Immortal Reign(68)

Cleo looked around to see that Valia had disappeared from the throne room. It was a relief to see she was gone. And it was an even greater relief that Taran was still alive.

Then she focused her attention on Magnus.

“You should have told me where you were going last night,” she said. “All of this could have been avoided.”

His lips thinned. “I was trying to protect you.”

“You think you can protect me from this?” She wrenched her hair from the left side of her throat. “You can’t. Like Valia just said, it’s too late.”

“It’s not too late. I refuse to believe that.”

She didn’t want to fight with him, didn’t want to say anything she’d regret later. “Ashur, please take care of Taran. I . . . I need to leave this place, clear my head. I’ll take Enzo with me for protection.”

“Where are you going?” Magnus asked as she moved toward the exit.

She wasn’t sure.

Somewhere that wasn’t here. Somewhere that would make her think of happier times, times long ago and mostly forgotten.

Somewhere she could try to regain her strength and focus.

“To the festival,” she said.





CHAPTER 22


    MAGNUS


   AURANOS




Of course, Magnus immediately followed her.

He watched Cleo and Enzo from beneath the heavy black hood of his cloak, which helped to shield his identity from prying eyes, through the labyrinth of streets filled with citizens in the midst of their celebration. In the bright sun of midafternoon, the gaudy, colorful festival banners and temporary paintings sloshed onto the sides of buildings were impossible to ignore.

The original Cleiona must have enjoyed her hedonistic lifestyle every bit as much as her current citizens, Magnus thought. Valoria was said to be of much calmer demeanor. She valued silence rather than revelry, calmness and thoughtfulness over drunken debauchery.

This gave Limerians, as a whole, a sense of superiority over their southern neighbors.

But Magnus knew not all were as devoted as the law decreed. He’d found a Limerian tavern that secretly served wine to those who asked for it, and surely it was not the only one. Also, a large part of the gold his father had obtained, at least until the expensive war against Auranos had stripped him of any access to his fortune, had come from fines levied against those who did not observe the two days per week of silence.

Frankly, Magnus couldn’t remember the last time he’d observed them himself.

He watched Cleo and Enzo pass storefront after storefront: bakers and jewelers, tailors and cobblers. Cleo had not disguised herself in any way, other than by wearing a pair of white silk gloves to cover her water Kindred marks. She greeted all who approached her with a warm smile, allowing them to bow or curtsy before she took their hands in hers and said something kind enough to make them glow with happiness.

The Auranian people loved their golden princess.

She deserves their love, Magnus thought, his throat tight.

After some time had passed and Cleo had spoken to dozens upon dozens of people, Magnus watched her indicate a specific building to Enzo. Enzo shook his head, but Cleo persisted. Finally, he nodded, and the pair disappeared inside.

Magnus looked up at the sign.

The Beast.

He hadn’t recognized it in the stark light of day, but he knew the tavern quite well. He decided it best to remain outside, where he wouldn’t be recognized and he could watch from afar.

A steady stream of patrons entered sober and left drunk and singing at the top of their lungs, but Cleo and Enzo still didn’t emerge. Magnus’s impatience grew as the afternoon wore on.

And then concern set in.

What could be taking so long?

He crossed the street to the tavern and pushed through the entrance. Inside the Beast, it could be any hour of the day or night. There were no windows to let in the light, so the walls were dotted with lanterns, and a chandelier heavily laden with candles hung from the ceiling.

The room was packed, every table filled to capacity. Magnus could barely hear himself think over the din of loud conversation blended with a fiddler’s music.

The placed smelled of cigarillo smoke, alcohol-laden breath, and hundreds of bodies that hadn’t bathed today.

He wondered with dismay if the tavern had always been like this and he’d simply been too drunk to notice during previous visits.

Cleo was nowhere to be seen, so Magnus drew his cowl closer to his face and pushed forward through a mass of sweaty bodies dancing to the fiddler’s tune upon a sawdust-covered floor. He grimaced as a scantily clad couple, kissing passionately, stumbled across his path, spilling wine from their goblets onto his leather boots.

Cleo would wish to spend more than a heartbeat in such a place?

A bearded man tripped over his own feet and landed hard in front of Magnus. Then, laughing, he immediately sprang up and continued on his way.

Auranian heathens, he thought.

The fiddler ended his song to cheers of appreciation from the drunken crowd. He stood up and spoke loudly to be heard over the din: “We have someone who wishes to make a toast to you all! Silence please, allow him to speak!”

The room quieted, and Magnus saw a flash of a red guard’s uniform out of the corner of his eye. He turned slowly as Enzo, a large tankard of ale in his grip, climbed upon a long wooden table.