Gathering Darkness (Falling Kingdoms 3)

“I said,” she hissed, “let go of me.”

With barely a thought she summoned fire magic to heat up her skin. Instantly, the man released her with a yelp, his hand now blackened and burnt, his eyes wide with pain and confusion. She turned and ran away from him as fast as she could, her skirts swishing around her legs.

Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, but she felt a swell of pride over what she’d done. Instead of allowing fear to rule her, she’d protected herself. Anyone who wanted to hurt her would be wise to keep their distance.

She gasped as she spotted a familiar face in the crowd. It was Princess Amara, in a burgundy gown, her long ebony hair loose and flowing past her shoulders. Amara’s eyes widened as the girls locked gazes.

“Lucia!” Amara closed the distance between them and grasped hold of her hands, wincing as people ran past them without a second glance. “I’m so thankful I found you. I decided to visit the palace today, but wanted to wait until the king returned from the execution before my attendants announced me. And then . . . the explosions. I—I lost track of my guards.”

“Thank the goddess we found each other.” Lucia linked arms with Amara and guided her into an alcove where they found shelter. They watched the swarms of people scatter in all directions as they escaped from the palace square.

Rebels were responsible for this, no question. They’d meant to cause a distraction and rescue their compatriots.

The thought infuriated Lucia.

A boy ran against the crowd, eyeing his surroundings with distaste and suspicion before disappearing into a bakery. Lucia immediately recognized him from the moments just before the blasts—the blond boy with the lit torch, which he still held in his grip like a weapon.

“That boy, he’s the one,” she whispered.

“The one?” Amara repeated. “What do you mean? Who do you mean?”

“The one responsible for the explosions. He must be.” It was a gut instinct more than anything else, but one worth pursuing. She knew it. The boy couldn’t be allowed to escape. He was a murderer and had come very close to killing her family.

Lucia scanned the area for a guard to alert, but there were none close by.

“Come on,” she urged, pulling Amara by her arm. “We can’t let him get away.”

Amara didn’t protest as Lucia led her into the bakery. The place smelled of cinnamon and vanilla; several trays of sugar cookies and pecan tarts had been left, untouched, on the countertop. Lucia scanned the room until her gaze fell upon the boy in the far corner. The light from his torch flickered, illuminating his widening eyes in the dark interior of the shop.

“This is all your fault, isn’t it?” Lucia said sternly.

He met her gaze directly without even a flinch. “You shouldn’t be in here, girl. You’d be smart to leave me alone or you might get burned.”

He didn’t seem the least bit ashamed, nor was he trying to deny her accusation. “Why would you want to hurt so many people?”

He snorted. “Why do you care? You look just fine to me. Not a bit of dirt on your pretty gown. Be gone, both of you. Or else.”

It seemed he didn’t know who she was.

“I care because I don’t like it when innocent people are blown apart simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She stole a quick glance at Amara to make sure she hadn’t frightened her, then drew closer to the boy. “You helped the rebels escape.”

f nowhere, just as the girl rebel—a savage little thing with a wild mass of black curls and a demonic look on her face—was about to die beneath the ax, a thunderous boom sounded out.

“What was that?” Lucia exclaimed, but before anyone could answer, the dais was rocked by another explosion that knocked her off her feet. She lost her balance and fell off the platform, straight into the crowd. The world spun in circles as she got to her feet, disoriented.

“Father!” she called out, but she couldn’t see him, nor could she see Magnus or Cleo or any guards. Down on the ground, she was surrounded by unfamiliar faces wracked with panic and fear. No one paid her any attention as people ran for their lives, fleeing the fire.

To her left was a man ablaze, twitching on the ground . . . reaching for her, his mouth contorted as he screamed . . .

She thought back to that fateful day when the king had her break down the palace entrance with her magic. It seemed so simple a request.

But magic met with more magic, and a fiery beast had risen up and crashed down, destroying the palace entrance and killing everyone in its path.

She scrambled out the burning man’s way before he could grab her skirts and set her on fire as well.

“Magnus!” she cried. She took hold of the edge of the dais, trying to climb onto it again, but the flow of the massive crowd swept her along with it and more panic swelled within her.

She hadn’t been out among commoners like this without protection in . . . well, she had never been left unattended in her entire life. But no one looked in her direction, as they were all busy searching for safety and escape.