Falling Kingdoms (10 page)

More mumbled conversation as the crowd listened to the king’s tale.

“This isn’t just a murder. This is an insult. And I, for one, am deeply outraged on behalf of all Paelsians, our neighbors who share a border with us all the way east to the Forbidden Mountains. The time is coming for a reckoning—one a thousand years in the making.”

The mumbling grew louder and, Magnus could tell, it was in agreement with what the king was saying.

Tales spread about the opulence in Auranos. Streets paved in gold. Precious jewels woven into noblewomen’s hair, discarded at the end of the day. Riches wasted on lavish parties that lasted for weeks. And, most distasteful of all, the fading interest in hard work and devout religion—the building blocks of Limerian society.

“What are you doing, Father?” Magnus said under his breath, bemused.

A strong hand clutched Magnus’s shoulder and he turned with alarm to face a man whose name escaped him: a large, hulking member of the king’s council, whose gray beard covered most of his face. Small, beady eyes flashed with excitement.

“Your father is the finest king Limeros has ever known,” the man exclaimed. “You should be very proud to be his son.”

Magnus’s lips thinned.
Proud
was one word he’d never use to describe how he felt toward his father, today or any other day. A fake smile stretched his cheeks. “Of course. And never prouder than I am at this very moment.”

• • •

It was a week after the king’s speech. Magnus’s muscles were burning—he had just finished another swordplay lesson. Now, after cleaning up and changing into fresh clothes, he moved through the castle trying his best to resemble a shadow. It was a game he liked to play to challenge himself, to see how far he could get before anyone took notice of him. In the black clothing he favored, he could usually get quite far.

Today he’d avoided Lucia after seeing her briefly over breakfast. All afternoon, she’d stayed in her room studying.

Good. Out of sight, out of mind.

The lie slid smoothly.

Moving silently, he came across a boy waiting in the huge, high-ceilinged downstairs foyer with its winding staircase cut precisely into the stone walls. A son of local nobles, he knew. Again, Magnus was terrible with names. It wasn’t a memory issue, it was a
lack-of-caring
issue. He remembered the names of people who interested him or who served a purpose in his life. This boy didn’t interest him at all. Although the boy’s interest in Lucia was another thing altogether.

At previous gatherings Magnus had observed in the boy’s watchful eyes that he was one of many who had a crush on Lucia and that he was waiting for the potential opportunity to spend time with her and solidify their…friendship.

As Magnus did with many such suitors, he circled the boy like a sea monster, eyeing him with acute displeasure until beads of perspiration formed on the boy’s pale forehead.

Lucia had called Magnus handsome, but he knew many found his appearance—dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, and, of course, the scar—to be intimidating and menacing. That he was King Gaius’s son and heir to the Limeros throne only solidified this impression. Some kings earned their people’s respect through love—as his grandfather had done. His father, however, preferred to earn their respect through fear and bloodshed. Different process. Same result.

Magnus could use the perception that he was just like his father. He had before; he would again. One should use every weapon available when there was the need. Right now, there was the need.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Magnus told him thinly.

The boy nervously dug the toe of his leather shoe into the gray marble floor. “I—I’m just...I’m not here to stay long. My parents thought it would be nice if I took Princess Lucia for a stroll around the palace grounds. It’s not too cold today.”

“Yes, how nice.” The words were acid on his tongue as jealousy flashed through him like a bolt of lightning. “But she isn’t interested in walks around the palace grounds. Not with, well...not with
you
.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Magnus forced a tense look on his face as if he’d said too much and now felt guilty. “It’s really none of my business.”

“No, please. If you have any advice for me, I’d welcome it. I know you and Lucia are very close.”

Magnus told hold of the boy’s shoulder. “It’s just that she’s mentioned you to me.” This would be an excellent time to know the boy’s name—Mark, Markus, Mikah, something like that. “And she made it clear that if you ever stopped by, you should not be encouraged any further. She means no offense, of course. But...her interests in a potential suitor lie elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?”

“Yes. So that is where I suggest you go. Elsewhere.”

“Oh.” The boy’s voice was weak and reedy. Already defeated.

Magnus had no patience for anyone who would be manipulated so easily. If the boy was truly interested in Lucia, he should be able to stand up to any adversity, including an overprotective older brother.

Weak things are so very easy to break.

If the boy had a tail, it would be tucked between his legs as he scurried away from the castle and back to his parents’ villa. And that was the end of Mikey. Or whatever his name was.

With a victorious smile on his face, Magnus returned to slowly prowling the castle hallways. It didn’t take him long before he came across something a bit more pleasant than one of his sister’s admirers.

Amia smiled at him as they passed in the hall and then curled her finger, beckoning him to follow as she disappeared behind the corner up ahead. She led him into a small room used as the servants’ chapel and closed the door behind them. They were alone. The girl bit her bottom lip, but her cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I feel as if I haven’t seen you in ages, my prince.”

“It’s only been a day or two.”

“An eternity.” She placed her hands against his abdomen and slid them slowly up over his shoulders.

He let her. He craved someone’s touch today to help quell the ache in his chest. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that she was someone else. She shivered as he pressed her up against the stone wall and brought his mouth down to hers in a deep kiss. He threaded his fingers through her soft brown hair and imagined it flowed down to her waist and was the color of richest ebony. That her eyes were the color of the sky in summer, not a pale and wintry gray.

“Have you learned anything?” he asked, finally pushing away the fantasy. Amia smelled of the fish she’d been helping to prepare for dinner rather than of roses and jasmine. He could only fool himself so much.

“About your sister?”

His throat tightened. “Yes.”

“Not yet.” She gazed up at him as if entranced. “However, there’s something else interesting happening as we speak. The king and Tobias are in a secret meeting with visitors.”

Tobias
, he thought with distaste.
Always lurking about
. “What visitors?”

“Chief Basilius arrived with an entourage an hour ago.”

He stared at her, momentarily rendered speechless. “You can’t be serious.”

She grinned. “I was looking for you to let you know. If the Paelsian chieftain, one who never makes public appearances, has traveled to Limeros to speak with the king, something very interesting must be happening, don’t you think?”

“Indeed.”

Chief Basilius was rumored to be a powerful sorcerer feared and respected by his people. He stayed apart from other Paelsians in a private compound, devoting his days to meditation and, supposedly, magic.

Magnus didn’t believe in such ridiculous notions. However, his father did, to an extent. King Gaius believed in the power of
elementia
. Magic that had been gone from the world since the days of the goddesses.

“Did you hear anything else?” he asked. “Do you know why the chief is here?”

“I tried to listen for as long as I could, but I was afraid I’d get caught.”

“Amia, you don’t want to ever be caught. My father would not take well to eavesdroppers.”

“Even if I was eavesdropping on behalf of his son?”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to say you were lying.” He took her arm in his and squeezed it until she flinched. A flicker of fear went through her pale eyes. “Who do you think the king would believe? His son and heir? Or a kitchen maid?”

Amia swallowed hard. “I apologize, my prince. I would never say such a thing.”

“Smart girl.”

She took a moment to compose herself, shaking off the momentary unpleasantness between them. “As far as what I heard, it seems as if it’s related to the murder in the Paelsian village last month and the meeting King Gaius called last week.”

He eased his grip on the girl. “I think I’ll join them. I have a right to be a part of such a political meeting as much as Tobias does.”

“I agree completely.”

The girl was nothing if not agreeable. He looked down at her. “Thank you for this information, Amia. I do appreciate it.”

Her face lit up. “Will you need anything else from me?”

He considered this for a moment before stepping back from her. “Yes. Visit me in my chambers after I retire tonight.”

Her cheeks reddened and she smiled demurely. “Of course, my prince.”

Magnus left the chapel and headed toward his father’s private meeting hall, which was situated on the main floor next to the great hall. He didn’t bother to attempt to overhear anything; he simply walked straight in. There were a dozen men in the room and their gazes all shot to him immediately.

“Oh, I’m very sorry,” he said. “Am I interrupting something?”

While he enjoyed acting the part of a shadow much of his time, there were other occasions that called for a more illuminated approach. Tobias’s ongoing presence at the castle had raised his hackles more than he’d even realized before today. He felt the sudden and driving need to assert his position as prince and the rightful heir to his father’s throne.

“This,” King Gaius said from his seat upon the dais, always a step above everyone else, “is my son, Prince Magnus Lukas Damora.”

Instead of an expression of outrage at the interruption, there was a small bemused smile on the king’s lips at Magnus’s unannounced entrance. Tobias simply glared at him, as if enraged on behalf of the king by Magnus’s extreme rudeness.

“It’s a great honor to meet the prince,” a man’s deep voice sounded out, and Magnus moved his gaze to his left. “I am Chief Hugo Basilius of Paelsia.”

“The honor is ours, Chief Basilius,” Magnus said evenly. “Welcome to Limeros.”

“Join us, my son,” the king said.

Magnus restrained himself from making a cutting remark about missing the invitation earlier and sat down across the table from the chief and four of his men.

The chief was a grander-looking man than Magnus would have expected, given the peasant status of his people. In Paelsia, there was no upper or middle class, only varying degrees of lower, especially in recent generations as their land had begun to fade away.

Even seated, it was obvious that Basilius was no peasant. He was tall, his shoulders broad. His long, dark hair was streaked with gray. His tanned face was lined, and there was a keen sharpness in his dark eyes. His clothes were finely made, stitched from soft leathers and silver fox fur. He looked more like a king than Magnus expected. He would have to guess that Basilius did not suffer the same lifestyle in his compound as the commoners of Paelsia.

“Shall we fill your son in on what we’ve discussed so far?” Basilius asked.

“Of course.” King Gaius’s attention hadn’t left his son since he’d entered the room. Even without looking, Magnus felt his father’s gaze like a burning sensation along the length of his scar. A cool line of perspiration slid down his spine, even though he tried his best to look completely at ease.

King Gaius had a quick temper, and Magnus knew firsthand what it was like to be punished if he pushed too far. After all, he had the scar to prove it.

A scar he remembered far too well how he’d acquired.

Ten years ago, the king had taken Magnus with him and Queen Althea on the royal visit to Auranos. It hadn’t been very long at all in the opulent and richly decorated palace, a sharp contrast to the utilitarian and sparse Limeros castle, before Magnus had given in to his childhood curiosity. He’d wandered off during a banquet to explore the castle alone. He’d come across a display case of jeweled daggers and felt the overwhelming urge to steal a golden one encrusted with sapphires and emeralds. In Limeros, weapons were not as beautiful and ornate as this. They were practical and useful, forged from steel or iron. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything else in his seven years of life.

His father caught him as he drew the dagger from its case. The king had been so enraged that his son would steal, potentially damaging his family name in the process, that he’d lashed out. Magnus’s punishment came via the blade itself.

His father ripped it out of his son’s hands and slashed its sharp edge across Magnus’s face.

Immediately, he’d regretted his violent turn. But instead of helping Magnus and bandaging the wound immediately, he’d knelt down before his son and spoken in a low, dangerous tone while blood dripped from the little boy’s cheek and onto the shiny marble floor of the Auranian palace. He’d coldly threatened Magnus’s life, his mother’s life, and his little sister’s life. Magnus was not to ever tell anyone how he’d received this injury.

To this day, he never had. He was reminded of this threat and his father’s mindless rage every time he looked in the mirror.

But he was not a seven-year-old boy anymore. He was seventeen, almost eighteen. Just as tall as his father was. And just as strong. He didn’t want to be afraid any longer.

“I sent word to Chief Basilius,” the king said, “that I wanted to meet with him personally about the problems in his land, punctuated by the murder of Tomas Agallon at the hands of an Auranian lord. He agreed to come here and discuss a possible alliance.”

“An alliance?” Magnus repeated with surprise.

“A joining of two lands for one purpose,” Tobias spoke up.