Gathering Darkness (Falling Kingdoms #3)(29)

Jonas didn’t mourn his loss, not for a single moment.

He waited in the quiet temple, the rhythm of his heartbeat his only way to know much time had passed. Finally, he heard the creak of the main doors opening, followed by footsteps.

“Wait outside,” the new worshipper said firmly to the guard at her side. “I need to be alone with my prayers.”

“Yes, princess.”

Jonas pulled farther back into the shadows and watched Princess Cleo walk up the aisle and across the row of benches facing a large mosaic of the goddess, making her way toward the back of the temple through an archway. He slipped off the bench and, glancing at the entrance to make sure that the guard had left, followed her down a passageway about twenty paces long that led to a smaller room. Hundreds of candles blazed with light on narrow shelves, celebrating and acknowledging the goddess’s fire magic.

Cleo lit a candle and carefully placed it next to the others.

He waited in silence.

“I received your message,” she said without turning around.

“I’m glad.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. It’s good to see you again.” After all the hardships he’d faced, seeing the princess in person lightened his heart. “Are you going to look at me?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Come on. Didn’t we part as friends?”

“Did we? I seem to recall the last time we met you were horribly injured and all of your friends were dead.”

He flinched at the reminder of that terrible day. “I wanted you to come with me.”

“And what? Live in the trees with a group of Paelsians who despise me simply for being who I am?”

He let himself imagine a future just like that—he and Cleo living together in a tree house surrounded by birds and squirrels, far above the rest of the world.

The ludicrous thought almost made him laugh.

No, his life was much more earthbound and practical than that—and so was hers.

“Perhaps not,” he allowed. “Palaces with large comfortable beds to share with your new husband are much more to your liking, I’m sure.”

She spun around, her eyes blazing, and slapped him. Or, at least, she tried to—Jonas caught her wrist before the blow landed.

So quick to resort to violence—so unlike most Auranians, who were much more likely to drink and eat and stare adoringly at their own reflections than to fight for themselves. “Easy, your highness. A clandestine meeting with a wanted criminal isn’t the best time to make a scene. There are potential witnesses snoozing not so far away.”

“You were silent for so long I thought you were dead.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

She let out a grunt of frustration. “Someone secretly tucked your message into my sketchbook. I was lucky to have found it in time to make my excuses to come here.”

“Didn’t know you were an artist, either.”

Cleo glared at him, her arms crossed over the bodice of her violet gown. Her dress was not nearly as revealing as what the goddess out front wore, but Jonas certainly wasn’t complaining.

“Clearly,” she said slowly, unpleasantly, “you’re alive and well and ready to make light of everything I say.”

She was every bit as forthright as he remembered—it was one of his favorite qualities about her. She didn’t bother with proper royal etiquette in his presence, which was fine by him. Frankly, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until this very moment. “Hardly, your highness. Much gratitude for meeting with me.”

“You’re being hunted like a wild boar. It was foolish of you to enter this city.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“I’ve already heard about your victory at the road camp.”

He frowned. “That was no victory.”

“Perhaps not overall, but you finally got your revenge on Aron, didn’t you?” She wrung her hands, making her large amethyst ring glint in the candlelight. “I’m not saying that he didn’t deserve it, of course. He did. And I hate that I feel any grief for him at all. But he’s just one more piece of my previous life that’s now been taken from this world.”

Jonas frowned. “Who told you I killed him?”

“I assumed . . .” A shadow of confusion crossed her expression. “It wasn’t you?”

“No.” He couldn’t lay claim to slaying the murderer of his brother and his friend. “I arrived too late to do the deed myself. But I would have, if your new husband hadn’t stolen the opportunity from me.”

She stared at him. “You’re saying . . . that Magnus killed Aron. But why?”

Apparently, this wasn’t common knowledge at the palace. “Because Aron Lagaris killed Prince Magnus’s mother.”

“What?” She grappled for words, a rush of nameless emotions playing on her face. “But . . . but they’re still saying you’re responsible for the queen’s murder.”

Of course they were. Otherwise, his wanted posters would have been nothing more than fuel for a campfire. “Did you think I was guilty?”

“No, not for a moment. You don’t kill women indiscriminately—even one married to the king. You hold yourself to a higher standard than that.”