Immortal Reign(9)

As if every ounce of strength had suddenly left her in a rush, Cleo collapsed to her knees, bracing herself on her hands. The ground was wet, the icy fragments from the prisoner already starting to melt.

She’d wanted this for so long—to possess the magic of the Kindred.

But now the Kindred possessed her.

Cleo touched the pocket of her gown where she’d placed the aquamarine orb, which was the former prison of the water Kindred. She’d tried to touch it last night, to hold it in her bare hand, but it was impossible. The pain had been so immediate and intense that she’d shrieked and dropped the orb.

Taran had experienced the same thing. He didn’t want the moonstone orb anywhere near him, had called it a “cursed marble” and thrown it across the room. Today, he’d joined the search for Magnus with a flank of guards appointed by Amara, along with Enzo—a former Limerian guard—and Nerissa, as far away from the compound as he could get.

Taran’s moonstone—along with the obsidian orb that had contained the earth Kindred before it possessed Olivia—now sat in a locked cabinet to which Cleo wore the key on a gold chain around her neck.

But Cleo decided to keep the aquamarine orb with her, protected in a velvet drawstring pouch. She chose to go with her gut on this decision, rather than her brain, which told her to throw it into the Silver Sea and let it sink to the very bottom.

Amara extended her hand to Cleo. After a moment of hesitation, Cleo took it and allowed the empress to help her to her feet.

“What you just did . . . if you could do that at will, you would be unstoppable,” Amara said slowly. “You need to learn how to control this magic.”

Cleo eyed the girl with fresh skepticism. “Be careful with your advice, Amara. You might accidentally help me reclaim my kingdom.”

Amara’s expression turned thoughtful. “I only wanted Mytica because I wanted the Kindred. Now Kyan is out there somewhere with Olivia, as we speak. We don’t know for sure when they’ll come back, but we know they will. And when they do, we need to be ready to fight.”

An image of Nic came readily to Cleo’s mind, his messy red hair and crooked smile never failing to brighten even her darkest of days.

Kyan had taken Nic away from her as surely as if he’d slit his throat.

She hated Kyan. And she hated this magic inside her.

Amara leaned against the wall, grimacing as she ran her hand gingerly down her broken leg. “We’ve had our problems, I won’t deny it. And you certainly have many reasons to hate me. But now we share the same enemy who could destroy everything either of us has ever cared about. Agreed?”

Cleo nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

“Both you and Taran must find a way to use this magic within you to defeat Kyan and Olivia.” Amara paused to take a breath. “Succeed, and I will give Mytica back to you and you alone.”

Cleo couldn’t believe her own ears. It was the last thing she ever would have expected to hear from the empress of Kraeshia. “You would agree to that?”

“I would. I swear this upon my mother’s soul.” Amara nodded firmly. “Think about what I’ve said. All of it.”

She knocked on the door, and Carlos opened it, looming within its frame. He looked into the room and frowned with confusion at the small chunks of ice melting into the dirt floor.

Amara reached for his waiting arm. “Assist me outside, Carlos. We’re done here.”

Carlos flicked a look at Cleo, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Cleo raised her chin, holding his gaze until he looked away. She didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust any Kraeshian—especially the ones who made great promises to her.

Defeat Kyan, regain her kingdom.

But they were only words.

If she did harness this magic in a way she could use to defeat Kyan that wouldn’t destroy her in the process, she wouldn’t need Amara to give her back her kingdom. She would simply take it.

Cleo cast a last glance at the dungeon cell before she left it, her heart a heavy weight in her chest.

I will find you, Magnus, she promised silently. I swear I will.

She followed Amara and Carlos down the hallway, up a short flight of stairs chiseled out of heavy stone, and they emerged into the compound grounds that had once been the home of Hugo Basilius, the chieftain of Paelsia. The compound itself was like a small, humble duplicate of the Auranian City of Gold—but with far more stone and mud in its construction than jewels and pristine white marble imported from overseas.

The rainstorm had washed away any remaining traces of blood from the dozens of dead bodies—guards that Selia Damora had murdered with her magic to help the fire Kindred—around the large, thirty-foot-deep pit in the exact center of the compound.

The rain had stopped, but the clouds were thick and dark, making midday appear more like dusk.

She couldn’t simply go back to the chambers Amara had lent her, doing nothing. The wait for news about Magnus would drive her mad.

If there was so much magic inside her, why did she feel so powerless?

Then she heard a sound. A loud bang.

It was coming from the closed entry gates, which were twenty feet tall and took six guards great effort to open and close.

A guard rushed up to Carlos, out of breath. “We have a situation, captain.”

“What is it?” Amara demanded before Carlos had a chance to answer.