Gathering Darkness

“What’s to understand?” Magnus asked, feigning friendliness. “You needed a place to stay, and this is that place.”

“We would have been just fine at the palace. We don’t want to be any trouble.”

No, of course you don’t want that.

Magnus turned to Cronus, who still stood at his side. “You’ll wait outside with the others until I’m ready to leave. I won’t be long.”

Cronus bowed his head. “Yes, your highness.”

Magnus and Ashur stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind them. Ashur barely spared a glance for the fine architecture, rich tapestries draped on the walls, and colorful mosaic tiled floor.

“Not to your liking?” Magnus asked.

“It’s fine, of course,” Ashur said, his attention obviously elsewhere. “I must say, I’m pleased we’re finally getting a chance to speak privately.”

“Are you?”

Ashur nodded. “I’m curious to learn more about Mytica. Given your recent travels, I knew you were the one I should speak with.”

Small talk about geography? How incredibly dull. “What do you want to know?”

“I want you to tell me about the Kindred,” he replied without hesitation.

The word landed like a blow. Magnus fought to appear impassive and give no sign that his heart had begun to beat rapidly. “My, that is a rather large subject to cover. But, unfortunately, it’s also not a worthwhile one. Why would you be interested in the stuff of legends and storybooks?”

“Because I don’t believe it’s just a legend. I believe the Kindred do exist.” Ashur looked at Magnus like a book he was trying to read.

This was what the king feared—outsiders going after his treasure.

Magnus’s treasure.

“Is that why you’re here?” Magnus asked. “To seek more information about the Kindred?”

“Yes,” Ashur replied simply.

Kraeshians had no history of magic in their kingdom, nor did they typically have any cultural interest in such subjects. They were famous for preferring hard facts and common truths, and that the prince defied this trend proved he was either a bored royal with too much time on his hands . . . or a legitimate threat, just as the king suspected.

Magnus forced a smile. “Most . . . intelligent people think the story of the Watchers and their eternal search for the Kindred is one that’s simply told to keep children well behaved and fearful that magical hawks are witnessing and judging their every naughty act.”

“There’s also the prophecy of a sorceress reborn whose magic will light the path to this source of ultimate power.”

So, Lucia’s prophecy was known beyond Mytican shores. Magnus’s stomach sank at the thought, but he ignored the unpleasant sensation as best he could and held the prince’s gaze without flinching. “I’ve also heard this rumor. In fact, there are a handful of accused witches in the dungeon as we speak. Perhaps you’d like to ask them if they’re sorceresses?” He forced another smile. “Don’t waste your time on such silly ideas, Prince Ashur. There are plenty of other attractions for you to explore before you set sail back to your home. I’d be happy to suggest several you might wish to see.”

The steady, unwavering sharpness in the prince’s gray-blue eyes unnerved Magnus more than he’d like to admit.

“Have you heard about the being of fire?” Ashur asked.

Magnus frowned at the sudden change the subject. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Ashur casually ran his hand along the base of the marble banister. “There was a young man seen summoning fire magic in the forest where the recent rebel battle took place. I believe there was a rather large wildfire during that attack, yes?”

“There was.” Magnus felt no need to lie; Ashur could have learned this information from many different sources. “The fire killed many. I don’t know how it started.”

Ashur crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “By all reports the flames were supernatural in origin—elemental, in fact. A touch of this fire could turn a man’s flesh to crystal that could shatter with a single touch.”

Magnus’s gut twisted as he remembered the strange fire that had licked at his ankles as he emerged from the tent after Jonas Agallon’s escape. He’d seen its effects. He’d been having nightmares about it for days.

“How odd.” Magnus shook his head. “But it sounds like all you’ve heard are peasants’ rumors. The same goes for this . . . what did you call him? A being of fire?”

Ashur turned his attention to a mahogany table across the foyer carved with a fine pattern of flower petals. On top of it was a vase filled with fresh flowers, which Ashur now studied with a botanist’s interest. “This person murdered a guard whose associate says they first thought the young man was an escaped slave. But then he noticed that the fire symbol had been burned into his hand, and that his eyes turned from amber to blue with a strange light. With a mere glance, he burned his victim to death with the crystallizing flame.”

Magnus realized he’d stopped breathing. Amber was the crystal commonly associated with the fire Kindred. “What are you saying?”

Ashur spread his hands. “I’m not sure, really. I wanted your take. I thought you might know something.” Ashur studied Magnus from head to toe, seemingly unimpressed. “I see I was wrong. Pity.”