Crystal Storm
Page 44
He drained his glass, uncertain how many times he’d done so since arriving. It didn’t matter. Not now, when things seemed so much better to him than they had earlier, when desire for Cleo had nearly blinded him to its dangers.
Perhaps they should share a room, he thought now as a he watched this strange woman twist her way across the stage. Perhaps seeking an elixir to prevent pregnancy would be sufficient protection.
Or perhaps he should focus on the fact that his kingdom had been stolen, his father was near death with his grandmother wishing to save him with a magic rock, his sister was aligned with a man focused on burning his way through Mytica, and Cleo had a deadly curse upon her. The fact that he was slowly going mad with desire for his wife truly was the least of his concerns.
Suddenly, something caught his eye: a flash of red hair. Now that shade of hair was possibly a rarer sight than Cleo’s in Paelsia. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Nicolo Cassian, the only person he’d ever met with hair that unfortunate color.
Magnus chuckled into his wine at the thought. No, Nic likely was still safely—or not so safely, Magnus really didn’t care either way—over in Kraeshia, the idiot having volunteered to join Jonas on his failed mission to kill the king.
He turned his attention again to the Goddess of Serpents. Just as he thought he was starting to understand the rhythm of her movements, she paused, waving at the musicians to stop playing.
“Is it you?” she asked, the room now silent. She was clearly addressing someone specific, but Magnus couldn’t see him from his seat at the bar. All he could see was the growing excitement on the dancer’s painted face as her expression grew more certain. “Jonas!” she called now with more confidence. “Jonas, is that really you? My darling, I thought you were dead!”
Jonas?
Another odd coincidence—must be.
The snake dancer stepped down from the stage and into the tavern crowd, from which she pulled a young, dark-haired man. Magnus froze. He craned his neck, trying to see around the heads of other patrons. The dancer threw her arms around the young man, twirling around in her visitor’s embrace until he faced in Magnus’s direction.
Shocked and open-mouthed, Magnus stared at the sight before him.
It was Jonas Agallon. Here, in the very same tavern as Magnus.
“What are the odds?” spoke a familiar voice next to him, articulating his very thoughts.
A wave of displeasure washed over Magnus even before he turned to discover what he already knew: that red-headed Nicolo Cassian now stood directly beside him. “You.”
Nic poked him in the shoulder, letting out a bark of a laugh as a splash of ale spilled over the edge of his large tankard. “It seems as though fate is finally kicking you in the arse, don’t you think, your highness? And I’m more than happy to bear witness to it.”
“Your visit to Kraeshia did nothing to diminish your charm, I see,” Magnus said, dismayed that he drunkenly slurred his words every bit as much as Nic did.
Nic smiled, but his unfocused eyes held no humor at all. “Prince Magnus Damora, I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine.”
Annoyed at the use of his name in a public venue, Magnus turned, expecting to see some lowly rebel or another. But instead he was met with a face he saw only in his nightmares.
“Theon Ranus,” he managed. The pleasant, tingling warmth of the wine he’d consumed disappeared in an instant, leaving him utterly, devastatingly cold as he faced this apparition.
“You’re mistaken,” said the young man, a dead ringer for the first person Magnus ever killed. With cold eyes filled with nothing but single-minded hatred, he pulled out a knife and held it to Magnus’s throat. “I’m his brother, you son of a bitch.”
CHAPTER 13
CLEO
PAELSIA
“Where are you going, princess?”
The words halted her at the main door of the Hawk and Spear Inn. Cleo looked over her shoulder to see Enzo standing in the shadows behind her.
“I’m going to the tavern at the end of the road,” she said. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
“It’s late.”
“And . . . ?”
Enzo straightened his shoulders. “I think it’s best that you stay here, where it’s safe, princess.”
“I appreciate your opinion, but I disagree. Magnus is there, and I’m surprised and rather dismayed that you didn’t go with him. What if he’s recognized?”
“The prince made it very clear to me that my sole duty is to ensure your safety, princess.”
She blinked rapidly, as if trying to wink away her surprise at this interesting revelation. “Really. Well, that makes things much simpler. You will come with me to fetch the prince and ensure that neither of us are put in harm’s way.”
She allowed him no time to argue as she turned and exited the inn, leaving the door open behind her for Enzo to follow and pulling up the hood of her cloak to cover her hair and shield her face.
Enzo trailed close behind her without further argument as she eyed the people on the street, the carriages moving past, the sound of horse hooves clopping against the gravel road. She followed the sound of drunken laughter and music toward the tavern that surely had to be Magnus’s destination. Above the large wooden doors was a bronze sculpture of a bunch of grapes on a vine.
She read the sign. “The Purple Vine. How appropriate a name for a tavern in Paelsia. And how deeply uninspired.”
Perhaps they should share a room, he thought now as a he watched this strange woman twist her way across the stage. Perhaps seeking an elixir to prevent pregnancy would be sufficient protection.
Or perhaps he should focus on the fact that his kingdom had been stolen, his father was near death with his grandmother wishing to save him with a magic rock, his sister was aligned with a man focused on burning his way through Mytica, and Cleo had a deadly curse upon her. The fact that he was slowly going mad with desire for his wife truly was the least of his concerns.
Suddenly, something caught his eye: a flash of red hair. Now that shade of hair was possibly a rarer sight than Cleo’s in Paelsia. He couldn’t help but be reminded of Nicolo Cassian, the only person he’d ever met with hair that unfortunate color.
Magnus chuckled into his wine at the thought. No, Nic likely was still safely—or not so safely, Magnus really didn’t care either way—over in Kraeshia, the idiot having volunteered to join Jonas on his failed mission to kill the king.
He turned his attention again to the Goddess of Serpents. Just as he thought he was starting to understand the rhythm of her movements, she paused, waving at the musicians to stop playing.
“Is it you?” she asked, the room now silent. She was clearly addressing someone specific, but Magnus couldn’t see him from his seat at the bar. All he could see was the growing excitement on the dancer’s painted face as her expression grew more certain. “Jonas!” she called now with more confidence. “Jonas, is that really you? My darling, I thought you were dead!”
Jonas?
Another odd coincidence—must be.
The snake dancer stepped down from the stage and into the tavern crowd, from which she pulled a young, dark-haired man. Magnus froze. He craned his neck, trying to see around the heads of other patrons. The dancer threw her arms around the young man, twirling around in her visitor’s embrace until he faced in Magnus’s direction.
Shocked and open-mouthed, Magnus stared at the sight before him.
It was Jonas Agallon. Here, in the very same tavern as Magnus.
“What are the odds?” spoke a familiar voice next to him, articulating his very thoughts.
A wave of displeasure washed over Magnus even before he turned to discover what he already knew: that red-headed Nicolo Cassian now stood directly beside him. “You.”
Nic poked him in the shoulder, letting out a bark of a laugh as a splash of ale spilled over the edge of his large tankard. “It seems as though fate is finally kicking you in the arse, don’t you think, your highness? And I’m more than happy to bear witness to it.”
“Your visit to Kraeshia did nothing to diminish your charm, I see,” Magnus said, dismayed that he drunkenly slurred his words every bit as much as Nic did.
Nic smiled, but his unfocused eyes held no humor at all. “Prince Magnus Damora, I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine.”
Annoyed at the use of his name in a public venue, Magnus turned, expecting to see some lowly rebel or another. But instead he was met with a face he saw only in his nightmares.
“Theon Ranus,” he managed. The pleasant, tingling warmth of the wine he’d consumed disappeared in an instant, leaving him utterly, devastatingly cold as he faced this apparition.
“You’re mistaken,” said the young man, a dead ringer for the first person Magnus ever killed. With cold eyes filled with nothing but single-minded hatred, he pulled out a knife and held it to Magnus’s throat. “I’m his brother, you son of a bitch.”
CHAPTER 13
CLEO
PAELSIA
“Where are you going, princess?”
The words halted her at the main door of the Hawk and Spear Inn. Cleo looked over her shoulder to see Enzo standing in the shadows behind her.
“I’m going to the tavern at the end of the road,” she said. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
“It’s late.”
“And . . . ?”
Enzo straightened his shoulders. “I think it’s best that you stay here, where it’s safe, princess.”
“I appreciate your opinion, but I disagree. Magnus is there, and I’m surprised and rather dismayed that you didn’t go with him. What if he’s recognized?”
“The prince made it very clear to me that my sole duty is to ensure your safety, princess.”
She blinked rapidly, as if trying to wink away her surprise at this interesting revelation. “Really. Well, that makes things much simpler. You will come with me to fetch the prince and ensure that neither of us are put in harm’s way.”
She allowed him no time to argue as she turned and exited the inn, leaving the door open behind her for Enzo to follow and pulling up the hood of her cloak to cover her hair and shield her face.
Enzo trailed close behind her without further argument as she eyed the people on the street, the carriages moving past, the sound of horse hooves clopping against the gravel road. She followed the sound of drunken laughter and music toward the tavern that surely had to be Magnus’s destination. Above the large wooden doors was a bronze sculpture of a bunch of grapes on a vine.
She read the sign. “The Purple Vine. How appropriate a name for a tavern in Paelsia. And how deeply uninspired.”
