roaring mightily as he did. The blade clattered to the floor as he pressed his hands against the wound.

“This is magic at work,” Jonas managed to say through his utter shock.

“How incredibly perceptive of you,” Magnus said flatly.

“Explain to me what’s happening!”

Magnus nodded at Milo. “Release the rebel. I can’t talk to someone pinned like a beetle to a board.”

Milo released the pressure on Jonas’s arm. Jonas immediately got to his feet and looked accusingly at Magnus, who shared an unsubtle and knowing look with Cleo. Cleo’s jaw tightened, and Magnus rolled his eyes.

“Very well,” the prince said. “I’ll try to be brief in my explanation. What’s happening is the result of a potion he took many years ago, a potion that has ensured that, no matter what kind of final, fatal blow destiny throws his way, my father has some time to . . . linger after being killed.”

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it works,” Cleo said patiently.

Magnus sighed and gestured at his struggling father. “Close enough?”

“I suppose so. Good goddess, Jonas, is that Aron’s dagger?” Cleo asked, aghast. “Have you really kept that horrible thing all this time?”

“Answer my question,” he said, far more sharply than he’d meant to address the princess. Finally, he’d done the thing he’d been yearning to do for so long, but once again the fates would not see him succeed—not even after delivering a fatal blow.

“You didn’t kill the king,” Cleo replied tightly, “because the king already met his death days ago.”

As Jonas tried desperately to process this incredible statement, a woman descended the stairs. She was older, with lines around her eyes, and she wore a dark gray cloak that matched her hair. She entered the meeting hall, regarding all present with a steady stare, until finally her gaze fell upon Gaius.

She lingered upon the image for only the briefest of moments before shooting the darkest of glares directly at Jonas. “You did this to my son?”

A cool shiver moved up his arms, over his shoulders, and down his spine at the barely controlled rage in her words.

Her son?

“It’s fine,” the king said gaspingly, reaching for the woman’s sleeve as she rushed to his side.

“This is not fine. Not at all.” She looked again to Jonas, and with her stare came the frigid sensation of ice freezing him in place. “You would dare attempt to murder your king?”

“He’s not my king,” Jonas snarled, refusing to show any weakness or doubt. “He murdered my friends in his ill-gotten war, executed those who refused to bow before him, and enslaved my people to build his precious Imperial Road. Not one person in this room would argue that he doesn’t deserve to die for his crimes.”

She balled her hand into a fist. “I would.”

“No, Mother,” Gaius said, his voice hushed. “Let him be. We need him. I believe we will need all these young people to regain what Amara has taken.”

Slowly, the king rose from the ground, and Jonas couldn’t help but take an uncertain step back from him. The deep wound from the blade had stopped bleeding. The only sign that there had been a dagger in his heart only a handful of moments ago was his torn shirt and the blood on the floor.

“Only the darkest of magic could make something like this possible,” a new voice said.

Jonas turned sharply to see that Ashur Cortas now stood behind them at the entrance to the inn.

“Ashur!” Cleo gasped. “You’re alive! But—what? How?”

Ashur’s dark brows raised. “More dark magic, I’m afraid.”

She spun to face Nic, whose expression remained neutral. “You knew about this?”

He nodded. “I know, it’s a shock.”

“A shock? He was dead, Nic! Why didn’t you tell me?”