Rebel Spring (17 page)

From the corner of her eye, she saw a hawk—was it the same one from earlier?—take perch in a nearby tree.

Jonas drew Cleo to a halt. “I still don’t like this.”

“I don’t like it much, either. But I need to go.”

When his gaze locked with hers she remembered their kiss all too clearly. Her lips still tingled from it. They stood for a moment, not speaking.

“Be ready on your wedding day,” he said. “Ten days from now everything changes forever. You understand?”

She nodded. “I understand.”

Jonas squeezed her hand and finally let her go. With a last look, she turned from him and walked confidently into the guards’ camp.

J
ust before dawn, Queen Althea left the safety of the palace to emerge into the warm night air. She wore a commoner’s cloak to hide her identity, just as she’d done a handful of times before. No one would ever guess who she really was.

The witch was also cloaked and waiting in the usual spot. Althea approached her, heart pounding.

A necessary evil
.
I’m only doing what I must.

Witches were said to be descendants of exiled Watchers. When these immortals entered the mortal world, they too became mortal. They were able to breed with other mortals and have offspring, some of whom could channel small amounts of magic—or so the legend went.

This witch, placed in the Limeros dungeon by a word from Sabina, the king’s former mistress, was capable of more than that. Sabina had allegedly seen her as a threat since her own magic had faded over the years.

Even before her family had left to mount the siege upon the Auranian palace, Althea worked swiftly and secretly to free this witch from her prison. She found a sickly, bone-thin woman who could barely speak. She had her hidden away at the castle, fed, bathed, and clothed, then offered her freedom—for a price.

She was to help the queen learn more about Lucia’s
elementia
.

The witch agreed, and Althea learned the true prophecy about Lucia that Gaius had never shared with her. She learned stories about the Watchers, about the Kindred, about Eva, the original sorceress. About Cleiona and Valoria, who envied their sister Eva’s power so much that their greed drove them to steal the Kindred for themselves—an act that resulted in their total corruption by a power so vast they had no chance to control it. In the end, neither won. They destroyed each other.

As a devout worshipper of the Goddess Valoria, Althea had been stunned and sickened by all this. She wanted to deny the truth of it but found the more she learned, the more she could not. The witch was an Oldling, one who kept these stories, passed down from generation to generation; one who worshipped the elements themselves as if they too were gods and goddesses.

If this witch was to regain her weakened power, blood magic was the only option, and she would need more than a sacrificed animal.

And the queen needed her magic.

No common mortal was good enough, the witch said. It had to be someone with strong blood, a pure heart, a bright future. Althea found a boy named Michol, one of Lucia’s suitors. He had come by the castle one day looking for the princess shortly before she departed with Gaius and Magnus for Auranos. He was so young, so alive. The queen enticed him into her chambers with the promise of a betrothal to her beautiful daughter.

There, the witch was waiting with her dagger. The boy’s blood ran red and true.

Instead of inciting pity, however, Michol’s dying screams only fueled the queen and gave her much-needed strength. The boy had to be sacrificed so Lucia could be saved from the darkness of her magic. And saved Lucia must be—even if it eventually meant the girl’s own death.

Any good mother would have done the same.

Althea remembered that night only too clearly.

The magic had shimmered in the air, making the queen catch her breath as the fine hair on her arms stood up.

Michol dropped to the ground, dead, his cheeks wet with tears. The witch’s hands were coated in his blood and she pressed them to her face. Her eyes glowed so bright—like the sun itself.

“Is it working?” the queen asked, shielding her eyes. “Do you need another? I can find a servant.”

“I can see,” the witch said, a smile of joy stretching her lips wide. “I can see everything.”

“Then tell me what I need to know about my daughter.”

The room sparkled as if stars had fallen from the night sky to hang in midair around the witch and the fallen boy.

“She’s not your daughter,” the witch whispered. “No, not of birth.”

“In my heart she is my daughter.”

“She is very dangerous. Many will die because of her magic.”

The queen already knew that Gaius was set on Lucia being a part of his war—that this was his whole purpose for bringing her into the castle sixteen years ago. He wished to use her
elementia
for his own gain.

“Tell me more,” Althea urged.

“The sorceress will die,” the witch said. “After many others have fallen before her. But this is very important: her blood cannot be spilled in death—if it is, great pain will rise from the earth itself. Pain unlike anything this world can endure. Her bloodless death is the only way to stop this.”

A chill went down the queen’s spine. “When will she die?”

“I can only touch the future right now, not see it clearly. But she will die young.”

“She’ll be corrupted by her magic.” The words hurt the queen’s throat. “And there’s nothing that can be done to save her.” The truth was far harsher than she expected. But instead of fear, Althea’s heart ached for the girl she’d claimed as her daughter for sixteen years.

“The sorceress Eva was rumored to wear a ring that controlled the battle of power within her. Otherwise it’s like a tearing, dark against light, a balance that cannot be contained forever. One will always try to dominate. Darkness will always try to extinguish the light. The light will always try to repress the darkness. There is no true hope to control this without the balancing magic of the ring.”

Finally, a glimmer of optimism took seed in the queen’s heart that this did not have to end with more death. “Where can I find this ring?”

“It was lost at the same time as the Kindred.” The witch shook her head. “I don’t know where to find it, but I know it still exists.”

“How do you know?”

“I didn’t before, but . . .” Her eyes glowed bright. “I know now. I can see it, but I know not where it is. Alas, there isn’t much time to find it before the girl will lose herself to her power.”

Althea wrung her hands. “If we can’t find the ring in time, how can Lucia control her magic?”

“She must be kept from using her
elementia
. The more she uses it, the more she will be consumed by it.”

“How can I stop her?”

The witch had suggested the sleeping potion, each batch of which required the blood magic gained from three sacrifices. It put a mortal into a deep sleep, the witch promised, one that couldn’t be explained. One that couldn’t be detected, not even by another witch.

Once the potion was made, Althea and the witch had left for Auranos by ship, arriving only to learn that Lucia had been injured in the explosion. The queen rushed to her bedside to find Lucia surrounded by three medics. They’d covered the girl’s pale arms with leeches meant to drain any poison from her blood.

Lucia was so weakened and dazed that she couldn’t speak, and the healers said she’d been conscious for only moments.

Althea had arrived just in time. The queen shooed away the medics, marking each of their faces so she would remember who had witnessed this. They would each have to die.

Without delay, she put the potion into a glass of water and held it to Lucia’s lips. The girl drank. And then she fell deeply asleep.

Every day since, the queen had visited her daughter’s bedside to check on her, looking for the signs that she would soon awaken. She secretly met with the witch under the protection of darkness every seven days to receive another dose of the potion—knowing full well that three more had to give their lives to buy another week.

Althea had lied to Magnus and to Lucia. The girl had not wakened again since the very beginning. But when she’d found him with Lucia, she knew it was important to plant a seed in her son’s mind. Magnus hadn’t taken the news that his sister had fallen unconscious once again well, but he couldn’t claim to be surprised it happened.

The grief etched into her son’s features alarmed even the queen. The boy was normally so controlled, so restrained. Lucia’s condition had stripped that away. Althea supposed she should feel guilt, but she didn’t. All she felt was certainty that what she did was justified. Was essential. More important than anything else.

The queen had assigned the witch the task of finding the sorceress’s ring, but the woman had had no luck in locating it.

If they didn’t find it soon . . .

There would be no choice but to quietly end Lucia’s life. This would effectively put a stop to Gaius’s plans. It would stop a monster. And it would prove to Althea that she’d finally exerted true strength of will against a husband who believed she had none at all.

This added a drizzle of sweetness to an otherwise bitter decision.

The witch stood up from her seat on the bench in the public gardens, her gray cloak masking her identity perfectly. The shadows of the night wrapped themselves around her like a second skin. The queen scanned the area to see if there were any witnesses, any guards patrolling the area.

There were none. She breathed a slow sigh of relief.

“The potion’s hold is weakening,” Althea said, her voice hushed. “I’ll need it more often. But she’s asleep again, and for now, that’s all that matters.”

The witch reached into the folds of her cloak.

The queen drew closer. “You will be well rewarded, I promise. I’m very grateful for all you’ve done so far. You should know I’ve come to consider you a valued friend.”

To her right she glimpsed the outline of a body on the ground.

Her gaze snapped back to the cloaked figure before her.

“Who are—?” she began, but got no further.

The sharp tip of a dagger sank into her chest. She gasped out in pain as her assailant twisted the knife. A cry died in her throat and she fell to the ground.

The taste of failure and of death. Both so very bitter. Without the love of a mother, Lucia’s destiny was now set.

“I’m sorry, my daughter,” she whispered with her last breath.

Above her, the cloaked figure turned away and swiftly moved back in the direction of the palace.

M
agnus tossed and turned all night. His dreams were plagued with images of Lucia crying and begging for him to save her from shadows that moved toward her like clawed hands. He finally reached her and pulled her into his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered. “And I will never let anything hurt you.”

He slid his fingers through long silky hair, which unexpectedly changed from ebony to pale gold.

He woke, lurching himself up to a sitting position, coated in sweat. It was dawn.

“Enough,” he mumbled. Enough of nightmares. They arrived so regularly of late that he should be used to them by now. Each horrible dream seemed to revolve around the loss of Lucia. His continued obsession with his adopted sister was driving him insane.

He needed to leave the palace, to clear his head. It had become a prison for him these last few weeks. He rose and dressed hurriedly in riding clothes before making his way to the stables. There, he saddled a black stallion the stablehand warned him had a fierce and untamed reputation. But he wanted a horse that would give him a challenge—anything to take his mind off his troubles. He set out on horseback alone.

Magnus rode hard for hours, far out into the green countryside of Auranos. By midday he had reached an isolated stretch of hills known as Lesturne Valley. He continued west until he arrived at the coastline just south of Hawk’s Brow and dismounted so he could stand at the edge of the shore and look out at the Silver Sea. The ocean was calm and blue, its waves lapping gently at his feet. It was the same body of water, but here it was so different than the gray, rough waters the castle in Limeros overlooked from on top of its cliff.

How long would he be forced to remain in this land? If Cleo was dead . . . that would certainly end the betrothal and then he could perhaps return to Limeros. Even still, he could summon no joy from the thought of the princess’s death. She hadn’t asked for this fate any more than Amia or Mira had.

Irrelevant.
Why did he even waste thought on such things he had no control over?

And standing here, staring out at the water, was a pointless waste of time. Plus, his boots were getting wet.

Without further delay, Magnus climbed back on the horse and headed back in the direction of the castle.

By mid-afternoon, he was still a few hours southwest of the City of Gold when he came upon a village and realized he was hungry—starving, actually. After only a moment’s hesitation, he entered the village. He’d chosen to wear a simple black cloak that didn’t easily give away his royal identity. He kept the cowl up over his head, effectively shielding his face. And it seemed to work. From under his cloak he glanced at the villagers milling about the busy little town; no one seemed to recognize him. Very few even glanced in his direction.

It did not surprise him. Only a handful from this kingdom had ever seen the prince up close or away from the side of his more infamous father.

He could work with that.

Magnus tied his horse to a pole outside a busy tavern and entered the dark interior, wasting no time before he approached the barkeep. He ordered cider and a plate of meat and cheese, sliding three pieces of silver across the counter in payment. The barkeep, a man with a thick beard and bushy eyebrows, set to filling his order. While Magnus waited, he looked around. There were two dozen others in the tavern, eating and drinking, laughing, and making conversation.

He tried to remember the last time he’d been among commoners without being recognized. It had been . . . never.

This was new.

When his plate of food arrived, he began to eat. The food was not unpalatable, and, if he were being honest, it was better than that he was used to back home in Limeros.

Or perhaps he was simply hungry today.

When he was halfway finished, a sound cut through the buzz of conversation in the tavern. It was a woman quietly sobbing. He stopped eating and glanced over his shoulder. At a nearby table, a man faced a woman, holding her arms and talking quietly to her, as if comforting her.

One word of their emotional discussion cut through to him apart from all the rest.

“. . . witch . . .”

He froze, then turned back around to face forward. The barkeep moved past and Magnus reached out to grab the man’s arm. “Who is that woman at the table behind me?”

The barkeep glanced over to where Magnus indicated. “Oh, her? That’s Basha.”

“Why does she cry? Do you know?”

“I do. I probably shouldn’t, but I do.”

Magnus now slid a piece of gold across the counter. “Is she a witch?”

The man’s jaw tensed, but his focus was on the piece of gold. “It’s not my business. Nor is it yours.”

The gold was joined by a friend. Two pieces of gold now sat upon the counter next to Magnus’s half-eaten plate of food. “Make it your business.”

The barkeep was silent only for another moment, but then he swept the coins off the counter with one smooth motion. “Basha’s daughter was taken to King Gaius’s dungeon only days ago, accused of witchcraft.”

Magnus fought to keep his face expressionless, but the news that his father had begun arresting witches here in Auranos . . . he’d had no idea. “She’s accused. But is
she able to access
elementia
?”

“That’s not for me to say. You should talk to Basha yourself if you’re so interested.” He produced an open bottle of pale Paelsian wine. “Trust me, this will ease your introduction. It’s the least I can do for my wealthy new friend.”

“Much gratitude for your assistance.”

Perhaps this day wasn’t a complete waste of time after all. A skilled witch might be able to help Lucia more than any healer ever could. Magnus took the wine and moved toward the old woman seated next a fireplace that blazed despite the heat of the day. Her companion had his arm around her now. The woman was in tears, her eyes red from both sorrow and drink.

Magnus placed the bottle of wine in front of her. “Much sympathy, Basha. The barkeep told me of the recent troubles with your daughter.”

Her gray eyes flicked to him with suspicion for a split second before she pulled the bottle closer, tipped it into her empty glass to fill it, and drank deeply. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “A gentleman amongst us. How welcome. Please join us. This is Nestor, my brother.”

Nestor was also clearly drunk, and he offered Magnus a crooked grin as the prince sat on a rickety wooden stool. “Basha wants to seek audience with the king himself to ask for Domitia’s release. It’s an excellent idea.”

“Oh?” said Magnus, unable to hide his surprise. “You really think so?”

“Damora is a harsh king only because he has to be. But I heard his speech. I liked what he said about the road he builds for us all. He is a man who can be reasoned with. One who wants the best for all of us, no matter what part of Mytica we call our home.”

His father would be so pleased.

“Is she a skilled witch or was she falsely accused?” Magnus asked.

Basha narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before she replied. “Domitia is blessed by the goddess with gifts beyond this mortal world. But she is harmless. She is good and sweet. There’s no reason for her to be seen as a danger.”

“Are you also blessed by the goddess in this way?” Magnus asked, with hope. He could arrange to have Basha’s daughter released from the dungeon if she might prove useful, but to have two witches to help Lucia would be even better.

“No, not me. I have nothing of the sort at my disposal.”

Disappointment thudded through him. “If you are aware that witches are real, do you know much about the legend of the Kindred?”

“Only that it’s a bedtime story I told my daughter when she was a child.” Basha took another deep drink of the wine, then frowned at him. “Why do you wish to know so much about magic and witches? Who are you?”

Magnus was spared from answering by a commotion at the door. A pair of men entered the tavern, laughing and boisterous. “Wine for everyone,” one of them announced as they moved toward the barkeep. “I’ve been appointed the official florist for the royal wedding and wish to celebrate my good fortune!”

An excited cheer resonated through the tavern, and the man was slapped on his back and offered words of congratulations—except for one gray-haired man at the bar.

“Bah,” he said. Wrinkles splayed out from the corners of his eyes and down his hollow cheeks. “You’re all fools to buy in to such romantic drivel. The prince of Limeros and the princess of Auranos are a match made in the darklands by the darkest demon himself.”

Magnus hid his raised eyebrows in a deep swallow of cider.

“I disagree,” the florist said, his enthusiasm undeterred. “I think King Gaius is right—such a union will aid relations between our kingdoms and help push forward into a bright and prosperous future for us all.”

“Yes, relations between kingdoms. Kingdoms that he now controls with little resistance, apart from a few scattered rebel groups who don’t know their arses from holes in the ground by what little they’ve done to rise up against the King of Blood.”

The florist paled. “I caution you against speaking so freely in public.”

The old man snorted. “But if we are ruled by such a wondrous king as you believe, I should be able to speak my mind wherever and whenever I like. No? But perhaps I’ve seen more years and more troubles than the rest of you young people. I know lies when I hear them, and that king speaks them whenever his lips are moving. In a dozen years, he reduced the citizens of Limeros to a shivering mass afraid to speak out against him or break any of his rules for fear of death. You think he’s changed in a matter of months?” He drained his glass angrily. “No, he sees our vast numbers when compared to his legion of guards. He sees that we are a force to be reckoned with if we ever were to stand up against him united. So he must keep us happy and quiet. Ignorance is a trait shared by many Auranians—always has been. It sickens me to my very soul.”

The florist’s smile had tightened. “I’m sorry you can’t share in the joy the rest of us feel. I for one am greatly anticipating Prince Magnus and Princess Cleiona’s wedding—and their upcoming tour across the kingdom. And I know the majority of Auranians feel the same.”

“The princess is currently held captive by rebels. You really think there will be a wedding?”

The florist’s eyes grew glossy and a hush fell upon the tavern. “I have hope she will be rescued unharmed.”

The old man snorted. “Hope. Hope is for fools. One day you will see that I am right and you are wrong. When your golden days tarnish and the King of Blood shows his true face behind the mask he wears to appease the soft, ignorant masses in this once great land.”

The mood in the tavern had grown more somber the longer this man spoke. Magnus looked away from the argument to realize that Basha was staring at him, her brows drawn tightly together.

“That’s who you remind me of, young man. You look a great deal like Prince Magnus, the son of the king.”

She’d said it loud enough to gain the attention of other nearby tables. A dozen pairs of eyes now fixed upon him.

“I’ve been told that before, but I assure you I am not.” He rose from his seat at the table. “Much gratitude for the information you’ve given me, Basha.” Although, nothing worthwhile. Only more disappointment. “I wish you a good day.”

He departed the tavern, looking neither left nor right, pulling his cowl closer around his face.

• • • 

Magnus’s head ached by the time he returned to the palace. It was late in the day and the sun was setting. On his way from the stables, his path crossed with that of Aron Lagaris.

“Prince Magnus,” Aron said. His voice sounded different, stronger. Perhaps the boy was taking his new station seriously and had refrained from drinking a bucket of wine already today. “Where have you been?”

Magnus leveled his gaze with Aron’s. “My father seems oddly fond of you as his newest kingsliege, but has he suddenly assigned you to become my keeper?”

“No.”

“My personal bodyguard?”

“Uh . . . no.”

“Then where I have been is none of your concern.”

“Of course not.” Aron cleared his throat. “However, I should let you know that your father wants to see you immediately upon your return from . . . wherever it is you’ve been.”

“Does he now? Then far be it for me to keep the king waiting another moment.”

Aron did an awkward half bow, which Magnus ignored as he swept past him. A day that started with nightmares and disappointment did not seem to be improving.

The king stood outside his throne room, his favorite hound next to him. He spoke quietly with Cronus. As soon as he spotted Magnus, he sent the guard away with a flick of his wrist.

“What is it?” Magnus asked, frowning.

The king acknowledged his son with a nod. “You should know that Princess Cleiona has returned to us.”

It was the last thing he expected to hear. “She has? How is this possible?”

“She escaped from the rebels after an attack on their camp last night. She ran into the forest, hid from her captors, and made her way into the custody of my team of guards. She’s shaken but unharmed.”

This news came as a strange relief. “A miracle.”

“Is it?” The king pressed his lips together. “I’m not sure about that.”

“I was certain they’d kill her.”

“As was I. And yet, they didn’t. It leaves me with certain suspicions. A girl of sixteen without any survival skills finds herself in the hands of violent rebels who are currently making their home in the thick of the Wildlands. Yet she easily escapes? Without a bruise or a scratch? Now that I know the leader’s name in this particular group of heathens, this leaves me with many questions.”

“Who is the leader?”

“Jonas Agallon.”

It took Magnus a moment to place the name. “The wine seller’s son from Paelsia. The one with the murdered brother. He was a scout for Chief Basilius.”

“That’s right.”

“Who told you this? The princess?”

“No—in fact, she claims to have been kept secluded during her captivity and did not see any of the rebels’ faces. My guards were unable to find the princess specifically, but in their travels they did uncover some information about the rebels. This was one piece of information.”