Rebel Spring (24 page)

Again, she regretted having drunk so much wine. She desperately needed her thoughts to be sharp, not muddy.

“So it seems we’re finally alone,” he said.

Cleo was certain he could hear how loud her heart now beat.

Magnus leaned over and picked up a red rose petal, squeezing it between his fingers. “Did they really think this all was necessary?”

She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “You don’t find it . . . romantic?”

He released the petal and it fluttered slowly down to the floor, where it landed like a splash of blood. “As if I care about such drivel.”

“Many men would on their wedding night.”

“About roses and candles? No, princess. Most men couldn’t care less about such things. There’s only one thing men are interested in on their wedding night and I think you’re already very aware what that is.”

Her heart doubled its pace.

Whatever stricken expression she now wore coaxed a low chuckle from his throat. “That look . . . such contempt. Am I really that ugly to you?”

The question took her by surprise. Ugly? Despite the scar, he was far from ugly—at least, physically.

“Far worse,” she said honestly.

He trailed his fingers over the length of his scar as he studied her for a moment.

She clutched the dagger. If he came any closer she would use it.

“Believe me, princess, I have no illusions of any of this. I know you hate me and that will never change.”

“Should it?” Her words came out hoarse. “Actually, I can’t think of a single reason why I should feel
anything
toward you.”

“No, it’s well within your rights to feel nothing toward me at all—as it is in many arranged marriages. But hate is
something.
The problem with hate, however, is it leaves you at a disadvantage. It clouds your mind every bit as much as five goblets of wine can.”

Magnus moved toward the bed, his gaze focused on the thick mahogany posters. He traced his index finger along the carving on one of them. He was now closer to her. Too close. She didn’t step away. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear, especially now that there was no one around to intervene.

“This reminds me of my grandfather.” Magnus’s tone turned wistful. “He had a book about sea creatures and he told me stories about them when I was a child. He snuck past my father so he could do so, after my nursemaid put me to bed. My father never cared much for amusing stories—or amusing
anything
, really. If I couldn’t learn something tangible from a book it was banned from the palace. Or burned. But when my grandfather was king it was different.”

Cleo hadn’t noticed the carving on the bedpost until now. Fish and shells and maidens of the sea with tails instead of legs, all carved intricately into the dark wood. It was beautiful and crafted by a renowned artist from Hawk’s Brow whom her father had commissioned to carve many other fine pieces around the castle.

“I’ve heard a little about King Davidus,” she said when silence fell. “He was different than your father.”

Magnus snorted softly. “He was indeed. Makes me wonder sometimes if my grandmother had taken a demon lover that helped create my father. My grandfather was firm in his rule, of course. He was no pushover. But he was kind and his people loved him. He didn’t need to govern his kingdom with an iron fist and the threat of blood.” His gaze met hers, and something slid behind his eyes that looked like grief. “He died when I was six years old. He drank something that didn’t agree with him.”

“Someone poisoned him?”

There was still that strange and unexpected pain in his eyes, but his mouth pressed into a hard line. “Not ‘someone.’ I saw him put the poison in the goblet, emptying it from a hollow ring. I watched him hand it to my grandfather. Watched my grandfather drink it.”

Cleo was silent, listening.

“And when my father saw that I’d seen what he did, he smiled as if I should approve. I didn’t understand at the time, but I do now. My father will do whatever it takes to rid himself of someone standing in his way. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change. Understand that, princess, and your life will be much easier.”

What was this? A warning? Was Magnus actually trying to help her?

“You don’t think
me
a threat, do you?” she asked carefully.

He drew closer to her—much too close. She clutched the knife behind her so tightly the handle dug painfully into her palm.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Magnus said. “There’s no magic behind a thought, unless you’re a witch.”

“So you do whatever he says, whenever he says it.”

“That’s right. And I’ll continue to do so.”

“He means to kill me, doesn’t he?” The very thought caused more fear to slither out from its hiding places—but it was joined by a boiling rage.

A small frown creased his brow. “Paranoid, are we? Not the usual attitude of a brand new bride.”

Cleo glared at him. “Don’t patronize me. I know what you’re planning.”

“Do you?” He cocked his head. “I find that utterly impossible to believe. After all, the one who could have spied for you is gone. You cleverly positioned Mira in a way that could have netted you some valuable information.”

Pain wrenched in her chest at the mention of her dead friend. She hadn’t suggested Mira be Lucia’s attendant so the girl could spy, only that it might help her survive.

“And now she’s dead because of you!” It took every ounce of control she had not to pull the knife out from behind her back and thrust it into his chest.

His expression darkened at the accusation. “No, I defended her. Or I tried to. My father acts before he thinks, especially when it comes to nosy servants. I would have spared her life.”

“You’re a liar!”

“I’m not lying. Not about this. Your friend Mira was treading in very dark places just by being in the same room with a Damora, and she paid a high price. As did your guard in Paelsia.”

Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes at the mention of Theon. “Never speak of him again.”

“I will never ask for your forgiveness for what I did.” Magnus looked away. “But I know I acted out of panic and cowardice that day. For that, and only that, I am ashamed of my actions.”

A hot tear slipped down her cheek. “My family is dead. My kingdom has been stolen from me. My friends are dying at your and your family’s hands.”

“And you still breathe only at our mercy.”

“Merciful isn’t a word I’d ever use to describe any of you. And I don’t believe a word you say about your grandfather. If he was of your blood then he was a tyrant and a bully too. Limerians are as cold as the kingdom they rule. No wonder your heart is forged of ice.”

This earned the edge of a very unpleasant grin. “Before, you said I had no heart. This is definite progress, princess.” He studied her. “Now, enough about history. What are we to do about the problem you present to me this fateful evening?”

“What—?” Cleo didn’t get out more than this before Magnus grabbed her arms and roughly turned her around. She shrieked as he snatched the dagger from her grip, then shoved her so that she staggered back and landed hard on the bed. She stared at him with horror as he inspected the golden blade.

Magnus flicked an icy glance at her. “Did you mean to use this little dagger on me, princess? And here I’ve been nothing but cordial to you this evening.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off the weapon. Images of him using it on her as punishment blinded her to anything else.

He paced slowly, watching her, like a predator who’d cornered his prey. “Who gave this to you?”

She bit her tongue to keep from saying a word.

He glanced at the knife again. “This is an ornamental bridal dagger from Kraeshia. What a generous gift from Prince Ashur. I hope you thanked him for this.” When she didn’t speak, he continued. “No words, princess? And here you always have something cutting to say. Perhaps now that I’ve removed your sharp weapon, there will be no more cutting tonight.”

He tucked the blade into his coat and took a step closer to her.

Cleo scrambled off the bed and put some distance between her and Magnus, succeeding only in backing herself into a corner. “Stay away from me!”

He watched her with amusement. “What is this? A frightened rabbit trying to find shelter from the wolf? Apologies if I find such a facade of innocence difficult to swallow.”

“You will not touch me tonight.” She forced herself to sound strong. “Or ever.”

Magnus was in front of her in an instant, grabbing hold of her arms to push her up against the hard stone wall. He lowered his face to hers so they were eye to eye. His body pressed against hers, locking her in place so she couldn’t break away.

“Oh, look. I’m touching you.” His gaze brushed against her face, stopping briefly on the faint bruise on her cheek. His brows drew together as his eyes again locked with hers. “Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, princess. Any power you imagine yourself to have here is only what I allow. Please remember that.”

“Let go of me.”

“Not yet.”

He wasn’t hurting her, but she couldn’t move, could barely catch her breath.

Magnus spoke very slowly and very clearly. “Do you see? You’re at my mercy.” He leaned even closer so he could whisper. “Whatever I want to do to you, be it to inflict pain or pleasure, I will do whenever and however I like. Understand that.”

Suddenly, Cleo couldn’t breathe at all.

His grip on her tightened, his words hot against her ear. “My father wanted this union, not me. But this is what I must do to keep my position as his heir. One day everything my father has will be mine—his kingdom, his army, his power. I’m not risking that for anything or anyone. But let this much be crystal clear between us: I would sooner share flesh with a beast from the Wildlands than you. I believe its claws would be much less sharp.”

Magnus let go of her and stepped back. Her breath returned in a rush as she stared at him with shock.

“I could have you executed for this.” He touched the dagger beneath his coat. “You know that, don’t you?”

Cleo just nodded, keeping her gaze locked on his. Looking away now would only show her at her weakest.

“If you value your life and that of your good friend, your only friend, Nic, you will behave as a doting and besotted bride on our trip across this goddess-forsaken realm that begins tomorrow. You’ll put on a good show for the brainless masses who choose to believe my father’s lies about us. Do you understand me?”

She nodded with a jerk of her head. “Yes.”

Magnus turned to leave. Before he closed and locked the door behind him, he paused long enough to say one last thing. “And should anyone ask, this night surpassed every one of your wildest fantasies about me.”

A
t dawn, Jonas and a score of enthusiastic volunteers had departed in search of glory at the royal wedding while the other half of their numbers remained behind at camp. Lysandra waited for news, busying herself with hunting and making arrows. Several scouts had been sent out—including Nerissa—in search of more information about the road. Lysandra was still determined to find a weakness there. Something to exploit. Something to help her find and free her brother. Something to give her an edge if, by chance, Jonas failed in his quest to end the king’s life today.

Many hours later, there was an earthquake that knocked everyone off his or her feet. Brion immediately dove for Lysandra just as he’d done during the tornado in Paelsia, wrapping her in his strong arms as if he could protect her from any harm. When the violent shaking finally ceased she squirmed away from him.

“I . . . I need to go hunting again,” she said.

“Lys . . .”

“No, just . . .” She glanced around at the other boys, who were now whispering to each other and laughing, despite their unease about the strange tremor. Brion’s crush on her was well known to everyone in camp by now, thanks to Jonas. “Just give me some space, all right?”

His expression fell. “I’m sorry. Of course.”

Lysandra grabbed her bow and headed deeper into the forest. Why should she feel annoyed toward the one boy in camp who’d been more welcoming than any of the others combined? The one who defended her to his own best friend when no one else did?

All she knew was that she didn’t feel anything other than friendship for Brion—and even that was frequently challenged.

She had no time for thoughts of friendship . . . or of romance. Not now. And definitely not here.

“Stupid,” she mumbled after wandering aimlessly through the forest not too far from camp. Leaves and fallen branches crunched beneath her feet with each step she took. She wasn’t sure who or what she referred to, but just saying the word aloud seemed to help.

After the tremor, most of her potential prey had found shelter in well-concealed hiding spots. It took until near dusk before she spotted a deer in the distance. She stilled herself, holding her breath. Slowly, she aimed her arrow toward the animal.

You’ll make a good meal tonight, my little friend. Hold still.

The sound of something heavy crashing through the forest startled the deer and it took off before Lysandra could release her arrow. She swore under her breath. Someone must have followed her from camp.

“It better not be you, Brion,” she muttered, and turned in the direction of the noise.

A familiar form burst from the thick foliage beyond the trees she stood behind. He stumbled and fell, before scrambling to regain his footing.

She frowned. “Jonas?”

Behind him was a Limerian guard on horseback, who leapt off his mount and grabbed Jonas by his hair. “Didn’t think I’d catch you, rebel?”

Jonas didn’t say anything, but his knees buckled again. His face was covered in blood and his eyes were glazed.

The guard drew his sword and held it to Jonas’s throat. “I know who you are—Jonas Agallon, Queen Althea’s murderer. If I took your head back to the king, I’d get myself a fine reward. Got anything to say about that?”

“He doesn’t,” Lysandra whispered, then raised her voice. “But I do.”

As the guard glanced over his shoulder at the sound of her voice, she let her arrow go, hitting her target perfectly in his left eye socket. He was dead before he hit the ground. Lysandra swiftly closed the distance between her and Jonas, nudging the guard’s body aside.

“What happened?” she demanded, grabbing hold of his shirt. “Are there more guards after you?”

His breath came quickly, but he didn’t reply. As she inspected him, she saw he’d been injured. There was a deep wound on his side and the back of his skull bore an alarmingly bloody wound.

Her heart sank. “I told you not to go today, you fool. When are you going to start listening to me?”

She staggered from his weight as he crumpled against her. Checking over her shoulder to see if there were any more guards in pursuit, she dragged Jonas further away from the dead soldier and laid him down on the ground near the roots of a large oak tree, being very gentle with his head. She quickly ripped the fabric of his shirt open to get a better look at the wound on his side.

She grimaced at the sight of the torn flesh. “What am I going to do with you?”

She tore a long strip of fabric off her own shirt, which was cleaner than his, in order to press it against his wound and try to stop the bleeding. He could cauterize it himself later.

If he lived.

No, you’ll live, Jonas
, she thought.
You’re much too stubborn to die today
.

A hawk had taken perch above them in the oak tree, and it looked down at them as if curious about what they were doing.

“Unless you’re going to help,” Lysandra said to it, “mind your own business.” Lysandra had noted its markings from last time. Just another female who’d found herself infatuated with the handsome rebel leader. She reached for a rock and hurled it at the bird. It flapped its wings and flew away.

“Your infamous charm seems to bypass species, Agallon,” she mumbled.

Jonas groaned as she used another torn piece of her shirt to wipe at the blood on his face. Her hands froze at the sound. His lips moved. He was trying to say something, but she couldn’t make it out.

She leaned closer. “What?”

“So bad . . . I’m so sorry . . . failed you . . .”

His eyes opened to lock with hers. His were a shade of brown that reminded her of cinnamon, her favorite spice, and they had gold flecks just around the black irises—so black, just like his thick lashes. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed this.

“You need to get up,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. “Come on. We need to move.”

“You . . .” he managed.

“Yes, it’s—”

He pulled her closer. Close enough to brush his lips against hers.

Lysandra stared down at him with shock. “Jonas . . .”

“Cleo . . .” he whispered.

She reared back from him completely, confusion disappearing only to be replaced by a fresh burst of annoyance. Then she hauled back and whacked him hard on the side of his face.

“Snap out of it, idiot. If you think I’m the princess then you’re in worse shape than I thought.”

Jonas jolted up to a seated position, holding his hand against his face. His brows were drawn tightly together.

“The guard,” he said.

“I killed him.” Lysandra could see in his eyes that he didn’t remember what just happened. Perhaps for him it had only been a dream.

“Good.” He pushed himself up to a standing position, then grimaced as he touched his injured arm.

“What happened? Where are the others?”

He gave her the bleakest look she’d ever seen, one that made her blood run cold before he even spoke another word. “Dead.”

“
All
of them?”

“Yes.”

She couldn’t speak for a moment. “Damn you, Jonas. I shouldn’t have bothered saving your arse just now. You don’t deserve it.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” He swallowed hard, his jaw tight. “But now I need to get back to camp.”

There was nothing more to say.

Twenty rebel boys had offered to go with Jonas to the temple in hopes of a glorious victory against King Gaius. Thirty had remained behind at camp, continuing to practice and plan.

Only Jonas had returned.

• • • 

“Our friends . . . they fought bravely, but we were outmatched,” Jonas finished grimly. He and Lysandra were back at the camp and he related the story of the massacre to the others. “I’m so sorry. It was a mistake to go and I take full responsibility.”

Silence fell as sharp as an executioner’s ax.

No one made a sound, except for one or two quiet sobs. The younger rebels didn’t have control over their emotions yet—not when it came to their grief. The older ones stood rigid, their attention fixed on the ground before them. The sound of crickets and the crackle of the fire were all that could be heard in the gathering darkness.

“This is your fault,” Ivan said. “Your idea. Your big plan that couldn’t fail.”

Brion stood at the opposite side of the fire from Jonas. “He didn’t know this would happen.”

“Didn’t know. Right. But he told that princess, didn’t he? She probably blurted everything to the king.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Jonas said, his head in his hands.

“Why wouldn’t she? What’s she got to lose with the blood of rebels spilled on her wedding day?”

“What’s she got to lose?” Jonas growled. “Everything. It would have been her victory too if we’d won today. We didn’t. She’s still forced to be with the enemy and her rightful throne still belongs to the King of Blood.”

“And you’re the only one who lived. Maybe
you’re
the one who tipped off the king to gain favor and get your face off those reward signs.”

Jonas’s expression darkened. “I would sooner offer my throat to the king than tell him anything of our plans. And you bloody well know it.”

Ivan approached Jonas, taller than him by a half a foot. “Remind me again why you call yourself our leader?”

Jonas stood. Despite his injuries, he held the boy’s gaze steadily. “Remind me again why you call yourself a rebel. You haven’t stepped up in weeks, Ivan.”

Ivan slammed his fist into Jonas’s jaw. Jonas staggered backward and fell hard to the ground.

“You think you’re so great,” Ivan snarled. “Well, this is proof that you’re nothing. You’re worthless, and because of your foolhardy plan, twenty of us are dead. You think we’ll keep following you after this?”

“Yes, actually,” Lysandra spoke up, “we will.”

Ivan turned a furious glare on her. “What did you say?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jonas struggle to get back up to his feet.

“Did he make the wrong choice in going to that temple today? Yes, he did. But he made a choice. And if it had been successful the lot of you would be cheering his name at the top of your lungs. Twenty rebels died today—twenty who were willing to die to have a fleeting chance of stopping King Gaius and freeing our people from slavery and oppression. Was it worth it? I didn’t think so before, but I’m starting to now. Maybe if more of us were brave enough and crazy enough, we would have gone too. Maybe if we’d all gone together, we would have won.”

Ivan looked at her with disgust. “What do you know? You’re just a girl. Your opinion’s meaningless. You should be cooking our dinners, not fighting beside us.”

This time she slammed her fist into Ivan’s jaw. It didn’t knock him on his arse, but it did get his attention. He made a move to hit her back—and she was ready for it—but Jonas was there, roughly nudging her out of the way. A moment later, Brion was at his side.

“Back off, Ivan,” Jonas growled, his expression one of misery. “This isn’t her fault, it’s mine. I came up with the plan. I gave the order. And twenty boys followed me to their deaths. You want to hit anyone? Hit me. That goes for the rest of you, too.”

“Today was a failure,” Lysandra spoke into the silence that fell. “I’m sorry our friends had to give their lives. But it’s going to happen again. We’re not all going to live to see the end of this. That’s what you agreed to when you signed up to be a part of this resistance. Every day we’re getting stronger, more skilled, and smarter. And we will be making more bold moves against the king—moves that will hurt him next time and stop his Blood Road forever. We’ll hurt him until we can kill him. It’s our only reason for breathing now.”

“I want nothing to do with this,” Ivan growled, wiping the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Then we want nothing to do with you,” Brion said. “Get out. Go home to your mommy. If you don’t want to be here, we don’t want you here.”

“Jonas will be the death of you,” Ivan snapped.

Brion looked firm. “Bring it on.”

Ivan finally turned his back, and with a last glare at Lysandra, he did exactly what they suggested and left camp.

“Anyone else want to quit?” Brion asked, raising his voice. “Or are we still in this till the end, no matter what?”

Slowly, one after one, the remaining rebels spoke up. Tarus spoke first, his voice tentative but strong. “I’m still in!”

“We’re with you!”

“Till the end!”

Despite the reaffirmed loyalty, the gathering could never be called pleasant. There was grief. There were sadness and tears. But at least it wasn’t an ending, Lysandra thought. It was a new beginning, a commitment to the cause, forged from blood and loss.

Jonas turned to Lysandra, his brows drawn together. “Never thought you’d stand up for me.”

“I wasn’t standing up for you.” She threw a stick into the crackling fire and then shook out her aching hand and rubbed her knuckles. “I’ve just been wanting to punch Ivan in his ugly face for a while.”

“That makes more sense, actually.”

She took a deep breath and turned to face him. “But hear me on this, Jonas. You will take my plans seriously from now on. We must attack the Blood Road. We must shut it down. My fate lies on that road—my fate and the fate of our people.”

He was silent, but then he nodded. “You’re right. I’ll listen to you.”

“Don’t make a mistake like this again, Agallon.”

His jaw tightened. “I’ll try.”

“Try very hard or we’re going to have a problem, you and me.”

“Understood.” He held her gaze intently a moment longer, as if searching for something deeper in her eyes. She was the first to look away.

Jonas then clasped Brion’s shoulder for an unspoken moment. It had been awkward between the two for days ever since their argument. Brion hesitated not at all before gripping Jonas in a bear hug. Jonas’s dark, pain-filled eyes lightened for the briefest of moments in relief before he moved off to tend his wounds.

“You two all right?” Lysandra asked.

Brion shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You’re like a brother to him.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“I’m glad you were mad at him before today.” She crossed her arms tightly and looked directly at Brion. “If everything had been good between you, you would have been by his side at the temple. And you could have died.”