Gathering Darkness (Falling Kingdoms #3)(58)

The other guards glanced at each other warily as Magnus strode out of the tavern with Cronus directly behind him. The early evening air was warm and sweetly scented with roses—both the official flower and the official stench of Auranos.

Limeros smelled of ice. Paelsia of dirt. But Auranos smelled of roses.

Magnus hated roses. What other purpose did they serve besides looking pretty?

Though he stumbled as he walked along the narrow cobblestone road, he kept up a quick pace, and didn’t once glance over his shoulder to see if the others were keeping up with him. He didn’t care.

His steps finally slowed as he turned a corner to find six guards standing outside of a grand building with a fa?ade of white marble flanked by pillars, sandwiched between two ordinary stone taverns.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“It’s a temple of the goddess Cleiona,” Cronus said.

“Such places should be torn down,” Magnus muttered. Then, louder, “Why are there guards here? Have they abandoned Valoria to worship at another goddess’s feet? Father wouldn’t be too pleased about that, would he?”

Cronus went to consult one of the guards and returned a moment later.

“It seems that Princess Cleiona is inside. She’s been given permission to worship here several times a week.”

This was the last thing Magnus expected to hear. To his knowledge, the princess hadn’t been allowed to leave the palace since the wedding tour. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

Cronus spread his hands. “It was the king’s decision.”

“Was it.” Magnus’s gaze was fixed on the temple doors. He should have been consulted about this. Why should she be given such privileges? “It wasn’t the king’s decision to make. He’s not the one who was forced to marry her.”

“All decisions are the king’s to make.”

This was completely unacceptable.

“Wait out here,” he commanded. “I want to inform the princess this is the last time she will be allowed to come here.”

He expected Cronus to protest, but the guard just nodded patiently. “Very well, your highness. Do what you must.”

Magnus pushed through the temple doors, leaving the guards to wait outside. The space looked like a miniature version of the grand Temple of Cleiona, where he and Cleo had been married, which had been big enough to hold thousands. That was, before the earthquake that had reduced it to a pile of rubble, making it unsafe for anyone to venture inside.

Though this temple was much smaller, it was still ornate and beautiful. White marble floors. Carved benches. A statue of the goddess peering at Magnus with what looked like disdain. The symbols of fire and air were etched into her upraised palms.

“You’re not welcome here, Limerian,” she seemed to sneer at him.

Too bad.

The temple was empty apart from the blond girl seated in the front pew. She gazed up at a gigantic mosaic depicting the goddess with the green valleys of Auranos behind her. On her left was a wildfire, burning with flames both orange and blue; to the right, a tornado.

Cleo gave Magnus a sidelong glance as he approached and sat down across the aisle from her, his attention fixed on the mosaic.

“Have you come here to worship?” she asked.

He repressed a laugh. “Hardly.”

“So you’re here only to interrupt my prayers.”

“As if you’re actually praying.”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Spare me such accusatory glares,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve seen no sign that you’re devout in your religious beliefs. You’re the same as anyone in this hedonistic, self-centered kingdom. Your religion is nothing more than a series of pretty marble statues adorning gaudily ornate spaces.”

“You are entitled to your opinion.”

Her dismissive attitude would do nothing to help her cause tonight. “You come here to escape the palace even if it means you must be accompanied by a half-dozen guards. This is where you can think in private, perhaps about how best to destroy us.”

Cleo crossed her arms over the bodice of her gown. “Oh, so now you’re a mind reader, are you? It’s incredible that you have the talent to know exactly what’s in my thoughts at all times.”

“You’d be surprised what I know about your thoughts, princess.”

She assessed him with a single sweep of her eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“Am I?”

“You’re slurring your words.”

He wasn’t slurring anything. She likely said this only to wound him—a constant goal of hers. “Apologies for not making myself clear. I came in here to tell you this will be the last time you will be allowed here.”

She didn’t seem overly concerned by his proclamation. “The king told me I could come whenever I wanted.”

“I don’t care what the king told you.”

The princess raised her chin. “What right do you have to prevent me from doing something that has already been approved by your father?”

How obtuse she was being! He barked out a laugh. “What right? I’m your husband, princess. That gives me the right to stop you from doing anything that displeases me.”

She sighed. But Magnus could tell it was one of weariness rather than defeat. “By morning,” she said, “you’ll have forgotten all about this conversation. Tell me, how much did you drink? A gallon? Did you fall face-first into your wine and swim around for a while?”