Rebel Spring (30 page)

“You want answers I can’t give you,” Nic said, disturbed by how slurred his words came out. “Answers to questions I don’t even know.”

Ashur drew closer. “You’re afraid of me.”

Nic staggered back a foot. “Why have you pursued me out into the streets? I can’t help you. Leave me alone.”

“Can’t do that. Not yet. First, I really must know something of great importance.”

The prince moved closer still. Before Nic could fumble for his sword to protect himself from attack, Ashur took his face between his hands and kissed him.

Nic stood there, frozen in place.

This was
not
what he’d expected. At all.

The prince twisted his grip into Nic’s shirt, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss until Nic finally surprised himself by responding. The moment he did, the prince pulled back from him.

Nic stared at him, stunned.

“See?” Ashur said, smiling. “Proof for you that there’s more to life than drinking yourself into oblivion over a princess who thinks of you only as a friend. And there’s more to this great big world than this tiny, troubled kingdom and its greedy little king, even if it is every bit as valuable as I believe it to be.”

“Your grace—” Nic began.

“We’ll talk again very soon, I promise,” Ashur said, leaning in to give him another brief kiss that Nic didn’t try to stop. “And you will help me find the answers I need. I know you will.”

A
ron Lagaris had executed the rebel without hesitation. If not for this tangible proof of his ruthlessness, Magnus might have thought him merely a harmless peacock.

But Aron had a curious taste for blood. No wonder the king had appointed him kingsliege. He had seen in the boy what Magnus had not. Furious, Magnus slept not a wink all night, trying to make sense of everything. It still pained him that they needed to abandon the search for Jonas for now, but he reminded himself that meeting with Xanthus, learning more about the road, could bring him answers that would lead him ever closer to the Kindred.

The moon was high when they finally arrived at the road camp, dirty and weary from their three days’ journey across the dusty Paelsian landscape. The Forbidden Mountains dominated the skyline, jagged and ominous black and gray forms with sharp, snow-covered tips reaching up into the night itself. This, of all the camps along the winding path of the road, was the most desolate of all, far from any inhabited villages.

The ground here was dry, cracked, and what little vegetation it bore was brown and withering. The air was not as cold as in Limeros, where one’s breath would freeze into clouds as they spoke, but there was a dry chill here that nonetheless worked its way into Magnus’s very bones.

It made him miss the more temperate climes of Auranos. So sunny and golden, and filled with light and life.

No, wait. What was he thinking? He
didn’t
miss such things. He
didn’t
care for Auranos. He looked forward to the day he’d return to Limeros and never look back. He much preferred frozen ponds to flower gardens.

“Your highness . . .” Aron said, his words strained as if he’d had to repeat himself several times to be heard. “Your highness!”

Magnus gripped the reins of his horse so tightly that they bit through the leather of his gloves. “What?”

“Not very hospitable a landscape, is it?”

On this much, they agreed. “No, it certainly isn’t.”

Small talk. Not his favorite pastime.

If they were to travel west, toward the Silver Sea, Paelsia would eventually become greener. That was where the locals planted their vineyards, the ones that grew such perfect grapes that they were sought after by every kingdom in the world for their wine. Every kingdom apart from Limeros, that was, which had forbidden intoxicating substances on orders of the king. The king had chosen not to create such laws in Auranos yet. To do so might very well tip Auranos to rebellion.

At the city of tents, they were greeted by a man with a bald head and a broad, greasy smile.

“This is such a great honor.” The man grasped Magnus’s gloved hand and kissed it. “Such a true honor to welcome you here, your highness.” He nodded. “And Lord Aron. I’ve been greatly anticipating your visit.”

“You are Xanthus?” Magnus asked.

The man’s eyes widened and he began to laugh. “Oh, no. I am merely Franco Rossatas, assistant engineer on this site.”

“
Assistant?
Where is Xanthus?”

“In his private tent, where he spends most of his time, your highness. Since you arrived later than we expected, he would prefer to speak with you there at first light, as he’s already retired for the evening.”

Impatience ignited within Magnus to hear such irrelevant drivel. “I was told he would be meeting me upon my arrival and now I find that he’d prefer sleep over civility? What greeting is this for the son of the king to meet only with the
assistant
engineer after my long and arduous journey here?”

Franco swallowed hard. “I will be sure to inform Xanthus personally of your displeasure. In the meantime, if you please, your highness, allow me to take you to see our progress here on his behalf.”

For a moment, Magnus considered demanding that the sleeping fool be woken, but he held his tongue. Truth be told, he too was very tired. Perhaps their meeting could wait until tomorrow.

Franco led them to the road itself, explaining details as they walked and gesturing broadly with a flabby arm. Large swathes of mostly lifeless forest had been cut down to make way for the road. Trees with wide, brittle trunks lay throughout the camp like fallen giants. To the left the view was thick with sweaty, weary-looking men who toiled even in the darkness.

“Over here, we have men working constantly on the stonework,” he said, “which is a layer of the road, making it flat and easy for travel by wheeled vehicle.”

“Honestly, Franco,” Aron said with a sneer. “Such unnecessary explanations. Do you think Prince Magnus is a village idiot who doesn’t understand road construction?”

Franco blanched. “Of course not, my liege. I just wanted to explain it in a way that . . . that . . .”

“That even a village idiot could understand.” Aron took out one of his cigarillos, lighting it off a nearby torch.

“I meant no disrespect of course. I beg for your forgiveness.”

Magnus ignored the two and glanced off toward the clearing. The area was peppered with guards on foot and on horseback. A group of Paelsian slaves moved past where they stood, laden with heavy stones, their faces dirty, their clothes ripped. Those who didn’t glance toward their superiors with fear instead cast bold glares of hatred.

It was a very different sight than the road crew based in Auranos.

Magnus watched until they disappeared behind the farthest tent. “When do the slaves rest?”

“Rest?” Franco repeated. “When they drop.”

A young boy trudged past them with a stone that had to weigh half of what he did, his face a mask of pain and misery.

“How many have died?”

“Too many,” Franco said with annoyance. “Paelsians are supposed to be hearty people, but quite honestly, I’m less than impressed by what I’ve seen here. They’re lazy, selfish, and more often than not, only the whip will keep them focused.”

While unquestionably effective, Magnus had never been fond of the whip as a form of punishment. “I wonder how you’d fare with the same amount of work. Would you be hearty enough to handle the stresses of such a job without the threat of a whipping?”

Franco’s bushy brows moved upward, his face reddening. “Your grace, if it weren’t for such discipline there would be little chance that the road would be finished in the timeline Xanthus demands from us, especially this section into the mountains.”

“And is there any progress on the search?”

“Search?” The man frowned. “Search for what?”

“Never mind.”

It would appear that the assistant engineer did not know the true purpose for this road, other than its being . . . a road. Such dangerous secrets would best remain hidden.

Aron’s gaze slid past Franco’s sweaty, pudgy face as they made their way back to the engineer’s tent. A pretty girl was moving toward the tent, her arms heavily laden with firewood. She had light brown hair that fell down her back. Her figure, beneath the simple dress she wore, was thin but shapely. She was daring enough to look directly at Magnus with curiosity in her eyes as she passed without a word.

“And who is that beautiful creature?” Aron asked.

Franco glanced toward the girl. “That is my daughter, Eugeneia.”

“Tell her to come here. I wish to be introduced to her.”

Franco hesitated, glancing briefly at Magnus.

Magnus nodded to give permission for more introductions and Franco called out to the girl. She put down her heavy load, brushed off her hands on the front of her dress, and came to join them as they entered Franco’s tent, shutting out some of the noise from outside.

“Yes, Father?”

“Eugeneia, I’d like you to meet our very important guests. This is Prince Magnus Damora and Lord Aron Lagaris.”

Surprise lit her gaze and she immediately curtseyed deeply. “A true honor.”

“Tell me, Eugeneia,” Aron said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her beauty up close, “how do you like spending so much time at this camp with your father?”

She flicked a glance toward Franco, then back at Aron. “May I be honest, Lord Aron?”

“Certainly.”

“I don’t care for it at all.”

Franco clucked with disapproval and reached for the girl as if to pull her backward. Aron held up his hand to stop him.

“What don’t you like?” he asked.

She studied the ground for a moment before raising her gaze to meet his. “My father is a brilliant engineer in his own right. It bothers me that he can make no decisions without approval from Xanthus, even if his decisions would improve things. It doesn’t make sense to have one cruel, brutish man in charge of everything with absolutely no one able to disagree with him!”

Franco drew her to his side, tightening his arm around her shoulders. “Hush, girl. Your opinions are not necessary or appreciated. Do you want to insult our guests?”

A flush spread across her cheeks. “Please forgive me. I forgot my manners for a moment there.”

“I appreciate your passion,” Aron said. “It’s so rare for someone to speak their mind so freely. It’s refreshing, I think.”

She bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Franco, I have a request,” Aron said, his gaze still fixed on the girl.

“Yes?”

“I wish for your daughter to join me for a late meal in my tent.”

Magnus rolled his eyes and turned away.

“Tonight?”

“When else?”

Franco cleared his throat, looking flustered by the request. “I suppose that is all right then.”

“Father . . .” Eugeneia began, her tone doubtful.

“You will go with him.” Franco’s double chins lifted as he nodded. “Lord Aron is kind enough to take notice of you. The least you can do is share a meal with him in gratitude for such an honor.”

The girl lowered her head. “Yes, of course.”

• • • 

The night stretched long and endless ahead of Magnus once he retired to his private tent. Thoughts of magic, of unsuccessful quests, of a dead mother, a slain rebel, a disrespectful exiled Watcher, and of a golden-haired, defiant princess filled his mind. He tossed and turned on his pallet. After a while, he decided that fresh air might help clear his head and rose.

He began to walk through the camp, past the long lines of tents of all sizes. He wondered which one belonged to the mysterious “cruel and brutish” Xanthus. Bonfires dotted the large clearing, sending sparks up into the darkening sky. Night-watch guards were set up to patrol while others slept, and they lined the area, their red uniforms easy to make out in the torch-lit surroundings.

Something hadn’t sat right with him about Aron’s request to dine with Eugeneia. He didn’t trust the boy, not with a pretty girl like that. Not unchaperoned.

“It’s none of your concern,” he told himself.

This fact seemed to make little difference. He found himself at what he realized had been his destination all along.

Aron’s tent was almost as big as Magnus’s. Both were easily the size of a Paelsian cottage, with a seating area, a comfortable bed, a table to take meals at. Nothing like being at the Auranian palace, of course, but Magnus was accustomed to these sorts of austere accommodations.

He drew closer to the flap, glancing inside past the modest opening to see that Eugeneia had arrived and was seated at the table. Empty plates and platters lay discarded across the table. Their meal was over. Her hair was swept up off her shoulders into a braided coil and she’d changed her dress to one a bit finer than before.

“You must feel so honored right now,” Aron was saying. “To be here with me.”

He perched on the table next to where she sat. He ate a peach, slicing it with a fancy silver blade. The juice trickled down his chin before he wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt.

She sat in a chair an arm’s reach away from him. “Very honored,” she said after a pause.

“The moment King Gaius met me, he knew I was destined for greatness. It’s unheard of to be appointed to kingsliege at my age—especially not by a conquering king.” He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her reaction.

“You must be very special, my lord.”

“Do you want anything else to eat, my pet?”

“No—no, my lord. Much gratitude to you, but I really should go back. It’s late.” She glanced toward the flap and Magnus eased back into the shadows to keep from being seen.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“It’ll be an early day tomorrow, and—”

Aron was on her in an instant, pulling her up out of the chair and pressing his mouth to hers.

She gasped against his lips as she wrenched away from him. “Lord Aron . . . I barely know you!”

“You know me well enough. You’ll stay the night with me.”

Her cheeks turned bright red and she wrapped her arms around her chest. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. My father—”

“Your father would give permission if I asked him. You think he wouldn’t?” Aron gave her a wide, toothy smile. “He knows how important I am to the king. I do very special assignments for King Gaius—things not everyone would do. I take care of his problems under the cloak of night.”

“Problems?”

“Stupid, ignorant people that stand in the way of what he wants. I’ve proven myself so fully to King Gaius that he would allow me anything I desire.” His gaze swept the length of her with appreciation. “And right now I desire you.”

“I must go.” Eugeneia turned toward the flap.

Aron caught her arm. “I like a girl who plays hard to get, but my patience wears thin.”

“I’m not the kind of girl who stays with a man she only just met, even if he is an important lord.”

“Actually,” his grip increased, “you are exactly the kind of girl I tell you to be.”

“No, Lord Aron. I’m—”

Aron let go of her only to strike her hard across her right cheek.

Magnus tensed but stayed silent, watching. Waiting for the right moment.

Eugeneia pressed her palm against her face, now backing away from Aron toward the table. Her wide eyes glistened with tears. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Aron loomed over her. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself entirely clear. I chose you above any of the Paelsian whores out there who’d jump at the chance to warm my bed tonight. Don’t make me regret my decision.”