Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms 2)

Before Jonas realized what he was doing, he was following her, Brion jogging alongside him to keep up to their fast pace.

“Lysandra,” Jonas said. “Are you sure you know what you’re saying? The life of a rebel is dangerous and uncertain. You’re very good with a bow and arrow”—amazing, actually—“but where we make camp in the Wildlands, it’s not safe or secure. They’re a dangerous place, even for us.”

She turned on him, her eyes flashing. “Is this about me being a girl? Don’t you have any female rebels?”

“A few,” Jonas admitted.

“I’ll fit in just fine, then.”

“Don’t get me wrong, we’re thankful for your interference back there—”

“Interference?” She cut him off before he’d managed to get an entire sentence out. “I saved your lives.”

’s hands stilled. He’d managed to destroy the king’s face completely. It was very satisfying to wipe away the smug expression. He longed to do it in real life. “Yes.”

“Let’s not join them, all right? And on that note, let’s start running.”

Jonas’s gaze whipped to the right to see that several guards were drawing closer, their swords in hand.

“Stop!” one shouted at them. “In the name of the king!”

Running was definitely a good suggestion.

“Your new king lies to you all!” Jonas yelled at the crowd as he and Brion darted past them. A girl with long dark hair and light-brown eyes studied him curiously and he directed his next words at her. “The King of Blood will pay for his crimes against Paelsia! Do you stand next to a deceitful tyrant or do you stand with me and my rebels?”

If he could change just one mind today, then it would be worth it.

The guards stayed on Jonas and Brion’s tail as they tore down cobblestone streets, along narrow alleyways, barely avoiding the carriages and horses of wealthy Hawk’s Brow residents. With each sharp turn, Jonas thought they might have lost their pursuers, but the guards were not so easily evaded.

“This way,” Brion urged, grabbing Jonas’s arm and pulling him down a side street next to a small tavern.

But there was no exit. The two came to a staggering halt at the stone wall blocking their path and turned to face the three armed guards. A hawk on the tavern’s roof took off in flight.

“Couple of troublemakers,” a guard growled. “Now we get to make an example out of the two of you.”

“You’re arresting us?” Brion asked hopefully.

“And give you a chance to escape? No. Only your heads will be making the journey back to the palace with us. The rest of you can stay right here and rot.” He smiled, showing off a broken tooth. His compatriots chuckled.

“Wait,” Brion began, “we can figure something—”

“Kill them,” the lead guard instructed, stepping back.

Jonas grappled for the jeweled dagger he kept at his waist— the very same dagger Lord Aron had used to take Jonas’s brother’s life—but it would be little use against three sharp swords. Still, if he would die today, he would take at least one of these brutes with him. He gripped the dagger tightly. Brion clutched another blade in his hand as the two guards approached, their hulking forms blocking the sunlight.

Then both guards staggered forward, their expressions registering pain and confusion. They fell forward, hitting the ground hard. Sticking out of each of their backs was a deeply embedded arrow. The third guard spun around, his sword raised. There was a sickening sound and he, too, fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from his throat.

A girl stood at the entrance to the alleyway. As she lowered her bow, Jonas realized it was the same girl he had seen in the crowd earlier, but now he noticed that she wore the tunic and trousers of a boy. Her dark hair hung in a thick braid down her back.

“You said you’re rebels. Is this true?”

Jonas just stared at her, dumbfounded. “Who are you?”

“Answer my question first and I might tell you.”

He exchanged a look with Brion, whose eyes were wide as saucers. “Yes. We’re rebels.”

“And you mentioned Paelsia. You’re Paelsian?” She swept her gaze over them. “Well, that should be obvious by how you’re dressed. Not nearly enough tailored silk between you to pass for Auranians. Tell me, though . . . do you nearly get yourselves killed every day?”