Rebel Spring
Page 83
She leaned closer. “What?”
“So bad . . . I’m so sorry . . . failed you . . .”
His eyes opened to lock with hers. His were a shade of brown that reminded her of cinnamon, her favorite spice, and they had gold flakes just around the black irises—so black, just like his thick lashes. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed this.
“You need to get up,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. “Come on. We need to move.”
“You . . .” he managed.
“Yes, it’s—”
He pulled her closer. Close enough to brush his lips against hers.
Lysandra stared down at him with shock. “Jonas . . .”
“Cleo . . .” he whispered.
She reared back from him completely, confusion disappearing only to be replaced by a fresh burst of annoyance. Then she hauled back and whacked him hard on the side of his face.
“Snap out of it, idiot. If you think I’m the princess then you’re in worse shape than I thought.”
Jonas jolted up to a seated position, holding his hand against his face. His brows were drawn tightly together.
“The guard,” he said.
“I killed him.” Lysandra could see in his eyes that he didn’t remember what just happened. Perhaps for him it had only been a dream.
“Good.” He pushed himself up to a standing position, then grimaced as he touched his injured arm.
“What happened? Where are the others?”
He gave her the bleakest look she’d ever seen, one that made her blood run cold before he even spoke another word. “Dead.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t speak for a moment. “Damn you, Jonas. I shouldn’t have bothered saving your arse just now. You don’t deserve it.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” He swallowed hard, his jaw tight. “But now I need to get back to camp.”
There was nothing more to say.
Twenty rebel boys had offered to go with Jonas to the temple in hopes of a glorious victory against King Gaius. Thirty had remained behind at camp, continuing to practice and plan.
Only Jonas had returned.
“Our friends . . . they fought bravely, but we were outmatched,” Jonas finished grimly. He and Lysandra were back at the camp and he related the story of the massacre to the others. “I’m so sorry. It was a mistake to go and I take full responsibility.”
Silence fell as sharp as an executioner’s ax.
No one made a sound, except for one or two quiet sobs. The younger rebels didn’t have control over their emotions yet— not when it came to their grief. The older ones stood rigid, their attention fixed on the ground before them. The sound of crickets and the crackle of the fire was all that could be heard in the gathering darkness.
“This is your fault,” Ivan said. “Your idea. Your big plan that couldn’t fail.”
Brion stood at the opposite side of the fire from Jonas. “He didn’t know this would happen.”
“Didn’t know. Right. But he told that princess, didn’t he? She probably blurted everything to the king.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Jonas said, his head in his hands.
“Why wouldn’t she? What’s she got to lose with the blood of rebels spilled on her wedding day?”
“What’s she got to lose?” Jonas growled. “Everything. It would have been her victory too if we’d won today. We didn’t. She’s still forced to be with the enemy and her rightful throne still belongs to the King of Blood.”
“And you’re the only one who lived. Maybe you’re the one who tipped off the king to gain favor and get your face off those reward pamphlets.”
Jonas’s expression darkened. “I would sooner offer my throat to the king than tell him anything of our plans. And you bloody well know it.”
Ivan approached Jonas, taller than him by a half a foot. “Remind me again why you call yourself our leader?”
Jonas stood. Despite his injuries, he held the boy’s gaze steadily. “Remind me again why you call yourself a rebel. You haven’t stepped up in weeks, Ivan.”
Ivan slammed his fist into Jonas’s jaw. Jonas staggered backward and fell hard to the ground.
“You think you’re so great,” Ivan snarled. “Well, this is proof that you’re nothing. You’re worthless, and because of your foolhardy plan, twenty of us are dead. You think we’ll keep following you after this?”
“Yes, actually,” Lysandra spoke up, “we will.”
Ivan turned a furious glare on her. “What did you say?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jonas struggle to get back up to his feet.
“Did he make the wrong choice in going to that temple today? Yes, he did. But he made a choice. And if it had been successful the lot of you would be cheering his name at the top of your lungs. Twenty rebels died today—twenty who were willing to die to have a fleeting chance of stopping King Gaius and freeing our people from slavery and oppression. Was it worth it? I didn’t think so before, but I’m starting to now. Maybe if more of us were brave enough and crazy enough, we would have gone too. Maybe if we’d all gone together, we would have won.”
Ivan looked at her with disgust. “What do you know? You’re just a girl. Your opinion’s meaningless. You should be cooking our dinners, not fighting beside us.”
“So bad . . . I’m so sorry . . . failed you . . .”
His eyes opened to lock with hers. His were a shade of brown that reminded her of cinnamon, her favorite spice, and they had gold flakes just around the black irises—so black, just like his thick lashes. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed this.
“You need to get up,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. “Come on. We need to move.”
“You . . .” he managed.
“Yes, it’s—”
He pulled her closer. Close enough to brush his lips against hers.
Lysandra stared down at him with shock. “Jonas . . .”
“Cleo . . .” he whispered.
She reared back from him completely, confusion disappearing only to be replaced by a fresh burst of annoyance. Then she hauled back and whacked him hard on the side of his face.
“Snap out of it, idiot. If you think I’m the princess then you’re in worse shape than I thought.”
Jonas jolted up to a seated position, holding his hand against his face. His brows were drawn tightly together.
“The guard,” he said.
“I killed him.” Lysandra could see in his eyes that he didn’t remember what just happened. Perhaps for him it had only been a dream.
“Good.” He pushed himself up to a standing position, then grimaced as he touched his injured arm.
“What happened? Where are the others?”
He gave her the bleakest look she’d ever seen, one that made her blood run cold before he even spoke another word. “Dead.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t speak for a moment. “Damn you, Jonas. I shouldn’t have bothered saving your arse just now. You don’t deserve it.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” He swallowed hard, his jaw tight. “But now I need to get back to camp.”
There was nothing more to say.
Twenty rebel boys had offered to go with Jonas to the temple in hopes of a glorious victory against King Gaius. Thirty had remained behind at camp, continuing to practice and plan.
Only Jonas had returned.
“Our friends . . . they fought bravely, but we were outmatched,” Jonas finished grimly. He and Lysandra were back at the camp and he related the story of the massacre to the others. “I’m so sorry. It was a mistake to go and I take full responsibility.”
Silence fell as sharp as an executioner’s ax.
No one made a sound, except for one or two quiet sobs. The younger rebels didn’t have control over their emotions yet— not when it came to their grief. The older ones stood rigid, their attention fixed on the ground before them. The sound of crickets and the crackle of the fire was all that could be heard in the gathering darkness.
“This is your fault,” Ivan said. “Your idea. Your big plan that couldn’t fail.”
Brion stood at the opposite side of the fire from Jonas. “He didn’t know this would happen.”
“Didn’t know. Right. But he told that princess, didn’t he? She probably blurted everything to the king.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Jonas said, his head in his hands.
“Why wouldn’t she? What’s she got to lose with the blood of rebels spilled on her wedding day?”
“What’s she got to lose?” Jonas growled. “Everything. It would have been her victory too if we’d won today. We didn’t. She’s still forced to be with the enemy and her rightful throne still belongs to the King of Blood.”
“And you’re the only one who lived. Maybe you’re the one who tipped off the king to gain favor and get your face off those reward pamphlets.”
Jonas’s expression darkened. “I would sooner offer my throat to the king than tell him anything of our plans. And you bloody well know it.”
Ivan approached Jonas, taller than him by a half a foot. “Remind me again why you call yourself our leader?”
Jonas stood. Despite his injuries, he held the boy’s gaze steadily. “Remind me again why you call yourself a rebel. You haven’t stepped up in weeks, Ivan.”
Ivan slammed his fist into Jonas’s jaw. Jonas staggered backward and fell hard to the ground.
“You think you’re so great,” Ivan snarled. “Well, this is proof that you’re nothing. You’re worthless, and because of your foolhardy plan, twenty of us are dead. You think we’ll keep following you after this?”
“Yes, actually,” Lysandra spoke up, “we will.”
Ivan turned a furious glare on her. “What did you say?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jonas struggle to get back up to his feet.
“Did he make the wrong choice in going to that temple today? Yes, he did. But he made a choice. And if it had been successful the lot of you would be cheering his name at the top of your lungs. Twenty rebels died today—twenty who were willing to die to have a fleeting chance of stopping King Gaius and freeing our people from slavery and oppression. Was it worth it? I didn’t think so before, but I’m starting to now. Maybe if more of us were brave enough and crazy enough, we would have gone too. Maybe if we’d all gone together, we would have won.”
Ivan looked at her with disgust. “What do you know? You’re just a girl. Your opinion’s meaningless. You should be cooking our dinners, not fighting beside us.”
