Magnus gave him a hard look.
“Yes, of course, very well,” the barkeep sputtered. “My best bottle of Paelsian wine. Coming right up.”
He disappeared into a back room, returning almost immediately with a dark green glass bottle roughly etched with the Paelsian symbol of a grapevine. As the barkeep uncorked it, Magnus spared a glance at Nic.
“That’s forbidden.” Nic gestured toward the bottle. “Bad Prince of Blood. Very bad!”
Magnus waved the barkeep away, then took a deep drink from the bottle and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the familiar sweetness as it slid over his tongue.
Nic snorted. “But of course, you can do whatever you like. As long as your daddy says it’s all right.”
Even though Magnus believed this boy was well overdue for a painful death, he had to admit that Nic did occasionally amuse him. “You might do well to consider the possibility that I don’t care what my father says,” he said, taking another swig. “Just how long have you been drinking here tonight, Cassian?”
Nic waved his hand flippantly. “Long enough not to care what happens next. I should kill you now, really. Just stab you with this dinner knife. Until you’re good and dead.”
“Yes, well, the feeling is mutual. Now, shall we pick something worthy to drink to tonight?”
Nic returned his attention to his ale, staring down into it as if it might tell his fortune. “To Prince Ashur.”
“What?”
“Prince Ashur. Remember him?” His expression darkened. “I want to know that he was buried, and where. It’s not right that he’s in an unmarked grave. He was a royal, you know. His body should have been treated with more respect.”
Magnus went to take another sip, but found that he’d already drained the bottle of its contents. But, mere seconds later, the nervous barkeep hurried over to replace it with another. “Just what was it between you two?” Magnus asked, his new bottle uncorked. He’d been curious about Nic and Ashur ever since the night it was revealed they were working together against Amara.
Nic didn’t answer, instead continuing to stare deeply into his drink.
Now the sublime effects of the swiftly consumed wine began to take hold of Magnus, and the room began to swim and sparkle around him. The heaviness of the day finally lifted. “Oh, so now you’ve decided to keep your mouth shut, have you? Given the rumors I’ve heard about the prince, I’m not overly surprised.”
Nic frowned. “What rumors?”
Magnus eyed him. “I’m sure you know my meaning.”
Nic took a slurp of his ale, his knuckles white around the mug. “It’s not like that. He was my friend.”
“Such a short friendship, yet his death has caused such deep grief.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
The boy’s face had flushed. It appeared that Magnus had treaded too closely to the truth. He wanted to feel smug about this small victory, but he couldn’t seem to summon such emotion. Instead, he felt—what was that?
Sympathy?
He took a deep drink of his wine. “It must be very unpleasant to feel something so . . . undeniable toward someone for whom you’re supposed to feel nothing at all.” He paused, suddenly lost in thought. “And to know such feelings are wrong.”
“There was nothing wrong about it,” Nic mumbled.
Magnus went on, ignoring Nic’s argument. “Such . . . weakness for another can destroy you if you let it. No, it will destroy you. There’s no other way it can end. So you need to be strong, even when all seems hopeless. When there’s no way to deny that . . . that pebble stuck in your boot—annoying and painful and impossible to ignore.”
Nic stared at him. “What in the goddess’s nightmares are you talking about?”
Magnus drained the rest of the new bottle before speaking again. “Forget it.”
“I see it, you know,” Nic said, his eyes narrowing. “You can’t fool me. I know why you did what you did. Why else would you save her life? You want her, don’t you?”
His worst fear—that he was so transparent, even to someone as insignificant as Nicolo Cassian—dangled before him, threatening to weaken him to the point of no recovery.
He should just get up and leave without another word, but his limbs had grown heavy and his thoughts were so muddled that they anchored him in place. “This isn’t about who I want,” he countered. “This is about you, wanting Prince Ashur.”
“Shut your mouth,” Nic snapped.
Magnus pushed up from the table so he could look down his nose at the boy. “No, you shut yours. If there’s anyone I want, it’s Lucia. Only Lucia. I’m sure you’ve heard rumors that my lust for my sister controls everything I do, every decision I make.”
A shadow of doubt slid behind Nic’s gaze. “Perhaps I have. But rumors are rumors, and I’ve been watching you. The way you look at Cleo sometimes—”
In a heartbeat, Magnus pulled his sword out and pressed it to Nic’s throat. “You see things that don’t exist,” he hissed.
Fury sparked in Nic’s eyes. “Go ahead and do it. Cut my throat. You may not have known who Theon was when you killed him, but imagine how much more Cleo will hate you if you killed me too. That’s why I know you won’t do it. She’s defended you to me again and again, but I see the truth. I don’t care how many times you save her life or spare mine. What you’ve done, what your family is responsible for, it’s unforgiveable. No matter what I have to do to protect her from you, I’ll do it.”
“So strong, aren’t you? So brave.”
“I’m stronger and braver than you might think. Mark my words, your highness: I will hate you and your father for the rest of eternity. Now kill me or let me leave.”
“It’s only the ale that’s making you brave tonight. You wouldn’t say any of these things to me if you weren’t already drunk.”
Nic pushed the tip of Magnus’s sword away from his throat. “I assure you, I would.”
Nic stood, drank the rest of his tankard, and left the tavern.
CHAPTER 9
JONAS
PAELSIA
Let me see it just once . . .”
“No, Lys,” Jonas said. “Keep your hands to yourself, would you?”
“Come on, don’t be shy.”
“I’m not being shy.” When Lys reached for Jonas’s shirt again, he scooted out of her way. “Stop it.”
She glared at him. “Let me see your wound, you stubborn arse.”
“No.” He focused on the campfire, poking at it with a stick to keep it burning.
“Damn it, Jonas. It’s bad, isn’t it? Worse than you’re letting on.”
He refused to meet her eyes, lest she see right through him to the truth. “I feel fantastic. Never better. Now, let’s rest for a few hours and then we need to keep going. We have a lot of ground to cover before we get to Limeros.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
There was a catch in her voice that he’d never heard before, and it made his heart ache. “Of course I do.” He swallowed hard, past the lump in his throat. “I trust you more than anyone else in the world.”