Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms 2)

It felt as if it had gone on forever, but finally the tornado grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared completely just before it fully reached them. The thunderous noise faded to nothing. A few more moments of eerie stillness stretched out before the birds resumed chirping and the insects began to buzz. Cries could be heard from the camp a hundred paces away as all present reeled from the disaster.

A pair of guards had spotted them through the felled trees and had broken away from the rest of the pandemonium. They stormed into the forest line, swords drawn.

“We need to move,” Jonas growled. “Now.”

Clutching tightly to her bow, Lysandra shakily got to her feet and tore after Brion and Jonas through the forest, her boots sinking into the loose earth and tangled roots.

“Halt in the name of the king!” one guard shouted.

A branch whipped Lysandra in the face, and she tasted the coppery tang of her own blood as she shoved it away. They couldn’t slow. After what had happened at the road, these guards would cut their throats immediately, assuming them to be slaves who’d escaped during the disaster.

The shouts of the guards faded, but the three continued to run for as long as they could before finally slowing.

“What happened?” Brion said, his expression strained. “What just happened back there?”

Lysandra found she was shaking. “What part?”

“All of it. That tornado . . .”

“A coincidence,” Jonas said. He was winded but kept striding quickly.

“Too strange to be a coincidence.” Brion scratched the back of his head. “Buckets of blood spilled results in something like that? Out of nowhere? My grandmother used to tell me stories . . . about witches, about blood magic . . .”

Lysandra looked at him, her eyes widening. “I saw a witch like that just before my village was attacked. She was using blood magic to try to see the future, I think. My brother called her an Oldling, one who worshipped the elements. She—she’s dead now. Like so many of the others.”

“I don’t believe in magic,” Jonas said firmly. “Belief in magic is what has kept our people down for centuries, what keeps them from fighting back like they should. What I believe in is what I can see with my eyes. Paelsian weather has never been predictable. That’s all that was. But as far as the camp—I’ve now seen what the king has done. You were right, Lysandra.”

After what she’d experienced, Jonas’s confirmation was small comfort. “As long as the king lives the road continues to be built and our people will die every day.”

“We need something to use against the king.” Jonas’s brow furrowed. “Something that holds value for him that can help shift some power to our rebels. Something that will give us a chance to hurt him, to slow him down so we’ll have the chance to stop him completely.” He was quiet for a moment, but then his brown eyes met hers. “I know just the thing.”

She stared at him for a moment. “What?”

“Not what. Who. Princess Cleiona.”

“Her again? What about her this time?”

“No, listen. I don’t think she’ll always be an asset to the king, but she is now, particularly when it comes to his new grasp on Auranos. If she wasn’t worth something to him, something very important, she’d already be dead. That makes her valuable to us.” His lips thinned. “After what I’ve seen here today, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to free our people from his tyranny.”

“You mean to assassinate the princess to send a message to the king,” Lysandra said, her voice breathless.

“Jonas . . .” Brion looked uneasy at the suggestion. “Are you sure you want to do something like that?”

“I’m not planning to assassinate her.” Jonas met each of their gazes in turn. “I’m planning to kidnap her.”

Chapter 9

KING GAIUS

THE SANCTUARY

The king sensed her presence before she came into view in the stark, windowless room, which had now become familiar territory to him. “You’ve kept me waiting far too long.”

He didn’t try to keep the edge of impatience from his voice. “Apologies, your majesty,” she soothed. “Please tell me I was worth the wait.”

He swiveled on his heels to let his gaze sweep over her. She wore a gown that seemed spun from pure gold. Perfect skin, long golden hair, eyes like flawless sapphires. She was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen, without exception.

His last mistress had been a mortal witch. This one was an immortal goddess. Or as close to it as he’d ever known.