Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes

“If you took that as a compliment, you’re even more stupid than I thought you were.”

  This time he couldn’t hold back his grin. “I’ve been called worse than stupid.”

  A royal like her would never normally have journeyed past the tree line to see how dark the forest could get, especially this close to dusk. The thick leaves on the tall, imposing trees blocked out any sunlight, casting a soulless darkness all around them, as if this were the middle of the night. Cleo stumbled on the twisting roots of the trees, nearly falling. Jonas gripped her arm tighter. “No time to stop, princess. Not much farther now.”

  Even he didn’t like to tarry long in such a place without the protection of a larger group.

  She yanked at her skirts to keep them out of the muck and weeds and gave him a dirty look.

  Finally, they arrived at a slight clearing. A bonfire crackled, lending light to the gathering darkness. The strong scent of cooked venison told Jonas that the hunt had gone well today. The rebels wouldn’t go hungry tonight.

  The princess’s steps faltered again as shadows approached. At least three dozen rebels with ragged clothes and unfriendly expressions drew closer. Some began to climb the trees. Cleo looked up, her eyes widening at the sight of the makeshift shelters strung together with rope, sticks, and thin pieces of wood twenty feet up into the thick branches.

  “This is where you live,” she said with surprise.

  “For now.”

  Cleo crossed her arms and swept a glance through the camp. Only a few rebels looked directly at her—some with curiosity, but most with distrust or contempt. Not the friendliest place in the world for a royal princess, that was for sure.

  Tarus raced out in front of them, flashing Jonas a grin as he pursued a rabbit. At fourteen, he was one of the youngest of the rebels and endlessly enthusiastic, if currently unskilled in combat. Jonas had taken him along on several recruiting missions. The kid’s slight build and friendly face helped to set at ease the minds of any suspicious citizens Jonas wished to speak with.

  The sound of conversation, of chirping insects, and the squawk of birds high in the trees brought the forest to life all around them.

  It wasn’t so bad here. At least, he didn’t think so.

  Cleo scratched her arm where she’d been bitten by a mosquito, seeming more annoyed than fearful now that this indignity had been heaped upon her. Too bad. It wasn’t the finest golden palace, or even a reasonably decent inn, but it would have to do.

  Brion approached. “Need any help here?” he asked, flicking a look at Jonas.

  “No,” Jonas replied. “Everything’s fine. Go find your girlfriend and keep her out of my way. I don’t need any more trouble tonight.”

  “You mean the girlfriend who, depending on the day, hates my guts almost as much as she hates yours?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Brion moved away past the fire, slapping a boy named Phineas on his back. They laughed about something while glancing back in Cleo’s direction.

  “That’s Brion,” Jonas said. “He’s a close friend of mine. Strong, loyal, brave.”

  “Good for him.” Cleo narrowed her eyes. “You’re their leader, aren’t you?”

  Jonas shrugged. “I do my best.”

  “And on your orders they’ll kill me—even your close friend Brion. Or would you prefer to do it yourself?” When he didn’t answer right away she turned to look directly at him. “Well?”

  He drew closer and curled his fingers around her upper arm. The girl spoke too loudly and much too freely. She was worse than Lysandra. “You’d probably be smart not to make such suggestions out loud, your highness. You might give some of my rebels ideas. Not everyone agrees with my decision to bring you here.”

  She tried to pull away but he held firm.

  “Unhand me,” she snapped.

  “This is politics only, princess. What I’ve done today—what I’ll do in the days ahead—is for my people. Only them.” Jonas’s gaze shifted to the left and he swore under his breath when he saw who now swiftly approached.

  Lysandra’s hair was loose from her braid, a long, wild tangle of dark curls. Her brown eyes fixed on Cleo. “So this is her, is it? Her royal highness?”

  “It is,” Jonas said, already weary. Dealing with the stubborn and opinionated Lysandra was exhausting even on the best of days. “Lysandra Barbas, please meet Princess Cleiona Bellos.”

  Cleo remained silent, wary, as the girl looked her up and down.

  “She’s still breathing,” Lysandra observed.

  “Yes, she is,” Jonas confirmed.

  Lysandra walked a slow circle around Cleo, eyeing her gown, her jewelry, the pointy tips of her gold sandals peeking out from beneath her skirts. “Should we send the king one of her royal fingers as proof that we have her?”

  “Lysandra,” Jonas hissed, his anger rising. “Shut up.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Let me guess,” Cleo said, her expression pinched. “This is one of your rebels who did not approve of your plan to kidnap me.”

  “Lysandra has her own ideas on what decisions I should be making these days.”

  The rebel girl swept her disapproving gaze over Cleo again. “I don’t fully understand the worth in kidnapping useless girls who serve no purpose other than looking pretty.”

  “You don’t even know me,” Cleo snapped. “And yet you’ve decided you hate me. That would be as fair as my hating you, sight unseen.”

  Lysandra rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say that I hate all royals equally. And you’re a royal. Therefore, I hate you. Nothing personal.”

  “Which makes absolutely no sense. Nothing personal? Hate is something I take quite personally. If I’ve earned it, that’s one thing. If I haven’t . . . it’s a foolish decision for you to serve out such a strong emotion without thought.”

  Lysandra’s brows drew together. “King Gaius burned my village to the ground and enslaved my people. He killed my mother and father. And my brother, Gregor—I don’t know where he is. I might never see him again.” She spoke even more furiously. “You, though—you don’t know pain. You don’t know struggle and sacrifice. You were born with a golden spoon in your mouth and a gilded roof over your head. You’re betrothed to a prince!”

  Again, Jonas opened his mouth to speak. This was leading them nowhere and had gained the attention of a dozen more rebels, who were now listening intently to the girls.

  But the princess spoke first. Cleo’s eyes flashed. “You don’t think I’ve known pain? Perhaps it’s different from the horrors you’ve experienced, but I assure you, I have. I lost my beloved sister to a disease no healer could name. I found her body myself, cold in her bed only hours before King Gaius invaded my home. My father was murdered trying to defend his kingdom from his enemy. He fought side by side with his men rather than hide himself away where he might have been safe. My mother died in childbirth with me and I never met her—but I knew my sister hated me for years because of this. I lost a trusted guard, a . . . a boy I’d given my heart to, when he defended me against the very prince I’m now betrothed to against my will. I have lost almost everyone in this world I love in such a short time that I can barely remain standing and contain my grief.” She drew in a ragged breath. “Think of me what you will. But I swear to the goddess I will have my throne back—and King Gaius will pay for his crimes.”

  Lysandra stared at her for another moment, her eyes now brimming with tears. “You’re damn right he will.” Without another word, she stormed away from them and disappeared into the dark forest, followed after a moment by Brion.

  Had Cleo won the girl over or had her speech fallen on deaf ears? Jonas didn’t know. And he still wasn’t sure how much of Lysandra’s bravado was real and how much was generated to make her look tough in front of the others. But the pain in her eyes whenever she spoke of her village, of her pare
nts and her lost brother . . . that was real. He understood her pain, just as he understood Cleo’s. For two very different girls, they had a lot in common.

  He realized the princess was glaring at him.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  Cleo raised her chin. “If you decide to kill me when King Gaius refuses your demands, know I will fight for my life until my very last breath.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a solitary moment.” Jonas cocked his head. “Though I think there’s some sort of misunderstanding here. I don’t plan to kill you—now or later. But am I going to use you against the Damoras as much as I possibly can? You bet I am.”

  Her brows drew together. “How?”

  “He holds you as a symbol of hope and unity to the Auranian people. The rebels shall do the same. If he refuses to meet my demands to ensure your safe return, you will stay here with us as a rebel. If the golden princess chooses to stand with us in the face of the king’s lies, that is a very strong statement.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she was about to protest, but he held up his hand.

  “I do believe he values you alive. But, of course, I’m not an idiot. He assumes that we’ll choose the violent path if he doesn’t comply, and this would also serve him well. Any footing the rebels have gained in the view of those people would be lost if you’re harmed. But it’s not my plan to hurt you in any way. You are worth more to me—and to the king—alive than dead. So I suggest you settle in, get comfortable, and wait it out. We’ll feed you, give you a place to sleep. This forest has a fierce reputation, so rarely does anyone sane venture in here.”

  Cleo swept her eyes over the length of him. “Obviously.”

  He offered her the edge of a grin. “I know my means of getting you here were far from gentle. But I swear no one will abuse you now that you’re here. You’re safe. And know this: I personally plan to shove my blade through the king’s heart and free my people from his tyranny. When I have that chance, you might just get your throne back. But Auranos is not my concern; Paelsia is.”

  He let his words settle in.

  Cleo nodded. “And the future of Auranos and its citizens is mine.”

  “Another thing we have in common—a love of our individual lands. That’s good. So, tell me, princess, will you continue to fight me on everything I do? Or will you be nice and cooperate?”

  Cleo didn’t speak for a long, silent moment. But then she met his gaze full-on, and it was every bit as fierce as his was. “Fine. I’ll cooperate. But I might not be nice about it.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “I can live with that.”

  CHAPTER 15

  CLEO

  THE WILDLANDS

  It had been seven days surrounded by a swarm of rebels. With the fine clothes she’d arrived there wearing, she stuck out in the camp like a sore thumb. After a day, she’d asked for a change of clothing and received some ragged garments to wear. Jonas gave her an extra tunic and a loose pair of trousers held up only by the power of a drawstring cinched tightly around her waist.

  Among the rebels, Cleo had drawn closer to those who didn’t look at her as if they despised her simply for being royalty. Among these rare few was Brion, Jonas’s second in command, and a young, skinny boy named Tarus, who sported a shock of red hair that immediately reminded her of Nic.

  Nic.

  Worry ate at her with each hour, each day that passed since she’d been taken from the dress shop. Was he all right? What would the king do to him? And Mira . . . she must think Cleo dead by now. If only Cleo could get a message to her.

  She’d asked Jonas if she could send one. He’d replied simply with a “no.” And then he’d walked away from her, ignoring her outrage.

  Presently, she sat with Brion, Tarus, and one of the very few female rebels, Onoria, around the campfire. Auranian days were warm and temperate and filled with light, but at night here in the Wildlands, the breeze seemed every bit as cold as she imagined Limeros to be.

  “Every hawk you see is a Watcher watching us,” Tarus said. “My pa told me that.”

  “Every hawk?” Brion scoffed. “Not every single one. Most are just birds, nothing more magical than that.”

  “Do you believe in magic?” Cleo asked, curious.

  Brion pushed a long stick into the crackling fire. “Depends on the day. Today, not so much. Tomorrow . . . maybe.”

  Cleo glanced up. “So what about that hawk? Is that a Watcher?”

  A golden hawk had settled into one of the few trees that didn’t have a sleeping shack built into its branches. It seemed quite content to sit there and look down on them.

  Onoria looked up at it, pushing long strands of dark hair out of her eyes. “I’ve noticed her before. She never hunts, just watches us. Or, really, if you ask me—she watches Jonas.”

  “Really?” Cleo said, now intrigued.

  “See? Definitely a Watcher if she’s taken a special interest in our leader.” Tarus stared up at the bird with admiration. “Their wings are made from pure gold, did you know that? That’s what my ma told me.”

  Cleo remembered her hours of research as well as the legends she’d heard all her life. “I’ve heard they can also look like mortals if they choose to—with golden skin and beauty unlike anything seen in our world.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’ve seen a few unreal beauties in my life.” Brion grinned. “You’re not so bad yourself, princess. And Onoria . . . you too, of course.”

  Onoria rolled her eyes. “Save your charm for someone who cares.”

  Now Cleo couldn’t hold back her smile. “I assure you, I’m not a Watcher. If I was, I’d escape back to the safety of the Sanctuary as soon as I could.”

  “Gotta find a wheel for that,” Tarus said.

  Cleo looked at him. “What did you say?”

  “A stone wheel.” He shrugged. “Don’t know if it’s true, it’s just what I heard from my grandma.”

  The boy’s family seemed filled to overflowing with storytellers.

  “What do you mean, a stone wheel?” asked Onoria. “Never heard of that before.”

  “It’s how they get back and forth between the mortal world and the Sanctuary in hawk form. They have these magical, carved stone wheels hidden here and there. Might look like nothing but a ruin to us, but without the wheels, they’re trapped here.”

  “Don’t let Jonas hear you talking like that,” Brion said. “He won’t listen to any nonsense about magic or Watchers. He thinks it makes Paelsians weak to hold on to legends rather than look at cold, hard facts.”

  Magical stone wheels. It was certainly a charming story. Silly, but charming.

  How much of such legends passed down from generation to generation could potentially be true, though? Jonas was naive to dismiss such talk without any consideration at all. Cleo had met an exiled Watcher without knowing it. She’d held magic in the palm of her hand. Sometimes it was far closer than anyone would ever believe.

  How she wished she had her ring; it had been a horrible mistake to hide it away. It was far too precious to be out of her sight.

  Cleo was about to ask Tarus if he knew anything about such an object, or if his family had told him any stories about the Kindred, when she felt an almost physical burning on the side of her face. She glanced over to see that Lysandra was glaring at her from the other side of camp.

  “She still hates me, doesn’t she?” It was a discouraging thought. After their initial exchange, she’d hoped she might have won the girl over—at least a little. They’d both experienced loss, experienced pain. That bonded them, even if Lysandra didn’t want to acknowledge it.

  If Cleo was perfectly honest, she envied the girl her current freedom. To be among all these rebels and seem so liberated and so utterly unafraid . . . it was kind of amazing.

  “I think Lys hates everybody,” Brion said, gnawing on an already v
ery bare bone of what remained of his meal. Onoria laughed at this comment under her breath. “Even me, if you can believe it. Although I think I’m slowly winning her over. Watch, soon she’ll be madly in love with me. But . . . don’t take it personally, princess.”

  She’d try her best. She took a deep breath and asked what was really on her mind. “Any news about the road? Has the king stopped construction on it? What do we know about the slaves?”

  Brion looked away, toward the fire. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

  “Will Jonas send another letter?”

  “The stars, the moon. Stunning, really.”

  “It is nice,” Tarus agreed. “Only lousy thing here are the insects wanting to take a chunk of your flesh.” To punctuate this, he slapped his arm to kill a bloodthirsty mosquito.

  Cleo went cold. “Nothing’s happened, has it?”

  Onoria remained silent and averted her gaze.

  Brion shoved the stick back into the fire, moving the burning wood around. “Nope. And, honestly? I doubt it will.”

  She stared at him speechlessly for a moment. “I told Jonas it was pointless. The king doesn’t want me back alive—at least, not enough to meet the demands of a rebel. The wedding is inconsequential to him—as am I.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, you’re not,” Tarus said, which earned him a sharp look from both Brion and Onoria. “What? Doesn’t she have the right to know?”

  Cleo’s chest tightened. “Know what?”

  Brion shrugged, his expression grim. “Jonas doesn’t want me to say anything to you.”

  She grabbed the sleeve of his tunic until he finally looked at her. “All the more reason why you must tell me.”

  He hesitated only another moment. “King Gaius has sent out search parties for you. They’ve been scouring Auranos and Paelsia from coast to coast.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s leaving a trail of bodies behind, butchered, of anyone who gets in his way or refuses to answer questions. All of them dead as a lesson to others that he’s serious—that he wants you found as soon as possible. So does he seem to want you back so you can marry his son right on schedule ten days from now? Yes. Is he willing to free the slaves on his Blood Road to do it? Afraid not.” Brion’s voice grew quieter, and he began to put out the fire, standing up to kick dirt on it. “I guess you’ll be joining us permanently, princess. Welcome to your new home.”