Gathering Darkness (Falling Kingdoms #3)(111)

Cleo exchanged another brief, pained look with Magnus, then knelt on the ground and swept some ice shards away to clear a small area. She took a deep breath in, then let her blood drip to the floor and began drawing the symbol for water: two waved parallel lines.

So much for buying them enough time to figure this out.

“There.” Cleo finished, then stood up, glaring at the Kraeshians.

Amara looked around the temple eagerly, as if expecting the roof to open up and magic to stream in.

But nothing happened.

“How long does it take?” Amara asked, her voice sharp with impatience.

“I don’t know,” Cleo replied just as sharply. “Do you have somewhere else to be tonight? I’d hate to keep you from a prior commitment.”

The Kraeshian princess’s expression grew sour. “Did you ever like me, Cleo? Or were you only feigning friendship in the hopes that I could save you from the utter disaster your life has become?”

“Despite whatever promises and offers you might have made to me, I could never ignore the sensation I had whenever you were nearby—like spiders crawling on my skin. I knew I couldn’t trust you.”

“Or maybe you were just jealous of me because of my . . . connection with Magnus. You don’t like how determined I am to get what I want.”

“Determined? No. Pathetic and needy? That’s more like it.”

“Enough, both of you,” Ashur said.

“Not nearly, brother. Cleo should respect me for possessing exactly what she lacks: the strength to get what I want, no matter what it takes. If I were her, I wouldn’t merely lie down and accept defeat without a fight. I’d burn with vengeance every day and night looking for any chance I could get to change my situation. We offered you that chance and you ignored it.”

“So it’s true that alliances were offered between the three of you in an attempt to destroy my father,” Magnus said.

He couldn’t say he was surprised, but this circumstance did put him in a more awkward position as the odd man out.

“Your father is meaningless in the grand scheme of things,” Ashur said. “Barely worth a moment’s thought.”

“I think he’d disagree,” Magnus said. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

“Where is it?” Amara hissed. “Why hasn’t the crystal revealed itself yet? How long must we wait?”

Cleo’s expression remained impassive. “I have no idea.”

Suddenly, a flash of color on the floor caught Magnus’s eye. On the black granite between two benches, he saw a smear of crimson.

He drew in a sharp breath.

It was the water symbol, a second one, drawn in blood. It had to have been Lucia, benefitting from her head start.

Was this her blood? Was she all right? Happy with the boy she believed she loved? Or had he only manipulated her to get what he wanted?

There was no way to know for sure until he saw her again.

Magnus’s reaction to this discovery had drawn Amara’s attention. She followed his gaze to the symbol, her expression darkening immediately. “Your sister, isn’t it? Lucia took the crystal.”

“It wasn’t Lucia,” another voice spoke up from the opposite side of the altar, and a cloaked figure emerged from the shadows. “It was me.”

The young man pulled back his hood and, for a brief moment, Magnus was certain it would be Jonas Agallon.

But instead of Jonas’s smug rebel face, a flash of messy red hair appeared.

Nic stretched out his hand to show the small sphere of aquamarine—the same color as Cleo’s eyes—that he held in his hand.

Cleo stared at him with unrestrained shock. “Nic! How—how is this possible?”

“Guards, capture him,” Amara growled. “Kill him. Take the crystal.”

“No,” Prince Ashur said firmly before the guards made a move. “You will not. And if any one of you follows my sister’s orders for the remainder of the night, you’ll deeply regret it.”

Unexpected, Magnus thought. Very unexpected.

Nic moved forward, his gaze flicking to Cleo’s still-shocked expression.

Magnus understood as little about this situation as Cleo did. The boy had been tied up and left under a guard’s supervision. A guard who’d been instructed to kill him if he caused any problems.

Magnus decided right then and there to stop underestimating Nicolo Cassian.





CHAPTER 33


NIC

FOUR DAYS EARLIER



Nic fought through the thick fog of unconsciousness, struggling through a tangle of dreams and nightmares to find his way back into the waking world. After what felt like an eternity, he finally opened his eyes.

The potion-induced sleep hadn’t been like a normal slumber. It had been heavier, deeper, and he imagined that it was exactly what death felt like.

But he was still alive. For now, anyway.

And he had one hell of a headache.

He pushed himself up and found that he was lying on a cot in a small, dark room. He made his way over to a window to his right, and, ignoring the spinning in his head, gasped at the scene outside. Dark water—as far as the eye could see—under a black curtain of night.

“We’re on our way to Limeros,” a low voice said.

He spun around to find Ashur standing in the shadows. Without a single thought, Nic attacked. He tried to land a blow on the prince’s perfect face, but Ashur grabbed Nic’s arm and twisted it behind his back hard enough to make Nic gasp in pain.