Crystal Storm (Falling Kingdoms #5)(75)

Lucia strained to see what was happening on the stage. Amara, accompanied by a girl who looked very much like the servant who used to trail after Princess Cleo, cowered before a tall young man wearing a black eye patch, sword in hand.

Lucia’s cool air magic shifted to that of fire, ready to burn anyone who kept her from getting to Amara. Someone clutched her cloak, and she sent a glare down at him, ready to set him ablaze. Nicolo Cassian stared up at her, one hand gripping her cloak, the other pressed to a gaping wound on his stomach. When he coughed, blood sputtered from his mouth.

A mortal wound.

Her attention went again to the stage, but another choking sound drew her gaze back to Nic, a victim of either the bloodthirsty guards or a frightened Paelsian.

It didn’t matter who had done this. She could tell at a glance that the wound was deep and deadly. What was this boy doing here, of all places?

Lucia didn’t have enough magic to fight against thousands. She pressed a hand to her belly as she scanned the crowd, knowing she needed to get to safety. Many were trampling over each other to get back to the gates.

She took a step, only to realize that Nic hadn’t let go of her yet. “Prinnn . . . cessss . . .” he gasped.

She cast a tentative look down at him.

“Please . . . help me . . .”

The life was fading from his eyes. He didn’t have much time left. But Nic was a close friend of Princess Cleo—a girl Lucia once thought could be a true friend, until she’d betrayed Lucia.

Yet Lucia’s father had destroyed Cleo’s life, destroyed her entire world.

Cleo had lost everything over the last year. This friend was really all the Auranian princess had left of her former life.

If Nic died, Lucia had no doubt that it would destroy Cleo.

Lucia hated it when her conscience troubled her, especially when Cleiona Bellos was the subject.

Carefully, she crouched down next to him and pulled his hand away from his wound before pulling up his tunic. She grimaced at the sight of all the blood, the spill of his organs.

“Tell Cleo,” Nic gasped, struggling to breathe, “that I love her . . . that she’s my family . . . that I—I’m sorry.”

“Save your breath,” Lucia said, “and tell her yourself.”

She pressed her hands against his bloody wound and channeled all the earth magic she had within her into him. He arched his back and cried out in pain, the piercing sound blending into the chaos surrounding them.

“Stop! Please!” Nic tried to fight her, to stop her, but he was too weak. He’d lost so much blood that Lucia didn’t know if she had enough magic to fix him. But still she tried. Her hood slipped back from her head, revealing her hair and face, but she didn’t bother to fix it. She drained her own energy and strength in an attempt to save this boy.

At least, until someone yanked her away from him. She spun around, furious, to come face to face with an ugly man whose lips were curled back from his teeth in a snarl.

“Look what I’ve found!” he announced, dragging her away from Nic until she lost sight of him. “The sorceress herself preying upon another one of us! Her hands are covered in Paelsian blood!”

Lucia tried to summon fire or air magic to blast him away from her, but nothing happened. She flexed her hand, desperate now to get away from her assailant.

“Look at me, witch,” the man said.

She cast a glare at him, only to be met with the back of his hand striking her across her face so hard that her ears rung.

“String her up!” someone called out. “Burn the witch like she burned our villages!”

Disoriented, she was dragged across the dry ground, stumbling over her own feet until her attacker flung her away from him. She fell hard to her knees in the center of a circle of angry faces. Someone hurled a rock at her, and it hit her right cheek hard enough to make her cry out in pain. She touched her face and felt her warm blood.

“I’m not who you think I am,” she managed, She raised her hands up before her. “You need to let me go.”

“No, witch, today you die for your evil crimes. Are we all in agreement?”

The mob that surrounded her loudly voiced their approval. There was no mercy in any of their gazes. Someone handed her original assailant a thick loop of rope.

“Get her on her feet,” he barked.

Someone behind Lucia hauled her up to her feet and pinned her wrists tightly together.

“Greetings, princess,” an oddly familiar voice said in her ear. “Causing more trouble in Paelsia, I see.”

Jonas Agallon. She strained to turn enough to meet his hate-filled gaze.

“Jonas,” she managed, “please, you have to help me!”

“Help you? What? The great and powerful sorceress can’t help herself?” He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Such a tragedy. These people seem to want you dead. Burned alive, I believe I heard, yes? Seems like a fitting end for a witch like you.”

Her mind reeled. “Where’s my father? My brother? Do you know?”

“That’s the last thing you should be worried about, princess. Truly.” He turned her around, and his hand brushed against her stomach.

His brows drew together.

“That’s right,” she said, grabbing onto any chance at seeking help—even from someone like him. “Will you be so quick to celebrate my execution now that you know an innocent child will die with me?”