Immortal Reign(48)

But then another arrow hit him.

And then another.

And another.





CHAPTER 16


    LUCIA


   AURANOS




Four arrows. Each precisely finding its mark in her father’s heart.

King Gaius collapsed to his knees and fell to his side with a heavy thud.

The life faded from his dark brown eyes.

Lucia found herself frozen with shock, unable to think or move.

Magnus frantically pulled the arrows out of the king’s flesh and pressed his hands over the wounds, but it did nothing to help stanch the flow of crimson blood.

“No, you are not going to die. Not today.” Magnus’s hands were slick with his father’s blood as he slid the bloodstone ring onto the king’s finger.

Magnus then took several gulping breaths before he cast a pained look at Lucia.

“It’s not working. Do something!” he shouted at her. “Heal him!”

Lucia staggered to the king’s side and fell to her knees. She could sense the dark magic from the ring, the same magic that had saved both her father’s and brother’s lives before. The coldness of this magic repelled her. She had to force herself to get closer to it.

“What are you waiting for?” Magnus roared.

Lucia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will earth magic into her hands—the healing magic that had saved Magnus during the battle to take Auranos when he was moments from death. Since then, she’d mended his broken leg and countless cuts and scrapes. Such magic had become second nature to her.

She sensed a trace of this valuable magic within her, but far less than a prophesied sorceress should possess.

And far less than she’d need to heal an injury as profound as this.

Lucia already knew the horrible truth: Even if she had all the magic in the universe, it wouldn’t help.

Her gaze flicked to Cleo, who’d covered her mouth with her hand at the bloody sight before her, eyes wide and filled with horror. The princess came forward and put her shaky hand on Magnus’s shoulder, the thin, winding blue lines visible past the lacy sleeve of her violet gown.

Magnus didn’t push her away; his attention was far too fixed on Lucia.

“Well?” he demanded.

Hot tears streaked down Lucia’s cheeks. “I—I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean you’re sorry?” Magnus stared down at his father’s face, at his glazed, unblinking eyes. “Fix him.” His voice broke. “Please.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

The king was dead.

Lucia struggled to her feet. Tears streamed down her face as she ran from the balcony to her chambers.

“Get out!” she screamed at the nursemaid.

The nursemaid rushed out the door.

Lucia moved to the cradle and looked down upon Lyssa’s face, not with the love of a mother, but with blind fury.

Her eyes glowed with violet light.

“You’ve stolen my magic, haven’t you?” she hissed.

If her elementia had been close to the surface, easily accessible at the merest of thoughts, Lucia might have reacted quicker—after the first arrow hit.

But her senses had become dulled, useless.

And now her father was dead because of it.

“You’ve destroyed everything!” she snarled at the child.

Lyssa’s eyes shifted back to blue, and she looked up at her mother for a moment before she began to cry.

The sound pierced Lucia’s heart, and guilt washed over her.

“I am evil,” she whispered as she sank to the floor, pulling her legs up to hug them against her body. “It’s my fault, all my fault. It should have been me who died today, not Father.”

She stayed in that position for what felt like a very long time while Lyssa cried only an arm’s reach away. After a while, Magnus came to her door.

Lucia’s eyes were dry and her heart was empty of all emotion as she looked up at her brother.

“The assassin was captured before he managed to escape,” Magnus said. “I’ve asked to personally interrogate him.”

She waited, not speaking.

“I would appreciate your help, if you’re willing,” he said.

Yes, Lucia most definitely would be willing to interrogate their father’s murderer.

She pushed herself up to her feet and accompanied Magnus out of her chambers. The nursemaid waited patiently outside, glancing nervously at Lucia.

“My apologies for my harshness,” Lucia said to her.

The nursemaid bowed her head. “Not at all, your grace. My deepest condolences to you for your loss.”

Silently, her heart a lead weight deep within her chest, Lucia followed Magnus through the halls of the palace, barely seeing anything to her left or right, only putting one foot in front of the other as they made their way out of the building and down to the dungeon.

The prisoner was a young man, in his early twenties. He had been placed in small room, his wrists and ankles bound in iron chains and shackled to the stone wall.

“What is your name?” Magnus asked, his voice cold. He wore the bloodstone ring again, his hands now clean of the king’s blood.

The man didn’t reply.

Lucia had had so much to say to her father that would forever remain unsaid.