Immortal Reign (Falling Kingdoms #6)(21)

Felix’s gaze met his.

The defeat in Felix’s single eye said it all.

Amara had won.

They were too late. There was no time to yell or fight or try to stop this. Jonas could only watch in horror as the ax sliced downward—

—and stopped only a whisper above Felix’s flesh. The guard’s muscles bulged as he tried to push down against an invisible barrier.

Jonas shot a look at Taran to see that perspiration coated his forehead. His eyes glowed with white light. Spidery white lines appeared on his hands, wrapping around his wrists.

“You’re doing this,” Jonas managed.

“I—I don’t know how,” Taran replied tightly.

The ax went flying, hitting the side of a building so hard that the blade buried itself fully into the stone surface. Then, the guard flew backward as if shoved by an invisible hand.

“Air magic,” a nearby woman gasped. All those around her began to speak, to shout, and every gaze in the clearing turned to stare at Taran.

Taran looked wide-eyed at the glowing spiral mark on his right hand. It was surrounded by white lines, spreading and curling around his skin.

“Don’t just gawk at me,” Taran said through clenched teeth. “Go get him.”

Jonas did as Taran said and ran up to the execution platform, cutting through Felix’s ropes quickly with his new blade. He offered Felix his hand to stand, and Felix grasped it without hesitation.

“Twice now,” Felix said to Jonas, his voice thick. “You’ve saved my arse twice.”

“You can thank Taran for this one.” Jonas embraced his friend, slapping him on the back.

The guards who might have intervened at this point all took a step backward as Taran approached. Jonas noted that Taran’s face was pale, his deep tan completely gone. Dark circles, like bruises, had appeared beneath his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Taran said, wincing. “I hate this.”

“I don’t,” Felix replied quickly. “It’s good to have a god on my side of things.”

“I’m no god.”

Still, when Taran glanced toward the dozens of onlookers, they all took a step backward—servants and guards alike.

“I can’t stay here,” Taran muttered.

“You’re right,” Jonas said. This was no place for any of them.

He had to speak to Cleo, to Lucia. He had to convince them to move on, away from the watch of the empress.

Amara wouldn’t stop them. She feared them.

He spotted the captain of the guard, Carlos, approaching them fearlessly, his sword drawn.

“We have no fight with you today,” Jonas said, spreading his hands. “But you will not execute my friend. Not now, not ever.”

“The empress commanded it,” Carlos said.

Felix muttered something very dark under his breath about the commanding empress. Then louder: “If the empress wishes me dead, have her come out here and do it herself.”

Jonas glared at him. “Kindly shut up.”

Felix glared back at Jonas. “I hate her.”

“I know.” Jonas regarded Carlos again. “You can see that we have power, we have strength. And we will not stand by and let you imprison our friends any longer. We’re leaving this place, and Prince Ashur is coming with us.”

Jonas had certainly gathered a strange group of friends over the last few months. Tarus had told him that Prince Ashur hadn’t betrayed them after all when he’d left their group in Basilia without a word. He’d gone to his sister’s side to convince her to halt her evil ways. Clearly, Amara had ignored him.

Prince Ashur Cortas was every bit a rebel as Jonas was himself.

“I’m certain the empress will have no issues with your departure,” Carlos said, his eyes narrow and cruel. “But Prince Ashur will not be joining you.”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear him,” Felix said, his fists tight. “Go get him now, or my friend Taran is going to reduce this compound to a pile of rocks. Right, Taran?”

Jonas glanced at Taran, who also appeared ready to fight.

His eyes still glowed.

“Right,” Taran said.

Jonas wondered for just a moment if Taran could actually control this godlike power within him that he’d just used to save Felix or if he was bluffing.

“I will tell you again,” Jonas said, his attention fixed on the large armed guard. “Free Prince Ashur Cortas immediately.”

Carlos’s shook his head. “An impossible request.”

“Why?”

“Because the prince,” Carlos began, his expression grim, “escaped from his cell late last night.”





CHAPTER 7


    MAGNUS


   PAELSIA




For what felt like an eternity, Magnus scratched at the wood in the inky darkness of his minuscule prison. Blood dripped onto his face from his torn-up fingertips, but he continued until the pain became unbearable. He fought against unconsciousness until it claimed him.

When he woke, his fingers had healed.

Without the bloodstone, he would have been dead and broken and worthless.

With it, he still had a chance.

To save his father’s life, Magnus’s grandmother had literally cut this ring from the finger of an exiled Watcher. He didn’t know the bloodstone’s origins. Frankly, he didn’t care.