“Perhaps not. But he’ll be furious when he finds out.”
“So let him be furious. You want him to go rushing out in his condition and get himself killed? There’s no chance he’s strong enough for this right now.”
Jonas rounded the corner and leaned against the wall until he was in full view of Lysandra and Galyn.
“Oh, Lys,” he drawled. “I do appreciate your endless faith in my abilities.”
Lysandra Barbas, his friend and last remaining fellow rebel, grimaced as she turned toward him, twisting a finger through her dark, curly hair. “You’re awake.”
“Yes. And shamelessly spying on the two friends I have left talking about me like I’m a sick child.” He rubbed his forehead. “How long have I been out?”
“Three days.”
He gaped at her. Three whole days?
Three days since Felix had sliced that dagger through his shoulder, pinning him to the floor of the tavern.
And earlier, when Jonas had kissed Lysandra for the first time.
Two memories—one bad, one good—forever burned into his brain.
Galyn, tall and heavyset and in his mid-twenties, raised a bushy blond eyebrow. “How’s that healing balm working?”
Jonas forced a smile. “Like magic,” he lied.
In his entire life, he’d never believed in magic. But that stance had been irrevocably changed when he’d been brought back from the brink of death by powerful earth magic. But this so-called healing balm . . . well, he wasn’t convinced that it was anything more than common mud.
Jonas’s smile fell when he registered Lysandra’s garb. She was dressed in trousers and leathers, and had a canvas satchel slung over one shoulder, her bow and quiver of arrows over the other.
“Where are you going at this hour?” he demanded.
She pressed her lips together and didn’t reply, instead shooting him a defiant glare.
“Fine, go ahead and be stubborn.” He turned to regard Galyn instead. “What message was meant for me and who sent it?”
“Don’t answer,” Lys hissed.
Galyn looked between the two uncertainly, his arms crossed over his chest. Finally, he sighed and turned to Jonas apologetically. “Nerissa. She stopped by yesterday.”
Over the recent months, Nerissa Florens had proven herself a valuable rebel spy. She held a position at the Auranian palace, and possessed a rare skill for getting important information exactly when it was needed.
“What was her message?”
“Galyn . . .” Lys growled.
He grimaced. “Sorry, Lys. You know I have to tell him.” Galyn turned his patient face to Jonas once again. “Jonas, the king is having a ship prepared. Nerissa doesn’t know exactly when he’s leaving, but it’s certainly only a matter of days.”
A king preparing to travel wouldn’t usually qualify as important news. But King Gaius had sequestered himself in the palace for months, not setting foot outside the walls since the disastrous wedding between Cleo and Magnus. It was said he feared another rebel attack, and Jonas wasn’t sure if this made him cowardly or smart.
So if the King of Blood was not only leaving the palace, but leaving it for a long journey by ship, it was huge news.
Jonas’s heart began to race. “Did she say where he’s going? Back to Limeros?” The northern kingdom could be reached by land, but it was much more comfortable—and royal—to take a ship along the western coastline.
“No. All she knows is that he’s preparing to sail somewhere, and that no one knows where or when.”
Jonas glanced again at Lys, whose eyes were still trained on Galyn, her face now red with anger.
“Don’t look at him like that,” Jonas said. “You should have told me all this yourself.”