Magnus and Gaius spent the entire day shackled like common prisoners in the back of a wagon that journeyed west from Basilia. Magnus knew exactly where they were headed, and when they finally reached Chief Basilius’s former compound at dusk, he wasn’t certain that they would ever witness another sunrise.
Amara’s small but impressive army surrounded the perimeter of the compound, and Magnus and his father were ushered through the gates by the guards. Once inside, they were half shoved, half dragged down a narrow, winding corridor and placed in a room with stone walls and no furniture. Guards attached new shackles to their ankles. There was nothing to do but sit and wait on the bloodstained floor.
The door had a lock on it, and it only opened from the other side.
Yes, Magnus thought, this definitely qualifies as a dungeon.
“I didn’t want this,” the king said after they were left alone.
“No? You didn’t want us chained up and left to Amara’s whim? I’ve heard about how Kraeshians deal with prisoners. It makes your treatment of them seem almost benevolent.”
“This isn’t the end for us.”
“That’s very amusing, Father. It feels like it is. You know what would be very helpful right now? A witch to help us out. But you chased her away too, didn’t you?”
“I did. And I don’t regret it. My mother is an evil woman.”
“I guess you came by that same evil naturally then, no potions necessary.”
Magnus had had a lot of time to think during the journey here. He thought about Cleo, mostly, and wondered if anything would be different now if he hadn’t sent Nic after Ashur.
Likely not. Because then Cleo might be with him and his father, and Magnus would be unable to do anything to help her. He hoped very hard that she’d finally accomplished what she should have done from the beginning and gone to Auranos to find allies, rebels, assistance of some kind.
She was much better off as far away from him as possible.
Time passed slowly, and night turned back to day as sunlight spilled into their dark dungeon room from a tiny window. The sound of a lock in the door jerked Magnus back to attention, and he shielded his eyes from more blazing sunlight as the door opened and several guards entered the room. Behind them strode the empress herself.
She nodded at him. “Magnus, it’s so lovely to see you again.”
“Well, I couldn’t possibly feel less delighted to see you.”
Amara’s cold smile held. “And Gaius, I’ve been so worried about you. I’ve heard nothing from you since you went on your quest to find your treasonous son and bring him to justice. Did it not go well?”
“My plans changed,” the king said simply.
“I see that.”
“Is this any way to greet your husband, Amara?” Magnus asked. “By putting him in chains in a dungeon?”
“My mother once ran away from my father. I’m told he dragged her back to him and locked her in a small, dark room—for an entire year, I believe. She also lost a finger as punishment for trying to escape—she was forced to sever it herself.”
She told the story without any emotion at all.
“Is that my fate?” he asked. “To lose a finger?”
“I haven’t decided just what I’d like to have sliced off your body for all your lies and deceit. But I’m certain I’ll think of something. In the meantime, I have someone with me whom I’m sure you’d like to see.”
She stepped aside, and Magnus, still shielding his eyes, realized with stunned disbelief that Cleo stood in the doorway.
Her expression was utterly unreadable.
“I thought you said you had rebels imprisoned here,” Cleo said.
Amara turned to her. “These are rebels, working against me to steal what now belongs to me. Am I wrong?”
“No, I suppose not.” Cleo cocked her head. “It’s so strange to think of them as rebels, though. The word doesn’t quite seem to fit.”
“If we’re rebels, princess,” the king hissed, “then what are you?”
“A prisoner of war,” Cleo replied calmly, “forced to marry against my will as my freedom was stolen along with my throne. And so it has been for a very long and painful year of my life.”
Magnus hadn’t said a word since Cleo had entered the dungeon, stunned by every move she made and every word she uttered. This couldn’t possibly be the same girl he’d come to know, the one full of passion and fire the night their paths had intersected at the cottage in the snowy woods. The one full of anger and hate when she learned that Nic was dead.
This girl’s perfect mask of indifference rivaled his own.
“I gave you many chances to leave,” Magnus said. “You were no prisoner.”
“I was a prisoner of the choices taken from me by your father. How many times would he have liked to see this very situation reversed, to see me chained and at his mercy? Mercy,” she snorted. “That isn’t a word I would ever use to describe his actions.”
“You should have woken me,” Magnus said. “My father shouldn’t have sent you away all alone. I know you were angry with me.”