Immortal Reign (Falling Kingdoms #6)(70)

“Much gratitude,” Cleo said to her tightly.

“Seeing you here,” the woman said, “together, celebrating with us all. It warms the heart.”

“Indeed,” Magnus said drily. “Please, don’t let us keep you any longer from your . . . fun.” He took Cleo by her upper arm and moved her a safe distance away. “We’re leaving.”

“I’m not ready to go yet. I like it here.” She glanced around at the dingy tavern.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’ve never been here before.”

“I have.” He took in the surroundings, as memories—mostly unclear—flooded back to him. “It was right before I found you in the temple that night.”

She frowned, her gaze growing faraway. “When I offered you a tentative alliance, but you were too drunk to listen to me, and then you spent the night in Amara’s bed.”

He grimaced. “Actually, it was my bed. And I had greatly hoped not to be reminded of that unfortunate mistake ever again.”

Cleo’s annoyed expression eased. “Apologies. It’s behind us, just as many troubles are.”

“Good,” he said. He searched her face. “Do you really want to stay here?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Let’s go back to the palace.”

The fiddler ended his song and announced that there was someone who wished to make another toast.

“I certainly hope it’s not Enzo again,” Magnus muttered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone climb up onto the very same table that Enzo had used as a makeshift stage, a silver goblet in his hand.

“My toast is to Prince Magnus, the rightful heir to his father’s throne!” the painfully familiar voice called out. “A true friend and—believe me when I say this—a true survivor.”

“Magnus . . .” Cleo’s grip on his arm became painfully tight.

Heart pounding, Magnus turned on his boot heels to face Lord Kurtis, whose cold gaze was fixed on him.

Kurtis raised his goblet. “Cheers to Prince Magnus!”

The crowd cheered and clinked their glasses again, drinking deeply, before the fiddler filled the noisy air with music.

The former kingsliege descended from the table and headed toward the exit.

“Magnus—” Cleo began.

“Stay here,” he bit out.

Without another word, Magnus took off after Lord Kurtis.

He burst outside of the Beast, looking to the left and right, trying to spot Kurtis fleeing through the swell of the crowd outside. Finally, his gaze narrowed on the familiar pale, weasel-like face grinning back in his direction.

Magnus shoved past several men standing in his way.

The cold splash of a drink spilling on his boots distracted him long enough for Kurtis to disappear.

He swore in frustration.

“Up ahead,” Cleo shouted. “Around the corner, he took a left.”

Magnus cringed. “I told you to stay put.”

Her face was flushed as she reached his side. “Yes. And I ignored you. Move, would you? He’s getting away!”

Instead of arguing, he did as she suggested, leaving the main crowded area and heading down a street that had already been lit with fewer torches to compensate for the dwindling light as dusk began to fall over the City of Gold.

Magnus had dreamed of this moment. Fantasized about it. Along with picturing hungry beetles and death by spoon, his endless time in the maddeningly small coffin had included imagining his hands around Lord Kurtis Cirillo’s throat, choking the worthless life out of him.

The dark form of Kurtis slipped behind another corner. Magnus had gained on him; Kurtis’s steps were swift, but not fast enough.

The alleyway came to a dead end at a stone wall. Kurtis came to a staggering stop. He turned slowly to face Magnus.

“Nowhere left to run?” Magnus said. “How unfortunate for you.”

“I wasn’t running.”

“You should have been.”

Cleo caught up to Magnus and stood at his side, her arms crossed, her long blond locks tucked behind her ears. Her face was set in a most magnificent mask of icy judgment, her blue-green eyes narrowed.

A blue wisp curled along her left temple. Magnus might have mistaken it for a pleasant decoration applied by a talented face-painter at the festival had he not known otherwise.

The water Kindred marks had extended even further.

“You must tell me your secret,” Kurtis said.

“What secret?” he growled.

“How you managed to survive to stand before me tonight.” Kurtis’s gaze swept the length of him with appreciation. “I heard your bones break—far too many bones for you to be up and walking about so easily. And I helped shovel the dirt upon your grave. There was no way you should have survived that.”

“I will kill you myself,” Cleo snarled at him.

“How? With your excellent archery skills?” Kurtis gave her a cold smile before returning his attention to Magnus. “Did your sweet young sister heal you with her now legendary elementia?”

“No,” Magnus said simply.

Kurtis furrowed his brow. “Then how?”

“It’s a mystery, isn’t it?” Magnus glanced down at the stump at the end of Kurtis’s right arm. “Much like where your right hand now is.”