Crystal Storm
Page 101
“My plans changed,” the king said simply.
“I see that.”
“Is this any way to greet your husband, Amara?” Magnus asked. “By putting him in chains in a dungeon?”
“My mother once ran away from my father. I’m told he dragged her back to him and locked her in a small, dark room—for an entire year, I believe. She also lost a finger as punishment for trying to escape—she was forced to sever it herself.”
She told the story without any emotion at all.
“Is that my fate?” he asked. “To lose a finger?”
“I haven’t decided just what I’d like to have sliced off your body for all your lies and deceit. But I’m certain I’ll think of something. In the meantime, I have someone with me whom I’m sure you’d like to see.”
She stepped aside, and Magnus, still shielding his eyes, realized with stunned disbelief that Cleo stood in the doorway.
Her expression was utterly unreadable.
“I thought you said you had rebels imprisoned here,” Cleo said.
Amara turned to her. “These are rebels, working against me to steal what now belongs to me. Am I wrong?”
“No, I suppose not.” Cleo cocked her head. “It’s so strange to think of them as rebels, though. The word doesn’t quite seem to fit.”
“If we’re rebels, princess,” the king hissed, “then what are you?”
“A prisoner of war,” Cleo replied calmly, “forced to marry against my will as my freedom was stolen along with my throne. And so it has been for a very long and painful year of my life.”
Magnus hadn’t said a word since Cleo had entered the dungeon, stunned by every move she made and every word she uttered. This couldn’t possibly be the same girl he’d come to know, the one full of passion and fire the night their paths had intersected at the cottage in the snowy woods. The one full of anger and hate when she learned that Nic was dead.
This girl’s perfect mask of indifference rivaled his own.
“I gave you many chances to leave,” Magnus said. “You were no prisoner.”
“I was a prisoner of the choices taken from me by your father. How many times would he have liked to see this very situation reversed, to see me chained and at his mercy? Mercy,” she snorted. “That isn’t a word I would ever use to describe his actions.”
“You should have woken me,” Magnus said. “My father shouldn’t have sent you away all alone. I know you were angry with me.”
“Angry? You think I was—”
“But to come here,” he interrupted her. “To, what? Attempt an alliance with Amara?”
“Perhaps,” she allowed. “Since she’s the only one with any power here, would you really blame me?”
“What should I do with them, Cleo?” Amara asked. “Do you want me to consider sparing Magnus’s life?”
“I’ll have to give it some thought,” Cleo said.
Magnus narrowed his eyes at her. “Some thought? The princess needs to give some thought to whether or not I die? Need I remind you that I have saved your life far too many times to count?”
“This is not a scale on which we must balance such things. This is war. And in war, we must do what is necessary to survive.”
He glared at her, then shifted his gaze to Amara. “Then perhaps I should arrange an alliance with you for myself.”
Amara scoffed. “Really? What kind of an alliance?”
“I remember the night we spent together very well. You are . . . an extraordinary woman, one I would very much like in my bed again.”
From the corner of his eye, Magnus could clearly see Cleo fidget uncomfortably.
“Really?” Amara twisted a finger through her hair. “And you don’t mind that I’ve been with other men since we were together? Including your own father?”
“I prefer a woman with experience. So many others are so . . . clumsy and awkward in their innocence.” He shifted his gaze to Cleo to see if his words, utterly untrue to his actual feelings on the subject, had any effect on her. “Don’t you think, princess?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Cleo agreed, though there was poison in her tone. “You should seek out only the most experienced women. Perhaps you could learn a great deal from them.”
Amara kept a thin smile steady on her face. “I think such invitations are well behind us, Magnus, but I certainly appreciate the generous offer. What I’m more interested in at this very moment is acquiring the air Kindred. I want it.”
“I’m sure you do,” the king said. “As you’ve wanted everything I’ve had.”
“Not everything. For example, I don’t want you as a husband anymore. Will you tell me where it is?”
“No,” he replied.
“I have no patience for this.” Amara gestured to the guards. “Take the two of them to the pit.”
“Yes, empress.”
The two girls turned toward the door.
“Princess . . .” Magnus said, hating the sliver of weakness in his voice. Cleo’s shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice.
She glared at him over her shoulder. “I thought I told you to call me Cleiona.”
Magnus stared after them as Cleo and Amara left without another word.
Cleiona . . . she wanted him to call her Cleiona.
The name of a goddess. Her full, proper name, not a shortened version of it. The name he’d originally chosen to call her to show that he wanted her, that he loved her.
“I see that.”
“Is this any way to greet your husband, Amara?” Magnus asked. “By putting him in chains in a dungeon?”
“My mother once ran away from my father. I’m told he dragged her back to him and locked her in a small, dark room—for an entire year, I believe. She also lost a finger as punishment for trying to escape—she was forced to sever it herself.”
She told the story without any emotion at all.
“Is that my fate?” he asked. “To lose a finger?”
“I haven’t decided just what I’d like to have sliced off your body for all your lies and deceit. But I’m certain I’ll think of something. In the meantime, I have someone with me whom I’m sure you’d like to see.”
She stepped aside, and Magnus, still shielding his eyes, realized with stunned disbelief that Cleo stood in the doorway.
Her expression was utterly unreadable.
“I thought you said you had rebels imprisoned here,” Cleo said.
Amara turned to her. “These are rebels, working against me to steal what now belongs to me. Am I wrong?”
“No, I suppose not.” Cleo cocked her head. “It’s so strange to think of them as rebels, though. The word doesn’t quite seem to fit.”
“If we’re rebels, princess,” the king hissed, “then what are you?”
“A prisoner of war,” Cleo replied calmly, “forced to marry against my will as my freedom was stolen along with my throne. And so it has been for a very long and painful year of my life.”
Magnus hadn’t said a word since Cleo had entered the dungeon, stunned by every move she made and every word she uttered. This couldn’t possibly be the same girl he’d come to know, the one full of passion and fire the night their paths had intersected at the cottage in the snowy woods. The one full of anger and hate when she learned that Nic was dead.
This girl’s perfect mask of indifference rivaled his own.
“I gave you many chances to leave,” Magnus said. “You were no prisoner.”
“I was a prisoner of the choices taken from me by your father. How many times would he have liked to see this very situation reversed, to see me chained and at his mercy? Mercy,” she snorted. “That isn’t a word I would ever use to describe his actions.”
“You should have woken me,” Magnus said. “My father shouldn’t have sent you away all alone. I know you were angry with me.”
“Angry? You think I was—”
“But to come here,” he interrupted her. “To, what? Attempt an alliance with Amara?”
“Perhaps,” she allowed. “Since she’s the only one with any power here, would you really blame me?”
“What should I do with them, Cleo?” Amara asked. “Do you want me to consider sparing Magnus’s life?”
“I’ll have to give it some thought,” Cleo said.
Magnus narrowed his eyes at her. “Some thought? The princess needs to give some thought to whether or not I die? Need I remind you that I have saved your life far too many times to count?”
“This is not a scale on which we must balance such things. This is war. And in war, we must do what is necessary to survive.”
He glared at her, then shifted his gaze to Amara. “Then perhaps I should arrange an alliance with you for myself.”
Amara scoffed. “Really? What kind of an alliance?”
“I remember the night we spent together very well. You are . . . an extraordinary woman, one I would very much like in my bed again.”
From the corner of his eye, Magnus could clearly see Cleo fidget uncomfortably.
“Really?” Amara twisted a finger through her hair. “And you don’t mind that I’ve been with other men since we were together? Including your own father?”
“I prefer a woman with experience. So many others are so . . . clumsy and awkward in their innocence.” He shifted his gaze to Cleo to see if his words, utterly untrue to his actual feelings on the subject, had any effect on her. “Don’t you think, princess?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Cleo agreed, though there was poison in her tone. “You should seek out only the most experienced women. Perhaps you could learn a great deal from them.”
Amara kept a thin smile steady on her face. “I think such invitations are well behind us, Magnus, but I certainly appreciate the generous offer. What I’m more interested in at this very moment is acquiring the air Kindred. I want it.”
“I’m sure you do,” the king said. “As you’ve wanted everything I’ve had.”
“Not everything. For example, I don’t want you as a husband anymore. Will you tell me where it is?”
“No,” he replied.
“I have no patience for this.” Amara gestured to the guards. “Take the two of them to the pit.”
“Yes, empress.”
The two girls turned toward the door.
“Princess . . .” Magnus said, hating the sliver of weakness in his voice. Cleo’s shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice.
She glared at him over her shoulder. “I thought I told you to call me Cleiona.”
Magnus stared after them as Cleo and Amara left without another word.
Cleiona . . . she wanted him to call her Cleiona.
The name of a goddess. Her full, proper name, not a shortened version of it. The name he’d originally chosen to call her to show that he wanted her, that he loved her.
