Frozen Tides (30 page)

CLEO

LIMEROS

C
leo opened her eyes, slowly and painfully, and found that she was lying on a hard bed in a small, unfamiliar room with white plaster walls.

She groaned as she pushed herself up and pressed her hand against her head, feeling dried blood matted in her hair.

And then she remembered.

Lord Kurtis.

She'd grown to dislike him more and more over the weeks, realizing what a coward he was ever since he'd tried to get her to help him regain the power Magnus had taken from him. But she never would have expected him to be bold or decisive enough to drag her off of the palace balcony as if she were nothing more than a rag doll, and hand her over to a pair of Kraeshian guards.

He would pay dearly for that mistake.

Cleo stood and went to the door, trying the handle only to find it locked. A single window opposite the door showed her it was night, which meant she'd been unconscious for quite some time. She pushed the window open, then leaned over the sill as far as
she could to see if she could spot anything familiar that might give her some clues as to her location.

She was inside a large stone building, sprawling and at least four stories tall. This was grander than a villa, more like a castle, and made of the same black granite as the Limerian palace.

The room was lit up with several lanterns, but all she could see beyond the grounds beneath her window was a thick line of trees—a forest. Heavy snow was falling, further obscuring her sight.

For a moment she thought about jumping to the snow-dusted ground below, but then quickly put it out of her mind. Even with a generous padding of snow, she knew that a leap from this height would mean a severe injury at best, instant death at worst. With a sinking heart, she pulled the windowpane shut.

“Think, Cleo,” she muttered. There had to be a way out of there.

She wondered where Magnus was. She hadn't seen him since their horrible argument in the throne room.

She knew the prince would be angry with her for the stunt she pulled on the balcony, but she wasn't sorry about the message she'd delivered. And she hoped her speech succeeded in changing his mind about her, once and for all.

After receiving Jonas's message and spending a sleepless night trying to find a way to avoid getting trapped under Kraeshian rule, Cleo came to the realization that Magnus was the only person who could keep their country safe from King Gaius and Amara and their overwhelming greed.

But now, after witnessing the force and swiftness with which the Kraeshian army had taken over the palace, she saw that her final grasp at a hopeful future had been unforgivably optimistic.

Suddenly, Cleo heard a key slip into the lock and the door creaked open.

She squinted in the torchlight to see Amara Cortas herself step inside.

She offered Cleo a big smile. “Good evening, Cleo. It seems like a very long time since I last saw you.”

“It has,” Cleo answered, offering a small smile of her own. “And I can see you've been very busy. I suppose I should congratulate you on your victory.”

Amara glanced at the guard standing at the doorway. “Fetch us something to drink,” she ordered. “Some Paelsian wine. Since most Limerians seem to be hypocrites about their religious beliefs, I'm sure Lord Gareth keeps a stash of it somewhere in his home.”

“Yes, Empress,” the guard said, then exited the room.

Amara turned back to Cleo. “You're probably still angry about how we left things between you and me.”

“Anger fades, Amara. Even the most intense anger.”

“I ordered my guards to have you killed.”

“I remember. But, clearly, they failed.”

“Clearly. Truthfully, though, I'm rather glad for my guards' shortcomings. My emotions were running very high that night. Looking back on it now, I'm ashamed of how drastically I lost my composure.”

“It's in the past now.” Cleo held on to her smile, willing herself not to remind Amara that she'd lost more than her composure that night. She'd lost her brother—had murdered him in cold blood without any hesitation. “So, this is Lord Gareth's home?”

“Yes. A rather quaint castle, isn't it?”

“I wouldn't trust Lord Gareth if I were you. And I would especially not trust his son.”

Amara laughed. “Don't worry, I don't trust any man.”

The Kraeshian princess moved to the window and took a seat on the sill.

“It seems we have a problem, Cleo.”

“Oh?”

“The king wants you dead. And he wants to perform the execution himself.”

A shiver shot down Cleo's spine, but she fought to show anything but surprise on her face. “That's . . . I . . . but I don't understand. What kind of threat could
I
pose to someone as powerful as King Gaius?”

“You don't know?” Amara raised a brow. “I thought it was obvious. My new husband believes you are the one obstacle standing in between him and his son's loyalty. And I must say, Cleo, given your prince's recent actions, I don't think he's wrong.”

“Apologies,” said Cleo, her mind reeling, “but did you just refer to the king as ‘your husband'? You're . . . you married King Gaius?”

Amara shrugged. “My father's idea. He thought our marriage would symbolically bind him into the Cortas bloodline, making him worthy of sharing his power.” She regarded Cleo with amusement. “Don't look so appalled. It's not nearly as repulsive as it sounds.”

“But he's . . .” Cleo faltered, grasping to comprehend this strange new situation. “King Gaius . . . even apart from all the things he's done, he's . . .”

“Exactly like Magnus, only twice as old? That reminds me, I hope you're not still upset about my brief dalliance with your husband. I can assure you that it meant nothing—to me, at least.”

“I couldn't care less about such matters.”

“Of course not.”

Cleo remembered the sting she'd felt when she realized that Amara had spent the night with the prince. At the time, she'd been convinced that sting was one of annoyance, of disappointment that Magnus would so quickly jump into bed with a potential enemy.

Now she wasn't so sure.

The guard returned, holding a bottle of wine and two goblets. “As you requested, Empress.”

“Excellent.” She gestured toward the table in the corner. “Put it down over there and leave us.”

Amara poured the wine and held a goblet out to Cleo.

She hesitated briefly, then took it.

“Don't worry,” Amara said, “it's not poisoned. Besides, your death wouldn't serve me in any way. I like you much better alive.”

“That sounded almost like a compliment.” Cleo raised her glass. “To your new role as empress . . . and to you and the king.”

Amara clinked her goblet against Cleo's and took a sip. “You would toast a man who wants you dead?”

Cleo tipped her head back and drained her glass in one gulp. “I'm toasting to the day you become a widow, to the moment you decide he's no longer useful to you.”

Amara smiled. “You know me well.”

“I admire you, Amara. You go after what you want, and you get it, no matter what it takes.”

“My grandmother was determined to make sure I grew up believing that I was every bit as good as my brothers, even if all the men in Kraeshia thought of me as little more than a pretty bit of trimming. I am proud of my accomplishments, yes, but I'm not without regrets.”

“None of us are.”

“Tell me, Cleo,” Amara said as she refilled their goblets. “If I were to convince the king to keep you alive, would you pledge your alliance to me in return? Would you promise to stay loyal to me, from this day forward?”

Cleo froze, the delicate edge of the goblet pressed to her lips. “You would . . . why would you do that?”

“I have many reasons. I've also recently come to learn something very surprising about Gaius: his most important decisions are made by his heart.”

“And here I was certain he didn't possess one.”

“It may be small and dark and cold, but it's there. He loves his son so much that he's willing to forgive him for even the gravest trespass of treason. He loves Lucia as well—for more than just her magic.” Amara paused and took another sip of wine, her eyes sly and gleaming. “I also learned something very interesting about his distant past. Something to do with a girl. A girl he loved with a passion that surprised even me.”

Cleo had to scoff. “Did he tell you that? He's lying.”

“I'm not so sure,” Amara said, a knowing smile playing at her lips. She leaned forward. “Cleo, we could put our pasts behind us. We could work together, secretly, to help prevent any man from trying to steal our power.”

“
Our
power?”

“My grandmother is old, my father and brothers are dead. I have no friends, no allies I can trust. You've been through so much tragedy and loss that I know it's changed you. Like me, you are beautiful on the outside, but your soul is forged from steel.”

Cleo frowned, feeling more skeptical with every compliment Amara spoke. “You'd put your trust in me so easily?”

“Absolutely not. That kind of trust needs to be earned—on both sides. I know that. But I see enough of me in you that I'm willing to take this risk.” Amara extended her hand. “So what do you say?”

Cleo stared down at Amara's bejeweled hand for a long moment before she finally grasped it. “I'd say that the future looks much brighter than it did this morning.”

“Excellent.” Amara smiled, then turned to gaze out of the
window. “When Gaius wakes, I'll speak to him. I doubt very much that he'll put up much of an argument before he agrees to keep you alive. After all, he sees you the same way he sees me: as an object to possess and control.”

“His mistake, isn't it?”

“It certainly is.”

Cleo picked up the bottle, poured more wine into her goblet, and swallowed it down.

Then she smashed the bottle over the empress's head.

Align with the most devious, untrustworthy, murderous girl she'd ever met in her entire life?

Never.

Stunned, Amara crumpled to the floor.

Cleo rushed toward the door and pressed her ear against it. She heard nothing. The crash of glass and thump of Amara's body hadn't drawn the suspicion of any guards.

Still, she knew she didn't have much time, and if she tried to escape through the castle she'd surely be captured.

Sidestepping the fallen empress, Cleo unlatched and pushed the window open again. A draft of cold air and snow blew into the room.

Was she ready to take this risk?

“Think,” she whispered.

She leaned over the windowsill and looked down at the side of the building and saw something she hadn't seen before: a frost-covered trellis, partially hidden under the snow.

A memory came to her, of a time not so long ago, when all was well in the City of Gold and Cleo's biggest problem was having an overprotective king for a father and an overachieving heiress for a sister. Cleo had always craved freedom, had hated being cooped up in the palace.

She was with Emilia in her chambers when she noticed the vine- and flower-covered trellis alongside her sister's balcony.

The trellis made her think of the fence Nic had once climbed in order to fetch her a perfect red rose, and she'd decided to try it for herself. All she'd succeeded in doing was ruining her new gown, which got her in very deep trouble with her nanny. But she'd enjoyed the climbing, had reveled in her ability to get somewhere through only her own strength and balance.

“I want to try something,” little Cleo had told Emilia, and without waiting for a response, she began climbing over the railing.

Emilia had put her book down and raced to the balcony. “Cleo! You're going to get yourself killed!”

“No, I won't.” Her foot found a sturdy hold and she grinned up at her sister. “Look at me! I think I've found a new way to escape from the palace.”

But Emilia's trellis had not been nearly this slippery, and her chambers were much closer to the ground.

Cleo heard some commotion beyond the door. With no time to think, she crawled through the window and sat on the ledge. The cold air brushed against her bare legs beneath her gown. Blindly, she tried to find a foothold. She searched with the toe of her slipper until finally she found one.

Narrow, so narrow. And so icy.

She said a silent prayer to the goddess she'd long since stopped believing in, and finally let go of the sturdy windowsill, now clinging completely to the snow-covered trellis.

“I can do this,” she whispered. “I can do this. I can do this.”

She repeated the phrase with each new foothold she found.

Snow continued to fall, thick and heavy, which only made every movement more treacherous.

One step at a time. One foot lower. Again. And again.

Her heart pounded hard, her fingers began to go numb.

Suddenly, her foot slipped. She scrambled to hold on. A scream caught in her throat as she lost her grip and fell.

She landed, hard on her backside, and, stunned but uninjured, gaped at the side of the castle.

There was no time to rest. She stiffly pushed up to her feet and started moving.

She had to find shelter, a place to rest and hide. And tomorrow, when the sun rose, she would hasten to Ravencrest where she could try to send word to Jonas and Nic.

The sound of dogs barking startled her, and she scrambled to hide behind a pile of firewood. From there she watched two guards and three black dogs emerge from the thick woods. The dogs dragged behind them a sled carrying the carcass of a deer.

“Take the dogs to the kennel and have them fed,” said the taller guard.

His companion nodded and unhooked the dogs' harnesses from the sled and led them off toward the far side of the castle.