And then there it was—a sudden burning as if he’d swallowed molten lava. The dark magic coursed through him, burning everything weak and pathetic away. He heard himself scream from the sheer anguish of it as the glass vial fell from his grip and shattered on the stone floor.

Gaius Damora tried to embrace each moment of agony as his lingering weaknesses burned away, his memories of Elena faded to mere embers, and the desire for ultimate power rose within him like a phoenix from the flames.

CHAPTER 1

JONAS KRAESHIA

Far across the sea in Mytica, there was a golden princess Jonas wanted to save.

And a god of fire he needed to destroy.

However, an obstacle now stood in Jonas’s path on the Kraeshian docks, eating into time he didn’t have to waste.

“I thought you said his sister killed him,” Jonas said to Nic under his breath.

“She did.” Nic’s voice came out as barely more than a rasp as he raked both his hands through his messy, bright red hair. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Then how is this possible?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

Prince Ashur Cortas drew to a stop only a few paces away. He eyed both Jonas and Nic through narrowed, silvery-blue eyes that stood out against his dark tan complexion like the glinting edge of a blade at dusk.

The only sounds to be heard for a few long moments were the squawk of a nearby seabird as it plunged downward to catch a fish and the gentle, steady splash of the water against the waiting Limerian ship with its black and red sails.

“Nicolo,” the raven-haired prince said with a nod. “I know you must be very confused to see me again.”

“I . . . I . . . what . . . ?” was Nic’s only reply. The scattering of freckles over his nose and cheeks contrasted boldly with his blanched complexion. He drew in a shaky breath. “This is impossible.”

Ashur raised a dark brow at the boy, hesitating only briefly before he spoke. “In my twenty-one years of life I’ve come to realize that very little in this world is impossible.”

“I watched you die.” The last word sounded as if it had been dragged painfully from Nic’s throat. “What was that? Just another lie? Another scheme? Another plan that you didn’t feel the need to tell me about?”

Jonas was surprised that Nic dared to speak to a member of royalty with such insolence. Not that Jonas himself had much respect for royals, but Nic had spent enough time in the Auranian palace, side by side with its princess, to know it wasn’t wise to be this openly rude.

“It was no lie. What happened at the temple was not a scheme.” Ashur swept his gaze over the Limerian ship, which was ready for imminent departure from the Jewel of the Empire’s crowded, busy docks. “I’ll explain more once we’re at sea.”

Jonas’s brows went up at the prince’s commanding and confident tone. “Once we’re at sea,” he repeated.

“Yes. I’m coming with you.”

“If that’s what you’re planning to do,” Jonas said, crossing his arms, “then you’ll explain more now.”

Ashur eyed him. “Who are you?”

Jonas eyed him back. “I’m the one who decides who gets on this ship—and who doesn’t.”

“Do you know who I am?” Ashur asked.

“Well aware. You’re the brother of Amara Cortas, who just recently seems to have made herself the bloodthirsty empress of most of the damn world. And according to Nic, you’re supposed to be dead.”

A familiar form appeared behind Ashur, catching Jonas’s eye.

Taran Ranus had left the docks only a few moments ago, so that he might quickly prepare for an unplanned journey to Mytica. But he was already back. As the rebel drew closer, he swiftly pulled out a sword from the sheath at his waist.

“Well, well,” Taran said as he raised the tip of the sword to Ashur’s throat. “Prince Ashur. What a pleasant surprise to see that you’ve strolled into our midst this morning, just as my friends are working to topple your family’s reign.”

“The general chaos around the Jewel did give that much away,” Ashur said, his tone and demeanor surprisingly serene.

“Why have you come back? Why not stay abroad, chasing after meaningless treasure as everyone says you’re fond of doing?”

Chasing after treasure? Jonas shared an anxious look with Nic. It seemed that very few were aware that the prince had been presumed dead.

“The circumstances of my return are none of your business.”

“Are you in Kraeshia because of . . .” Nic began, then hesitated. “Of . . . what happened to your family? You must know, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know.” Ashur’s expression darkened. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

Taran smirked. “As the true heir to the throne, perhaps you’ll make an excellent tool for negotiations with your grandmother now that your sister’s married the enemy and sailed away.”

Ashur scoffed. “If that’s what you think, then you know nothing about her desire for power—or my sister’s. It’s easy to see that your rebels are vastly outnumbered. This current uprising will be as effective as the chirp of a baby bird in the shadow of a hungry wildcat. What you really need to do is get on this ship and leave while you still have the chance.”

Taran’s smirk disappeared. His brown eyes flashed with outrage. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”