Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms 2)

“Remember one very important thing. You have no power here and you never will again. You continue to live at my whim, but I can take that courtesy away at any time without warning— just as I did with your little friend. What was her name again? Mira?”

Her blood turned to ice. “Good day, your majesty.”

She continued down the hall smoothly until she turned the next corner. There she pressed up against the wall and commanded herself to stop trembling.

“He will not defeat me,” she whispered, angrily wiping her tears away. “He thinks he has power, but it’s sand falling through his fingers. He will lose it all and have nothing left.”

But she knew her days were numbered. The wedding tour was over. The shine of the false “romance” between Magnus and herself had begun to fade. Her allies had dwindled to two boys—one who couldn’t bear to look her in the eye after her rejection of him, and another who might be dead or bound for execution.

Cleo rubbed her ring, staring down at it and praying—though not to the Goddess Cleiona, not after what she’d learned of the thieving, power-hungry Watcher—for a way through the darkness that stretched out before her. “Please. Father, please help me. I don’t know what to do. Am I a fool to believe that I have any chance against someone like King Gaius?”

The book Song of the Sorceress had told her more about Eva—that she could work magic with all four elements as easy as breathing. And at the end of the book there were two lines that had stayed with Cleo.

So many of them had fallen.

But maybe Jonas was one of those who’d gotten away. Maybe he was, even now, mounting a rescue attempt. No. She wouldn’t let herself think of such things that could only lead to disappointment.

If she was going to get out of here, she’d have to do it herself.

Somehow.

She looked up at the tiny window bleakly. It was hopeless and she knew it. A tear slid down her cheek.

“Little Lys, don’t cry.” The familiar voice reached out from the darkness.

Her head snapped to the boy sitting in the corner.

“Gregor?” She couldn’t believe her own eyes. She ran to her brother’s side, dropping down next to him. She grabbed his dirty hands in hers to prove this was real. “You’re here. You’re alive!”

“Barely.” He tried to smile. “It’s so good to see you, sister.”

“I thought you were dead! I searched for you in the road camps, but I couldn’t find you anywhere!”

“I escaped and made my way to Limeros, but was captured a couple weeks ago. They carted me all the way here on orders from the prince himself. Been in here ever since. Not much longer, though. I think they’re finally finished asking me questions. They never seem satisfied with my answers. Only my death will please them now.”

“Don’t talk like that. This is what I needed, Gregor.” Her heart grew lighter than it had in days. In weeks! “This is the sign I needed that everything’s going to be all right. We’re alive, we’re together again, and we’re going to get out of this.”

His gaze grew distant. “That’s what she told me, too. She always told me to have hope. I wish I could see her again, but she hasn’t visited me for weeks.”

Lysandra glanced around the small, stinking cell, her gaze moving over the other prisoners, some of whom were sleeping. “See who?”

“The girl made of gold and silver.”

“What?”

“She told me her name is Phaedra. She’s visited me in my dreams, told me to be patient. That I will find new hope. I figure she must have been talking about you. They put you in my cell, Lys. Mine. In a place as big as this—that has to mean something, right?”

“Who is she? What do you mean she visited you in your dreams?”

He looked past her, his expression wistful. “She’s a Watcher, little Lys. She told me not to despair. That I could still make a difference . . . and that there were others like me who could help. I thought she was mad.”

“A Watcher visited you in your dreams,” Lysandra said with disbelief. “Perhaps she’s not the one who’s mad.”

He laughed, the sound dry and brittle. “You could be right.”

“What else did this Watcher tell you?”

Gregor’s brows drew together and he squeezed Lysandra’s hands. “She said when the sorceress’s blood is spilled, they will finally rise.” Her brother’s haunted eyes met hers. “And the world will burn. That’s what she said, little Lys. The world will burn.”