Rebel Spring
Page 95
The boy was so very annoying, Magnus could barely form words to respond. “Oh, no? And, pray tell, Lord Aron, how would the king deal with this situation?”
“Like this.” Aron had drawn out his sword and held it in both hands.
Magnus’s chest tightened in sudden alarm. “Aron, don’t—”
But he paid Magnus no attention. Without another word or another threat, and with his eyes glittering with excitement, Aron drove his sword through Brion’s heart.
Brion’s eyes went wide and he gasped, a sickly, bubbling sound. Blood spilled over his bottom lip as he collapsed to the ground and let out a last hiss of breath.
Magnus stared down at the dead boy with shock.
“The king personally executed a troublemaker at the Temple of Cleiona during the opening ceremonies of the Imperial Road. You must remember that as well as I do.” Aron wiped the bloody blade on a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “I know he wouldn’t want this one to be handled any differently by his kingsliege. I will tell your father that you were instrumental in this rebel’s immediate execution. I promise not to take full credit for it.”
Magnus grabbed Aron by the front of his shirt and shoved him backward into the fire. The boy let out a wheezing shriek and scrambled to get up, batting at the embers that had begun to set his clothes ablaze.
Magnus was incensed. “He was my chance to find Jonas, you drunken imbecile!”
Aron sputtered, his cheeks now flushed. “He would have told you nothing more than his name! Sparing his life only made you look weak in front of the other men. You should be thanking me!”
Magnus leaned closer so he could snarl into Aron’s ear. “Pray to your goddess that we find the rebel leader very soon or my disappointment will be leveled upon you and you alone. Do you understand me, you little shit?”
Aron’s eyes narrowed into slits as Magnus released him—both fear and hate now playing within. “I understand, your highness.”
Chapter 28
JONAS
AURANOS
Brion crumpled to the ground.
Jonas couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, as he watched from the tree line, stunned. It was only a dream. It had to be. This was a nightmare he would wake from at any moment.
Then his vision turned red with hate, red with rage. He surged forward, ready to kill Aron with his bare hands—to tear him apart until he was a pile of bloody meat.
But before he could clear the protection of the thick trees, Lysandra threw her arms around him to stop him. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she grabbed hold of his face to force him to look at her rather than the sight of his fallen best friend.
“Jonas, no! It’s too late,” she whispered harshly to him. “Brion’s dead! If you go out there they’ll kill you too!”
It had been only moments. The boy he’d known since both nursed at their mothers’ breasts lay on the ground thirty paces away. Blood seeped from his chest wound to soak into the earth. Brion stared off toward the forest as if his unseeing eyes searched for Jonas.
It was like Tomas’s death all over again—someone he loved dearly had been ripped away from him without warning by Aron Lagaris.
“Let me go!” A raw cry of grief rose in his throat and again he tried to move away from Lysandra. A stinging slap drew his attention and he stared into her furious gaze.
“They will kill you if you go out there,” she growled.
“This is my fault. Again. It’s my fault. It was my decision for us to try to steal the guards’ weapons. When they saw us—” His voice broke and he threw his arms over his face as though by blocking out the forest they could block out what had happened. “Brion was protecting me so I could get away.”
“He was protecting both of us.” Tears poured down her face. “This is not your fault. We needed the weapons. We could never have predicted. . . .”
“I need to kill Aron Lagaris. I need to have vengeance.” He drew in a shaky breath, keeping his attention on Lysandra’s tearstreaked face. She hadn’t let go of him yet. It was an anchor for him—a weight. If she wasn’t here, he’d already be out there fighting. Bleeding. Dying. He’d expected hatred and fire from this girl for this. Instead, she pulled him into a tight embrace as they shared their grief.
“You will have vengeance,” she assured him. “As will I. But not here. Not now.”
Jonas thought he might retch. He kept seeing Brion crumpling to the ground. Lysandra was still talking. He clung to her words like a lifeline.
“We knew the prince would be coming in this direction—it was Brion’s idea to track their progress, Jonas. You can’t blame yourself! Look at me.” She grabbed his face again, forcing him to meet her tear-filled eyes. “Thanks to Nerissa we know where they’re going next—and why. Now is the time to act, once and for all. This is it, you must realize that. Don’t you?”
He tried to think. He tried to see past his rage and his grief.
A plan began to formulate—blurry at first, but steadily growing clearer and stronger.
This is it, Lysandra had said.
She was right.
Brion’s death would not be in vain—Jonas would not let it be. It would mark the moment Jonas could finally see with the clearest vision of his entire life.
The Blood Road was the key to the king’s downfall.
And it was time for the rebels to end this.
By the time they returned to their band’s current campsite, night had closed in all around them, and the Wildlands were dark and filled with eerie noises that hinted at hungry things waiting to reach out and devour anyone who crossed their paths.
“Like this.” Aron had drawn out his sword and held it in both hands.
Magnus’s chest tightened in sudden alarm. “Aron, don’t—”
But he paid Magnus no attention. Without another word or another threat, and with his eyes glittering with excitement, Aron drove his sword through Brion’s heart.
Brion’s eyes went wide and he gasped, a sickly, bubbling sound. Blood spilled over his bottom lip as he collapsed to the ground and let out a last hiss of breath.
Magnus stared down at the dead boy with shock.
“The king personally executed a troublemaker at the Temple of Cleiona during the opening ceremonies of the Imperial Road. You must remember that as well as I do.” Aron wiped the bloody blade on a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “I know he wouldn’t want this one to be handled any differently by his kingsliege. I will tell your father that you were instrumental in this rebel’s immediate execution. I promise not to take full credit for it.”
Magnus grabbed Aron by the front of his shirt and shoved him backward into the fire. The boy let out a wheezing shriek and scrambled to get up, batting at the embers that had begun to set his clothes ablaze.
Magnus was incensed. “He was my chance to find Jonas, you drunken imbecile!”
Aron sputtered, his cheeks now flushed. “He would have told you nothing more than his name! Sparing his life only made you look weak in front of the other men. You should be thanking me!”
Magnus leaned closer so he could snarl into Aron’s ear. “Pray to your goddess that we find the rebel leader very soon or my disappointment will be leveled upon you and you alone. Do you understand me, you little shit?”
Aron’s eyes narrowed into slits as Magnus released him—both fear and hate now playing within. “I understand, your highness.”
Chapter 28
JONAS
AURANOS
Brion crumpled to the ground.
Jonas couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, as he watched from the tree line, stunned. It was only a dream. It had to be. This was a nightmare he would wake from at any moment.
Then his vision turned red with hate, red with rage. He surged forward, ready to kill Aron with his bare hands—to tear him apart until he was a pile of bloody meat.
But before he could clear the protection of the thick trees, Lysandra threw her arms around him to stop him. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she grabbed hold of his face to force him to look at her rather than the sight of his fallen best friend.
“Jonas, no! It’s too late,” she whispered harshly to him. “Brion’s dead! If you go out there they’ll kill you too!”
It had been only moments. The boy he’d known since both nursed at their mothers’ breasts lay on the ground thirty paces away. Blood seeped from his chest wound to soak into the earth. Brion stared off toward the forest as if his unseeing eyes searched for Jonas.
It was like Tomas’s death all over again—someone he loved dearly had been ripped away from him without warning by Aron Lagaris.
“Let me go!” A raw cry of grief rose in his throat and again he tried to move away from Lysandra. A stinging slap drew his attention and he stared into her furious gaze.
“They will kill you if you go out there,” she growled.
“This is my fault. Again. It’s my fault. It was my decision for us to try to steal the guards’ weapons. When they saw us—” His voice broke and he threw his arms over his face as though by blocking out the forest they could block out what had happened. “Brion was protecting me so I could get away.”
“He was protecting both of us.” Tears poured down her face. “This is not your fault. We needed the weapons. We could never have predicted. . . .”
“I need to kill Aron Lagaris. I need to have vengeance.” He drew in a shaky breath, keeping his attention on Lysandra’s tearstreaked face. She hadn’t let go of him yet. It was an anchor for him—a weight. If she wasn’t here, he’d already be out there fighting. Bleeding. Dying. He’d expected hatred and fire from this girl for this. Instead, she pulled him into a tight embrace as they shared their grief.
“You will have vengeance,” she assured him. “As will I. But not here. Not now.”
Jonas thought he might retch. He kept seeing Brion crumpling to the ground. Lysandra was still talking. He clung to her words like a lifeline.
“We knew the prince would be coming in this direction—it was Brion’s idea to track their progress, Jonas. You can’t blame yourself! Look at me.” She grabbed his face again, forcing him to meet her tear-filled eyes. “Thanks to Nerissa we know where they’re going next—and why. Now is the time to act, once and for all. This is it, you must realize that. Don’t you?”
He tried to think. He tried to see past his rage and his grief.
A plan began to formulate—blurry at first, but steadily growing clearer and stronger.
This is it, Lysandra had said.
She was right.
Brion’s death would not be in vain—Jonas would not let it be. It would mark the moment Jonas could finally see with the clearest vision of his entire life.
The Blood Road was the key to the king’s downfall.
And it was time for the rebels to end this.
By the time they returned to their band’s current campsite, night had closed in all around them, and the Wildlands were dark and filled with eerie noises that hinted at hungry things waiting to reach out and devour anyone who crossed their paths.
