“I think this is my third time. Or second and a half, anyway.”
“It’s the least I could do after . . .” Lucia drew in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for what I did. At the time, I felt I had no choice.”
Jonas touched her face, brushing the dark hair off her forehead. “Of course I forgive you.”
She stared down at him with surprise. “That easily?”
He grinned. “Sure. Not everything has to be a struggle. Not today, anyway.”
“I still don’t know where my daughter is,” Lucia said, her voice breaking.
Jonas took her hands in his. “We’ll find her. Wherever she is, however long it takes, we will find her together.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“You just saved every one of our arses with that stolen magic . . . and that dagger . . .” Jonas strained to see the altar where the orbs had been, but there was nothing left, only a black scorch mark.
Lucia shook her head. “The dagger vanished, along with every last piece of the crystal orbs.”
“Good riddance.” Jonas pulled her gently against him, and she let out a shuddery sigh of relief.
“I’m glad Kyan’s gone,” she whispered. “But part of me really liked him in the beginning.”
“I’m sure part of him was worth liking. A very small flicker of likability.” Jonas finally and reluctantly released her. He rubbed his neck, which felt as good as new, then gazed around at the shattered remains of the throne room.
A hand appeared before his face then. A hand attached to the arm of Magnus Damora.
Jonas grabbed it, and Magnus helped him to his feet.
He’d seen light explode from Magnus, Cleo, Taran, and Olivia, just as it had exploded from the Kindred orbs. Anything with the power to punch a hole in a marble roof could easily have torn apart a mortal body. But it hadn’t.
“You’re alive,” Jonas managed.
“I am.”
Jonas blinked. “Good. I mean, yes. Glad you’re not dead and all that.”
“Likewise.” Magnus hesitated. “I saw you protect my sister. You have my eternal gratitude for that.”
It was all a blur now. The vines that had held him immobile had fallen away as soon as Lucia had crushed the orbs. He remembered her standing over them, the golden dagger in her hand.
Frozen in place.
Had she remained there, he doubted she would have survived that blast.
Jonas looked at Magnus. “It seems your sister needs protecting sometimes.”
“She’d disagree with that,” Magnus replied.
“I’m right here,” Lucia said, pushing herself up to her feet to give her brother a tight hug. “I can hear you.”
Cleo came to Magnus’s side, accompanied by Taran and Olivia.
The sight of the three of them, free from the monsters that had used their bodies, made Jonas’s throat tighten. “You’re all right. All of you.”
Olivia nodded. “I don’t remember much at all, to tell you the truth.” She gazed around the room at the moss and vines. “But it seems like I was quite busy.”
“I tried so hard not to let the air Kindred take me over,” Taran said. “That loss of control, it was worse than death for me. But I’m back. And my life . . . it’s going to be different now.”
“How?” Jonas asked.
Taran frowned. “Not sure yet. I’m still working on that.”
Lucia embraced Cleo, gripping her tightly. “If you hadn’t told me about the orbs . . .”
Cleo hugged Lucia back. “We have Nic to thank for that.”
Jonas glanced to the other side of the throne room, where Nic and Ashur were speaking together in hushed tones.
“We survived,” he said with shock. “We all survived.”
Lucia’s eyes were glossy. “I hurt you, Jonas. I lied to you. I manipulated you. And . . . I almost killed you. And you’re still willing to forgive me? I can’t understand it.”
Jonas grinned. “I guess you’re lucky I’m fond of complicated women.”
Magnus cleared his throat loudly. “Anyway, we will immediately start a kingdom-wide search for my niece, including a reward no one will be able to resist.”
“Thank you, Magnus,” Lucia whispered.
She hadn’t let go of Jonas’s hand.
This girl will probably be the death of me, he thought with wry amusement.
But not today.
CHAPTER 35
AMARA
KRAESHIA
ONE MONTH LATER
Amara endured the uncomfortable, rocky ride in the back of the enclosed wagon that would take her to a locked room where she would spend the better part of her life, away from anyone she might try to hurt.
Her grandmother had made sure to document everything she’d done. With the very same Grand Augur who had almost completed Amara’s ascension ceremony as her witness, she’d signed away Amara’s life. Neela’s accounts of her granddaughter’s descent into madness would take everything away from her.
She was now known as a girl who’d murdered her loving family in the relentless pursuit of power.
The most amusing part of it all was that Amara couldn’t argue with any of her grandmother’s claims, since every single one of them was true.
But she was still alive. The rebels who’d attacked the ceremony hall had successfully rescued their leader, but their numbers were far too few to take control of the Emerald Spear or the city surrounding it.
For now, the Grand Augur would rule. Which, quite frankly, annoyed her because the man didn’t have a single original thought in his idiotic head.
At the moment, however, she couldn’t concern herself with power.
She was more concerned with escape.
Unfortunately, with her ankles and wrists chained, and the back of the wagon locked up tight after her last attempt to break free from her captors, that didn’t seem remotely possible.
Very well. She would go to the madhouse. She would play along and behave herself and . . . well, very likely seduce a guard who would eventually help her escape. For now, however, she had to be patient.
But patience had never been an easy task for Amara Cortas.
After the incessant jerking motion of the wagon became so unbearable she wanted to scream, the vehicle came to an abrupt halt. She heard indiscernible shouting, a clashing of metal, and finally a frightening silence.
Amara couldn’t see a thing, could only imagine a thousand possibilities of what had just happened, none of which ended well for her.
She waited, tensely, a line of perspiration trickling down her spine as the sound of footsteps moved around to the back of the wagon. The latch clicked, and then the door swung wide open.
Sunlight streamed into the darkness of Amara’s temporary prison. She blocked the blinding brightness with her hand until she could register who stood right in front of her.
“Nerissa . . .” she whispered.
The girl’s dark hair had grown a little since the last time Amara had seen her. It was now long enough to tuck behind her ears. She wore black trousers and a dark green tunic. And she carried a sword.
“Well?” Nerissa said as she sheathed the weapon at her waist. “Are you going to look at me like an absolute fool, or are you going to get out of there before your guards wake up from the knocks they just took to their heads?”