On the whole, Paelsians—for all their struggles and naïve beliefs in unavoidable destiny—were a hardier breed than Auranians. They were survivors. It’s what Jonas loved most about his people.
Walking along the side of the street, he felt a hand grip the sleeve of his hooded cloak, stopping him in his tracks outside an inn.
“You—” An ugly face cocked to the side as a man peered at Jonas through the shadows. “I know you.”
Jonas regarded the man warily. “Doubt that. Let go of me.”
“Yeah, I do know you.” A slow smile crept onto his face. “You’re that rebel I’ve seen on the posters.”
Jonas’s stomach sank. He’d prefer not to be recognized tonight if he could help it. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t worry, kid. I’m impressed.” His slurred words were enough to prove he had been drinking heavily. It was a special day in Auranos, the Day of Flames, which honored one half of the goddess Cleiona’s legendary magic. The holiday gave its citizens a reason to drink more wine than usual and dress in orange and yellow to represent the eternal fire of their deity. “I’ve been thinking I’d make a good rebel myself. Like to kick the arse of the King of Blood right out of the world of the living.”
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” Jonas said evenly.
He wasn’t in a mood to recruit ordinary citizens. His meeting tonight was with representatives from an Auranian group of rebels whom he hoped could help him free Lysandra and the others.
Suddenly, a loud cracking sound made him jump and reel in the direction of a burst of sparkling yellow light. Somebody screamed, and a blond boy about sixteen years old raced down the street, his tunic ablaze. He launched himself face-first into a barrel of water.
“Not again,” the drunk mumbled. “Petros, you’re a damn fool!” he shouted. “You’re going to get yourself killed playing with fire like that!”
The boy pulled himself out of the barrel and cast a dark look at the drunk. “Mind your own business, old man.”
“You burn down our home and it’s my business. I’ll drown you in that barrel if you don’t do as I say!”
The boy didn’t offer anything more than a rude gesture in the drunk’s general direction and a dour glare at Jonas before he jogged away.
“What was that all about?” Jonas asked.
“My idiot fire-obsessed son,” the man replied. “He likes to experiment with ridiculous concoctions that do little more than burn his eyebrows off. Tonight his excuse is that he is honoring the fire goddess by causing his trouble throughout the village with these works of fire. Foolish boy.”
Jonas had no time for chitchat with drunken locals about their troublesome sons. He needed to join Felix at the tavern in time for their meeting.
With a mumbled farewell and a word of good luck, he successfully slipped away from the man. Before he reached the tavern, he sensed someone else following him.
Two someone elses, to be exact, one of whom stepped out of the shadows and blocked his way.
“You look like that rebel the king’s after.” The man was a half-foot taller than Jonas and had a long, crooked nose.
“I might look like him, but it’s not me,” he said.
The second man had blond, greasy hair and a thin, rodentlike face. He yanked Jonas’s hood right off his head to get a better look at him.
“Yeah, you’re the one who stuck a dagger in the bitch queen. Don’t be shy about it. We applaud you for a job well done.”
All the more reason to avoid them if they were the types to celebrate the death of a woman.
“Let me pass,” Jonas hissed.
“C’mon. It’s a night of celebration. Try to be friendly.”
“Let me pass,” he said again, “or we’re going to have a problem.”
The bald man laughed and elbowed his friend. “Not very friendly, is he? And here I thought you might be able to help us out.”
Jonas glared at them. “Really? And how did you think I might help you out?”
“The reward on the posters . . . it’s a hefty one. While I appreciate anyone working to send the king back to his land of ice—to be buried in it, preferably—I could use that gold.”
Only more proof that the vast majority of Auranians were greedy and selfish.
Jonas didn’t hesitate to fight his way out of the situation. He slammed his fist into the bald man’s jaw, sending him staggering back to fall in a grunting heap on his backside. The blond one grabbed him from behind, and Jonas immediately felt the sharp, cold edge of steel at his throat. He stopped struggling. The bald man wiped the blood off his bottom lip with the back of his hand and pushed himself up off the ground.
They were alone in the street. It was dark, and the tavern was still a few streets away.
The bald man crossed his arms and grinned at Jonas through the darkness. The other one didn’t move, his dagger still digging into Jonas’s throat. “Yes, the king’ll pay good coin to get his hands on you. It’s your choice now, dead or alive. I really couldn’t care less which.”
Before the bald one could signal his friend to cut Jonas’s throat, Felix’s voice sliced through the night, stopping them.
“Again? I leave you on your own for mere moments and you find yourself in yet another tight spot?”
“Afraid so. A little help, please?”
The bald man spun around and eyed Jonas’s sizable friend with alarm.
“The reward is large enough to split three ways,” he said.
Felix crossed his arms. “Reward, huh? How much?”
Jonas stopped breathing. When all was said and done, he’d only known Felix for a couple of weeks. Did he have any true assurance that he wouldn’t switch allegiances the moment it suited his purposes?
“Ten thousand Auranian centimos.”
“That’s steep. A third of that could set me up in a nice villa for the next few years. Problem is, I’ve never liked to share. Sorry.”
Felix grabbed the bald man and pressed his knife to his throat, then shot a nasty look at the blond. “Release my friend. Now.”
Relief washed through Jonas. Why had he doubted him?
“We don’t want any trouble,” the blond said.
Felix shrugged. “Could have fooled me.”
“He’s a wanted criminal,” the bald man sputtered.
“The wine is flowing like water tonight, and by the smell you two have been swimming in it. This kid isn’t who you think. Not even close. We’re just a couple of farmer’s sons out for a night of drinking in the name of the goddess. Nobody special. You should be thanking me for stopping you before you lost your own heads for bothering the king’s guards.”
Finally, an edge of uncertainty crept onto their faces.
“Let him go,” the bald man growled. “Do it.”
Reluctantly, the blond released Jonas.
Felix shoved the bald man but didn’t sheath his knife just yet. “Do we still have a problem here?”
“No problem.”
“Good. Now be off with you.”
Without another word, they scurried away.
Jonas knew he was having an off night when it came to watching his guard. On a normal day, he could have handled the two of them on his own without intervention.
It was embarrassing, really.
“Do me a favor?” Felix said, finally putting his weapon away.
“Sure.”
“Keep that hood up over that famous face of yours. It’ll make things much simpler for us if you don’t get recognized again. Got it?”
Jonas nodded with a jerk of his head. “Got it.”
• • •
The Silver Toad was owned by a rebel sympathizer who had readily agreed to let Jonas to use the tavern and inn when needed. Tonight the tavern was packed w
all to wall with people celebrating the Day of Flames, spending all they had on wine, their coins glittering beneath the lanterns hanging from the rafters. Before he’d entered the tavern, Jonas had caught another glimpse of Petros nearby.
The boy continued to celebrate the goddess with his dangerous fire displays outside, causing patrons to jump up with surprise at the occasional explosions.
Jonas tried to ignore the distractions and focus on the task at hand as he waited for the Auranian rebels to show.
“How long are we going to wait?” Felix asked.
“As long as it takes.”
“They’re not coming. This is their answer, Jonas. They’re not going to help.”
“They promised they’d be here.”
“You sent a message requesting them to risk their necks to save a few of your friends—”
“I didn’t put it like that.”
There was strength in numbers, and Jonas knew there were others who shared his goals to end King Gaius’s reign and to help to free the Paelsians that had been enslaved to work on the Blood Road.
Despite his distaste for those who called this kingdom home, these were his allies. Auranians or Paelsians, they were united in their hatred of the king.
“They have their own plans,” Felix said. “They won’t help us with ours.”
Jonas blinked hard, knowing Felix spoke the truth. Nobody was coming. He was a joke—the rebel leader who led his people to their deaths time and again. “Why are you still here if I’m so damn pathetic? Why haven’t you taken off yet? Stick with me and you’ll end up dead.”
“Promises, promises.” Felix regarded him patiently, his arms crossed over his chest. Then he went to the bar, returning quickly to Jonas’s table with two large tankards of dark ale that splashed onto the wooden surface as he set them down.
“Drink up,” Felix said.
Jonas stared at the liquid offering. To their left, a band had started to play a song about the goddess’s beauty. People were singing and stomping their feet on the floor in a drunken dance.
“Ale won’t solve my problems,” Jonas said.
“But I doubt it’ll make them any worse.”
Jonas took a long swig of the strong drink, and the liquid burned going down his throat. “I have to save her.”
“If what you’ve told me about Lysandra is true, she knows the risk you’d be taking. She won’t want you to lose your head over her.”
Lysandra wasn’t the type to want to be rescued by a boy. She’d probably be furious that Jonas had continued to obsess over her rather than focusing on bringing down the king.
She knew that, more than anything, Jonas wanted to be the one who dealt the fatal blow.
“Well, what do we have here?” Felix said. “There’s a cute little thing looking right at you, friend. Please tell me you’re willing to share.”
Jonas frowned and glanced over his shoulder at a girl who stood about a dozen paces away, eyeing him through the crowd. She pushed back the hood of the dark cloak she was wrapped in to reveal her short hair and dark brown eyes. She caught his eye, then made her way over to sit down at the table.
“Nerissa,” Jonas said, his mood immediately lightening. “It’s good to see you.”
She flashed him a grin. “You, too.”
Seeing Felix eye the pretty girl with interest, Jonas flicked him a glance. “Nerissa Florens, this is Felix Gaebras.”
She assessed Felix with guarded interest. “Where’d you meet him, Jonas?”
“Traveling.”
“You trust him?”
“Yes.” And that trust had been proven yet again tonight—money wasn’t as important as loyalty to Felix.
Her expression grew pinched. “I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I hold back my enthusiasm. He looks like a hired thug.”
“Such charming words.” Felix shifted to the seat next to her, his smile widening. “And from such a charming mouth. Can it do anything besides talk?”
She held his gaze boldly. “It can bite.”
“Good to know.” The warning only seemed to intrigue Felix more.
He’d better be careful, Jonas thought with amusement. Nerissa wasn’t joking.
“I have news,” Nerissa said. “And a message. Which do you want first?”
His lightened mood vanished as quickly as it had arrived.
“The news,” Jonas said.
“The executions are set for the day after tomorrow. Midday in the palace square. The king’s arranged for a large group of his most ardent supporters to surround the execution stage to ensure their cheers will be the loudest.”
The world slowed and darkened around Jonas. “It’s too soon. I can’t—I don’t have enough time to do anything.” He swore under his breath, damning the Auranian rebels for not even hearing him out tonight. “How am I supposed to stop the execution of four rebels?”
“Two rebels, I’m afraid.” Nerissa’s expression was grim. “Two have already died in the dungeons.”
A fist slammed through his chest and clutched his heart. “Who still lives?”
“Tarus and Lysandra. Cato and Fabius were both killed trying to escape.”
He drained the rest of his ale. The thought that he’d lost anyone at all was painful, but he couldn’t help being silently relieved that Lys and Tarus had survived.
Only to fall beneath the executioner’s ax in less than two days.
Felix clasped his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He’d failed Tomas. He’d failed Brion. He’d failed his rebels as he marched them to their doom.
Everything he touched turned to ash.
“What’s the message?” Jonas asked, his throat tight.
Nerissa pushed a folded piece of parchment across the table toward him. He broke the wax seal and unfolded it, holding it closer to the candlelight.
J—
The king seeks the Kindred. He believes the crystals exist, but he doesn’t yet know where or how to recover them.
We must find them first. They cannot fall into his hands, or else he will be unstoppable.
I will send another message when I know more. Tell no one about this.
—C
Jonas’s heart beat louder and faster with every word. He read Cleo’s note twice before holding it over the candle and burning it.
The Kindred. Once he would have scoffed at the idea of magic, but no more. He didn’t doubt the truth of the princess’s message for a moment.
“What did it say?” Felix asked.
He would honor Cleo’s request to tell no one, especially since there was nothing in the message that could help them—only a hint of more information to come. “The king refuses to leave the palace, fearful of a rebel attack.”
Felix snorted. “What a coward.”
Bang!
Jonas started and Nerissa shrieked, gripping the edges of the table. The tavern fell silent and the patrons turned with alarm in the direction of the noise outside.
“Young Petros, always making trouble,” one woman grumbled. “He’s going to kill this entire village if he’s not careful.”
Peals of laughter rang out, and then the patrons returned to regular conversation.
Jonas was silent, lost in the thoughts now swirling around his mind like a tornado.
“I can save them.”
“What?” Felix studied him.
“Lys and Tarus. I can save them.”
“You sure about that?”
“I wasn’t before, but . . .” Jonas stood up, his dark mood fading away as a plan solidified in his mind. “I need help . . . and I think I know who can help me.”
“Help us, you mean.” Felix stood, his chair squeaking loudly against the wooden floor. “What do you have in mind?”
“Jonas,” Nerissa protested. “I hate
to muddy the waters of your conviction, but this is far too dangerous. Trying to stop those executions with less than two days to plan is going to get you killed as well.”
“Perhaps.” A smile slowly stretched across his face from ear to ear. “But I can think of far worse ways to die.”
CHAPTER 13
NIC
AURANOS
His journey to see Prince Ashur had started off so well.
Yet now Nic lay in a shallow pool of his own blood, having been beaten nearly senseless. He gazed up into the bright summer sunlight at the faces of his two attackers.
Burrus pressed the point of his sword firmly against Nic’s chest. “Thought you could be like us? You’re nothing like us. You’re worthless.”
“Just kill him and get it over with,” Milo said, bored. His knuckles were red and raw from the pounding he’d given Nic after yanking him off his horse.
“What do you have to say for yourself, maggot?” Burrus was the more playful of the two, like a cat who enjoyed batting mice around for hours before finally gnawing off their furry little heads.
He wanted Nic to beg, that was clear enough. To show them how pathetic and weak he was. But even if he begged, Nic knew they’d kill him anyway.
All he could do was glare up at them and hope his eyes showed no fear.
He’d finally found a good enough excuse to leave the palace and travel to the Cortas’s villa to learn more about Ashur and Amara’s potential to be allies to the princess. But then he’d been interrupted by these two.
“You’ve been lucky so far,” Burrus continued. “Prince Magnus’s blond bitch of a wife calls you her friend—I can’t think of any other reason for the king to have kept you alive this long. You’re the most worthless guard I’ve ever seen.”
“That little sister of yours was pretty sweet, though,” Milo said. “Would have liked to get her on her back. Too bad she’s dead.”
His vision turning red with fury, Nic used every last ounce of his strength to push himself up from the ground. But the pressure of the sword and the pain as it pierced his skin drove him back down.
“Do not mention my sister again,” he snarled, ready to fight. Ready to kill.
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