Gathering Darkness (Falling Kingdoms 3)

“I’ll keep an eye on the Kraeshians,” he said. “If they show any sign of wanting what’s ours, we can deal with them together.”

The king nodded and pressed his hand against Magnus’s scarred cheek, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Yes. Together.”

Magnus left the throne room. He walked swiftly down the hall until he reached a place where he could pause, unseen by his father, and will himself to stop shaking with anger. With frustration. The need to avenge his mother’s murder and bring his father to justice crawled over his skin like ants.

The wine he’d had was no help at all; it had only blurred his vision and his mind.

He needed air. Badly.

He continued down the hallway until he found an exit to a large balcony overlooking the palace gardens. Illuminated only by moonlight, even he had to admit they were excruciatingly beautiful. The sweet scent of roses wafted up to where he stood on the balcony, about thirty feet above. His shoulders hunched, he clutched the cool marble banister and inhaled.

Suddenly, a small movement caught his eye. Down in the gardens, along the mosaic pathway winding its way through the lush area, he saw three figures: his adopted sister, Lucia, walking with the Kraeshian prince and princess.

ing took him to the throne room, a grand hall with high ceilings and chiseled marble steps that led to an enormous and ornate golden throne studded with rubies and sapphires. The Auranian tapestries and banners that had previously hung above the throne had been discarded for those of Limeros, but the room had otherwise remained just as it was when King Corvin Bellos ruled this affluent kingdom.

The king’s guards stood just outside the heavy doors, leaving them alone in the cavernous room.

Magnus regarded his father in silence, willing himself to stay calm. He didn’t want to speak first for fear he’d say something he’d regret.

“We have a problem, you and I,” the king said as he took a seat upon the throne.

A breath caught in Magnus’s chest. “What do you mean?”

“The Kraeshians.” The king’s expression soured, his features turning sharp and unpleasant in an instant. “Those little fools think I don’t know why they’re here. But I do.”

This was not what Magnus had anticipated. “And why are they here?”

“They’re here on behalf of their emperor father, who hungers for more power and destroys everything in his path to get it.”

“Is that so? And what do you propose to do about it?”

“I will let nothing disrupt my plans. And if those two spies find out how close I am to seizing my treasure, I know they’ll try to steal it.”

Worry and doubt flooded his father’s eyes. Magnus had never before seen such weakness in him, this man whose confidence was perpetually blinding, no matter what he was saying or doing.

The king had lofty goals to match his incessant greed and ruthlessness. He sought the Kindred, the four crystals that held the essence of elementia—elemental magic. They were lost a millennium ago, but any mortal who possessed them would become a god.

Magnus had seen magic side by side with death in the shadows of the Forbidden Mountains, and he knew with deep certainty the Kindred were real.

And they would be his, not his father’s.

“Anyone who would dare try that would surely regret it, no matter who they are,” Magnus said.

The king nodded, and the shadow of uncertainty faded. “The battle at the camp—I’ve been told you handled yourself well. Sometimes I forget how young you are.”

Magnus bristled. “I’m eighteen.”

“Eighteen is still very young. But you’ve grown so much this last year. I can’t tell you how proud I am of all that you do, of all that you’ve had to endure and rise above. You are everything I ever dreamed you would be, my son.”

There was a time when hearing such words from his father would have been like receiving a sip of water just before dying of thirst.

Now, after everything he’d learned, he knew this was only a manipulation uttered by the man Magnus hated more than anyone else in the world.

“Thank you, Father,” he said tightly.

“I was disappointed to hear of my kingsliege’s fate.” Before Magnus could comment, the king continued. “But he was unskilled in battle. It’s no surprise he fell so easily to a rebel’s blade.”

The image of Aron Lagaris’s pale face and glossy, dead eyes flitted through Magnus’s mind.