Rebel Spring

by Morgan Rhodes

  In Cleo’s mind, the seamstress was less an aid to the rebels and more a simple-minded girl who would do anything a handsome and exciting boy like Jonas Agallon asked of her.

  Jonas . . .

  The gown sparkled even in the dim light of Cleo’s chambers with the sheer number of crystals sewn onto it. And it weighed nearly as much as she did. Helena and Dora laced her up mercilessly, cutting off her breath.

  She tried not to worry that she’d received no message from Jonas confirming the rebels’ plans to attack in the week and a half since she’d returned to the palace.

  Did she really trust him?

  Currently, she had no other choice.

  Jonas would do this for Paelsia—to save his people. Despite the kiss they’d shared, she knew he wasn’t doing this for her.

  How you’d laugh at me, Mira. A kiss from a Paelsian rebel a week ago and I remember it as clearly as if it happened just now. I’d give anything to have you here to talk with about it.

  She watched herself in the mirror as the girls worked on her hair. The glint of the purple stone in her ring caught her eye. Knowing she wore it, hidden in plain sight, made her heart race. But there was no way to know how this day would turn out, and it was her most precious and important possession.

  In the reflection, she caught sight of Nic, who’d appeared at her doorway, his expression grim. She hadn’t seen him smile once since she’d broken the news to him about Mira. The pain on his face had shattered her heart. He felt that he had failed to protect his sister when she needed him the most. But he swore he would never fail Cleo.

  Now he stood at the doorway to her chambers, waiting to accompany her to the carriage that would take her to the site of her wedding.

  To the site of her destiny.

  • • •

  This day would go down in history. The Auranian people would speak of today for centuries to come. They would write books, compose songs, and pass tales down through generations of the day that Princess Cleiona joined forces with the rebels to defeat her enemy and free the entire kingdom from a king’s tyranny—even if that kingdom had never fully realized the extent of the evil the King of Blood could unleash.

  And peace would reign across all of Mytica for another millennium.

  The crowd of thousands cheered upon seeing her step out of the carriage when she reached the Temple of Cleiona. Guards were everywhere outside controlling the masses, holding them back.

  She coaxed a smile to her lips and waved at the crowd.

  This was good to see. The rebels could use such a large gathering as camouflage, even with the many guards patrolling on foot and on horseback.

  Gaius’s Imperial Road began here at the temple. It stretched out into the distance, a perfectly formed ribbon of gray rock against the green landscape.

  Jonas had said that there were people enslaved and abused on the road sites in Paelsia, where most of the long miles of construction were taking place. But here, and along the path they’d taken in the carriage where they’d passed workers, she didn’t witness such atrocities. Those who toiled appeared clean and well rested, working hard, but not to any extremes.

  But of course not. This wasn’t a barren and isolated location in Paelsia where the king could hide such treatment. For one who wished to be embraced by his new subjects here in Auranos, to show them such clear evidence of his cruelty might push more to oppose him and join the ranks of the rebels. This was only more proof of his lies. And it was just one more reason the king needed to be stopped.

  Several of her father’s former council members and their wives—important nobles, one and all—drew closer to her as they emerged from their carriages. They purred compliments and admired her dress. They squeezed her hands as they bowed and curtseyed before her. Each and every one wished her all the best on this, the most important day of her life.

  Cleo’s cheeks began to ache as her false smile quickly grew difficult to maintain. Still, she lingered outside near the crowd for as long as she could.

  “It’s time, your highness,” a tall, imposing man with dark hair and green eyes said. It was Cronus, the captain of King Gaius’s palace guard. A man Cleo distrusted every bit as much as the king himself, since he followed every order without hesitation no matter what that order might be. If the king commanded Cronus to kill Cleo with his bare hands, she had no doubt he would crush her without delay. He frightened her, but she refused to let that fear show on her face.

  Cleo cast a final glance over her shoulder, scanning the area for any sign of Jonas. Then her gaze locked with Nic’s. He nodded, his expression tense. Finally, she took Nic’s arm and he led her up the stairs to the temple, with Cronus right behind them.

  A second massive statue of the goddess Cleiona blocked Cleo’s view of the main hall until she moved past it to see the tall and thick white marble pillars lining the long aisle. It was a huge, cavernous space, three times as large as the palace’s great room. On either side of the aisle were hundreds of guests.

  There were very few red-uniformed guards in here. Most were outside controlling the crowd.

  Good.

  “I wish I could save you from this, Cleo,” Nic whispered.

  She couldn’t reply to him past the lump of fear and dread in her throat.

  With a last squeeze of her arm, Nic let go of her and moved to take his position near the wall at the front of the temple, his attention not leaving her for a moment.

  By the altar, forty paces away, Prince Magnus waited. He was dressed all in black, including a stiff, formal black overcoat edged in gold and red, which had to be stiflingly hot today. The king was by his side, along with a Limerian priest in red robes who would perform the ceremony. Standing nearby were his temple attendants, also in red robes. Red and white flowers were everywhere, along with literally thousands of lit candles.

  Every face turned toward her.

  “Walk,” Cronus commanded.

  Cleo tensed.

  She had to give the rebels a chance to make their move. Because they would. They had to.

  And yet, for a moment she wasn’t sure her feet would carry her. Her legs had turned to jelly. But there was nothing else she could be right now except strong. Anything she had to do to help Auranos, she’d do.

  And at the moment, it was to walk and to meet her fate at the altar of this temple.

  So, thinking of her father, of Emilia, of Mira and Theon, she walked.

  She’d been to weddings before, and this was really no different, apart from the scale and grandeur. On her way up the aisle she saw many smiling and approving faces she recognized, marking them in her mind as friends of her father’s who now welcomed his enemy with open arms. Cowards, one and all. Anyone loyal to her father, loyal to Auranos, would not be smiling at the sight of her being forced to marry her enemy’s son.

  There were also many, though, who looked stricken at the sight of her, their faces drawn and filled with sympathy. She tried very hard not to look these people in the eyes for fear they’d see her own pain.

  She once had imagined marrying Theon, she remembered. In her fantasy, the temple had been filled with joy and happiness, and it was her father standing next to Theon at the front of the temple. Not the King of Blood.

  Cleo didn’t spare a look at the king. She didn’t even glance at the prince, although she felt his dark eyes on her. She concentrated on the aisle only, and anyone in her peripheral vision.

  Aron sat near the front, his expression difficult to read. He looked annoyed, mostly. And, as usual, drunk.

  Next to Aron sat a man Cleo knew to be Prince Ashur Cortas from the Kraeshian Empire. She’d heard of his arrival for the wedding, as representative of his father, the emperor. Many whispers had traveled through the palace in the last few days about this very important guest, most from the servant girls, who were excited to be anywhere close to the fam
ously handsome, incredibly powerful bachelor from across the sea. Perhaps he’d come here also to find a bride, some guessed. Some hoped.

  So few guards in here, but so many guests—many of whose faces Cleo didn’t recognize. Friends of the king.

  Enemies of Auranos.

  Jonas, this is your chance. Please don’t let me down.

  Finally, she was at the front standing next to the prince. His expression was dour, his gaze flat.

  “And here we are,” he said to her.

  She pressed her lips together, saying nothing in reply. If everything went right today, Prince Magnus would die alongside his father. He deserved to die for what he’d done to Theon.

  Still, she felt a tiny pang of guilt that he would pay so dearly for his father’s more lengthy list of crimes.

  He’s evil, she reminded herself. Just like his father. A single tear spilled over his mother’s death means nothing. It changes nothing!

  “Let us begin,” the priest said. His dark red sash represented the blood of the goddess Valoria and was attached to his bright red robes with two gold pins of entwined serpents. “This joining of two young people in the eternal bonds of marriage is also a symbol of the joining of Mytica as one strong and prosperous kingdom under the rule of our great and noble king, Gaius Damora. Valoria, our glorious and beloved goddess of earth and water, who generously gives us all strength, faith, and wisdom every day of our lives, also gives her blessings today on this fortuitous union.”

  “Try to withhold your enthusiasm, princess,” Magnus muttered, “at least, until the end of the ceremony.”

  With each word the priest spoke she’d swiftly lost her ability to keep hold of anything but a tense expression. Her hard-won strength had already begun to falter, giving way to clawing panic and legs that threatened to crumple beneath her.

  “I’ll try my best,” she bit out.

  The king simply watched all this, his expression unreadable.

  “Don’t tell me you’re not pleased to be here,” said the prince under his breath.

  “Likely every bit as pleased as you are.”

  “Join hands,” the priest instructed.

  She eyed Magnus’s hand with dismay.

  “Oh, come now,” he said to her. “You’re breaking my heart.”

  Cleo’s jaw tightened. “Such damage would require you to be in possession of one.”

  He took hold of her hand. His was dry and warm, just as she remembered it from the day they were betrothed on the balcony. He held her hand as if it was distasteful for him to touch her. It took everything inside her not to pull away from him.

  “Repeat the vows after me,” the priest said. “I, Magnus Lukas Damora, do pledge to take Cleiona Aurora Bellos as my wife and future queen. A bond that will begin this day and go forth unto eternity.”

  Panic gripped her. It was much too soon for the ceremony to come to an end! Was this it?

  There was a pause and a tightening of the prince’s grip on her hand. “I, Magnus Lukas Damora, do pledge to take”—he let out a breath as if fighting to continue speaking—“Cleiona Aurora Bellos as my wife and future queen. A bond that will begin this day and go forth unto eternity.”

  Cleo began to tremble. Eternity. Oh goddess, please help me.

  The priest nodded, dipping his hand into a bowl of fragrant oil he held before him. He dabbed a little of the liquid on Magnus’s forehead.

  The priest turned to her. “Repeat after me. I, Cleiona Aurora Bellos, do pledge to take Magnus Lukas Damora as my husband and future king. A bond that will begin this day and go forth unto eternity.”

  She had no voice, no words. Her mouth was too dry, her lips parched. This could not happen.

  “Repeat the words,” the king said, his voice low, but his gaze was as sharp as the edge of a dagger.

  “I—I Cleiona Aurora B-Bellos . . .” she stuttered, “do pledge to take—”

  The sound of metal striking metal caught her attention from the rear of the temple. The next moment, four of the temple attendants in red cloaks threw back their hoods to reveal their faces.

  Cleo’s heart leapt into her throat to see that one of them was the rebel leader himself. Jonas’s gaze flicked to hers for the briefest of moments before he surged forward, drawing a sword from beneath his stolen robes. Cleo’s head whipped toward the back where she saw the scattering of red-uniformed guards quickly fall under the blades of rebels who’d been in disguise. Some frightened and confused cries sounded out from the gathered witnesses.

  “Nic!” she cried out. If the rebels confronted Nic in his Limerian uniform they wouldn’t know who he was—what he meant to her. He was in danger.

  Why hadn’t she considered this before? Despite the promise to say nothing about Jonas’s plan, she could have warned him!

  Jonas grabbed Magnus just as the prince reached for his own weapon. Jonas held his sword to the prince’s throat, flicking a glance at the king.

  It had all happened in a flash—barely time to think.

  Jonas smiled thinly, his eyes narrowed. “Seems you have some celebrating to do, your majesty. So do we.”

  King Gaius glanced over the group of rebels, at least twenty dangerous-looking boys who’d now taken hold of the temple. They stood before the fallen guards and blocked the entrances, sharp weapons in hand.

  “You’re Jonas Agallon.” The king’s expression was calm despite the fact that his son was currently frozen in place with the edge of a sword digging into his throat. “We met before when you accompanied Chief Basilius to our meeting with King Corvin. Seems like a very long time ago.”

  If anything, Jonas’s gaze grew more steely. “Here’s how this is going to go. First I’m going to kill your son. And then I’m going to kill you.”

  King Gaius spread his hands. “It does seem you have us at a great disadvantage, doesn’t it?”

  Cleo’s heart began to pound even harder, if that were possible. She craned her neck to send a frantic, sweeping glance through the temple. Twenty rebels had quickly disarmed and overtaken the dozen Limerian guards stationed inside the temple, all of whom were now dead or unconscious.

  But where was Nic?

  “Surprised how lax your security is in here. Outside was much trickier to navigate—and, I’ll admit, it’s going to be a difficult escape, but we’re up to the task, I think.” Jonas looked smug and satisfied, like a hungry cat who’d cornered a tasty pigeon. “Frankly, I think you’d have been smarter to use a smaller, less public venue for such an important event—somewhere you kept secret. Too bad you didn’t.”

  “I’m sure you would have discovered that location,” the king said. “You’re that good. I’m thoroughly impressed by your skills. I’m sure your people follow your every order precisely and with great admiration.”

  For a king facing assassination, he was so calm it was eerie.

  “Father,” Magnus gritted out. A trickle of blood slid down his skin from the edge of Jonas’s blade.

  “What do you want?” King Gaius asked Jonas again, not sparing a glance at his son’s face.

  “What do I want?” Jonas asked disbelievingly. “Exactly what I just said. I want to see you pay for the crimes you’ve committed against my people. I’ve seen your road with my own eyes, your majesty.” The title was used mockingly. “I’ve seen what you’ve authorized your guards to do. I asked for it to be stopped, but you ignored my demands. Your error. Today, it will stop with your death.”

  “I can offer you great riches.”

  “I want nothing but your blood.”

  King Gaius smiled thinly. “Then you should have been much swifter about making it flow. That was your error, rebel.”

  An arrow sliced through the air, catching the rebel standing next to Jonas in the chest. The boy fell to the ground, twitching violently before his body went still.

  Cl
eo watched with horror as half the wedding guests stood up from their seats and charged the rebels.

  The lack of guards inside the temple was only an illusion. They’d been pretending to be witnesses to the wedding—they were the faces she didn’t recognize. And they attacked the now-outnumbered rebels with full strength.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Magnus knocked the sword from Jonas’s grip. Then Magnus grabbed the front of Jonas’s cloak and threw him up against a marble pillar hard enough that the back of Jonas’s head cracked against the hard surface.

  Cleo was shoved forward as a rebel and a guard fight came too close. She scrambled out of their way, fighting to move against the heavy, binding skirts of her gown, which made it feel as if she was moving through mud. She missed the swipe of a dagger by mere inches.

  “You killed my mother, you son of a bitch,” Magnus snarled at Jonas. “I’m going to tear out your heart and shove it down your throat.”

  Jonas blocked the prince’s clenched fist. A nearby rebel took a sword to his chest and he staggered back, slamming into Magnus, knocking the prince’s grip free from Jonas.

  The blood of the fallen pooled on the marble floors—so red against the white. Cleo stared at it, unable to process how quickly everything had fallen to chaos.

  At that second the temple began to shake, trembling at first and then more and more violently. The floor cracked open with an enormous splintering sound, and several guards fell screaming into the jagged, gaping chasm. The massive statue of Cleiona toppled over and crashed to the ground, crushing three people. Everyone standing was knocked off their feet. Cleo, still crouched on the floor, threw her arms defensively over her head.

  King Gaius shakily rose to his feet though the ground was still shaking horribly, his furious gaze searching the temple until it landed on Cleo.

  He didn’t notice what was right behind him.

  A marble pillar had dislodged from the broken roof and was falling. The king was directly in its path.