Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms 2)
Talia held her blood covered hands out to either side of her, her eyes growing wider and wider as if she saw something horrifying all around her. Something truly evil. “Run!”
At that moment, a huge flaming arrow arched through the air and hit Talia directly in the center of her chest. She staggered backward and fell to the ground, her clothes catching fire quicker than Lysandra could comprehend.
Lysandra gripped Gregor’s arm. “She’s dead!”
He craned his head urgently to look back in the direction the arrow had come from, then yanked Lysandra to the side to avoid another arrow aimed directly at them that instead sliced into a tree trunk. “I was afraid of this.”
“Afraid of what?” Lysandra spotted a figure fifty paces away, armed with a crossbow. “He killed her! Gregor—he killed her! Who is he?”
The figure had spotted then and had begun to give chase. Gregor swore loudly and took hold of her wrist. “Come on, we need to hurry!”
She didn’t argue. Clutching each other’s hands, they ran back to the village as fast as they could.
It was on fire.
Chaos had swiftly descended upon the village. Horrified screams of fear and pain pierced the air—screams of the dying. Scores of men in red uniforms astride horses galloped through the streets, holding torches that they used ruthlessly to set each cottage ablaze. Townspeople ran from their burning homes, trying to escape a fiery death. The sharp swords in other guards’ hands fell upon many, slicing through flesh and bone.
“Gregor!” Lysandra cried as they came to a wrenching halt, hidden from the soldiers behind a stone cottage. “King Gaius—this is his doing! He’s killing everyone!”
“We told him no. He didn’t like that answer.” He turned and took her by her arms, staring fiercely into her eyes. “Lysandra. Little sister. You need to go. You need to run far away from here.”
The fire heated the air, turning dusk to nightmarish daylight all around her. “What are you talking about? I can’t go!”
“Lys—”
“I need to find our mother!” She shoved away from Gregor and raced through the village, dodging any obstacle in her path. She staggered to a halt outside of her cottage, now engulfed in flame.
Her mother’s body lay halfway across the threshold. Her father’s body was only ten paces away, lying in a pool of blood.
Before she could fully register the horror, Gregor caught up. He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, running beyond the village limits before dropping her clumsily to the ground. He tossed her bow and a handful of arrows at her.
“They’re dead,” she whispered. Her heart felt like a stone that had dropped into her stomach.
“I was watching and listening as I ran. The king’s guards are gathering any survivors up and they will make them work the road.” His voice broke. “I must go back to help the others. Go— find the rebels. Do what you can to stop this from happening anywhere else, Lys. Do you understand me?”
She shook her head, her eyes burning from the smoke and from hateful tears. “No, I won’t leave you! You’re all I have left!”
Gregor took her chin sharply in his hand. “Follow me,” he growled, “and I’ll put an arrow through your heart myself to save you from whatever fate now lies before our friends and neighbors.”
It was the last he said before he turned and ran back to the village.
And all she could do was watch him go.
Chapter 1
JONAS AURANOS
When the King of Blood wanted to make a point, he made it as sharp as possible.
It was midday. With bone-chilling thuds, the executioner’s ax fell upon the necks of three accused rebels, severing their heads from their bodies. The blood dripped through the stocks and spread across the smooth stone ground before a swelling crowd a thousand deep. And all Jonas could do was watch in horror as the heads were then mounted upon tall spikes in the palace square for all to see.
Three boys who’d barely reached manhood, now dead for being menaces and troublemakers. The severed heads stared at the crowd with blank eyes and slack expressions. Crimson blood trickled down the wooden spikes while the bodies were taken away to be burned.
The king who had quickly and brutally conquered this land did not give second chances—especially not to anyone who publicly opposed him. Rebellion would be dealt with swiftly and remorselessly—and publicly.
With each deadly fall of the blade, a growing uneasiness slithered through the masses like a heavy mist they could no longer ignore. Auranos had once been free and prosperous and at peace— but now someone with a taste for blood was seated upon the throne.
The crowd stood shoulder to shoulder in the large square. Close by, Jonas could see young nobles, well dressed with tense jaws and wary expressions. Two fat, drunk men clinking their wine-filled goblets together as if toasting to a day filled with possibility. An old, gray-haired woman with a deeply lined face and a fine silk dress, her gaze darting around suspiciously. All were clambering for the best spot to see the king when he entered onto the marble balcony high above. The air was scented with smoke from both chimneys and cigarillos and with the aromas of baking bread, roasting meat, and the fragrant oils and cloyingly floral perfumes liberally used by many in lieu of bathing regularly. And the noise—a cacophony of voices, both conspiratorial whispers and deep-throated shouts—made it impossible to think clearly.