Gathering Darkness
Page 31
“There’s no way for you to contact Melenia yourself?” Magnus asked.
“Don’t you think I already would have if I knew how?” There was a hard edge to the king’s response. “I’ve done everything she’s asked of me. The road is finished. Yet now . . . nothing. A silence stretches out with no information, no guidance. Nothing but a boy with ties to Melenia’s world. And he will answer me, I swear on the heart of Valoria he will.”
“Of course he will, Father.”
“I will question Gregor again later today one last time and I want you there by my side.” The king grasped Magnus’s shoulder and gazed at him fiercely. “The Kindred will be mine.”
The Kindred.
So what Prince Ashur told Nic was true, Cleo thought. The king sought the very same magic that she did.
Her chest tight, Cleo started to hurry away, but as soon as she turned, she stopped.
Cronus stood a few feet behind her, a mountain of a man with his arms crossed over his broad chest. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t summon the ability to say something witty or disarming.
Cronus grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her down the hallway, his grip bruisingly tight. They’d gone twenty paces before she finally found her voice.
“Where are you taking me?” she managed, fighting to free herself to no avail.
“Be quiet.”
“How dare you! Unhand me this instant.” She tried with all her might to sound authoritative, royal. Like someone a mere guard—even a captain—should obey.
She knew she didn’t fool him.
Deadly silent, he engaged her with neither conversation nor threats. He came to a door, opened it, and thrust her inside. He slammed the door behind her, plunging her into darkness.
When Cleo was eight years old, she’d had a particularly cruel nanny who, when she hadn’t been as well behaved as Emilia, would lock her in dark rooms, promising that demons from the darklands would come in and punish her.
When her father learned of this, he’d relieved the woman of her duties and cast her out of his palace, forbidding her to return. The king had released Cleo from the darkness himself and gathered her into his arms, promising her that she was safe, that no demons would ever harm her.
The darkness frightened her to this day.
“Be brave,” she whispered to herself, pacing back and forth in the small space. “Be strong.”
After what seemed like hours, she pushed aside the tears streaking her cheeks and stood quietly, waiting in silence for her destiny to claim her.
Finally, the door creaked open. She raised her chin, put her fisted hands at her sides, and tried to remain calm in the face of the king’s wrath.
But it was not the king at the door. It was Magnus. With Cronus right behind him.
The prince peered around. “It’s too dark in here.”
Cronus unshuttered a small window, letting in some sunshine, and used a torch to light three lanterns set into the walls.
“Leave us,” Magnus said.
“Yes, your highness.”
The door clicked shut behind the guard.
Cleo didn’t know why she was surprised not to see the king. After all, why would the king come to deal with her himself? Of course he would send his heir, his most loyal minion.
Her husband.
She couldn’t breathe.
“Overhear any interesting conversations lately?” Magnus asked.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She tried to look haughty, though she felt anything but. “That brute dragged me in here and locked me up like some common prisoner. I demand he be punished!”
“You demand, do you?” Magnus crossed his arms and leaned against the wall by the door, his face half-masked by shadows. “What you should be doing is thanking Cronus for alerting me, rather than my father, about your indiscretion.”
She would never admit to spying. To do so would be to sign her own death warrant. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I’m sure you don’t really believe that.”
Unfortunately for this situation, Cleo could always count on Magnus not to dismiss her as a silly young princess who meant no harm, as many others would. “I heard nothing of interest.”
“It really doesn’t matter what you may or may not have heard. If my father knew you were listening to us, he would ensure those pretty ears of yours would never hear anything else ever again.”
Her stomach clenched up. She didn’t doubt that the merciless king would dole out such a punishment, and she didn’t overvalue herself in his eyes, especially now that the wedding tour was over. “And what would you prefer? A simple beating, perhaps?”
“It’s so helpful of you to offer suggestions.”
Cleo had to get out of that dark room of despair any way she could. One person blocked her way to freedom—to hope and possibility—and was studying her with more curiosity than accusation.
Perhaps she could try to use that curiosity to get out of here unharmed.
“I can’t help it if your father chooses to speak so openly,” she said. “It wasn’t as if I was crouched in a cupboard in a private room. You were in the hallway. I happened along and knew if I showed my face while you were in the midst of such an intense discussion, it would anger the king.”
“Of course. What were you to do but stand in the shadows and listen?”
She couldn’t give in to her fear. She was no ordinary sixteen-year-old girl. She was a princess. A rebel. And she could take charge of this situation. Not all was lost.
“Don’t you think I already would have if I knew how?” There was a hard edge to the king’s response. “I’ve done everything she’s asked of me. The road is finished. Yet now . . . nothing. A silence stretches out with no information, no guidance. Nothing but a boy with ties to Melenia’s world. And he will answer me, I swear on the heart of Valoria he will.”
“Of course he will, Father.”
“I will question Gregor again later today one last time and I want you there by my side.” The king grasped Magnus’s shoulder and gazed at him fiercely. “The Kindred will be mine.”
The Kindred.
So what Prince Ashur told Nic was true, Cleo thought. The king sought the very same magic that she did.
Her chest tight, Cleo started to hurry away, but as soon as she turned, she stopped.
Cronus stood a few feet behind her, a mountain of a man with his arms crossed over his broad chest. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t summon the ability to say something witty or disarming.
Cronus grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her down the hallway, his grip bruisingly tight. They’d gone twenty paces before she finally found her voice.
“Where are you taking me?” she managed, fighting to free herself to no avail.
“Be quiet.”
“How dare you! Unhand me this instant.” She tried with all her might to sound authoritative, royal. Like someone a mere guard—even a captain—should obey.
She knew she didn’t fool him.
Deadly silent, he engaged her with neither conversation nor threats. He came to a door, opened it, and thrust her inside. He slammed the door behind her, plunging her into darkness.
When Cleo was eight years old, she’d had a particularly cruel nanny who, when she hadn’t been as well behaved as Emilia, would lock her in dark rooms, promising that demons from the darklands would come in and punish her.
When her father learned of this, he’d relieved the woman of her duties and cast her out of his palace, forbidding her to return. The king had released Cleo from the darkness himself and gathered her into his arms, promising her that she was safe, that no demons would ever harm her.
The darkness frightened her to this day.
“Be brave,” she whispered to herself, pacing back and forth in the small space. “Be strong.”
After what seemed like hours, she pushed aside the tears streaking her cheeks and stood quietly, waiting in silence for her destiny to claim her.
Finally, the door creaked open. She raised her chin, put her fisted hands at her sides, and tried to remain calm in the face of the king’s wrath.
But it was not the king at the door. It was Magnus. With Cronus right behind him.
The prince peered around. “It’s too dark in here.”
Cronus unshuttered a small window, letting in some sunshine, and used a torch to light three lanterns set into the walls.
“Leave us,” Magnus said.
“Yes, your highness.”
The door clicked shut behind the guard.
Cleo didn’t know why she was surprised not to see the king. After all, why would the king come to deal with her himself? Of course he would send his heir, his most loyal minion.
Her husband.
She couldn’t breathe.
“Overhear any interesting conversations lately?” Magnus asked.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She tried to look haughty, though she felt anything but. “That brute dragged me in here and locked me up like some common prisoner. I demand he be punished!”
“You demand, do you?” Magnus crossed his arms and leaned against the wall by the door, his face half-masked by shadows. “What you should be doing is thanking Cronus for alerting me, rather than my father, about your indiscretion.”
She would never admit to spying. To do so would be to sign her own death warrant. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I’m sure you don’t really believe that.”
Unfortunately for this situation, Cleo could always count on Magnus not to dismiss her as a silly young princess who meant no harm, as many others would. “I heard nothing of interest.”
“It really doesn’t matter what you may or may not have heard. If my father knew you were listening to us, he would ensure those pretty ears of yours would never hear anything else ever again.”
Her stomach clenched up. She didn’t doubt that the merciless king would dole out such a punishment, and she didn’t overvalue herself in his eyes, especially now that the wedding tour was over. “And what would you prefer? A simple beating, perhaps?”
“It’s so helpful of you to offer suggestions.”
Cleo had to get out of that dark room of despair any way she could. One person blocked her way to freedom—to hope and possibility—and was studying her with more curiosity than accusation.
Perhaps she could try to use that curiosity to get out of here unharmed.
“I can’t help it if your father chooses to speak so openly,” she said. “It wasn’t as if I was crouched in a cupboard in a private room. You were in the hallway. I happened along and knew if I showed my face while you were in the midst of such an intense discussion, it would anger the king.”
“Of course. What were you to do but stand in the shadows and listen?”
She couldn’t give in to her fear. She was no ordinary sixteen-year-old girl. She was a princess. A rebel. And she could take charge of this situation. Not all was lost.
