Rebel Spring (8 page)

“He’s still horrible,” she whispered. “But Nic still breathes. I must be grateful for that much.”

Her chambers were dark. Her attention slid over to the stone wall by her vanity table, to the very location where she’d hidden the amethyst ring. Her hands itched to take it out and put it on her finger. To feel the coolness of the gold against her skin, the weight of the stone. To have something tangible that might be able to help her. Something tied to her family. To history. To
elementia
itself.

She would return to her search for information tomorrow. There had to be something in the library that would tell her about the ring, help her learn how to properly use it. Emilia had always spent hours upon hours in the library, reading both for pleasure and for knowledge. And Cleo had always avoided such things. Until now. She had hope that somewhere in one of the thousands upon thousands of books that lined the library’s shelves lay the answers she sought.

She wrapped her arms around herself and moved to the window to look down on the moonlit courtyard far below. A warm breeze brushed against her skin.

It was then that she sensed the presence of someone else in her room.

Cleo spun around, searching the shadows. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

“Did you have a nice evening, your highness?” His deep voice slid across the room, wrapping itself around her and holding her prone with instant, remembered fear.

She ran for the door, but he caught her before she got there, grabbing hold of her arms and pressing her up against the wall.

“I’ll scream,” she warned him.

“Screaming would be the wrong move.” He pressed one hand against her mouth and with his other hand trapped both her wrists so she couldn’t move.

Jonas Agallon smelled like the forest itself, of evergreen needles and warm earth.

She attempted to drive her knee up between his legs, but he avoided this attack effortlessly.

“Come now, princess. It doesn’t have to be like this. I only came here for a chat . . . unless you cause me problems.” The surface of his words was friendly, but the malevolence behind them was unmistakable. “I’m going to remove my hand now. If you speak in a voice louder than a whisper I promise you’ll regret it. Understand?”

She nodded once, willing herself to remain calm.

He pulled his hand away but otherwise didn’t loosen his hold on her.

“What do you want?” She kept her voice low and controlled. For now.

“I just stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

She couldn’t help but laugh drily at this. “Really.”

Jonas’s face was in shadows, his eyes dark as he scanned the length of her. “Last time I saw you, you were cloaked and armed with a dagger.”

“Yes, and that was right before you alerted Prince Magnus to my presence in the crowd.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I did no such thing.”

“And I should believe you? You worked with him before. With the king himself! You kidnapped me, leaving me with no food or water for a week, waiting to hand me over to my enemy.”

“It was three days, princess. And you were given food and water. Anyway, my dealings with the King of Blood and his ilk came to an end when he deceived my people.”

“Anyone with half a brain could have seen he was deceptive from the very beginning.”

He glared at her. “Easy to say that now.”

She’d touched a nerve. Perhaps he did feel like a fool for helping King Gaius. “Let go of me.”

“I don’t trust you. You’ll try to scamper off and alert the guards.”

Fueled by her success earlier with manipulating Aron, she decided to try the same with Jonas. Anger or demands wouldn’t work, that much was certain. She looked up into his dark eyes and worked some pain into her own. “You’re hurting me.”

Jonas laughed, low and throaty. “Speaking of deceptive . . . trust me, princess, I don’t underestimate you either.”

Her gaze frantically skimmed her familiar room, searching for anything that might help her. “What am I to think with you here? There was a time you wanted to kill me.”

“Believe me, if I were here to end your life, you’d already be dead. I wanted to see for myself how much you’ve been taken in by them now that you’re betrothed to the prince. I witnessed the announcement. Despite the rough beginning, it looks like you’ve been accepted into the king’s family with open arms. How nice for you.”

Nausea coursed through her gut that he’d think this; that
anyone
would think this. “You think I’d welcome the inclusion to such an evil family?”

“I don’t know.” He studied her carefully. “Maybe.”

He believed her allied with the vipers themselves. The thought was so foreign that she couldn’t wrap her head around it. Venom coated her next words. “I shouldn’t have to defend myself to someone like you. What do I care what you think?”

Jonas pressed her harder up against the wall, making her gasp. “I know you think I’m nothing more than a Paelsian savage.”

She refused to look away from him. “Are you denying it?”

“I’m no savage, your highness. I’m a rebel.” He said it as if he was proud of it. Like it should impress her.

“If that’s true, then it’s only a matter of time before your head finds its way onto a spike, just like those of your rebel friends.”

He flinched at the mention of the executions. “Perhaps. But at least I’m attempting to change things.”

“By sneaking into my chambers and trying to bully me? I think I have my share of bullies in this palace to deal with already. I’ll say it one more time: let go of me.”

Finally, he did as she asked and stepped back. He watched her warily, as if he expected she’d immediately flee to the door and call for the guard. Part of her was tempted to do just that.

Instead, she watched him back just as warily. She couldn’t deny that in looks alone, Jonas Agallon was very attractive. Black hair, dark eyes, deeply tanned skin from working outdoors like most Paelsians. A tall, muscular body with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Beneath the dark gray cloak he wore, his clothes were dusty, torn, and simple, but he held himself like no peasant she’d ever seen before.

There was an arrogance to this boy that was similar to that of Prince Magnus—despite their vastly different upbringings. Jonas’s eyes weren’t as cold and serpentine as the prince’s, but they were still sharp and dangerous. They looked as if they could pierce right through her and pin her to the wall as easily as he’d done with his body.

There was a time not so long ago that he’d looked at her as if she was a hateful, spoiled creature who needed to die. Now there was a great deal of suspicion in his gaze, but also an edge of interest, as if he was curious about her plans now that she was betrothed to the son of her greatest enemy.

“Are you aligned with King Gaius?” Jonas asked again, his words harsh.

He was the rudest person she’d ever met. Ruder, possibly, than Prince Magnus himself. “How dare you enter my private chambers and demand answers like this? I’ll tell you nothing.”

His hands fisted at his sides and his glare intensified. “Princess, you could make this easier for me.”

“Oh, yes, that’s exactly what I want to do. Because you’ve always been such a good friend to me.”

Her sardonic tone coaxed the barest edge of a smile to his lips. “I
could
be a good friend.”

She went completely silent for a moment. “How?”

“That depends entirely on you, your highness.”

Jonas used the title as an insult, with no respect implied whatsoever, just as he had when he’d taken her captive in Paelsia. This much had not changed. “Talk quickly, or soon you’ll be trapped in the palace with no chance for escape. The guards will begin patrolling the courtyard very soon now that night has fallen.”

Jonas swept his gaze through the small room, coming to rest on the canopied bed. “Then I would have to stay here for the night, wouldn’t I? Would you help to hide me away under your covers?”

She ignored the heat that touched her cheeks at the suggestion. “Continue speaking nonsense and your time continues to drain away. Talk.
Now
.”

“Always issuing orders. Is that what a princess who’s lost her kingdom still does—or the future bride of Prince Magnus? Does it make you feel powerful to boss me around?”

“Enough of this.” She turned toward the door and opened her mouth as if to shout.

Jonas was behind her in an instant, his hand coming over her mouth, his arm across her chest to pull her tightly back against his body. “Summon the guards and I’ll tell them I’m your secret lover. What would Prince Magnus think about that? Would he be jealous?”

She bit his hand hard enough to taste blood. He pulled away from her, his eyes wide with pain even as a grin curled up the corner of his mouth.

Cleo wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You need to know one thing. I don’t care
what
Prince Magnus thinks, nor will I ever. I hate him and I hate his father. No matter what happens to me, that much will never change.”

“You want to destroy them.”

It wasn’t a question. Cleo just stared at him, unblinking. Unspeaking. Admitting anything at all to this boy felt far too dangerous.

But he didn’t seem to need any confirmation. He nodded once. “I told you that day in the crowd to be ready. It’s time, princess. I need your help.”

The thought was absurd. “You need
my
help?”

“The rebels need information about the Damoras. Their plans, their schemes. And this road—the one the king announced during his speech. Did you know he’s butchering entire villages and enslaving Paelsians to help him build it as quickly as possible? It means something to him, this road. Something important. Something beyond what anyone else believes it to mean.”

Butchering villages? She felt the blood drain from her face. “What?”

“That’s what I want you to find out. I want you to be my spy.”

For a moment, she couldn’t seem to form words. “What you’re asking could get me killed.”

“The very act of
breathing
could get you killed. Same for anyone else. You might be trapped here, but you’ve been given great privilege. The king underestimates how deep your hatred for him flows. He doesn’t know what you’re capable of.”

Cleo did fully mean to destroy the king and everyone who had aligned with him in order to reclaim her throne. She would not stand by and see her people—or
any
people from any land, for that matter—abused and enslaved by this man.

But could she be a spy for Jonas? Could she net him the information he was looking for to help the rebel cause?

Perhaps she could.

She would have to give this more thought. And she could not think with the rebel here in her presence.

“I need to consider my options,” she said quietly. Not that she had many to consider.

Jonas cocked his head as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Princess, you need to—”

“I need to do nothing, not when it’s something that involves
you
. You thought to barge into my chambers, wait for me in the dark, and expect me to be drooling at the very idea of working together to defeat the king? You may underestimate me, but you vastly overestimate yourself.” She didn’t want to say no to him, but she couldn’t say yes, either. Not yet. “I don’t trust you. I will
never
trust you, Jonas Agallon.”

His mouth dropped open. “Are you denying me?”

His reaction was nearly comical. “I will assume this is not something you normally deal with when you ask a favor from a girl.”

He frowned. “Actually . . . it’s not.”

She heard a rustle outside her door. Any moment it could swing inward and a guard might enter and capture Jonas. “You must leave.”

Her breath caught as he grasped her chin and drew her closer. “You will help me when you realize it’s the only way you will ever have a chance to be queen.”

“I will be queen, no matter what I must do to achieve it. I am betrothed to a prince, remember? One who will one day take the throne.”

He actually laughed at this, a sound that held no humor. “You can’t honestly believe King Gaius will ever let that happen. Open your eyes, princess. Your wedding is only another distraction to try to keep his new citizens satisfied and looking in directions other than where the king’s true greed lies; and so no one realizes how thin his army is now spread policing all of Mytica. Beyond that, you’re a liability to the crown, to the king’s power and the prince’s claim to the throne. You have great value to them, perhaps, but it will be short-lived, as you too will be if you choose to remain here.”

She’d already thought of this herself, but it was shocking to hear it put into cold, hard words. Once she’d become worthless to the king as a figurehead to the Auranian people, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d quietly have her killed and disposed of. She remained silent.

“I’ll be in touch again, soon, your highness, once you’ve had more time to consider what I’ve said.”

Jonas released her and turned to her window. The warmth of his touch lingered for the briefest of moments as she watched him slide out the window and scale the wall as if he were a cliff-dwelling creature like those rumored to live in the Forbidden Mountains. He effortlessly dropped the last ten feet to the ground and within moments disappeared into the shadows.

A
nother day. Another speech.

Magnus attempted to ignore the incessant heat in this green and sunny kingdom that coaxed a trickle of perspiration to slide down his spine beneath his dark clothing. A glance at the line of palace guards showed varying levels of discomfort on every face. Their thick red uniforms were meant for cold Limerian days. Even the queen’s brow shone under the bright glare of the hot day.

“Today we officially break ground here at the starting point of the Imperial Road.” King Gaius addressed the crowd of a few hundred who’d gathered at the Temple of Cleiona, a three-hour carriage ride from the palace. “It’s my pleasure to share this moment with you all.”

The king nodded toward Magnus, who took his cue and bit into the ground with the sharp edge of the shovel handed to him. The crowd cheered, and he swept his gaze over those closest to the front.

Not all were cheering. Some watched with narrowed eyes and suspicious expressions. Many were well aware that the road was already under construction at several points across Mytica. Today was just for show.

“Well done, your grace,” Aron said.

Magnus grimaced at the sound of his reedy voice. It really would have been much easier if the boy had been relieved of his tongue after all. Then he wouldn’t always be trying to make friendly conversation with Magnus as if they were equals.

“You think?”

“You broke ground with confidence and certainty, befitting your position.”

“I’m so glad you think so.” He glanced directly at the chattering weasel. “Why are you here again?”

Aron looked momentarily offended but recovered quickly. “At the king’s wishes. He has been very kind and generous to me, and, of course, I will avail myself to him in any way he wants.”

“Right. Well, you should go right ahead and avail yourself,” Magnus said, nodding toward the king, surrounded by important nobles and other dignitaries who’d come out for the event. “Over there.”

“Yes, of course. I will. But first I wanted to—”

A drunken voice from the crowd shouted out, loud enough to be heard over everyone else.

“Fools! Every last one of you! You would believe the King of Blood’s empty promises and accept his gifts without question? You think he means to unite us as one happy kingdom? Lies! He’s driven only by greed and a lust for power! He must be stopped, or we’re all doomed!”

Silence fell.

Magnus’s gaze shot toward the king to see if he’d heard.

He had. With a flick of the king’s hand, four guards marched toward the crowd, located the man, and wrenched him forward so forcefully that he fell to his knees just left of where Magnus had dug into the soft, grassy earth. When he tried to rise, a guard pushed him back down. The empty bottle he clutched in his right hand fell to the ground.

King Gaius approached, beckoning for both Magnus and Aron to come to his side.

The man wore what looked like finely tailored clothes that had slowly tattered to near rags. A jeweled ring, crusted in grime, encircled his left index finger. His face held a few weeks’ worth of dark beard and he smelled as if he hadn’t had bathed in the same amount of time. His eyes were glazed with however much wine he’d consumed but otherwise fiercely fixed on those who now faced him.

The king swept his gaze over the man. “What is your name?”

He answered defiantly. “Darius Larides, lord of this land, formerly betrothed to Emilia, late crown princess of Auranos. I chose to fight in the battle against you. And now my family is dead for having opposed you, my home destroyed. My future holds nothing but pain—but I assure you, yours holds the very same! The people here will not always believe your lies. They will not allow you to rule unchallenged. More rebel forces gather even as we speak. Auranians are not as stupid and self-involved as you think we are.”

The king’s expression was unreadable. He raised his voice loud enough to be heard by those gathered nearby. “Lord Darius thinks I believe you all to be stupid and self-involved. I do not. You are the wisest of all your fellow countrymen for coming here to celebrate with me today. This lord is full of drink and foolish bravery. Perhaps another day he would not be so bold to insult a king who only wishes the best for his kingdom.”

There was a tense pause.

“I’m sure we can find a good place for him in the dungeon,” Magnus said, looking away as if bored. “He may yet have worth. It sounds as if he comes from an important family if he was betrothed to the eldest Bellos girl.”

“Do you agree, Lord Aron,” the king asked, “with what my son suggests?”

Aron’s brow creased, as if he was grappling for the correct response. “I don’t know, your grace.”

Magnus glared at the useless boy. Why did his father care to even ask his opinion?

“It’s difficult,” the king said, nodding. “But such moments as these require a decisive statement. Stand up, Lord Darius.”

With rough prompting from the guards, the lord got to his feet. He moved his hateful glare over the three that stood facing him, his arms held tight behind him.

“Would you take back your words?” the king asked smoothly. “And issue a public apology for what you’ve said here, spoiling my ceremony with your lies and insults?”

Magnus’s gaze moved to the knife in the king’s hand, which caught a glimmer of sunshine.

Lord Darius saw this too. He swallowed hard, but he did not lower his gaze. “Take me to your stinking dungeon. Put me on trial for treason. I don’t care.”

King Gaius smiled slowly. “Of course you don’t. But kindly remember one thing, Lord Darius, if you could . . .”

“What?”

“A king does not take orders from a worm.”

The knife moved so quickly that all Magnus saw was a flash of glinting metal. The next moment, blood sprayed from the drunken lord’s throat and he fell to the ground.

The king raised the weapon above his head to show the crowd. “A fitting blood sacrifice for my road, for you all to witness for yourselves. Lord Darius was an enemy to you all, as much as any common rebel. I truly wish to be a benevolent king to all citizens of the newly united Mytica, but I will not tolerate those who would stand against me.”

Magnus watched the blood seep from the gaping wound on the lord’s throat, soaking into the ground. Lord Darius’s gaze was on Magnus himself, filled with hatred even as the last bit of life faded from his eyes.

“Well done, your majesty,” Aron murmured. “Of course, you were right. He deserved no pity.”

Of course, you were right
. Words that the prince himself should be saying, but he found they did not arrive readily on his tongue. Despite the heat of the day, the death of the lord had sent a violent chill through him. It felt wrong. Unnecessary. Indulgent. But of course he would never admit this aloud.

The crowd remained quiet, looking on at this turn of events with confusion, fear, or revulsion in their eyes. Many—more than Magnus might expect—looked on with respect at the actions of their new king. Then they turned to each other with alarm as a tremor rumbled beneath their feet. Magnus felt the vibrations pulsing through the shovel he still held. Lord Darius’s empty wine bottle rolled until it hit a tree, hard enough to break the glass.

“Goddess, what is that?” the queen whispered, her face paling. She’d drawn close enough to grip Magnus’s sleeve.

It was over as quickly as it began.

The king swept his gaze across the crowd, his brow furrowed as if he was concentrating very hard. “Is this what she meant, I wonder?” he murmured.

“What did you say, Gaius?” the queen asked, her voice shaky.

“Nothing of interest.” He handed the bloody knife off to a guard and wiped the bit of blood that had sprayed onto his face with a cloth offered by another guard. “Come with me. We will tour the interior of the temple. I’ve decided this is where the wedding will take place.”

“Here?” Magnus finally tore his gaze completely from the dead lord, whose eyes sightlessly glared at Magnus with reproach. “In the temple dedicated to the arch enemy of the Goddess Valoria?”

“I had no idea you were so devoted to our goddess that you would be offended.”

He wasn’t, of course. Most Limerians were very devout in their faith, dedicating two days a week to silence and prayer, but Magnus had found it difficult to believe in anything with true passion in his life. Still, this venue struck him as an unusual choice.

The more he considered it, however, the more he realized it was strategic. Where else would the princess be wed but in the place her people, even those who’d recently strayed from strong adherence to their collective faith, would find most sacred? Limerians were already under the king’s thumb. Paelsians were too poor and downtrodden to be considered a true threat to the crown, especially now that they were being rounded up to construct the road. But Auranians—they were still the wild card as they began to emerge from their collective, hedonistic slumber.

Thirty chiseled white marble steps led into the massive temple. The entire building seemed to be carved out of the material, which also seemed to be everywhere in the palace. It reminded Magnus of the ice that stretched out before the Limerian castle. Pale, cold, pristine.

Massive marble pillars stretched up to the roof, lining the interior. The main sanctuary had a twenty-foot-tall statue of the goddess Cleiona at its entrance, her arms stretched to her sides. Carved into her palms was the triangular symbol for fire and the spiral symbol for air, the elements she embodied. Her hair was long and wavy, her expression haughty but strangely captivating. For a moment, the goddess reminded Magnus of the one named for her, the princess herself.

The heady scent of incense and fragrant candles wafted through the air. At the altar, a fire burned, representing Cleiona’s eternal fire magic. There was nothing like this in Limeros. The Temple of Valoria was dark and utilitarian and always filled to overflowing with worshippers.

This place, though . . . it felt like magic.

Aron caught Magnus’s eye. There was now a sour look on the lord’s face.

“I’m so pleased for you,” Aron said, his voice tight. “May you and Princess Cleo have many wonderful years together.”

“I can only pray I will be able to make her as happy as you would have,” Magnus replied wryly.

“Of course.” There was a catch to Aron’s voice as if he wished to say much more than this. Wisely, he didn’t.

The king approached. “Well, well. I’m so glad to see the two of you are becoming good friends.”

“How could we not?” Magnus said. “We have so much in common.”

“Go find Cronus,” the king said to Aron, referring to the captain of the palace guard, “and tell him to ready the carriages to bring us back to the city.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Aron bowed, then turned to hurry out of the temple.

Magnus couldn’t help but ask. “Why do you tolerate him?”

“He amuses me.”

“Certainly worth an appointment to kingsliege. Amusement.”

“He does whatever I ask. Perhaps you could learn much from him.” It was delivered lightly but felt more like a lead weight than a feather.

“I don’t have much of a taste for licking boots.”

“Or for unexpected public displays of death, it would seem. You didn’t approve of what I did outside, did you?”

Magnus measured his next words. “He spoke out against you publicly. Of course he deserved to die.”

“I’m glad we agree. I do think it was meant to be. A splash of blood on the starting point of my road is symbolic—a fitting sacrifice for a chance to find the ultimate treasure.”

Finally, a topic worth discussing further. “Have you had any luck in your search?”

“Not yet. We’ve only begun, my son. Patience will do us both good in many areas.”

Patience? Not exactly something his father had ever possessed in spades.

“Of course,” Magnus said instead, moving toward the smooth white wall and absently tracing the etching of the symbol for fire, a repeating motif throughout the temple, with the tip of his finger. “You’re speaking of my impatience with Lucia’s recovery, too, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“The attendant said that Lucia had stirred in her sleep yesterday, and she believed she would awaken. But then she didn’t, of course. Mother, did you know this?”

Queen Althea drew closer. “Yes, I was there. It’s happened before. Every few days she stirs, she murmurs as if she’s dreaming. And then she goes silent again.”

“You visit her bedside regularly,” the king said. It wasn’t posed as a question since he already knew the answer. The king knew everything that happened within the palace walls.

“Daily.” She nodded. “I read to her. She looks so peaceful I can sometimes fool myself that she’s only sleeping. I still have faith she’ll return to us soon, that she’s not lost to us forever.”

The king scoffed. “You try to make it sound as if you haven’t resented her existence since the day she was brought to Limeros.”

“I haven’t resented her.” The queen patted her graying hair, as if it might have come loose from the tight twist that drew her skin taut at her temples. “I love our daughter as if she was of my own womb.”

King Gaius gazed to the left at a fresco mural of a large sun shining down over the City of Gold and its inhabitants. “How interesting that it’s taken this tragedy to finally bring out your maternal instincts. For sixteen years you’ve ignored Lucia or treated her like a rag doll you can dress up and show off. I thank the goddess that she was a natural beauty; otherwise I imagine you’d have demoted her to servant girl a long time ago.”

Magnus saw his mother’s subtle flinch, which told him the king’s words cut deeply. But he couldn’t totally disagree with them.

“When she wakes I’ll be different with her,” the queen said softly. “I’ve seen the error of my ways and wish to make amends. I do care for Lucia—truly, I do. And I swear to the goddess I shall prove it.”

“That’s the spirit,” the king said, although his words were cold. “I have a new healer arriving tomorrow to take a look at her. I want her at the wedding if possible.”

“If it’s not, I’ll stay by her bedside.”