Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms 2)

For a week she’d lived with the rebels, eaten with them by the campfire, hunted with them, trained with them. He’d barely spoken directly to her if he could help it, since she usually wanted to talk of her plans and ideas for what the rebels should be focusing their attention on.

“Farewell,” she said, giving the rebel leader a tight and insincere smile over her shoulder.

She returned her attention to the path ahead. It would be a long and treacherous hike through the Wildlands before she got to her destination. The moment she arrived at the first village in Paelsia, she decided, she would find a horse.

“You’re going to scout the road camp by yourself?”

She kept walking. “Yes, Jonas, that’s exactly where I’m going since you refuse to do anything to help our people.”

He might refuse to mount an attack at this time, but he had at least succeeded in gaining more information about the precise locations of the road camps currently under construction in Paelsia. Many who might not wish to join the rebels completely were sometimes willing to whisper secrets if there was no chance of being caught.

Lysandra planned to investigate the camp located by Chief Basilius’s deserted compound, for it was the closest location to her destroyed village. It was here she expected to find people she knew—those who had survived. If she could free any of them, help any of them, she needed to try. And perhaps Gregor would be there. But the painful hope squeezed her chest too tightly, so she put the thought out of her mind.

“Don’t go, Lysandra,” Jonas said. “We need you back at camp.”

This made her stop walking and look at him suspiciously, pushing aside the branch of a tree to see him properly through the gathering darkness. “You need me, Jonas?”

“You’ve proven your worth as a rebel—and your skill with a bow and arrow. We can’t lose you.”

His words surprised her, since she had the impression he couldn’t care less about her. “I will return.” She hadn’t been certain she would, but his unexpected praise coaxed the words from her lips. “But I need to see for myself what’s become of the people from my village. It can’t wait another day.”

“I won’t be able to protect you if you run off and do your own thing.”

“I don’t need your protection.” She tried to keep her tone even and controlled, but the suggestion that she was a weak girl who needed a strong boy to protect her was infuriating. “Don’t worry about me, Agallon. Spend your precious time worrying about Princess Cleo. Perhaps she’ll jump aboard the next scheme you come up with that doesn’t dare put anyone at risk of spilling even one drop of blood.”

She twisted the words as if they were a weapon and succeeded in making Jonas wince. His decisions were ludicrous to her. After all, each and every rebel had known the potential for danger when they’d signed up for the job!

Jonas shot Brion a deeply withering look. Lysandra had learned quickly that a few kind words, a mere touch of his arm, or a smile would have Brion eating out of her hand and telling her secrets. Such as Jonas’s clandestine visit to the princess that resulted only in failure.

“We should go with her,” Brion said firmly, ignoring Jonas’s glare. “We need to see for ourselves the proof of how the king is treating our people.”

Lysandra’s heart swelled. “Thank you, Brion.”

His eyes locked with hers and he offered her the edge of a smile. “Anything for you, Lys.”

Jonas was quiet, his expression hard, as he looked at both of them in turn.

“Fine,” he finally said. “You and Brion wait here for me while I go back to camp and put Ivan in charge while we’re away. We’ll go together and we’ll return together.”

Lysandra wasn’t sure why the stubborn rebel leader’s decision felt like a major victory for her. But it did.

During their two day’s journey, the trio encountered an enormous black bear who’d appeared to them like a demon, barricading their path. Brion had barely managed to escape the swipe of its razor-sharp claws and Lysandra had felt the heat of its breath on her neck as she snatched him out of its way just in time. Later, they also found a small camp of outlaws who, when offered the chance to join the rebel ranks, unsheathed their daggers and threatened to cut the three into tiny, bloody pieces and eat them for dinner.

They took that as a firm no.

Finally they emerged from the forest and moved east into Paelsia—the tips of the jagged Forbidden Mountains visible at the horizon, stretching tall and ominous into the gray clouds above.

Chief Basilius’s compound was a walled area with clay and stone huts and cottages. Everyone who’d made it their home had scattered after the chief ’s murder, leaving it deserted. It had been transformed into a temporary city of tents for the guards and soldiers who surveyed the area.

Here, the ground still held some vegetation, the trees some leaves. To the south, the edge of the Wildlands was a half day’s journey. To the west and toward the Silver Sea lay small villages, including the remains of Lysandra’s.

Swarming with Paelsian workers, the king’s road cut into the ground like a fresh wound. It was incredible to Lysandra how quickly it was being constructed, as if the king had slid his finger across the dusty Paelsian landscape and the road’s path had magically appeared wherever he touched.

But there was no magic here. Only sweat. Only pain and blood.

The three looked on grimly at the sight before them from where they crouched unseen in a forest thick with evergreens near the compound and camp.

A meager river wound through the dusty land parallel to the road, the only fresh water this area had to offer. Beyond it, literally thousands of Paelsians lined up along a two mile section to toil. All ages—from young to old. Two Paelsian boys worked feverishly thirty paces away from the hidden rebels, sawing a thick tree trunk. Others carried heavy stones that had been painstakingly chiseled flat to the front of the road, which was out of sight from where Lysandra pressed up against a tree, the bark’s sap leaving its sticky trace on her skin. Whenever anyone slowed their pace, the crack of the guards’ whips sounded out, slicing brutally across bare backs.