Frozen Tides (Falling Kingdoms #4)(33)

She pulled her hair from his grip. “I should thank you too, Magnus.”

“For?”

“For constantly reminding me who you really are. Sometimes, I forget.”

With that, she slipped past him and left the room.

? ? ?

The reason, it was said, that the goddess Valoria had forbidden alcohol in her land was to ensure that her people always maintained purity, health, and clarity of mind.

But in any land where something was forbidden, there were always ways to acquire it. Magnus had heard rumors of one—and how to gain entry to it—only a couple miles away from the palace, a shabby-looking inn called the Ouroboros.

Magnus entered the inn, leaving the single guard he’d brought with him to wait outside with the horses. It was nearly empty; only a handful of patrons occupied the small eating area, none of them bothering to look up at who had entered.

Magnus scanned the room from beneath the heavy hood of his black cloak, his gaze falling on a wooden door with a bronze knocker in the shape of a snake devouring its own tail. He grasped this and knocked three times quickly, three times slowly.

The door creaked opened a moment later and he strode through into another room—much larger and busier than the one before. He scanned the ruddy faces, hands clasping tankards of ale at twenty or more tables, until he came across a face that was painfully familiar.

“Wonderful,” he grumbled as he drew closer to the table in the far corner.

“Well, well!” Nic slurred and raised his tankard, causing ale to slosh over the rim. “Look who’s here. Shall I make a formal announcement of your arrival?”

“I’d prefer that you didn’t.” Magnus swept another glance through the large room, but no one seemed to have recognized him yet.

“Come.” Nic shoved the heavy wooden chair across from him with his foot. “Join me. I hate to drink alone.”

Magnus gave this a moment’s thought, before he did as Nic suggested. He kept his back to the rest of the room to further conceal his identity.

“Thirsty?” Nic asked, but without waiting for a reply, he gestured for the barkeep to come to their table.

The heavyset bald man with a thick, dark beard, approached confidently, but the moment Magnus glanced at him from the cowl of his cloak, his steps faltered.

“Your highness,” the barkeep gasped.

“Quiet,” Magnus replied. “No need to inform anyone of my presence here.”

The man trembled as he bowed deeply and lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. “I beg of you, don’t judge me too harshly. I don’t usually serve such evil, sinful beverages here. The night is so cold and . . . well, these loyal citizens were just looking for something that might warm their bellies.”

Magnus regarded the man patiently. “Is that so? In a dedicated room that requires a secret knock?”

The barkeep grimaced, his shoulders slumping. “Spare my family. Take me. Execute me. But leave them. They had nothing to do with my dark decisions.”

He had no patience for sniveling martyrs tonight. “Bring me a bottle of your best Paelsian wine. No need for a goblet.”

“But . . .” The barkeep blinked rapidly. “Well, your highness, Paelsian wine is only sold in Auranos. It’s part of their treaty—as I’m sure you know. Even if I were allowed to serve it by law, it could not be imported here.”

Magnus gave him a hard look.

“Yes, of course, very well,” the barkeep sputtered. “My best bottle of Paelsian wine. Coming right up.”

He disappeared into a back room, returning almost immediately with a dark green glass bottle roughly etched with the Paelsian symbol of a grapevine. As the barkeep uncorked it, Magnus spared a glance at Nic.

“That’s forbidden.” Nic gestured toward the bottle. “Bad Prince of Blood. Very bad!”

Magnus waved the barkeep away, then took a deep drink from the bottle and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the familiar sweetness as it slid over his tongue.

Nic snorted. “But of course, you can do whatever you like. As long as your daddy says it’s all right.”

Even though Magnus believed this boy was well overdue for a painful death, he had to admit that Nic did occasionally amuse him. “You might do well to consider the possibility that I don’t care what my father says,” he said, taking another swig. “Just how long have you been drinking here tonight, Cassian?”

Nic waved his hand flippantly. “Long enough not to care what happens next. I should kill you now, really. Just stab you with this dinner knife. Until you’re good and dead.”

“Yes, well, the feeling is mutual. Now, shall we pick something worthy to drink to tonight?”

Nic returned his attention to his ale, staring down into it as if it might tell his fortune. “To Prince Ashur.”

“What?”

“Prince Ashur. Remember him?” His expression darkened. “I want to know that he was buried, and where. It’s not right that he’s in an unmarked grave. He was a royal, you know. His body should have been treated with more respect.”

Magnus went to take another sip, but found that he’d already drained the bottle of its contents. But, mere seconds later, the nervous barkeep hurried over to replace it with another. “Just what was it between you two?” Magnus asked, his new bottle uncorked. He’d been curious about Nic and Ashur ever since the night it was revealed they were working together against Amara.