Rebel Spring

CHAPTER 32

JONAS

PAELSIA

The rebels made camp a mile from the line of tents by the Blood Road, not daring to light a fire. They watched and waited, staying huddled as a group for warmth, until the sun began to breach the gigantic mountains. Even the golden hawk that seemed to follow Jonas everywhere perched in the forest of brittle, leafless trees, waiting along with them.

“What is she?” he whispered to himself, looking up at her. “What does she want with us? With me?”

The hawk gave no answers. Instead, she flew away moments before they were ready to put their plan into action.

Jonas gave the order to move, and as silently as shadows, the forty-seven rebels spread out and entered the camp in their search for Magnus and Xanthus. Since there was no way for so many to stick together during the attack, the plan was to meet at a designated spot three hours’ journey from here at nightfall.

They had their targets. They knew their task. Nothing would distract them. And anyone who got in their way would die.

If all went perfectly, no one would even know they’d been there.

Then again, Jonas never expected this to go perfectly. He was prepared for obstacles. And so were his rebels.

Only minutes after their entry into the camp, a warning sounded out.

And then it was madness.

Guards began to spill from their tents and stations, swords in hand. Lysandra nocked arrow after arrow into her bow, letting them go like a predator lying in the shadows, silent death catching her marks precisely in the throat or chest.

“Go now while you can,” she commanded Jonas as he fought off a guard, “and if you find Lord Aron before I do, kill him-and make it hurt.”

The promise of blood-of the vengeance he’d craved for so long-fueled him like nothing else. He slammed the guard in the throat with his forearm and the guard dropped to the ground, unconscious. “Good luck, Lys. If this goes badly, I’ll see you and Brion in the everafter.”

“You really think that’s where any of us are headed?” She actually gave him a grin, baring straight white teeth, her face lit by the golden glow of the dawn. It jarred him to realize that Brion had been right-this girl was absolutely gorgeous. “I’ll see you in the darklands, Agallon. Save a demon or two for me.”

She held his gaze for only a moment longer before slipping away from him without another word.

And Jonas went hunting for his prey amidst the confusion and turmoil. His main targets were Magnus and the road engineer, but he hoped to find Aron as well. Now Aron had Brion’s as well as Tomas’s death to answer for in blood.

He glanced into each tent he passed, roughly fighting off anyone he came across. And almost too easily the guards went down. They were so used to lording over weaponless and weakened slaves in this private, secluded location that they hadn’t been prepared for an attack of this magnitude at the crack of dawn-nearly fifty rebels ready to do whatever it took to gain an advantage against the king who would enslave their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers.

Jonas wiped a spray of blood from his face and continued on. He pushed open the next tent flap, and his gaze fell on someone he recognized immediately.

Aron Lagaris lay sleeping on the ground. Rage lit within him at the memory of this bastard killing his friend. Killing his brother.

“That drunk last night, were you?” Jonas snarled. “Wake up. I want you to know that I’m the one who ends your life.”

He took another step, entering fully into the tent, now frowning. Aron’s eyes were open and staring. The front of his shirt was stained with blood-blood that soaked into the dirt floor.

The realization hit him hard. Aron was already dead.

Someone grabbed him from behind, a strong arm crushing his throat.

“You think Paelsian scum like you can attack us so easily, that we won’t be able to kill every last one of you?” It was a guard, a large one with bad breath. “Think again, rebel.”

Jonas arched his blade upward, but the guard caught his wrist, wrenching it to the side to break the bone with a sharp crack. Jonas roared in pain and lost his concentration for a split second.

That was all it took.

The guard brought his own blade down, sinking it straight into Jonas’s heart.

Then he yanked out the blade and shoved Jonas forward. Jonas stumbled to the ground hard, only a few feet from Aron. He looked up, gasping, his vision swirling. The guard was a hulking black silhouette surrounded by morning light.

He wiped the blood off his hands. “You honestly thought you could stop us with your little group of savages? Gonna go kill me a few more before breakfast.” He was laughing as he left the tent.

Jonas’s chest bloomed with agonizing, searing pain. His life bled out onto the tent floor, oozing bright red, sliding across the ground to mingle with that of Aron’s.

“Brion. .” Jonas’s throat was thick, his eyes burning. A memory-his and Brion’s childhood, running through the vineyard, stealing sweet, plump grapes, and being chased by Jonas’s angry father, who’d-so unlike his son-accepted his destiny without a fight, who’d always followed the rules set forth by Chief Basilius, even when these same rules left his family’s bellies empty.

Catching up to the always rebellious Tomas, who laughed at their antics-Tomas, who never followed a single rule in his life unless he made it himself. And Felicia, his bossy sister, who just stood with her hands on her hips, shaking her head and warning Jonas that he’d get in trouble one day for not toeing the line. Felicia was strong-strong enough to survive without him. Strong like their mother had been before the wasting disease had taken her. Jonas had heard rumors that Cleo’s sister had died of a similar ailment.

I never told her that. I should have told her.

Images of the princess with golden hair slid through his mind. He was in the cave again, kissing her as if he had no choice, confused by such overwhelming feelings toward a girl he’d previously despised and wanted dead. But even the coldest hate can shift into something warmer if given enough time, just as an ugly caterpillar can turn into a beautiful butterfly.

Images of Lysandra, smiling, her unexpected beauty this morning like a blow to his gut. The flashing of her brown eyes when she was angry, arguing, always giving him a hard time. But he was glad he’d accepted her as one of his rebels because she was so skilled, so determined, so damn passionate she lit a fire inside of him with only a few words.

And now he would die staring into the glazed eyes of Aron Lagaris. For months, Jonas had wanted vengeance toward him so much, more than anything else. And now the boy he’d hated more than anyone else in the world was nothing more than a shell-an empty shell.

Death solved nothing. It was only an end.

And now his own end had come.

A small surge of light caught the corner of his fading vision. Someone had entered the tent. His last gasps of breath were so slight he would already look dead to anyone but the most skilled healer.

A figure sank to her knees next to him. A warm hand pressed to his forehead, another to his mouth to open it. He couldn’t resist, couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even blink.

Something was pushed into his mouth. Small pebbles.

The pebbles heated on his tongue until they felt like burning coals. They melted like lava, burning him, spreading out over his entire tongue, his mouth, and down his throat.

He arched up off the ground as the fire slid to his belly and expanded from there-torture. In his last moments of life, someone was torturing him.

A firm hand pressed against his chest to keep him from lurching upward as his body convulsed.

Like a sun setting behind the horizon, slowly, slowly the pain receded until it was only a glow in the center of his body. His breath came quicker now. His heart pounded.

His heart? But how was this possible?

It had been sliced through, but now it sounded strong. He felt its beat-fast and hard, but steady. His vision cleared just as slowly, brightening and coming into focus until he could see who it was who’d been tormenting him.

The girl’s hair shimmered like platinum-paler even than Cleo’s. Her skin shone with sunlit gold and her eyes were light, a silvery color a few shades darker than her hair. She was wrapped in a tapestry, one pulled from the wall of this very tent. Otherwise, she was naked.

“I’m very angry at you,” she said. “You went and got yourself killed.”

His mouth was so dry. “I’m dead. This is my entry to the darklands.”

She let out a sigh, one that sounded annoyed. “Not the darklands, although I’m sure you’re headed there one day soon. Another few moments and these grape seeds wouldn’t have been able to do anything for you.”

Jonas studied her face, the long line of her pale throat.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

She regarded him steadily. “My name is Phaedra.”

“Phaedra,” he repeated, licking his parched lips. “Did you say grape seeds? What are you talking about?”

“Earth magic has pulled you back from the precipice of death. Earth magic can either heal or kill, depending on who wields it. You’re lucky I like you.”

He looked down at himself, pulling his ruined shirt to the side and wiping at the blood. So much blood, but there was no longer a wound beneath. His skin had healed. His body was whole again, including the wrist the guard had broken.

Had she said earth magic?

But magic. . it didn’t exist. He’d never believed.

This was impossible. And yet. .

His gaze snapped to hers. “You saved my life.”

“I did. I tried to resist, to continue to watch from afar. I still don’t know if you’ll be any good to me-to us. Getting captured is one thing. At least there’s still hope for escape. But dying. .” She groaned and placed her hands on her hips. “I couldn’t help myself. I had to shift from my hawk form, and now-well, now I’m stuck here. You’re lucky I always keep a few healing seeds hidden in my feathers for emergencies!”

This girl was mad. Completely mad. “Hawk form?”

“Yes, that is what Watchers can do.”

His eyes bugged. Watchers?

“Here,” she said. “Since I can no longer shift form, I’ll show you proof of what I am another way. Or. . what I was until now.”

She pulled at the tapestry she’d used to cover herself. The cloth slipped from her chest and he gawked at it. Not for the reasons he would ever have gawked at a girl’s breasts-although Phaedra’s were the loveliest he’d ever seen in his life.

There was a mark over her heart-a swirl the size of his palm-like molten gold dancing on her flesh.

“It’ll turn darker in the years to come,” she said wistfully. “As my magic begins to fade.”

He couldn’t find his voice to speak, could barely find the air to breathe. Could this be true?

The hawk-the one who perched near camp every day. The one who’d followed him here into Paelsia. The one he’d tried to ignore. Had it been Phaedra?

Magic was real? Watchers were real?

It flew in the face of everything he’d believed. But seeing it, seeing her, with his own eyes-

Jonas jumped as he felt the sharp tip of a sword press against his throat. He condemned himself for losing focus, for being utterly distracted by Phaedra’s strange swirling mark and the proof of magic that caused his thoughts to become a jumbled, confused tangle.

His newly healed heart sank as he flicked his gaze toward Prince Magnus, who had silently and stealthily entered the tent.

“Apologies,” the prince said. “I certainly wouldn’t want to interrupt this.”

Jonas winced. “What a coincidence. I’ve been looking for you.”

“The feeling’s entirely mutual, rebel.”

Rebel. How were his rebels faring outside this tent? Concern tore through him. Lysandra would have to lead them on her own for now. He hoped she was having great success in finding Xanthus.

“I just saved his life and now you threaten it?” Phaedra pulled her tapestry back up to cover herself. “That’s very rude.”

The prince’s face was shadowed. “You have no idea just how rude I can be. Shall I show you?”

“Take that sword away from his throat right now!”

The sword pressed harder against Jonas’s windpipe. The barest of movements would sever it. Jonas was still so weak from blood loss, and the violent, magical healing had sapped his strength even more. He could barely move enough to protect himself, let alone Phaedra.

Magnus’s gaze dropped to the edge of Phaedra’s tapestry. “Is what you said to the rebel true? Are you a Watcher?”

“I am. And you’re the son of the King of Blood, who searches for the Kindred. Does he even know what he’ll find if he’s successful in locating it? Do you?”

Jonas let out an unwilling gasp as Magnus’s sword nicked his skin and a warm ooze of blood trickled down his throat.

“Much gratitude for the confirmation the treasure exists.” Magnus’s gaze narrowed. “I must admit, I’ve had my doubts. How exactly do I find it?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Your sister’s magic is just like Eva’s was, isn’t it? She’s the key to all of this.”

Magnus’s expression darkened. “How can she locate it? And when? Must the road be finished first?”

“Questions-so many questions.” She cocked her head, studying him. “All I can tell you is she’s in danger. Her magic puts her at great risk. If it overwhelms her, all will be lost before anything can be found-and I know you don’t want that. I believe Lucia means more to you than any treasure. And I know how to help her. Shall I tell you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Speak.”

“There is a ring that was forged in the Sanctuary from the purest magic to help the original sorceress control the Kindred and her own elementia. This ring is closer than you might expect.”

“Tell me more.” His words were sharp and eager now. “Where can I find it?”

“If I tell you, you will release Jonas and you will have your father cease construction of this road.”

“And if you don’t tell me, I’ll slit his throat right now.”

The part of her mark visible above the edge of the tapestry swirled and brightened.

The sword’s hilt began to glow orange. Magnus released it with a gasp of pain.

“Wrong answer,” Phaedra said. “Perhaps you’re not ready for my help yet. Pity. Mark my words, one day you’ll wish you’d been more amenable to my advice. Jonas, we must go.”

She turned to the flap of the tent, but escape was blocked by someone new standing in their way.

He was tall, with bronze hair that swept his shoulders. His eyes were the color of copper. He was easily twice Jonas’s age.

Phaedra eyes widened at the sight of him. “Xanthus.”

He smiled at her. “It has been a very long time, Phaedra.”

“Too long.”

“You knew I was here, didn’t you?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“But you told no one else.”

“The others think you’re dead. And you’ve done a very good job of keeping yourself hidden all these years.”

“But not from you.”

“No, not from me.”

“I have missed you, sister. So much.”

“And I’ve missed you. Even though I hated you for leaving. For doing what she told you to do.”

Pain entered his copper-colored eyes. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know.” She jumped into his arms, hugging him tight. “You can make it up to me. Leave this place. You can help me. . help us. We need safe passage out of this camp.”

Jonas tried to follow along, but he was lost. This man-Xanthus. He was the road engineer the rebels had targeted. But he was a Watcher too? Phaedra’s brother? How was any of this possible?

“I was told you would come here,” Xanthus said, still in Phaedra’s embrace.

“Who told you?” She pulled back and looked up into his face, touching his cheek. But then her face paled. “She’s evil, Xanthus. Why can’t anyone see that as clearly as I do?”

“Melenia does what she must to save us all,” Xanthus said. “And it’s now, Phaedra. We’re so close.” He clasped her face between his hands. “And I’m so sorry. I wish you could be here when it happens. What we’ve waited so long for.”

“Where else will I be? I’ve sacrificed my immortality, just as you did. We can be together again. The past is the past. Let’s leave it there.”

Xanthus’s eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid not, my sister. You know far too much. I’ve been given very specific instructions from Melenia. And I am at her command-I always have been. I always will be.”

His hands began to glow with golden light and Phaedra drew in another gasp that sounded pained this time.

“What are you doing to her?” Jonas demanded. “Unhand her!”

Magnus watched all this silently, with his arms crossed over his chest, a deep frown creasing his brow.

“Nothing can stop this,” Xanthus said. “It is for the best. Try to remember that, my sweet sister. I did this because it’s the right thing to do.”

The glow covered Phaedra’s entire form as Jonas and Magnus looked on, stunned by the display of magic.

But what kind of magic was this?

Jonas surged forward, grabbing hold of Xanthus’s arm to pry it away from Phaedra. Xanthus grabbed Jonas by his bloody shirt and launched him backward. He flew across the room and hit the wooden table hard, breaking it.

Phaedra fell to her knees on the floor of the tent, her eyes glazed as they met Jonas’s from where he now crouched ten paces away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I failed. I wish I could have. .”

She breathed out one last breath and the life left her eyes. A moment later the swirling of her mark spread to cover her entire body, and she disappeared in a flash of shimmering light.

Xanthus has vanished from the tent as well.

Jonas stared in shock at the place the Watcher had been only moments before. Then he flinched as the cold, sharp tip of Magnus’s sword touched his throat.

“On your feet, Agallon.”

Jonas forced himself up, and he eyed the prince with unbridled fury-the sour taste of it rising in his throat. “You act as if you have not just witnessed a miracle. . and a tragedy.”

“I’ll admit, it was an unexpected sight before the sun has fully risen.” Behind the prince’s droll tone, Jonas heard a quaking. The sight of the Watcher’s death-is that what it had been? Was Phaedra dead? — had shaken Magnus too. “But I’m recovering quickly. Time for a little trip to my father’s dungeon along with your rebel friends. He’ll be very pleased I’ve finally captured you.”

How could he stand there and pretend that none of this mattered? That the world would never be the same? Watchers were not simply legend. Magic was real. Jonas was reeling. “I didn’t murder your mother.”

“I know. Aron Lagaris did.”

Jonas shot a look toward Aron’s body, and his gaze snapped back to Magnus’s. “He killed my brother and my best friend.”

“And now he’s dead. He received the same end I originally planned for you. Although, I must admit, I planned on making you suffer quite a bit longer.”

“It was supposed to be my blade that took his life!”

Magnus offered him a thin, humorless smile. “Get over it.”

Suddenly, there was a scream from outside the tent. Many screams and terrified cries that no longer sounded like the familiar sounds of battle. It only took a moment to discover the reason why.

“Fire!” someone yelled.

A line of flames began to snake around the circumference of the tent, as if the earth itself had been set ablaze.

Magnus pulled his sword away from Jonas’s throat and moved swiftly to the flap of the tent, pushing it aside.

The camp had ignited. Orange and yellow flames lit up the area, drowning out the glow of dawn over the mountains, torching the dry, fallen trees, the piles of wood, the tents. Guards and slaves alike ran screaming. Some were on fire-flames that turned gold and silver and a bright and unnatural blue. They screamed in agony as the fire scorched their flesh before the violent and overwhelming fire transformed their bodies to crystal that exploded into a million shards of broken glass.

Jonas stared at the sight of the deaths with disbelief.

This was no normal fire ignited during a battle.

This-this was a horrible, destructive, deadly magic. Fire magic.

“What is this?” Magnus said, his voice rising in fear.

Blood spilled on the Blood Road. Three times. Three disasters.

A tornado, an earthquake, a wildfire.

Jonas’s newly healed heart pounded faster. He came up next to the prince. “Do you believe in fate, Prince Magnus? I never did before, but. . do you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Jonas slammed his forehead against the prince’s face. He’d been so still, so weakened since his resurrection. It had taken time to get his full strength back.

But it was finally back.

He grasped Magnus’s sword, then brought his elbow up into the prince’s face and hit his nose hard. Blood gushed and Magnus roared in pain. Jonas snatched the sword completely away from Magnus and swung it around to slice the other boy’s throat. But Magnus was also fast, and he blocked the strike with his forearm.

By now, the tent was engulfed in flames. The fire licked at them both, so hot it burned.

Jonas spun the sword around and drove the hilt into Magnus’s gut, earning a satisfying grunt of pain. But before he could manage another blow, Magnus grabbed for a handful of Jonas’s hair, tearing it out by its roots and kneeing him in the chest. He then managed to yank the sword completely from Jonas’s grip.

“We need get out of here or we’ll die,” Magnus growled.

“I came here prepared to die today. In fact, I already did.”

Jonas tackled Magnus and lurched both of them backward. As they fell, Jonas angled himself so that it was Magnus’s head that slammed against the side of the burning table. It was hard enough to stun the prince, and he knelt on the ground, gasping for breath, sword in hand.

Still, Magnus grasped hold of Jonas before he was able to slip away.

“I have a dungeon just for you, rebel,” he promised.

Five guards approached the burning tent, shouting Magnus’s name.

“Here!” he called out to them. “I have a prisoner!”

“Wrong,” Jonas snarled, using every last piece of his strength to wrench away from Magnus’s grip, yanking the sword away from the prince again. He brought the blade down, but Magnus rolled out of the way just in time.

Jonas swore, eyeing the approaching guards who loomed at the tent’s burning entry.

“Seize him!” Magnus yelled.

“Perhaps another time, your highness.” He’d come here to take Magnus as a prisoner, but if he tarried another moment, it would be the other way around.

Without wasting another moment, he cut through the side of the tent and burst out into the chaos outside, ducking and hiding to avoid being seen by any guards through the magical wildfire that raged all around them.

To his right, he saw an older, bald man and a young girl huddled close, away from the carnage, looking around with fear and confusion. The tents were all on fire now. The road camp was an inferno.

Strewn everywhere on the ground were burning bodies-guard or rebel, their blood spilled across the road as if it was a violent and fiery canvas. Some had turned to the strange crystal form after being touched by the fire-broken and scattered across the dusty ground.

Where is Lysandra?

It was his first coherent thought.

He strained his eyes to find her, to find any rebels, but he saw no one apart from those that lay dead on the ground. He couldn’t count. He wasn’t sure how many had fallen.

The body of a dead girl with long, dark hair lay across his path, an arrow pierced through her heart. He stopped breathing completely at the sight of her.

“No. Please, no.” He crouched down, pushing her hair off her face.

But it was not Lysandra. It was Onoria.

A loss. . a horrible loss to them all. Onoria was an incredibly brave and clever rebel.

After closing her eyes, he got up quickly and ducked behind a tent. He couldn’t stay here. If he did, he would be killed, either by the fire that continued to rage or by a guard.

“Lys,” he whispered. “Where are you? Damn it. Where?”

She had to be alive. Lysandra Barbas was not meant to die tonight.

No, he decided firmly. She was alive.

And if she was, he would find her.