“No thanks to you.” It seemed she couldn’t quite control her impatience today, not even in the presence of a god.
“And what would you have liked me to do had I been by your side? Did you have a torch I might have made burn brighter to scare the rebels away? I already explained to you that the full power of what I am is stifled in this incorporeal form.”
“Yes, you did explain that.” She stood up so that she could gaze out her window at the open arena where fifty-three people, including Cleo’s friend Nic, had been killed. Patches of blood stained the ground. “Actually, apart from a swelling in my fireplace in Limeros and a few lit candles, I’ve seen no signs of your magic at all. I’ve heard so much about the magic of the Kindred, so I must admit my disappointment.”
“I understand your impatience, little empress, as a mortal’s life is short, but I will caution you not to speak with such disrespect to me.”
Amara tried very hard to keep a hold on her rising anger. “I should return to Kraeshia to my grandmother’s side to help her deal with the last traces of the revolution there. She’s old—she shouldn’t have to take on so much responsibility at her age.”
“The ritual draws nearer than you might think. I have successfully gathered the pieces that we will need. We will need sacrifices, though. Blood will be necessary to strengthen this magic, since it does not come from the sorceress herself.”
“I have potential sacrifices waiting.” She hated to hope, but his words made her heart clench. “When do we begin?”
“When the storm comes, all will be revealed.”
She was about to say something else, perhaps throw her goblet across the room with frustration and demand a plainer explanation, but a knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
“What is it?” she snapped.
A guard opened the door and bowed low before her. “Empress, Princess Cleiona of Auranos has arrived at the compound gates and has asked to see you. Do you wish to see her, or shall we throw her in the pit with the others?”
Amara stared at him, not certain if she’d heard him correctly.
“Is she alone?” she asked.
“She has one Limerian guard with her.”
“And no one else?”
“No one else, empress.”
“I want to see her. Bring her to me immediately.”
“Yes, empress.”
“So it seems she did survive,” Amara said under her breath. “And after everything, she’s come to me?”
What did it mean? Cleo had to know that Amara would want her dead for what had happened between them last.
“Princess Cleiona,” Kyan said. “I know this name. I’ve seen her before. The sorceress despises her.”
“I’m sure many people despise Cleo.”
“Do you believe her arrival here is a trick of some kind?”
“What do you think?”
“I want to know what you think.”
Amara sent a dark glare in the direction of the disembodied voice. “I’m beginning to think that Cleo may prove to be of more use to me than you have. When this mysterious storm you speak of comes, please let me know.”
Amara waited for his response but didn’t receive one. She cursed herself for giving in to her bluntness with such an unpredictable creature.
It didn’t matter. Even if she’d somehow displeased him, he would soon remember that if he wished to complete his blood ritual here, he needed her help as much as she needed his.
It wasn’t very long before Cleo entered the room, flanked by two of Amara’s guards. Her cheeks were red, her gaze furious. Her gown was tattered, and there were smears of dirt on her face and bare arms.
“You fought against my guards?” Amara asked, raising a brow.
“When treated with such disrespect, I’d fight anyone,” Cleo replied tightly.
Amara shifted her gaze to the guard. “Where is her subordinate?”
“He’s being detained in an interrogation room,” the guard replied.
“No need for that. Put him with the other prisoners, but don’t harm him. Not yet, anyway.”
“Yes, empress.”
“Leave us. Close the door.”
The guards eyed each other, and Amara noticed that they both had fresh scratches on their faces. “Are you certain you don’t want protection?” one asked.
“Do as I say,” Amara said through clenched teeth.
“Yes, empress.”
They left and closed the door.
Amara sat down and poured herself another glass of wine. “I’d offer you some, Cleo, but I’d be afraid you’d try to break this bottle over my head again.” She paused to take a sip from her full goblet of sweet wine. “Have you come to apologize for that and to beg for my mercy?”
“No,” Cleo replied simply.
“I’d come to think you were dead, buried under a snowdrift near Lord Gareth’s villa.”
“As you can see, I’m very much alive.”
“You certainly are.” Amara watched her over the edge of her cup. “Several of my soldiers were murdered the night you escaped. Was that your doing?”
“Will answering that question truthfully earn your respect or have me thrown in your dungeon?”
“It’s a pit, actually. Quite effective. And that depends entirely on your answer.”
“Fine.” Cleo nodded. “I needed to defend myself. So, yes, I killed them.”