Rebel Spring (7 page)

Brion’s expression fell. “Well, not yet. I will be famous one day too.”

“I have no doubt.” Her attention returned to Jonas. “What have your rebels been focused on?”

He eyed the alleyway they swiftly moved past, but there were no guards lying in wait for them. “We’re recruiting all over Paelsia and Auranos—there are nearly fifty of us now. We’re causing trouble where we can, so the king knows we’re here and that we’re a growing threat. And while we are in Auranos we’re spreading the word to the citizens that the king is a liar and they shouldn’t so easily buy in to his promises.”

“Your group hasn’t made a move on the king himself?”

“Not yet.” The memory of the three rebels’ heads mounted on spikes haunted him, a tight, hard knot in his gut. He wanted to do whatever it took to defeat the king, but to lose anyone—to have them suffer and die at his command . . .

It would be like seeing Tomas’s murder again and again, and being personally responsible for it this time.

“Destroying murals and recruiting potential rebels isn’t going to defeat King Gaius.” Her steps finally slowed and she chewed her bottom lip, as if deep in thought. “He’s enslaving our people to build his road. Our Paelsian brothers and sisters throughout our land are being forced to work for him against their will—or they’re being murdered for trying to resist.”

“I had not heard of this.” The thought of such an atrocity made him see red. “The king spoke of the Imperial Road in his speech as if it would unite all of Mytica as one people, and Auranians are lapping it up like cream offered to a housecat.”

“Auranians are idiots.” She cast a glance around them. They now stood on the side of a busy street, away from the swell of the crowd. A busy fruit market was fifty paces away. “They deserve a king like this forced upon them, but Paelsians do not. What else did he say in this speech?” She looked at Brion for this information.

“He announced the betrothal between Prince Magnus and Princess Cleiona,” Brion told her.

Her eyes widened. “So, the golden princess is cozying up to the enemy rather than risking a single day of her pampered lifestyle, is she?”

“She’s not,” Jonas said under his breath.

“Not what?”

“The princess is not cozying up to the enemy. The betrothal wasn’t—couldn’t have been her idea. The Damora family destroyed her life, killed her father, and stole her throne.”

“And now she’s been welcomed into that family, with a gilded roof over her head and attendants to serve her breakfast in bed and see to her every need.”

“I disagree.”

“You can disagree, but it doesn’t change anything. I don’t care a fig for Princess Cleiona. What I care about is my people—my brother, those from my village, and every other Paelsian who’s been enslaved. We must mount an attack on the road immediately! If you want to show the king that we’re a threat, as you said, that we’re a force to be reckoned with, this is how to do it. We free the slaves and destroy any progress that’s been made.”

“We?” Jonas repeated.

Her cheeks were flushed from her vehemence. “Yes,
we
.”

“Would you be so kind, Lysandra, as to give me a moment to discuss matters with Brion?” He nodded toward the nearby line of fruit-selling stalls. “We’ll meet you over there shortly.”

“You will take me to your rebel camp?” she persisted.

He didn’t speak for a moment, just studied this wildcat who’d saved his life and shown her remarkable skill as an archer. He wanted to tell her to go away and not cause him any additional problems—since it was clear to him that she would be difficult to deal with. But he couldn’t. He needed passionate rebels, no matter who they were.

“Yes, I will.”

She finally smiled, a bright and attractive expression that lit up her entire face. “Glad to hear it. We’re going to make a difference. Just you wait and see.”

Without further comment, Lysandra turned and walked swiftly to the market. When she was out of earshot, Jonas turned to Brion.

Brion met his gaze. “That girl . . .”

“I know. She’s a handful.”

His friend flashed him a big grin. “I think I’m in love!”

Jonas couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, no. Don’t do it, Brion. Don’t fall for her. She’s only going to be trouble.”

“I hope so. I like trouble when it looks like that.” Brion sobered. “What about her plan to attack the road?”

Jonas shook his head, thinking of the dead rebels’ blood trickling down the wooden stakes in the palace square. “Too dangerous right now. I can’t risk losing any of us until we know we have a fighting chance. What she’s proposing would mean death to too many.”

Brion’s jaw tensed. “You’re right.”

“But I do need more information—about the road, about the king’s plans. The more we know, the more we can do to stop him. And when we find that weakness, we’ll exploit it.” A fresh fire had lit under his skin at the thought of enslaved Paelsians. “I swear I’ll take him down, Brion. But right now, we’re completely deaf and blind to his agenda unless he announces everything in a speech. I need eyes and ears in that palace.”

“A few spies would be essential. Agreed. But what’s to keep them from being discovered and getting their heads mounted on spikes?”

“A good spy would have to be undetectable. A guard, or someone posing as a Limerian guard.”

Brion shook his head. “Again, head on spike. It would be a suicide mission so soon after King Gaius’s victory. Sorry.”

Jonas worked it over in his mind. An idea that had been gestating since the day after Auranos fell took firmer hold. “Then it would have to be someone already in the palace. Someone close to the king and the prince . . .”

A
s the date of her dreaded wedding drew closer, Cleo’s anxiety grew. She dreamed of escape—of growing wings like a bird and flying away from the palace, never to return.

But, alas, she was a bird still locked tightly in her cage. So, instead of dwelling on what awaited her in the weeks to come, she focused on what she could control. Knowledge. Studies. Praying she could find the answers she sought before it was too late. She found herself moving toward the palace library for the second time that day, but this time she encountered Mira sobbing in the hall outside the library’s tall doors.

“Mira!” Cleo rushed to her and pulled the girl into her arms. “What’s wrong?”

It took a moment, but Cleo’s friend finally managed to form words. “I still can’t find my brother anywhere! They’ve killed him, Cleo. I know it!”

Cleo drew her further away from the Limerian guards that seemed to lurk in every shadow, instructed, she knew, to keep a close eye on the princess lest she stray from the castle.

“Nic’s not dead,” Cleo assured her, tugging Mira’s hands away from her tear-streaked face.

“How do you know?”

“Because if he was, Magnus would have been certain to rub it in. For me to know that Nic had been executed for what he did in Paelsia . . .” Even the very thought of it was like a hot poker shoved through her heart. “He knows it would destroy me. And he wouldn’t hesitate to use it against me. I know we haven’t been able to find Nic yet, but he’s alive, Mira.”
He’s got to be,
she thought.

Her words were sinking in. Slowly, Mira regained control and stopped crying. She rubbed her eyes wearily, a trace of anger now lighting within them. “You’re right. The prince would celebrate your pain. I hate him, Cleo. I hate it every time he comes to see Princess Lucia. He’s a beast.”

Cleo had barely seen the prince over the week since he’d chosen to continue this horrible betrothal. It seemed that he wished to have very little to do with Cleo, which was more than fine by her. “I couldn’t agree more. Just try to stay out of his way, all right? How did you slip away from Lucia’s bedside? I feel as if I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“The queen is visiting her daughter right now. She told me to leave and return later. Of course, I didn’t argue. I’d hoped to find a friendly face in this nest of vipers. Yours is the first I’ve seen today.”

Cleo repressed a smile. Nest of vipers, indeed. “Well, I’m glad for the chance to see you. It’s the only good thing that’s happened all day.”

She stood with her friend at the edge of the hallway, sweeping her gaze over the large portraits of each member of the Bellos family, which lined the hall outside the library doors. She couldn’t look away from the painted eyes of her father. Her last memory of him was of his death in her arms from a wound inflicted during the attack on the castle. In his final moments, he’d given her a ring passed down from generation to generation in her family, a ring said to somehow help lead the way to the Kindred. He hoped, with that magic in her possession, she would be able to crush King Gaius and reclaim the throne. But he’d died before he could tell her anything else.

Cleo believed it to be the very same ring rumored to have belonged to the sorceress Eva, the ring that allowed her to touch the Kindred without being corrupted by the endless elemental power of the lost crystals. Cleo had hidden the ring in her chambers behind a loose stone in her wall, and she’d come here to the library every day since, searching for more information to help her figure out her next move. Her father had believed in her so much, far more than she believed in herself. She couldn’t let him down now.

Mira touched her arm, her eyes now dry. “You’re trying to be so strong, but I
know
, Cleo. I know how much you miss him. How much you miss Emilia. I miss them too. It’s all right to let yourself cry. I’m here for you.”

Cleo swallowed hard, her heart swelling to know that she had a friend who understood her pain. “I try not to look upon their faces for too long when I come by here. When I see them, I . . .” She exhaled shakily. “It so strange. Sometimes I can’t see anything past the darkness of my grief. Other times I’m angry,
so
angry that they left me to deal with all this on my own. And I know how selfish that sounds, but I can’t help how I feel. So, don’t you see? I can’t let myself cry. If I cry again I might not ever be able to stop.”

“You should know, princess . . .” Aron’s voice cut between them as effectively as the edge of a blade. “The king has instructed that these portraits—apart from the one of you, of course—are to be taken down and replaced with those of the Damoras.”

Cleo spun to face yet another lurker in the shadows. That was what Aron did now that their engagement was called off.
Lurk
.

She had hoped he would go away, back to his parents’ villa elsewhere in the City of Gold, but it appeared that he had moved into the palace permanently.

“And will you do it yourself?” she asked, her words twisting. “I know, as the king’s new lap dog, you will do anything he asks of you for the mere promise of a treat.”

He gave her a tight smile. “No, why should I? Since I am fully capable of giving orders of my own. And why wait?” He gestured toward the two red-uniformed guards who’d accompanied him. They immediately went to the wall and began to remove the portraits. Mira clutched Cleo’s arm as if to prevent her from lurching forward. Fury rose within her like a tidal wave.

She glared at him. “How can you do this, Aron?”

“
Lord
Aron, Cleo. As kingsliege, and since we are no longer betrothed, it will show more respect if you begin to use my proper title.”

Of course.
Kingsliege
. The king had gone ahead with his promise to bestow the lofty—but, in Cleo’s opinion, meaningless—title on Aron. He was still a “lord,” only now it was a title Aron felt he’d earned, rather than inherited through his family line. Everyone of importance in the palace had been required to gather in the throne room for the ceremony yesterday. Now Aron wore his new status like a suit of armor, shiny protection against anything that might attempt to hurt him.

It sickened her. He acted as if he’d been born with Limerian blood running through his veins. Once, Cleo might have dismissed this as merely a necessary survival tactic against the enemy now in power. But Aron did everything asked of him with a smile on his face, as if he relished being one of the King of Blood’s trained dogs.

“He finds you an amusement, you know.” She couldn’t stop herself from speaking her thoughts. “Pray to the goddess that you make yourself invaluable to him before this amusement wears thin.”

“I could say the same for you, princess,” Aron said evenly.

“What are you going to do with the paintings,
Lord
Aron?” Mira asked with the barest edge of sarcasm detectable in her tone. “Hang them in your chambers?”

There was once a time when Mira had had warm feelings for the handsome lord, but no more. She too saw him for what he truly was. An opportunist who would sell his own mother’s soul to a demon from the darklands if it meant he might gain the king’s favor.

“They’ll be burned,” he said simply, and Cleo’s heart wrenched. He gave her a smirk. “On the king’s orders.”

Somehow, the horrible thought that her family’s portraits would be destroyed brought a coolness to her, a calm that held power. Her hatred now burned with ice, not fire.

“I’ll remember this, Aron.”

“
Lord
Aron.” As the guards finally yanked Emilia’s portrait down from the wall, Aron nodded at them. “Good. Take them outside and leave them by the stables for now. They may as well become coated with filth, just like that idiot friend of yours now is.”

“Idiot friend?” Cleo asked quietly. Cautiously.

“That he yet breathes is a constant surprise to me. But knee deep in horse dung is a fair punishment for—”

But she was already walking away down the long hall, pulling Mira with her.

“Cleo?” Mira asked, uncertain. “Where are we going?”

“I think I know where Nic is.”

Mira’s eyes widened. “Then we must move quickly!”

Ignoring both the shadowy guards and Aron, who now followed them, Cleo and Mira moved swiftly through the castle. She may be little more than a glorified prisoner within these walls, but this was Cleo’s home and she knew the labyrinthine hallways better than anyone. As a child, she and Emilia had played hide and seek with their nursemaids—although the nursemaids had never found much amusement in the impromptu games.

They emerged outside into the courtyard, a walled, open-air space in the center of the palace filled with herb gardens, apple and peach trees, and lilac bushes in full bloom that scented the warm evening air with their perfume. The moon was full and bright, lighting their way along the winding cobblestone path.

No one tried to stop Cleo as she pushed open the gate leading out of the courtyard, went down a long hallway, and exited the east side of the castle toward the stables, Mira following close behind. Beyond the stables was the rest of the walled city, home to many thousand Auranian citizens. Here she was as close to freedom as she’d been since King Gaius had destroyed her world and taken her father’s throne. She had no doubt that if she attempted to breach the outer palace walls she would be stopped and dragged back inside.

But escape was not her goal tonight.

As they neared the stables, the stench of manure hung heavy in the air. And there she saw him.

“Cleo . . .” Mira whispered, then louder: “Cleo! You’re right—he’s here!”

Heart in throat, Cleo hurried her pace as the girls rushed toward Nic. A few other stablehands looked on with interest. Nic watched their approach with wide eyes, then dropped the two buckets he carried. They sloshed against the ground. However, before Cleo or Mira could get any closer, the guards closed in and grabbed each of the girls’ arms to stop them.

“Unhand me!” Cleo struggled against her captor. “Nic . . . Nic! Are you all right?”

Nic nodded with one firm shake of his head. “I’m fine. You don’t know how glad I am to see you two.”

“Let me go!” Mira snarled, fighting against the guard who held her in place.

Aron had followed them leisurely and now he approached, his arms crossed over his chest, a lit cigarillo protruding from the fingers of one hand. “Well, seems that I have revealed a little secret, haven’t I? Doesn’t matter, I suppose. It won’t change anything.”

“You don’t think so?” Cleo retorted. “Now that I know where Nic is I’ll make sure he’s released from these lowly labors!”

“You confuse yourself with someone who still has great power here, princess.”

“And you confuse yourself with someone who has
any
.”

“Working knee deep in horse shit is his punishment. Although, if you ask me, he should be dead for what he did to Prince Magnus.”

The memory tore through her mind before she could try to stop it. Theon’s broken body, his eyes staring upward, unseeing. Magnus with blood on his face from where she’d clawed him as he tried to wrench her to her feet. Nic, throwing a rock to stop him, which met its mark. Cleo had taken a heavy sword and very nearly plunged it into the prince’s chest while he was disoriented, but Nic feared the ultimate repercussions of such an act and stopped her. He’d knocked Magnus out cold so he couldn’t follow them.

I’m so sorry, Theon. I’m so . . . so sorry. I led you to your death, and then couldn’t avenge you.

Her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry. She needed Theon’s memory, the recollection of his strength, his confident belief in her, to aid her now. Tears wouldn’t help. Commands wouldn’t help. Aron was right, she had no power here anymore. No influence.

However . . .

She turned toward Aron—this time with a smile.

“Come on, Aron,” she almost purred. “You were once our friend—our
good
friend. Can’t you find that within yourself again? Not everything has changed, has it? Mira thought her brother was dead. Don’t keep them apart. Please.”

Aron might have expected rage from her but clearly didn’t know what to do with cordiality. He hesitated for a moment, nonplussed, before he finally nodded at the guard who held Mira. The guard released her and Mira ran directly into Nic’s arms.

“We couldn’t find you anywhere,” she said, choked. “I was so worried about you!”

“Oh, Mira.” Nic gripped his sister tightly, snorting softly into her long hair. “Honestly? I was worried about me too.”

She pulled back from him a little and scrunched her nose. “You stink!”

He laughed out loud at that and ran a hand through his messy and matted red hair. “Glad to see you too, dear sister.”

This time, the smile Cleo gave Aron was sincere. “Thank you.”

He watched the siblings with a sour look. “Remember this favor, Cleo. You owe me one.”

She fought to hold on to her pleasant expression. “Of course,
Lord
Aron.”

Aron smiled, pleased, at this.

It was good to know she could easily handle this fool when necessary.

• • • 

The guards accompanied Cleo back to her chambers and closed the door behind her. She knew one would remain stationed outside until morning in case she even thought of escaping. There had been times she’d scaled the ivy outside her sister’s balcony to leave the castle, but in her own chambers, it was a sheer drop from her window to the ground thirty feet below.

The king might acknowledge her as a “guest of honor” publicly, but at this very moment she felt every bit a prisoner of war. She supposed she should consider herself lucky her own chambers had been returned to her. For days after the battle, they had been given to Lucia until other accommodations for the ailing Limerian princess had been found.

Seeing Nic and Mira reunited, though, had given Cleo a twinge of hope that things could change. She held tight to the knowledge that she’d been right, that Nic still lived. He could use a very long bath, but he was alive.

If she allowed herself to admit it, it
did
surprise her that Magnus had not demanded his head. Did he really think toiling in the stables was the best punishment?