Gathering Darkness

Wishes? These sounded more like demands.

No, this didn’t feel right at all. Coming here was a mistake.

Ashur rose from his chair and walked toward the edge of the seating area, his face in shadow as he regarded Nic. “In addition, you will inform us about the king’s shifting plans. I’m positive that he also searches for the Kindred.”

To even speak about this was to commit treason. If Nic were found out, the punishment he’d receive at the king’s command would make the beating he took from Milo and Burrus look like a gentle hug. He’d be joining the accused rebels tomorrow at their public execution, and not to watch, but to lose his head as well.

He had to get out of there. He had to get back to Cleo and tell her everything, that he didn’t trust the Kraeshians—not yet. Only time would tell if they would be true to their word.

“I’ll share your offer with the princess,” Nic said.

“Kindly ask her to be swift about her response,” Amara said. “We can’t be expected to wait forever, can we?”

“I will be sure to convey the message,” Nic said, his throat tight.

He made excuses to leave, and Ashur walked him out to a waiting carriage bound for the palace.

“Excuse my sister,” Ashur said. The sun shone more brightly on this side of the villa, turning his eyes more intensely blue than gray. “Sometimes she is a little too . . . enthusiastic. And impatient. She meant no offense.”

“None was taken,” Nic said tightly.

“She constantly underestimates me. I’m the youngest son, the brother with the least responsibility. She may be the baby of the family, but she goes after what she wants with every weapon in her arsenal.”

This didn’t surprise Nic in the least. “And you?” he asked.

Ashur smirked slightly. “I’m rarely interested in the same thing for more than a day or two unless I consider it of true importance. Often that which I find the most special is of little interest or value to others. But it doesn’t matter to me what anyone else thinks about my choices. What about you?”

The deep tone of the prince’s accented voice was nearly hypnotic. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you care what others think of you?”

Nic shied away from his gaze. “I’m a lowly palace guard, considered worthless by my peers. This was proven to you today on the roadside. When it comes to my destiny, your grace, I have no control over it or what others think of me.”

The prince shook his head. “You’re dead wrong about two things.”

“Really?” He turned away and crossed his arms over his aching rib cage, fighting not to roll his eyes. “What’s the first?”

“No one controls your destiny but you.”

“If you say so.” Nic hissed out a long breath. “And the second?”

“That, to me, you are the very opposite of worthless.”

Nic looked at the prince with surprise, but Ashur just turned and began to walk away.

“May you have a safe trip back to the palace,” the prince said without turning around.

• • •

The guards assigned to escort Nic home unceremoniously shoved him out of the carriage five miles outside of the city walls.

“You can walk from here,” one sneered.

“Excellent,” Nic said. “Thanks so much for the ride.” As the carriage rode off, he added, “You rancid piles of horse dung.”

Injured, bruised, exhausted, and humiliated, he began the walk across the green fields and forest land that would, further east, intersect with the king’s shiny new Imperial Road.

He had no idea how to explain his day to Cleo. Everything about it felt so surreal that, if it weren’t for his aching rib cage and a back tooth that now felt a little loose, he would have believed it was all a dream.

He thought he might save some time by taking a shortcut through a thatch of forest. Just as he started to praise himself for his first good idea of the day, a shadow swiftly approached him from either side. Before he knew it, Nic was on his back again, his breath knocked out of him.

“We meet again,” said an oddly familiar voice.

Nic blinked until his vision cleared enough for him to see Jonas Agallon crouching over him, pressing his jeweled dagger against his throat. It was the second time that Jonas had held that very dagger to Nic’s flesh.

“You—” he began.

“Don’t talk,” Jonas said. “Not yet. I’m going to explain something to you quickly before you speak. Understood?”

The rebel’s face was cast in the shadows of the canopy of lush trees overhead. Insects buzzed a constant symphony all around. The heat, combined with all the blood he’d lost earlier that day, made Nic feel close to losing consciousness.

He shot a glance at Jonas’s companion: a tall, tanned, and dangerous-looking boy standing with his arms crossed over his broad chest. Finally, Nic’s gaze returned to Jonas and he gave a small nod of agreement.

“We’ve had our differences in the past,” Jonas said. “And seeing you in that red uniform, I’m not sure this conversation isn’t going to be a huge waste of my breath, but here it goes. I have friends who are scheduled to be executed tomorrow at midday. I need to save their arses, but I’m running out of options. Despite that uniform, I believe you to be loyal to Cleo. If you’re loyal to Cleo, you’re not loyal to the Damoras. In fact, I’m going to bet you hate them. Yes or no?”