Rebel Spring (27 page)

It was an important reminder that this was all lies. A thin layer of snow that would soon melt to reveal the ugliness that lay beneath its beauty.

The prince moved to the railing, holding up his hands to silence the crowd. And then he began to speak—confident, proud, and with command . . . or so it seemed.

His mask was perfectly in place. He was Prince Magnus, heir to the throne. And he held his own, even a short time after an assassination attempt.

Even Cleo had to admit that it was impressive. That
he
was impressive.

“And here we are,” Magnus said, his voice loud and clear, his breath freezing in the cold air, “after much struggle and conflict. It has not been an easy path, but to achieve great change it takes great strength and fortitude. My father’s road, which will end at the Temple of Valoria, represents this change, this uniting of three lands. Beside me is another symbol of such a change to this kingdom. Princess Cleiona is the bravest girl I’ve ever known—one who has faced so many hardships in such a short time and weathered them all with incredible strength and grace. I’m honored to now stand by her side.”

He flicked her a glance, his gaze hard and unreadable. She returned it with one of her own. Such beautiful words, she could almost fool herself into believing he spoke from his heart.

“I am certain that for every day of happiness the princess and I will share together, this kingdom will benefit in kind.”

Oh, he was droll. And he knew it, too. There was now just the edge of humor in his gaze that he might ever refer to their forced union as a path to romantic bliss.

An uproariously loud cheer accompanied the end of his speech. His shoulders relaxed a fraction—barely noticeable if she hadn’t been looking. Her gaze moved to the tear in his shirt and the wound beneath that still bled, dripping down his arm to fall to the floor.

Red. The color of Limeros.

The crowd had started to chant something, but for a moment she couldn’t understand.

“What are they saying?” she asked.

Magnus’s jaw tensed.

“A kiss,” said Lord Gareth, who stood farther back in the shadows. As one of the king’s closest friends, he had been invited to join them on the balcony for the speech along with several guards, including Nic. “The crowd wishes for the royal couple to show their love with a kiss.”

Magnus turned his head away from the cheering crowd. “I’m not interested in such irrelevant public displays.”

“Perhaps not. But they would like it anyway.”

“A KISS! A KISS!” the crowd chanted.

“I mean,” their advisor continued wryly, “it would not be the first, would it? What difference would such a small request matter to please this hungry crowd?”

“I don’t know,” Cleo began, sickened by the thought of it. How far was she willing to go to appear agreeable? “Quite honestly, it seems like a bad—”

Magnus took a tight hold of her arm and turned her around. Before she could say another word, he put his hand behind her neck, drew her closer to him, and kissed her.

Every muscle in her body stiffened. It was the sensation of being a bird caught in a hunter’s trap. Her wings screamed out for her to fly away as fast and as far as possible. But he held her firmly in place, his mouth against hers, soft but demanding a response.

She gripped the front of his shirt. It was all too much—she wasn’t sure if she was pushing him away or pulling him closer. Much like diving into deep water, she had no idea which way would find her air to breathe or which way would drag her down deeper into the depths where she would surely drown.

And for a moment, just a moment, she found it didn’t seem to matter.

The warmth of his body against hers on such a cold day, his now-familiar scent of sandalwood, the heat of his mouth against hers . . . it all made her head spin, and logic fell away.

When he pulled back, her lips felt as if they’d been set ablaze, a fire that continued to burn as bright as the flames now spreading across her cheeks.

Magnus leaned closer so he could whisper in her ear, his breath hot against her already flushed skin.

“Don’t worry, princess. It was the first and last.”

“Good.” Cleo let go of him and moved off the balcony, past Nic, so fast she stumbled on the hem of her red gown. The sound of the crowd’s cheers quickly became a distant echo in her ears.

T
he dream finally came after far too many weeks of waiting.

“You said I was immortal,” the king snarled when he sensed Melenia’s presence. He didn’t wait for her reply; he turned and stormed toward her, grasping her shoulders and shaking her. “Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t lie.”

He slapped her hard across her face, the sting of it more satisfying that he’d expected. Inflicting pain upon this beautiful golden creature gave him great pleasure.

She pressed her hand to her cheek, but her eyes did not fill with tears as so many others’ would. No weakness crossed her gaze as she steadily held his.

“I did not lie,” she repeated, enunciating every word. “And you will strike me again at your own peril, my king.”

There was an edge of caution in the statement, one only the most foolish would ignore.

He forced himself to calm down. “I was nearly crushed in the Temple of Cleiona during the quake. I tasted the bitterness of my own mortality.”

“But you’re not dead, are you?”

He hadn’t left the palace since that day. With the potential of rebel assassins lurking in every shadow, the threat of natural disasters striking at any given moment, he had become increasingly paranoid. He was far too close to achieving all he’d ever wanted to take any unnecessary risks.

After what had happened at the temple, his confidence had been shaken. He didn’t trust Melenia anymore. There had been a fleeting time when he considered her both an intellectual equal as well as an object of desire. When he believed she would become his next queen, to rule by his side for all eternity. A woman he might be capable of worshipping. A woman he might even be capable of loving.

No more.

Now all he wanted from her were answers.

“When,” he growled. “When do I get my hands on the treasure you’ve promised me for these many months?”

“When the road is complete.”

It was far too long to wait for any tangible proof of what she’d told him. His patience stretched thin and brittle. “How is Lucia integral to finding the Kindred? Will she sense its location with her magic? Does more blood need to be spilled to help her?”

“I already told you, my king. Blood will be spilled. Much of it. Blood is essential to our plan.”

“Tell me more. Tell me everything.”

The hint of a smile dared to curl up the corner of her mouth. “Oh, my king, you are not nearly ready to hear
everything
.”

“I am!” he insisted.

“Not yet. There are . . . sacrifices that must be made. Sacrifices I’m not convinced you’re prepared for.”

“What sacrifices?” He would risk anything, sacrifice anything to get what he wanted. “Tell me!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes I really don’t know why I bother with you. Perhaps it’s because you amuse me.”

He would be an amusement to no one. “You prophesied that I would rule the universe with the power of an immortal god.”

“I did, didn’t I? Strange thing about prophesies, my king. They aren’t always set in stone. Such a prophecy requires me to assist you in what must be accomplished in the mortal world, as I already have in so many countless ways. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

He wanted to kill her. To crush her between his hands. To watch the life fade from her beautiful blue eyes. To have her beg for mercy with her last breath.

Did an immortal bleed red? This too he’d like to discover.

Instead of admitting to his darkening thoughts, he lowered his head in deference. “Deepest apologies, my queen. You see how stressed I’ve become of late. How anxious I am for progress. It has been a difficult time for us all, especially with my deep concern for my daughter’s well-being. But she’s awake now and out of harm’s way. And her magic is stronger than ever.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” She walked a slow circle around him. For the first moment in his life, he felt as if a predator was eyeing him for weaknesses.

He’d never felt like prey before.

“I need to journey to the road camp in the Forbidden Mountains to see Xanthus,” he said. “I need to speak with him, for him to show me what he’s doing, to assure me that all is progressing with the road as it should. Messages sent by raven are not enough to reassure me.”

“No, you must not go. You must remain here.”

“Why?”

Her brows drew together, her exquisite face growing very serious. “I do not wish to worry you, but . . . if you leave the confines of your palace, your prophecy is forfeit. There are countless dangers and many currently wish you dead. I promised you immortality, my king, but only if you stay secure while our plans solidify.”

He stared at her, shocked, for a long, silent moment. This was precisely what he’d feared. “So I’m to stay here, locked up, like a child that must be protected from potential dangers?”

Something unpleasant flashed through her eyes. “Imprisonment is a state I am very familiar with, my king. Believe me, your confinement will be much briefer than mine has been. If you must learn more of the road, and if you won’t take my word for such things, you can send someone you trust in your place to speak with Xanthus.”

But Gaius trusted no one.

No one—except for his children. Except for his son.

“I will send Magnus,” he said firmly. He hated that he couldn’t leave, but he didn’t doubt her warning. His mortal life was fragile, as everyone’s was. He was too close to what he wanted to risk his neck to a rebel’s blade. “When he returns from the wedding tour and joins the hunt for the rebel leader, I will have him inspect the road camp in the mountains and speak with Xanthus. He will be my official representative.”

“Very good. I hope the prince proves his worth to you on this quest,” Melenia purred. “I know you’ve had some difficulties with him.”

“I’m hard on him because I know he needs a firm hand. He’s at a difficult time in his life. But, despite some resistance, he has proven himself to me again and again. He will not let me down.”

“Yes, send your son to find the answers to reassure you. We are closer than you think.”

He clasped her face between his hands, a gentle touch now when before he was rough. She didn’t pull away as he drew her closer to kiss her. Her mouth was as sweet and warm as it would be in the waking world.

When this was all over, when he had the Kindred in his possession and was an immortal god free to journey wherever he pleased, he looked forward to discovering how pleasurable it would be to kill the woman he now embraced.

By then, he would have no use for a queen.

M
agnus had come to regret summoning Nicolo Cassian to ease the princess’s suffering on the wedding tour. The boy despised him, blamed him for his sister’s death, and would gleefully shove a sharp blade into him the moment his back was turned.

Nic’s palpable animosity had shot up even more during the last days of the tour after the unplanned kiss on the balcony. It was jealousy, pure and simple. Clearly, the boy imagined himself in love with the princess.

This, if nothing else, could prove an amusement.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Magnus said casually to Nic the morning they were set to begin the journey back to Auranos. Cleo climbed aboard one of the carriages, assisted by a guard.

“She is,” Nic hissed.

He had to wonder if Cleo had shared any details of their unconsummated union with her friend. That would be deeply unwise of her. “With every day that passes I realize how lucky I am to have such a creature to share my life with. So cool and innocent on the surface, yet so passionate in our private moments. Insatiable, really.” Magnus smiled at the guard. “Apologies, Nic. I shouldn’t discuss such things with a mere servant, should I?”

Nic’s face reddened to nearly the color of both his hair and his uniform. For a moment, Magnus was certain the top of his head would erupt like a volcano.

Very amusing, indeed.

Then Nic spoke loud enough for only Magnus to hear.

“Know this much, your highness. She’ll hate you forever for what you did to Theon.”

Magnus’s amusement fell away and he turned a glare of warning on Nic, but the guard had already stalked toward the carriages.

The late spring thaw had quickly set in, one that swept away some of the snow and ice for a precious couple of months here in western Limeros before everything froze over again. As Magnus stepped aboard the carriage, he noticed that he’d crushed a small purple wildflower that had managed to struggle through the remaining frost. He stared at the decimated spot of color with dismay before a guard closed the door, shutting off his view of it.

“You look ill. Is there something wrong with you?” Cleo asked. It was the first thing she’d said directly to him since the kiss he’d forced upon her yesterday.

She’d hated it. And she hated him.

So much is wrong with me, princess. Where do I even begin?

“Nothing is wrong.” Magnus turned to look out the window as the carriage pulled away. He had no idea when he’d next return here to his true home—a place of ice and snow and small crushed pieces of beauty. “Nothing at all.”

• • • 

Magnus met with his father the moment he returned from the tour. His prisoner had been delivered to the dungeons, and Magnus explained what had happened. He knew it was possible he’d overreacted by bringing the boy back to Auranos after hearing the mention of dreams and Watchers. But the king seemed pleased by his decision. The boy would be questioned further to see if he spoke truth or nonsense.

The king informed him that not only would Magnus be joining Aron on the hunt for Jonas Agallon, but they would also be journeying to the Paelsian road camp located in the Forbidden Mountains, where Magnus was to meet with a man stationed there named Xanthus.

Xanthus was an exiled Watcher assigned as the road’s engineer by the king’s mysterious dream advisor, Melenia. Xanthus was her representative in the mortal world. He did as she commanded. And Melenia commanded that the road be built and infused with Xanthus’s earth magic in order—the king was certain—to coax the hidden location of the Kindred out of the very elements themselves, which were now connected by the twisting ribbon of road.

To Magnus, it was all as hard to swallow as an entire roasted goat. Especially the fact that the king was now certain, thanks to his dream advisor, that if he took a step beyond the palace walls, he would be slain.

Even still, Magnus had seen enough magic in past months to agree readily to any chance to gain more information that would put the Kindred in his family’s hands, no matter how far-fetched such possibilities were.

Magnus did not argue. He did not debate. He did not laugh or roll his eyes.

All he did was nod. “As you wish, Father.”

By the rare and genuine smile he received from the king, this was the correct answer. “Good boy. Now, go and visit your sister. She has greatly anticipated your return.”

Considering how uncaring she’d sounded when Magnus overheard her discussing him with their father on the day of the fateful wedding, Magnus was surprised when Lucia greeted him back at the Auranian palace with a warm embrace and a kiss on both of his cheeks.

She was every bit as beautiful as she ever had been—even more so than the last time he’d seen her, since the color she’d lost during her slumber had returned to her cheeks. Today, however, there was a thick layer of apathy on top of his appreciation for his adopted sister, much like storm clouds hiding the sun’s true brightness. This apathy had grown substantially in the time they’d been apart. The conversation he’d just had with his father had done nothing to improve his mood.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said, smiling. “I’ve already heard wonderful things about your speech in Limeros. I only wish I could have been there to hear it.”

Magnus regarded her coolly. “It’s too bad you weren’t.”

“It must have been quite a hardship to have spent so much time with Princess Cleiona,” she said with sympathy. “From what I’ve heard of the spoiled girl, I dread our eventual meeting.”

“She’s not like that at all. Spending time with my new bride has been both an honor and a delight. Despite our many differences, she makes me happier than I ever could have anticipated.”

Lucia’s eyes widened as if she didn’t hear the sarcasm behind his words. She’d always been the only one able to see beyond his masks in the past—she’d known him better than anyone else. But perhaps they’d spent too much time apart lately and she’d lost her talent to read him.

“If you’ll excuse me, sister.” He swallowed his disappointment. By now, it was a familiar taste. “I must leave once again. I only hope my beautiful new bride does not miss me too much while I’m gone from her side.”

• • • 

Even though he knew meeting with the exiled Watcher could give him more clues about how to find the Kindred, all Magnus currently cared about was vengeance. Finding the rebel who’d killed his mother helped sharpen his focus like a killing blade.

The rebels, however, were much harder to track down than he’d thought. Privately, he’d ridiculed Aron’s failure to gain any clues to Jonas Agallon’s whereabouts. Now, after a full week of searching with no success, he too felt the staggering weight of failure.

At dusk, the prince’s entourage arrived at a camp set up by a unit of guards in eastern Auranos, barely an arm’s reach from the edge of the thick tangle of Wildlands, following rumors of the rebels’ shifting travels. Next, Magnus was pained to admit, they would have to put the search for Jonas on hold to journey into Paelsia itself and head directly to the road camp currently located in the shadow of the Forbidden Mountains.

Magnus’s large tent was readied for him to take dinner and rest for the night. The sun had mostly set, but there was still enough light to see. A campfire crackled nearby. The days in this particular region were warm and temperate, but at night, and so close to the Paelsian border, it cooled down considerably. The cool air held the scent of the smoky fire and roasting venison and the sound of hidden insects buzzing and chirping in the thick forest only thirty paces from camp.

“I think we make an excellent team,” Aron said, jarring Magnus from his thoughts.

Lord Aron Lagaris might now have the official designation of kingsliege, but he was a complete waste of space, Magnus reflected sourly—nor did he have any clue of the real reason they were next headed to the road camp other than for a general inspection. The silver flask Aron continually drank from was an annoyance—almost as much as the boy himself. Magnus had no respect for anyone who relied on artificial means to maintain their courage.

Magnus removed his black leather gloves and warmed his hands over the fire as he gave Aron a sidelong glance. “Do you, now.”

Aron took yet another swig from his flask. “I know things have been a bit tense between us, what with the Cleo issue . . .”

“‘Cleo issue’?”

The boy nodded. “It’s best in the end that a princess marry a prince. I suppose.”

“Ah. I suppose.” Oh, this was deeply unpleasant. Being trapped into meaningless small talk with an idiot had never intrigued him, even on a good day. Which this wasn’t.

“I only hope for your sake that she’s forgotten the night of passion we shared.”

Magnus gave him a hard look. “You are deeply unwise to broach this subject right now.”

Aron immediately blanched. “I mean no disrespect.”

A hot rise of anger fought to push past his simple annoyance. “Of course you do. All that ever comes out of your mouth is disrespect, Lagaris.”

Aron raked a hand through his hair and paced back and forth, taking another quick swig from his flask. “It’s just that to wed a girl who could not keep herself pure for her future husband—”

“Close your mouth before you insult my bride’s honor with another word.” Magnus drew out his dagger to absently run it under his fingernails. Aron followed the blade’s movements with fearful eyes. “She belongs to me now, not you. Never forget that.”

Not that he really cared, he reminded himself sternly. He had not touched Cleo apart from the kiss in Limeros. And that had been under duress.

Still, Magnus had to admit the girl was an excellent actress. With his lips pressed to hers, he could have sworn he tasted warm honey rather than cold venom in her response. And he also had to admit, if only to himself, that such unexpected sweetness had coaxed a much longer kiss than he’d originally planned.

The princess was dangerous yet could appear so very innocent to one who didn’t know the truth—much like a spider and her shimmering web. Perhaps Magnus would do best to look at Aron as a hapless fly who’d once found his way into that trap through no fault of his own.

At that moment, a group of guards approached with a prisoner, his hands bound behind his back. The boy was no more than eighteen, his brown hair dark and unruly, his skin tanned from the sun, his eyes flashing with anger.

“Who is this?” Magnus asked, his gaze sweeping the fierce-looking boy.

The lead guard shoved the prisoner forward. “Part of a group of rebels attempting to steal weapons from us.”

“A
group
of rebels? And yet you captured only one.”

“Apologies, your highness. But, yes.”

“How many were there?” Aron asked.

The guard had begun to sweat. “Three, my liege.”

“How many did you kill?”

A muscle in the guard’s cheek twitched. “The rebels are vicious, Lord Aron. They’re like wild animals, and—”

“Perhaps you did not hear my question correctly,” Aron snapped. “How many rebels did you kill of the three?”

The guard blinked. “I’m afraid none today, my liege.”

Aron glared at him with disgust. “Step back. Now.”

The guard retreated.

What a complete jackass Aron was, spouting threat and intimidation as if he had the strength of will to back it up.

“Yes, your grace?” Aron asked evenly, noticing he’d gained the prince’s full attention.

“May I question the prisoner, or would you like to have the honor?” It was an honest question, if offered on a slightly menacing level.

Aron gestured with his hand. “No, please. You go right ahead.”

How shocking. It was the correct answer.
“Much gratitude, Lord Aron.”

Magnus indicated that the guards should bring the prisoner further into camp by the fire. There the rebel stood with his hands bound, but his shoulders were squared as he met Magnus’s gaze directly, without flinching.

“Welcome.” Magnus began with a smile, one that would mirror his father’s ease, if not the king’s famous charm. “I am Magnus Lukas Damora, crown prince and heir to the throne of Mytica.”

“I know who you are,” the boy said with distaste.

“Good. That will make things much simpler. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

The boy’s lips thinned, his eyes stony.

Magnus nodded to a guard, who backhanded the rebel. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but his gaze only grew more defiant.

“Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Magnus asked again. “This can go easy or it can go hard. The choice is yours. Answer my questions and I am capable of benevolence.”

The boy laughed at this, spitting out the blood that filled his mouth. “Prince Magnus benevolent? This I find hard to believe.”

Magnus’s smile thinned. “Your name?”

“Brion Radenos.”

“Very good, Brion.” Magnus leveled his gaze at the boy’s. “Now tell me, where is the rebel leader, Jonas Agallon?”

Brion cocked his head. “Jonas Agallon? Never heard of him before.”

This boy tried his patience. “You lie. Tell me where he is.”

Brion laughed at this. “Why would I?”

Magnus regarded him with distaste. “Jonas Agallon crept onto palace grounds and stole the life of Queen Althea. There is proof of this. He will pay for this with his own life.”

Brion’s brows drew together. “I’ve seen the posted reward for his capture; I’ve heard the rumors. But you’re wrong. I don’t care what proof you think you have, he had nothing to do with that murder.”

The anger swiftly rising inside Magnus literally made him tremble. The nearby guards glanced at each other uneasily. “For a moment, I thought you were intelligent. But you’re just a fool whose mouth is bigger than his brain.”

This observation received a cold glare. “Jonas didn’t kill the queen.”

More rage lit beneath Magnus’s skin. He reached out and grasped the boy’s throat. “I’ll ask one more time. Your helpful response will net you a reward and freedom rather than pain. Where is Jonas?”

“Kiss my arse.” The boy’s gaze flashed. “You think you’re so strong, so powerful. You’re not. You’re weakened by your blindness—just like your father. His greed will be his undoing. The people in Auranos will not be fooled forever by him. And they will rise up in great numbers along with Paelsians to crush the both of you. Maybe we can even convince the Limerians to join in as one great army against all who wish to oppress us.”