Rebel Spring (20 page)

“Because she thinks I’m evil. She told me herself she wanted to kill me.” She reached out to clutch his hand. “I never want to see that woman again or I can’t be held responsible for what I might do to her to protect myself. She’s always hated me, Magnus. Now I feel exactly the same way toward her.”

Every candle’s flame in the room suddenly rose a half foot, blazing as hot as Lucia’s temper. Magnus eyed them warily before returning his gaze to hers.

“Lucia . . . Mother is dead. She was murdered by rebels a week and a half ago.”

“Dead?” Lucia’s mouth went dry. The next moment, the flames she’d summoned with barely a thought extinguished completely.

She waited to feel some sort of reaction—some kind of grief or sadness or . . . anything at all. But there was nothing.

“I will find her killer. I swear I will. And I will make him pay for what he’s done.” Magnus’s voice caught and he pulled from her grip to pace the room, keeping his face in shadows.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she whispered.

“A loss to us all.”

He mourned their mother—deeply. But Lucia found that she did not.

Magnus strode across the room, absently stroking the scar on his cheek. He always did so when he was thinking deeply, whether he realized it or not. “Mother’s body was found with a witch—also murdered. Likely, this witch was supplying her with the sleeping potion. I just don’t understand why she’d do such a thing. What was she thinking?”

So her mother consulted with witches, did she? To fight fire with fire—magic with magic. “We’ll never know for sure,” she said instead. She reached out to Magnus and he came back to her side, grasping her hand in his again. “Help me up. I need to get out of this bed.”

He did as she asked, supporting her. But as soon as her weight was on both legs, she found she did not have the strength to stand on her own.

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” he said, helping her back into bed. “You must rest.”

“I’ve been resting for two months!”

A weary smile curled up the side of his mouth, though his dark eyes were still filled with grief. “Another couple of days will have to be added. You’re not going anywhere today. Too bad, really. On any other day, I could sit here till nightfall and fill you in on everything else you’ve missed. For example, how I feel about being trapped in Auranos. Always bright and shiny and delightfully green—and I truly could not hate it more. All I wish to do is join the hunt for the rebel who killed our mother. But that will have to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Magnus stood up from the side of the bed and leaned his arm against the poster near the base. “Until I return.”

“Where are you going?”

His brow furrowed. It was as if he didn’t wish to speak his thoughts aloud.

“Magnus, tell me. What’s wrong?”

“Today’s an important day, Lucia. I find it quite ironic that today, of all days, is when you’ve finally returned to us. To
me
.”

“What’s today?”

“It’s my wedding day.”

She gaped at him and struggled to sit up amongst the many cushions and pillows surrounding her. “What? Who are you marrying?”

His jaw tightened. “Princess Cleiona Bellos.”

Lucia could not believe her ears. “This has been arranged.”

Magnus gave her a look. “Oh, not at all. Since helping to take her father’s kingdom and destroy her life, I couldn’t help but fall madly in love with her. Yes, obviously it was arranged.”

Her brother, betrothed to Princess Cleiona—the golden princess of Auranos! “And you’re not pleased.”

Magnus rubbed his forehead as if the very thought of this pained him. “Pleased that I’m to be wed to a girl who hates me? That I feel nothing for her in return? All to help serve Father’s political agenda? I would say ‘not pleased’ is putting it rather mildly.”

She understood why such a strange union would make sense, despite her initial surprise. But this felt deeply wrong. “He may be the king and your father, but he’s not your lord and master and you’re not his slave. Refuse to marry her.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Do you want me to refuse?”

“It has nothing to do with me, Magnus. This is your life, your future.”

From his suddenly pained expression she knew this was not the reply he’d hoped for.

She inwardly cringed at the memory of Magnus admitting the depth of his desire for her, of forcing a kiss upon her she didn’t want, nor that she returned.

“Nothing has changed between us, Magnus,” she whispered. “Please understand that.”

“I do understand.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” The word was a hiss.

They might not share blood, but to her, he
was
her brother in every way that counted. To feel anything else for him was impossible. When he’d kissed her, she’d felt only disgust.

But when Alexius had kissed her . . .

“Don’t cry,” Magnus said, reaching forward to gently stroke the tears from her cheeks, tears she was surprised to find herself shedding. “I must wed the princess. There’s no other choice.”

“Then I wish you all good things, brother.”

She couldn’t help but notice her choice of words made him wince. She’d disappointed him, but there was nothing she could do about it. She didn’t love Magnus the way he wanted her to. And she never would.

Lucia pushed his hands away and turned toward the balcony again, searching for any sign of the golden hawk that had been there before, desperately wishing that Alexius would soon visit her again so he could guide her. So he could be with her.

Somehow, some way.

I
t was the morning of Cleo’s wedding.

And it would be the day that King Gaius would die.

For you, Mira
.
Today he will pay for his crimes in blood.

Fire burned within her. Today, she would have her vengeance.

Currently, however, her two Limerian attendants tugged so painfully at her hair that she wanted to cry like a little girl, not a future queen. “I don’t know why I can’t just wear it down,” she growled.

“The king commanded that it be plaited like this,” Dora haughtily explained. “And it will only take longer if you keep squirming about.”

Cleo had to admit that the king’s interfering attention to detail had paid off. Her hair did look beautiful in this style, a crisscrossing of tiny braids, woven together in an intricate pattern. Still, she hated it. She hated everything to do with this wedding—doubly so as the servants helped her into the beautiful but heavy gown Lorenzo had finished for her. He’d personally come to the palace to take her measurements the day after she’d returned from the Wildlands, full of endless, groveling apologies that his seamstress, unbeknownst to him, had been working for rebels. The girl had disappeared, but Lorenzo swore that if he learned anything new about her location, he would inform the king.

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 famously 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.