Immortal Reign(24)
Magnus stumbled backward as Kyan reached for him, and he frantically eyed the darkness for a way of escape.
“Why did you choose Nic?” Magnus asked, hoping to distract Kyan somehow. “Wasn’t there anyone better?”
Kyan laughed. “Nicolo has a soul of fire.”
“Because of his hair? More the color of carrots thrown into a horse’s trough than fire, if you ask me.”
“Outward appearances mean nothing. All mortals are partial to one element. Nicolo’s is fire.” Kyan raised a red brow. “Just like you.”
“Never knew we had anything in common.” Magnus moved backward as Kyan reached for him. “Touch me and you’ll lose that hand.”
“Quite an empty threat from someone without a weapon.” When Kyan reached out again, Magnus grabbed his wrist, wrenching it backward and away from him.
Kyan’s fiery hand extinguished in an instant, and the fire Kindred frowned.
“How did you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?” Magnus growled.
The blue glow in Kyan’s eyes brightened. “Unhand me or die,” he snapped.
“Happy to.” Magnus shoved Kyan as hard as he could. With fury flashing through his gaze, Kyan staggered backward and tripped over the campfire.
Magnus didn’t wait. He took the opportunity to turn and run into the forest, plunging into darkness immediately. He was certain that Kyan was on his heels, waiting to grab him, to burn him . . .
He slammed into something solid, something—or someone—that grabbed ahold of his shoulders.
“Magnus! It’s me, Ashur. I was watching you . . . you and Nic.”
“Ashur.” Magnus searched the Kraeshian prince’s familiar face, barely visible as the clouds parted enough to allow a sliver of moonlight. “We have to get out of here. That’s not Nic.”
“I know.”
“How did you find me?”
Ashur grimaced. “I wasn’t searching for you.”
Magnus had so many questions, but there was no time for answers. “I have to find Cleo.”
Ashur pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head. “I’ll take you back to the compound. Follow me.”
CHAPTER 8
NIC
PAELSIA
Nic remembered being at the bottom of a pit.
Reunited with Cleo.
Reunited with Ashur.
Trapped and unable to escape, but at least they were together.
But a moment of hope for a future—any future—was quickly quashed when the incorporeal fire Kindred had taken over his body, sending Nic’s consciousness spiraling downward into a bottomless abyss.
He could still see, he could still hear, but he couldn’t think. Couldn’t process what had happened to him or make any sense of what it meant. It was like being lost in an eternal dream.
But when Magnus grabbed Kyan’s wrist, something very strange had happened.
Nic woke up.
The first thing Nic clearly saw was Magnus, covered in dirt from head to toe, staring at him like he was a monster.
The second thing he thought he saw was Prince Ashur Cortas, barely visible in the shadows behind the Limerian prince.
“Ashur!” he wanted to call out, but he couldn’t form the words.
Kyan still had control.
Still, Nic sensed Kyan’s confusion over the sudden jolt of cold, unfamiliar magic. So much so that the fire Kindred didn’t pursue Magnus or even notice Ashur’s presence.
What had happened?
Nic knew this much: Prince Ashur had a great interest in magic. He had explored the world far beyond Kraeshia and Mytica in search of any trace of magic.
On a Kraeshian ship, during the trip from Auranos to Limeros before the confrontation in the Temple of Valoria over the water Kindred, Ashur had told Nic about many treasures he’d sought, wishing to acquire, before he and his sister had set their sights upon the Kindred.
“There’s an amulet said to allow one the ability to speak with cats,” the prince told him one day during a brief visit, his lightly accented voice like honeyed wine.
Nic, the Cortases’ prisoner at the time, hadn’t been entirely swayed by the prince’s palpable charm, but he could never resist a good story. “What kinds of cats? Housecats? Wildcats?”
“I would imagine both.”
“Why only cats? Why not dogs, or ice wolves . . . or warlogs, even?”
Ashur frowned. “What in the world is a warlog?”
“It’s like a rabbit . . . rat . . . thing. But not a rabbit or a rat. They’re quite tasty with the right sauce, actually.”
“A rabbit-rat thing,” Ashur repeated slowly.
“Exactly.”
“Why would you wish to communicate with it if you’re going to eat it?”
“I didn’t say I wanted to communicate with it, I was just trying to clarify . . .” He sighed. “Forget it.”
“No, no. Please continue explaining this to me. The logic of Nicolo Cassian is fascinating.” Ashur regarded him in the shadows of Nic’s small locked cabin, where Amara believed him to be unconscious or restrained. “Would you tell this warlog that you meant to eat it? Or would you just ask it how its day has been?”