Rebel Spring

by Morgan Rhodes

  Not all were cheering. Some watched with narrowed eyes and suspicious expressions. Many were well aware that the road was already under construction at several points across Mytica. Today was just for show.

  “Well done, your grace,” Aron said.

  Magnus grimaced at the sound of his reedy voice. It really would have been much easier if the boy had been relieved of his tongue after all. Then he wouldn’t always be trying to make friendly conversation with Magnus as if they were equals.

  “You think?”

  “You broke ground with confidence and certainty, befitting your position.”

  “I’m so glad you think so.” He glanced directly at the chattering weasel. “Why are you here again?”

  Aron looked momentarily offended but recovered quickly. “At the king’s wishes. He has been very kind and generous to me, and, of course, I will avail myself to him in any way he wants.”

  “Right. Well, you should go right ahead and avail yourself,” Magnus said, nodding toward the king, surrounded by important nobles and other dignitaries who’d come out for the event. “Over there.”

  “Yes, of course. I will. But first I wanted to—”

  A drunken voice from the crowd shouted out, loud enough to be heard over everyone else.

  “Fools! Every last one of you! You would believe the King of Blood’s empty promises and accept his gifts without question? You think he means to unite us as one happy kingdom? Lies! He’s driven only by greed and a lust for power! He must be stopped, or we’re all doomed!”

  Silence fell.

  Magnus’s gaze shot toward the king to see if he’d heard.

  He had. With a flick of the king’s hand, four guards marched toward the crowd, located the man, and wrenched him forward so forcefully that he fell to his knees just left of where Magnus had dug into the soft, grassy earth. When he tried to rise, a guard pushed him back down. The empty bottle he clutched in his right hand fell to the ground.

  King Gaius approached, beckoning for both Magnus and Aron to come to his side.

  The man wore what looked like finely tailored clothes that had slowly tattered to near rags. A jeweled ring, crusted in grime, encircled his left index finger. His face held a few weeks’ worth of dark beard and he smelled as if he hadn’t had bathed in the same amount of time. His eyes were glazed with however much wine he’d consumed but otherwise fiercely fixed on those who now faced him.

  The king swept his gaze over the man. “What is your name?”

  He answered defiantly. “Darius Larides, lord of this land, formerly betrothed to Emilia, late crown princess of Auranos. I chose to fight in the battle against you. And now my family is dead for having opposed you, my home destroyed. My future holds nothing but pain—but I assure you, yours holds the very same! The people here will not always believe your lies. They will not allow you to rule unchallenged. More rebel forces gather even as we speak. Auranians are not as stupid and self-involved as you think we are.”

  The king’s expression was unreadable. He raised his voice loud enough to be heard by those gathered nearby. “Lord Darius thinks I believe you all to be stupid and self-involved. I do not. You are the wisest of all your fellow countrymen for coming here to celebrate with me today. This lord is full of drink and foolish bravery. Perhaps another day he would not be so bold to insult a king who only wishes the best for his kingdom.”

  There was a tense pause.

  “I’m sure we can find a good place for him in the dungeon,” Magnus said, looking away as if bored. “He may yet have worth. It sounds as if he comes from an important family if he was betrothed to the eldest Bellos girl.”

  “Do you agree, Lord Aron,” the king asked, “with what my son suggests?”

  Aron’s brow creased, as if he was grappling for the correct response. “I don’t know, your grace.”

  Magnus glared at the useless boy. Why did his father care to even ask his opinion?

  “It’s difficult,” the king said, nodding. “But such moments as these require a decisive statement. Stand up, Lord Darius.”

  With rough prompting from the guards, the lord got to his feet. He moved his hateful glare over the three that stood facing him, his arms held tight behind him.

  “Would you take back your words?” the king asked smoothly. “And issue a public apology for what you’ve said here, spoiling my ceremony with your lies and insults?”

  Magnus’s gaze moved to the knife in the king’s hand, which caught a glimmer of sunshine.

  Lord Darius saw this too. He swallowed hard, but he did not lower his gaze. “Take me to your stinking dungeon. Put me on trial for treason. I don’t care.”

  King Gaius smiled slowly. “Of course you don’t. But kindly remember one thing, Lord Darius, if you could . . .”

  “What?”

  “A king does not take orders from a worm.”

  The knife moved so quickly that all Magnus saw was a flash of glinting metal. The next moment, blood sprayed from the drunken lord’s throat and he fell to the ground.

  The king raised the weapon above his head to show the crowd. “A fitting blood sacrifice for my road, for you all to witness for yourselves. Lord Darius was an enemy to you all, as much as any common rebel. I truly wish to be a benevolent king to all citizens of the newly united Mytica, but I will not tolerate those who would stand against me.”

  Magnus watched the blood seep from the gaping wound on the lord’s throat, soaking into the ground. Lord Darius’s gaze was on Magnus himself, filled with hatred even as the last bit of life faded from his eyes.

  “Well done, your majesty,” Aron murmured. “Of course, you were right. He deserved no pity.”

  Of course, you were right. Words that the prince himself should be saying, but he found they did not arrive readily on his tongue. Despite the heat of the day, the death of the lord had sent a violent chill through him. It felt wrong. Unnecessary. Indulgent. But of course he would never admit this aloud.

  The crowd remained quiet, looking on at this turn of events with confusion, fear, or revulsion in their eyes. Many—more than Magnus might expect—looked on with respect at the actions of their new king. Then they turned to each other with alarm as a tremor rumbled beneath their feet. Magnus felt the vibrations pulsing through the shovel he still held. Lord Darius’s empty wine bottle rolled until it hit a tree, hard enough to break the glass.

  “Goddess, what is that?” the queen whispered, her face paling. She’d drawn close enough to grip Magnus’s sleeve.

  It was over as quickly as it began.

  The king swept his gaze across the crowd, his brow furrowed as if he was concentrating very hard. “Is this what she meant, I wonder?” he murmured.

  “What did you say, Gaius?” the queen asked, her voice shaky.

  “Nothing of interest.” He handed the bloody knife off to a guard and wiped the bit of blood that had sprayed onto his face with a cloth offered by another guard. “Come with me. We will tour the interior of the temple. I’ve decided this is where the wedding will take place.”

  “Here?” Magnus finally tore his gaze completely from the dead lord, whose eyes sightlessly glared at Magnus with reproach. “In the temple dedicated to the arch enemy of the Goddess Valoria?”

  “I had no idea you were so devoted to our goddess that you would be offended.”

  He wasn’t, of course. Most Limerians were very devout in their faith, dedicating two days a week to silence and prayer, but Magnus had found it difficult to believe in anything with true passion in his life. Still, this venue struck him as an unusual choice.

  The more he considered it, however, the more he realized it was strategic. Where else would the princess be wed but in the place her people, even those who’d recently strayed from strong adherence to their collective faith, would find most sacred? Limerians were already under the king’s thumb. Paelsi
ans were too poor and downtrodden to be considered a true threat to the crown, especially now that they were being rounded up to construct the road. But Auranians—they were still the wild card as they began to emerge from their collective, hedonistic slumber.

  Thirty chiseled white marble steps led into the massive temple. The entire building seemed to be carved out of the material, which also seemed to be everywhere in the palace. It reminded Magnus of the ice that stretched out before the Limerian castle. Pale, cold, pristine.

  Massive marble pillars stretched up to the roof, lining the interior. The main sanctuary had a twenty-foot-tall statue of the goddess Cleiona at its entrance, her arms stretched to her sides. Carved into her palms was the triangular symbol for fire and the spiral symbol for air, the elements she embodied. Her hair was long and wavy, her expression haughty but strangely captivating. For a moment, the goddess reminded Magnus of the one named for her, the princess herself.

  The heady scent of incense and fragrant candles wafted through the air. At the altar, a fire burned, representing Cleiona’s eternal fire magic. There was nothing like this in Limeros. The Temple of Valoria was dark and utilitarian and always filled to overflowing with worshippers.

  This place, though . . . it felt like magic.

  Aron caught Magnus’s eye. There was now a sour look on the lord’s face.

  “I’m so pleased for you,” Aron said, his voice tight. “May you and Princess Cleo have many wonderful years together.”

  “I can only pray I will be able to make her as happy as you would have,” Magnus replied wryly.

  “Of course.” There was a catch to Aron’s voice as if he wished to say much more than this. Wisely, he didn’t.

  The king approached. “Well, well. I’m so glad to see the two of you are becoming good friends.”

  “How could we not?” Magnus said. “We have so much in common.”

  “Go find Cronus,” the king said to Aron, referring to the captain of the palace guard, “and tell him to ready the carriages to bring us back to the city.”

  “Yes, your majesty.” Aron bowed, then turned to hurry out of the temple.

  Magnus couldn’t help but ask. “Why do you tolerate him?”

  “He amuses me.”

  “Certainly worth an appointment to kingsliege. Amusement.”

  “He does whatever I ask. Perhaps you could learn much from him.” It was delivered lightly but felt more like a lead weight than a feather.

  “I don’t have much of a taste for licking boots.”

  “Or for unexpected public displays of death, it would seem. You didn’t approve of what I did outside, did you?”

  Magnus measured his next words. “He spoke out against you publicly. Of course he deserved to die.”

  “I’m glad we agree. I do think it was meant to be. A splash of blood on the starting point of my road is symbolic—a fitting sacrifice for a chance to find the ultimate treasure.”

  Finally, a topic worth discussing further. “Have you had any luck in your search?”

  “Not yet. We’ve only begun, my son. Patience will do us both good in many areas.”

  Patience? Not exactly something his father had ever possessed in spades.

  “Of course,” Magnus said instead, moving toward the smooth white wall and absently tracing the etching of the symbol for fire, a repeating motif throughout the temple, with the tip of his finger. “You’re speaking of my impatience with Lucia’s recovery, too, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “The attendant said that Lucia had stirred in her sleep yesterday, and she believed she would awaken. But then she didn’t, of course. Mother, did you know this?”

  Queen Althea drew closer. “Yes, I was there. It’s happened before. Every few days she stirs, she murmurs as if she’s dreaming. And then she goes silent again.”

  “You visit her bedside regularly,” the king said. It wasn’t posed as a question since he already knew the answer. The king knew everything that happened within the palace walls.

  “Daily.” She nodded. “I read to her. She looks so peaceful I can sometimes fool myself that she’s only sleeping. I still have faith she’ll return to us soon, that she’s not lost to us forever.”

  The king scoffed. “You try to make it sound as if you haven’t resented her existence since the day she was brought to Limeros.”

  “I haven’t resented her.” The queen patted her graying hair, as if it might have come loose from the tight twist that drew her skin taut at her temples. “I love our daughter as if she was of my own womb.”

  King Gaius gazed to the left at a fresco mural of a large sun shining down over the City of Gold and its inhabitants. “How interesting that it’s taken this tragedy to finally bring out your maternal instincts. For sixteen years you’ve ignored Lucia or treated her like a rag doll you can dress up and show off. I thank the goddess that she was a natural beauty; otherwise I imagine you’d have demoted her to servant girl a long time ago.”

  Magnus saw his mother’s subtle flinch, which told him the king’s words cut deeply. But he couldn’t totally disagree with them.

  “When she wakes I’ll be different with her,” the queen said softly. “I’ve seen the error of my ways and wish to make amends. I do care for Lucia—truly, I do. And I swear to the goddess I shall prove it.”

  “That’s the spirit,” the king said, although his words were cold. “I have a new healer arriving tomorrow to take a look at her. I want her at the wedding if possible.”

  “If it’s not, I’ll stay by her bedside.”

  The king was silent for a moment. “No. You will attend the wedding either way.”

  The queen fiddled with the sleeve of her dark green cloak. She frowned so deeply that deep lines appeared between her brows. “I don’t trust the Bellos girl, Gaius. There’s something in the girl’s eyes—something dark and sharp. I fear what she means to do to us. What she might do to Lucia or Magnus.”

  This coaxed a laugh from Magnus. “Mother, don’t worry about me. I can handle the princess, even if there is a shadow of vengeance within her. She’s only a girl.”

  “She hates us.”

  “Of course she does,” the king said gently. “I took her throne, her father’s throne, her sister’s throne. I took it with force and blood. And I apologize for nothing.”

  “Find Magnus another bride,” the queen urged. “I can think of several who’d be much better suited for him. Whom he might fall in love with in time.”

  “Love? If Magnus wants love he can find it in a mistress, as I did. Not in a shrew of a wife.”

  The queen blanched at this. “I only speak from my heart.”

  “Mark my words, Althea . . .” A coldness entered the king’s tone. “Everything that will happen from this day forward, be it good or bad, shall happen because it is my choice. Because it serves me. And I warn you, do not cross me or—”

  “Or what?” She raised her chin and looked directly into his eyes. “Will you take a blade to my throat as well? Is that how you silence every voice that opposes you?”

  Fury flashed through the king’s gaze and he took a menacing step toward her, fists clenched at his sides.

  Magnus stepped between them and he forced a smile to his face. “Tempers are rising with the heat of the day. Perhaps it’s time we leave.”

  The king’s fiery glare fixed on him instead and slowly cooled. There was still a smudge of blood on his cheek from before, just under his left eye. “Yes. It’s time. Meet me outside when you’re ready.”

  He turned his back on them and, a guard at each side, moved out of the cavernous temple and back into the bright light of day.

  “We must go.” The queen’s voice caught as she turned in the same direction.

  Magnus placed a hand on her shoulder before she’d taken more than a few steps. He turned her to face
him and raised her chin so her tear-filled eyes met his. The pain he saw there reached into his chest to squeeze his heart. “I don’t remember the last time I saw you cry.”

  She pushed his hand away. “And you shouldn’t be seeing it now.”

  “He doesn’t take well to argument. You know this already.”

  “He deals with argument as he always has. With an iron fist and a heart carved from ice.” She searched his face. “You don’t want this marriage, do you, my son?”

  “What I want is irrelevant, Mother.”

  It always is.

  She was quiet for a moment. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

  Magnus willed himself to remain impassive in the face of this unexpected sentimentality. The woman before him had been cold and distant for so long he’d forgotten she could be the opposite. “What has triggered this, Mother? Are you really that distraught over my being placed into a loveless marriage to strengthen my father’s grip on this slippery kingdom? Or is this due to something else? Lucia’s condition perhaps?”

  The queen’s expression shuttered as she drew in a long, shaky breath. “It’s been a difficult year for us all. So much loss. So much death.”

  “Yes, I know you were quite heartbroken over the king’s mistress being incinerated.”

  A muscle in her cheek twitched. “I don’t mourn Sabina’s passing, nor do I spend much time distressed over the manner of her death. All I care about in this world is you and Lucia—you’re all that matters to me.”

  Her unfamiliar words of devotion confused him. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Mother. My father wishes me to wed the Bellos girl, and if it truly comes to that, I will do so without argument. It will strengthen my place in the kingdom.” And it would keep him fully in his father’s confidence when it came to the road and the secret search for the Kindred.

  Queen Althea searched Magnus’s face. “Is that what you’ve come to crave, my son? Power?”

  “It’s what I’ve always craved.”

  Her lips thinned. “Liar.”