Frozen Tides (Falling Kingdoms 4)

Petrina’s face whitened. “Are you asking me to spy for you, your grace?”

“No!” Cleo covered her immediate alarm with a bright smile. Nerissa was always happy to spy—she took to it as naturally as breathing. “Of course not. What a silly suggestion.”

“The king has always dealt harshly with spies. It’s said he cuts their eyes out and feeds them to his dogs.”

Nausea rose within Cleo and she fought to hold on to her pleasant expression. “I’m sure that’s only a rumor. Anyway, you may be excused now.”

“But your hair—”

“It’s fine as it is. Really. Thank you.”

Petrina curtseyed and left without further protest. Alone now in front of the mirror, Cleo studied her reflection, dismayed to see that her hair was a mess of half-finished braids and tangles at the back of her head. After working on it unsuccessfully for a few moments with the brush, she gave up.

“I need Nerissa,” she said aloud to herself.

Not only for her skills as an attendant, but also because Cleo needed to know if she’d received any word from Jonas. In Cleo’s last correspondence with the rebel, she’d given him secret information on how to claim three of the Kindred orbs. However, since then she’d heard nothing from him.

For all she knew, Jonas had failed. Or, worse, he’d succeeded and sold the crystals to the highest bidder. Or, much worse than that . . . he was dead.

“Yes, Nerissa,” she said again, nodding to herself. “I desperately need Nerissa.”

But how could she convince Magnus to send for her?

Well, she would simply have to demand it, of course. She would not cower before the prince, not today and not ever. Though, truthfully, she’d been deeply appalled and confused by the dramatic display she’d witnessed with Lord Kurtis. It was as if Magnus had been possessed by the spirit of King Gaius, turning him cruel and heartless; into something everyone within a ten-mile radius should fear.

She narrowed her eyes at her reflection. “Clearly,” she said to herself, “you’re forgetting that he is cruel and heartless. What happened in Ravencrest doesn’t change that. For all you know, he was trying to manipulate you. Why do you constantly make excuses for his foul behavior? Are you that much of a fool, to let a few pretty words and a regrettable kiss change your mind?”

Magnus had saved her from certain death in the Auranian dungeon, that was undeniable. But there were many reasons why he would have done it beyond her being . . . being . . .

How exactly had he put it?

“As if you’ve forgotten a single word he said,” she whispered.

But Cleo wasn’t a romantic fool, a silly girl who believed a villain could become a shining hero overnight, even if he had saved her life once. She was a queen, who would reclaim her throne and destroy her enemies—all of them—once she possessed the magic and power she needed.

With one or more Kindred in hand, she would get justice. For her father. For Emilia. For Theon. For Mira. And for the Auranian people.

She jabbed her finger at the mirror. “Don’t ever forget it.”

• • •

Her resolve was back in place and so was her courage.

She needed to see Magnus. She needed to know how safe they were at the palace while the king remained in Auranos, and if there was any news about the missing water Kindred. She needed to make sure he made immediate arrangements for Nerissa’s travel. And she refused to remain in her chambers waiting for him to come to her.

While the Auranian palace was huge—so enormous that it was easy for even the most seasoned servants to become lost in its labyrinthine hallways—at least it had been filled with light and life. Bright paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, the hallways were well-lit with lanterns and torches, and its many windows looked out on the beautiful City of Gold. Cleo had always felt safe and happy there—until the day they were attacked and conquered.

In the Limerian palace, however, everything seemed dark and dreary, with barely any artwork—cheerful or otherwise—to adorn the walls. The stonework was dull and unpolished, the edges rough and sharp. The only warmth seemed to come from the many fireplaces, vital to a castle built in a kingdom of constant winter.

Her steps slowed as she came across a hall of portraits. The paintings reminded her so much of the Bellos family collection that once graced the Auranian palace walls, it was as if they were rendered by the same artist.

Each Damora she passed held a stern expression and a serious gaze. King Gaius, keen-eyed and ruthlessly handsome; Queen Althea, regal and proper; Princess Lucia, solemnly beautiful with dark hair and sky-blue eyes.

She paused before Magnus’s portrait. When he sat for it, he was much more of a boy than the man he’d recently become, so similar in appearance to his father. But the boy in the painting still bore that familiar scar on his right cheek—a scar his cruel father had given him as punishment for something trivial.

That scar was physical proof that the prince didn’t always obey the king’s command.

“Princess Cleiona.” A voice greeted her from around the next corner. “How lovely to see you today.”