But Taran was just as deadly and just as intimidating.
“You want to know about my problems?” Taran finally lowered his blade to his side, then nodded at the resurrected royal. “This is Prince Ashur Cortas.”
Felix peered skeptically at the prince with his good eye. After spending the last week imprisoned and being mercilessly tortured for poisoning the Kraeshian royal family—a crime Amara had blamed on him—it was his only eye; the other was covered by a black eye patch. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
“He is.” Nic had stayed very quiet, never taking his attention off of the prince, wearing an expression that was equal parts stunned and confused.
“I’m not.” Ashur spoke patiently to Nic.
“It could be a trick.” Nic’s brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the prince carefully. “Perhaps you’re a witch who possesses enough air magic to change your appearance.”
Ashur raised a dark eyebrow, as if amused. “Hardly.”
“Witches are female,” Taran reasoned.
“Not always,” Ashur replied. “There have been a few notable exceptions over the centuries.”
“Are you trying to help your case or not?” Jonas asked sharply.
“He’s Amara’s brother,” Felix growled. “Let’s just go ahead and kill him and be done with it.”
“Yes,” Taran seconded. “On that, we agree.”
Ashur sighed, and for the first time, there was an edge of impatience in the sound. Despite any threats, he kept his attention firmly on Nic. “I understand your hesitation in believing me, Nicolo. It reminds me of your hesitation that night in the City of Gold, when you left the tavern . . . The Beast, I believe it was called. You were drunk, lost, and you looked at me in that alleyway as if I might kill you with the two blades I carried. But I didn’t, did I? Do you remember what I did instead?”
Nic’s pale face flushed in an instant, and he cleared his throat. “It’s him,” he said quickly. “I don’t know how, but . . . it’s him. Let’s go.”
Jonas studied Nic’s face, unsure whether to believe such a promise, even from someone he’d very recently begun to trust. His gut told him Nic wasn’t lying.
And if Ashur wanted to bring a halt to his sister’s evil machinations, believing himself to be this legendary phoenix who’d risen from death, true or not, then he could possibly be an asset to their group.
He wondered what Lys would have to say about this situation.
No, he already knew. She very likely would have put an arrow through the prince the moment he’d appeared.
The glint of Taran’s sword again caught his attention. “If you don’t lower that weapon, I’m going to have Felix chop off your arm.”
Taran laughed, an unpleasant crack of a sound that cut through the cool morning air. “I’d like to see him try.”
“Would you?” Felix asked. “My eyesight’s not as good as it was, but I think—actually, I know—I could do it real fast. It might not even hurt.” He chuckled darkly as he drew his sword. “No, what am I thinking? It’s going to hurt very badly. I’m no ally to any Cortas, but if Jonas wants the prince to keep breathing, he’s going to keep breathing. Got it?”
The two young men glared at each other for several tense moments. Finally Taran sheathed his weapon.
“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. The tight smile on his face didn’t match the cold fury in his eyes.
Without a word, he shoved past Felix and boarded the ship.
“Thanks,” Jonas said to Felix under his breath.
Felix watched Taran’s departure with a grim look. “You know he’s going to be a problem, right?
“I do.”
“Great.” Felix glanced at the Limerian ship. “By the way, have I mentioned that I get really seasick, especially with the thought of Amara’s undead brother on board? So if our new friend Taran tries to cut my throat while I’m vomiting off the side of the ship, you’re the one I blame.”
“Understood.” Jonas eyed Nic and Ashur warily. “Very well, whatever fate awaits us on the other side, let’s set sail for Mytica. All of us.”
“Thought you didn’t believe in fate?” Nic muttered as they made their way up the gangplank.
“I don’t,” Jonas said.
But, to be honest, only a small part of him believed that anymore.
CHAPTER 2
MAGNUS
LIMEROS
The sun rose in the east while Magnus waited at the bottom of the steep cliff for his father to die. He watched tensely as the pool of blood around the king’s head grew, becoming a large crimson stain on the surface of the frozen lake.
Magnus tried to summon something inside of him other than hatred for Gaius Damora. But he could not.
His father had been a sadistic tyrant his entire life. He’d given away his kingdom to an enemy as if it were nothing more than a meaningless bauble. He had secretly ordered the murder of his own wife, Magnus’s mother, because she stood in the way of the power he craved. And, just before he fell from the cliff, the king had come within mere moments of ending the life of his son and heir.