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“Yes, now. When better?”
“So, no more storming the palace and sticking daggers into royals?”
“Not today.” Jonas could practically see Tomas at the corner of his mind, laughing at his younger brother and his constantly changing priorities. But this felt right. This felt more right than anything else in his life ever had. “Will you come with me to meet with Chief Basilius?”
“And miss witnessing his order for your head to be removed and placed on a spike for trying to incite a revolution in your brother’s name?” Brion laughed. “Not for all the gold in Auranos.”
Tomas reached out to Cleo as if begging her to help him. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t—the blade was lodged too deeply in his throat. He would never speak another word. The blood that gushed unstoppably from his mouth grew deep around them and swiftly formed a bottomless crimson lake.
Cleo was drowning in blood. It washed over her, coating her skin, choking her.
“Please, help! Help!” She struggled to reach up into the freezing air above the thick, hot blood.
A hand grasped hold of hers tightly to pull her above the surface.
“Thank you!”
“Don’t thank me, princess. Beg me not to kill you.”
Her eyes widened as she looked up into the face of the murdered boy’s brother. Jonas Agallon’s features were deeply etched with grief and hatred. Dark brows drew together over mahogany-colored eyes.
rned away from Brion when his eyes began to sting. He wouldn’t let himself cry in front of his friend. He wouldn’t show weakness like that to anyone ever again. That alone would be the ultimate defeat.
“Something must be done.”
“I agree. But there’s another way. You need to think with your head, not only your heart.”
He couldn’t help but snort softly at that. “You think I’m using my heart right now?”
Brion rolled his eyes. “Yes. And in case there’s any doubt, your heart is an idiot just like the rest of you. Would Tomas want you to run off to Auranos and stick daggers in royals even if he was a budding revolutionary?”
“Maybe.”
Brion cocked his head. “Really?”
Jonas frowned and an image of his brother flickered in his mind. “No,” he admitted finally. “He wouldn’t. He’d think I was being a suicidal jackass.”
“Not much better than getting drunk to forget your many woes and falling off a cliff, is it?”
Jonas let out a long shaky breath. “He was so arrogant. Lord Aron Lagaris. Told us his name as if we should sink to our knees before him, like the meaningless peasants we are, and kiss his ring.”
“I’m not saying the bastard shouldn’t pay with blood. Just not with your blood.” A muscle in Brion’s cheek twitched at the mention of this.
While he was being incredibly levelheaded, apart from the takedown a minute ago, Brion wasn’t typically the wisest of Jonas’s friends nor the one expected to give advice. He was usually the first to jump into a fight that left at least one bone broken—either his or his opponent’s. A scar bisected his right eyebrow as a mild reminder of one of these battles. Unlike most of his compatriots, Brion wasn’t one to lie down and accept a “destiny” of oppression and starvation.
“Do you remember Tomas’s plan?” Jonas said after silence fell between them.
“Which one? He had lots of plans.”
That made Jonas smile for a moment. “He did. But one of them was to seek audience with Chief Basilius.”
Brion’s eyebrows went up. “Are you serious? Nobody sees the chief. The chief sees you.”
“I know.” Chief Basilius had been in seclusion for several years, unseen by any but his family and his innermost circle of advisors and bodyguards. Some said he spent his days on a spiritual journey to find the Kindred—four legendary objects containing endless magic that had been lost for a thousand years. It was said that possessing all four would result in ultimate power.
Jonas, however, like Tomas, reserved his belief for more practical answers. Thinking of Tomas now, he came to a decision and shifted his plans.
“I need to see him,” Jonas murmured. “I need to do what Tomas wanted to do. Things need to change.”
