Rebel Spring (2 page)

W
hen the King of Blood wanted to make a point, he made it as sharp as possible.

It was midday. With bone-chilling thuds,
the executioner’s ax fell upon the necks of three accused rebels, severing their heads from their bodies. The blood dripped through the stocks and spread across the smooth stone ground before a swelling crowd a thousand deep. And all Jonas could do was watch in horror as the heads were then mounted upon tall spikes in the palace square for all to see.

Three boys who’d barely reached manhood, now dead for being menaces and troublemakers. The severed heads stared at the crowd with blank eyes and slack expressions. Crimson blood trickled down the wooden spikes while the bodies were taken away to be burned.

The king who had quickly and brutally conquered this land did not give second chances—especially not to anyone who openly opposed him. Rebellion would be dealt with swiftly and remorselessly—and publicly.

With each deadly fall of the blade, a growing uneasiness slithered through the masses like a heavy mist they could no longer ignore. Auranos had once been free and prosperous and at peace—but now someone with a taste for blood was seated upon the throne.

The crowd stood shoulder to shoulder in the large square. Close by, Jonas could see young nobles, well dressed with tense jaws and wary expressions. Two fat, drunk men clinking their wine-filled goblets together as if toasting to a day filled with possibility. An old, gray-haired woman with a deeply lined face and a fine silk dress, her gaze darting around suspiciously. All were clambering for the best spot to see the king when he entered onto the marble balcony high above. The air was scented with smoke from both chimneys and cigarillos and with the aromas of baking bread, roasting meat, and the fragrant oils and cloyingly floral perfumes liberally used by many in lieu of bathing regularly. And the noise—a cacophony of voices, both conspiratorial whispers and deep-throated shouts—made it impossible to think clearly.

The Auranian palace glittered before them like a massive golden crown, its spires rising high up into the cloudless blue sky. It was set in the direct center of the City of Gold, a walled city two miles wide and deep. The walls themselves were heavily veined in gold, which caught the sunlight and reflected it like a pile of gold coins in the center of acres of green. Inside, cobbled roads led to villas, businesses, taverns, and shops. Only the privileged and important were able to make this city their home. But today, the gates had opened to all who wished to hear the king’s speech.

“This place is impressive.” Brion’s voice was hard to hear above the incessant chatter of the throng.

“You think?” Jonas shifted his grim attention from the impaled heads. His friend’s dark blue eyes were fixed upon the glittering palace as if it were something he could steal and sell for profit.

“I could get used to living here. A roof over my head—golden tiles at my pampered feet. All the food and drink I can swallow. Sign me up.” He looked up at the executed rebels and grimaced. “You know, providing I keep my head attached.”

The rebels who’d been executed today had been Auranian and not a part of Jonas and Brion’s group—a gathering of young, like-minded boys who wished to rise up against King Gaius in the name of Paelsia. For three weeks now, ever since the siege upon the castle, they’d made their home in the thick of the forest that separated Auranos from their much poorer homeland. The Wildlands, as this forest was called, had a fearsome reputation of being filled with dangerous criminals and wild beasts. Some superstitious fools also believed dark and evil demons and spirits found home in the shadows of the thick, tall trees that blocked out all but a sliver of daylight.

Jonas could deal with criminals and beasts. And he, unlike the overwhelming majority of his countrymen, thought such legends were created only to incite fear and paranoia.

When news reached him of the executions scheduled for today, Jonas had wanted to see them for himself. He’d been certain they would strengthen his resolve, his certainty, to do anything, risk anything, to see the stolen kingdoms slip like sand from the hands of the tyrant who now ruled them.

Instead, they had filled him with dread. Each boy’s face turned into that of his dead brother Tomas’s as the ax fell and their blood flowed.

Three boys with their lives and futures spread before them—now silenced forever for speaking differently than what was permitted.

Such deaths would be considered by most to be destiny. To be fate. Paelsians, especially, believed that their futures were set and that they had to accept what they were given—be it good or bad. It only served to create a kingdom of victims afraid to stand up against opposition. A kingdom easily taken by someone happy to steal what no one would fight to keep.

No one, it would seem, except for Jonas. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or magical answers. Destiny was not set. And if he had enough help from those who might be willing to fight at his side, he knew he could change the future.

The crowd hushed for the briefest of moments before the swelling murmur rose again. King Gaius had emerged onto the balcony—a tall and handsome man with piercing, dark eyes that scanned the crowd as if memorizing each and every face.

The sudden need to hide gripped Jonas, as if he might be picked out from the multitude, but he forced himself to remain calm. While he had once met the king face-to-face, he would not be discovered here today. His gray cloak hid his identity well enough; it was a cloak similar to the one worn by half the men here, including Brion.

Next upon the balcony strode Magnus, crown prince to King Gaius’s throne. Magnus was a near mirror image of his father, but younger, of course, and with a scar that sliced across his cheek, visible even from a distance.

Jonas had briefly crossed paths with the Limerian prince on the battlefield; he did not forget that Magnus had stopped a blade from finding his heart. But now they were no longer fighting for the same side. They were enemies.

The regal-looking Queen Althea joined her son to the left of the king, her dark hair streaked with silver. It was the first time Jonas had seen the woman, but he knew who she was. She cast a haughty gaze down at the crowd.

Brion grabbed hold of Jonas’s arm and Jonas glanced at his friend with mild amusement. “Did you want to hold hands? I don’t think that’s—”

“Just remain calm,” Brion told him, not cracking a smile. “If you lose your head you might, uh, lose your head. Got it?”

The next moment Jonas understood why. Lord Aron Lagaris and Princess Cleiona Bellos, the youngest daughter of the former king, joined the others on the balcony. The crowd cheered at the sight of them.

Princess Cleo’s long, pale, golden hair caught the sunlight. Once, Jonas had hated that hair and had fantasies of ripping it out by its roots. To him, it had symbolized the richness of Auranos, only an arm’s reach away from the desperate poverty of Paelsia.

Now he knew nothing had ever been as simple as he’d thought.

“She’s their prisoner,” Jonas breathed.

“Doesn’t look like a prisoner to me,” Brion said. “But, sure, if you say so.”

“The Damoras killed her father, stole her throne. She hates them—how can she not?”

“And now she’s standing dutifully next to her betrothed.”

Her betrothed.
Jonas’s gaze slid to Aron and narrowed.

His brother’s murderer now stood above them all in a place of honor next to his future bride and the conquering king.

“You all right?” Brion asked warily.

Jonas couldn’t answer. He was busy envisioning himself scaling the wall, jumping onto the balcony, and tearing Aron apart with his bare hands. He’d once imagined many different methods to exact death on this preening waste of life, but he’d thought he’d set aside his desire for vengeance in favor of the loftier goals of a rebel.

He’d been wrong.

“I want him dead,” Jonas gritted out.

“I know.” Brion had been there when Jonas grieved for Tomas, when he’d raged about getting his revenge. “And you will see that day. But it’s not going to be today.”

Slowly, very slowly, Jonas reined in his mindless rage. His muscles relaxed and Brion finally loosened his hold on him.

“Better?” Brion asked.

Jonas hadn’t torn his gaze from the hateful, arrogant-looking boy on the balcony. “I won’t be better until I can watch him bleed.”

“It’s a goal,” Brion allowed. “A worthy one. But like I said, it won’t be today. Calm down.”

Jonas let out a breath. “Issuing orders now, are we?”

“As second in command of our little band of merry rebels, if my captain suddenly goes crazy, I’ll take over. It kind of comes with the job.”

“Good to know you’re taking this seriously.”

“First time for everything.”

On the balcony, Aron drew closer to Cleo, reaching down to take her hand in his. She turned her beautiful face to look up at him, but no smile touched her lips.

“She could do better than that jackass,” Jonas mumbled.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

The crowd had grown even more massive in minutes, and the sweltering heat of the day beat down on them. Sweat dripped down Jonas’s brow and he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his cloak.

Finally, King Gaius stepped forward and raised his hand. Silence fell.

“It is my great honor,” the king said, his voice strong enough to carry easily over the crowd, “to stand here before you as the king not only of Limeros, but now of Paelsia and Auranos as well. There was once a time when the three kingdoms of Mytica were united as one—strong, prosperous, and at peace. And now, at long last, we shall have that again.”

Those in the crowd mumbled quietly to each other, the majority of faces set with lines of distrust, of fear, despite the king’s smooth words. The King of Blood’s reputation preceded him. From whispered conversations in the crowd before and after the executions, Jonas heard many say that their opinions could be swayed today to believe the king was a friend or a foe. Many doubted that the dead rebels had been right in whatever anarchy they’d attempted; perhaps such rebels only made conditions worse for everyone by angering the king.

Such ignorance—such readiness to take the easy path, to bow before their conqueror by believing whatever words left his mouth. It sickened Jonas to his very core.

But even he had to admit the king was a master speechmaker, every word seemingly coated in gold, giving hope to the hopeless.

“I have chosen to live here with my family in this beautiful palace for a time, at least until the transition is complete. While it is much different from our beloved home in Limeros, we want to get to know you all much better, and we feel that it is our welcome duty to help guide all our citizens into this new era.”

“Also helps that Limeros is frozen over like a witch’s heart,” Brion sneered, despite some surrounding murmurs of approval from others. “He makes it sound like a hardship to live somewhere that’s not crusted with snow and ice.”

“Today I have an important announcement to make that will benefit one and all,” the king said. “On my command, construction has already begun on a great road that will unite our three lands as one.”

Jonas frowned. A road?

“The Imperial Road will commence at the Temple of Cleiona, a few hours’ ride from this very city, cutting through the Wildlands to enter Paelsia, where it will travel east into the Forbidden Mountains and then north across the border to Limeros, to end at the Temple of Valoria. Several teams are already in place, working night and day to ensure the road is completed as quickly as possible.”

“
Into
the Forbidden Mountains?” Jonas whispered. “What good is a road that leads where no one wants to go?”

What was the king up to?

A flash of gold in the sky caught his attention and he looked up to see two hawks circling high above the crowd.

Even the Watchers are interested.

Such ridiculous thoughts he’d hold on to rather than share with Brion. The stories of immortals who entered the mortal realm in the form of hawks were just that: stories told to children before bedtime. His own mother told him such tales.

The king’s lips stretched back from his teeth in a smile that would look warm and genuine to all who did not know the darkness behind it. “I hope you are as pleased as I am about this road. I know it’s been a difficult time for everyone and I take no pleasure in the blood spilled in the process.”

There was a swelling of displeased and uneasy murmurs in the crowd, but not nearly as many as there should have been.

It’s working
, Jonas thought.
He’s fooling those who wish to be fooled.

“Yeah, right,” Brion said. “He loved it. He would have bathed in all that blood if he’d had half a chance.”

Jonas couldn’t agree more.

King Gaius continued, “As you all can see here today, your Princess Cleiona is very well. She was not exiled or imprisoned as the daughter of my enemy. Why would she be? After all the pain and grief she’s bravely endured, I have welcomed her into my new home with open arms.”

He made it sound as if he’d given her a choice, but Jonas didn’t believe it.

“My next announcement today concerns your princess.” King Gaius stretched out his hand. “Come here, my dear.”

Cleo cast a wary glance at Aron before turning toward the king. She hesitated only briefly before crossing the balcony to stand at the king’s side. Her face was unreadable, her lips tight but her head held high. A sapphire necklace sparkled at her throat and jewels also dotted her hair to match her dark blue gown. Her skin glowed radiantly under the sunshine. Excited murmurs now rose through the crowd about the daughter of their former king.

“Princess Cleiona has suffered great personal loss and heartbreak. She is truly one of the bravest girls I’ve ever met and I see why those in Auranos love her as much as they do.” The king’s voice and expression both seemed to hold affection as he gazed at the princess. “It is well known to all that she is betrothed to Lord Aron Lagaris, a fine young man who defended the princess in Paelsia against a savage boy who meant her great harm.”