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Brion looked at him with surprise. “So in two minutes you’ve gone from single-minded vengeance to potentially seeking audience with the chief.”
”You could put it that way.” Killing the royals, Jonas was realizing soberly, would have been a glorious moment of vengeance—a blaze of glory. But it would do nothing to help his people chart a new course for a brighter future. That was what Tomas would have wanted above all else.
Jonas didn’t believe that Basilius was a sorcerer, but he had no doubt the chief was powerful and influential enough to make a change, to help take the people of Paelsia in a new direction and away from the growing poverty and desperation that had crippled them in recent years. If he chose to do so.
Since he lived apart from the community as a whole, maybe he was unaware of how dire Paelsian life had become. He had to be told the truth by someone who wouldn’t be afraid to speak it.
“You suddenly look very determined,” Brion said uneasily. “Should that make me nervous?”
Jonas grabbed his arm and flashed the first full grin he’d been able to summon since Tomas had died. “I am determined. Things are going to change, my friend.”
“Now?”
“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.
“Beg me,” he said again, digging his fingers painfully into her flesh, hard enough to bruise.
“Please don’t kill me! I—I’m sorry—I didn’t want your brother to die. Please don’t hurt me!”
“But I want to hurt you. I want you to suffer for what you’ve done.” He shoved her back down. She shrieked as the murdered boy himself took hold of her ankle and began pulling her deeper into this ocean of death.
Cleo sat up in her bed screaming. She was twisted in her silk sheets, her body damp with sweat, her heart pounding loud in her ears. She looked frantically around the room from her canopied bed.
She was alone. She had only been dreaming.
The same nightmare had plagued her every night for a month. Ever since Tomas Agallon’s murder. So vivid. So real. But just a dream fueled by endless guilt. She let out a long, shaky sigh and fell back against her silk pillows.
“This is madness,” she whispered. “It’s done. It’s over. There’s no going back to change it.”
If there was a chance for that, she would have told Theon to step in and stop Aron’s bartering. His posturing. His arrogance. She would have put an end to it before it escalated in such a horrible, deadly way.
She’d avoided Aron ever since they returned to Auranos. If he showed up at a social gathering, she would leave. If he moved closer to talk, she would shift her attention to a different group of friends. He hadn’t protested yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time.
Aron liked to be included in her circle whenever possible. And if he threatened to expose her secret because of any perceived slight...
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to panic at the thought.
After a full month of avoidance, Cleo knew she had to talk to Aron. She found she needed to know if he too had nightmares about what happened. If he felt the same guilt. If she was to become engaged to this boy at her father’s insistence, she needed to know that he wasn’t a monster who’d cold-bloodedly kill someone and not give a single care for the pain he’d caused.
