Rebel Spring

by Morgan Rhodes

  He tried to remember the last time he’d been among commoners without being recognized. It had been . . . never.

  This was new.

  When his plate of food arrived, he began to eat. The food was not unpalatable, and, if he were being honest, it was better than that he was used to back home in Limeros.

  Or perhaps he was simply hungry today.

  When he was halfway finished, a sound cut through the buzz of conversation in the tavern. It was a woman quietly sobbing. He stopped eating and glanced over his shoulder. At a nearby table, a man faced a woman, holding her arms and talking quietly to her, as if comforting her.

  One word of their emotional discussion cut through to him apart from all the rest.

  “. . . witch . . .”

  He froze, then turned back around to face forward. The barkeep moved past and Magnus reached out to grab the man’s arm. “Who is that woman at the table behind me?”

  The barkeep glanced over to where Magnus indicated. “Oh, her? That’s Basha.”

  “Why does she cry? Do you know?”

  “I do. I probably shouldn’t, but I do.”

  Magnus now slid a piece of gold across the counter. “Is she a witch?”

  The man’s jaw tensed, but his focus was on the piece of gold. “It’s not my business. Nor is it yours.”

  The gold was joined by a friend. Two pieces of gold now sat upon the counter next to Magnus’s half-eaten plate of food. “Make it your business.”

  The barkeep was silent only for another moment, but then he swept the coins off the counter with one smooth motion. “Basha’s daughter was taken to King Gaius’s dungeon only days ago, accused of witchcraft.”

  Magnus fought to keep his face expressionless, but the news that his father had begun arresting witches here in Auranos . . . he’d had no idea. “She’s accused. But is she able to access elementia?”

  “That’s not for me to say. You should talk to Basha yourself if you’re so interested.” He produced an open bottle of pale Paelsian wine. “Trust me, this will ease your introduction. It’s the least I can do for my wealthy new friend.”

  “Much gratitude for your assistance.”

  Perhaps this day wasn’t a complete waste of time after all. A skilled witch might be able to help Lucia more than any healer ever could. Magnus took the wine and moved toward the old woman seated next a fireplace that blazed despite the heat of the day. Her companion had his arm around her now. The woman was in tears, her eyes red from both sorrow and drink.

  Magnus placed the bottle of wine in front of her. “Much sympathy, Basha. The barkeep told me of the recent troubles with your daughter.”

  Her gray eyes flicked to him with suspicion for a split second before she pulled the bottle closer, tipped it into her empty glass to fill it, and drank deeply. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “A gentleman amongst us. How welcome. Please join us. This is Nestor, my brother.”

  Nestor was also clearly drunk, and he offered Magnus a crooked grin as the prince sat on a rickety wooden stool. “Basha wants to seek audience with the king himself to ask for Domitia’s release. It’s an excellent idea.”

  “Oh?” said Magnus, unable to hide his surprise. “You really think so?”

  “Damora is a harsh king only because he has to be. But I heard his speech. I liked what he said about the road he builds for us all. He is a man who can be reasoned with. One who wants the best for all of us, no matter what part of Mytica we call our home.”

  His father would be so pleased.

  “Is she a skilled witch or was she falsely accused?” Magnus asked.

  Basha narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before she replied. “Domitia is blessed by the goddess with gifts beyond this mortal world. But she is harmless. She is good and sweet. There’s no reason for her to be seen as a danger.”

  “Are you also blessed by the goddess in this way?” Magnus asked, with hope. He could arrange to have Basha’s daughter released from the dungeon if she might prove useful, but to have two witches to help Lucia would be even better.

  “No, not me. I have nothing of the sort at my disposal.”

  Disappointment thudded through him. “If you are aware that witches are real, do you know much about the legend of the Kindred?”

  “Only that it’s a bedtime story I told my daughter when she was a child.” Basha took another deep drink of the wine, then frowned at him. “Why do you wish to know so much about magic and witches? Who are you?”

  Magnus was spared from answering by a commotion at the door. A pair of men entered the tavern, laughing and boisterous. “Wine for everyone,” one of them announced as they moved toward the barkeep. “I’ve been appointed the official florist for the royal wedding and wish to celebrate my good fortune!”

  An excited cheer resonated through the tavern, and the man was slapped on his back and offered words of congratulations—except for one gray-haired man at the bar.

  “Bah,” he said. Wrinkles splayed out from the corners of his eyes and down his hollow cheeks. “You’re all fools to buy in to such romantic drivel. The prince of Limeros and the princess of Auranos are a match made in the darklands by the darkest demon himself.”

  Magnus hid his raised eyebrows in a deep swallow of cider.

  “I disagree,” the florist said, his enthusiasm undeterred. “I think King Gaius is right—such a union will aid relations between our kingdoms and help push forward into a bright and prosperous future for us all.”

  “Yes, relations between kingdoms. Kingdoms that he now controls with little resistance, apart from a few scattered rebel groups who don’t know their arses from holes in the ground by what little they’ve done to rise up against the King of Blood.”

  The florist paled. “I caution you against speaking so freely in public.”

  The old man snorted. “But if we are ruled by such a wondrous king as you believe, I should be able to speak my mind wherever and whenever I like. No? But perhaps I’ve seen more years and more troubles than the rest of you young people. I know lies when I hear them, and that king speaks them whenever his lips are moving. In a dozen years, he reduced the citizens of Limeros to a shivering mass afraid to speak out against him or break any of his rules for fear of death. You think he’s changed in a matter of months?” He drained his glass angrily. “No, he sees our vast numbers when compared to his legion of guards. He sees that we are a force to be reckoned with if we ever were to stand up against him united. So he must keep us happy and quiet. Ignorance is a trait shared by many Auranians—always has been. It sickens me to my very soul.”

  The florist’s smile had tightened. “I’m sorry you can’t share in the joy the rest of us feel. I for one am greatly anticipating Prince Magnus and Princess Cleiona’s wedding—and their upcoming tour across the kingdom. And I know the majority of Auranians feel the same.”

  “The princess is currently held captive by rebels. You really think there will be a wedding?”

  The florist’s eyes grew glossy and a hush fell upon the tavern. “I have hope she will be rescued unharmed.”

  The old man snorted. “Hope. Hope is for fools. One day you will see that I am right and you are wrong. When your golden days tarnish and the King of Blood shows his true face behind the mask he wears to appease the soft, ignorant masses in this once great land.”

  The mood in the tavern had grown more somber the longer this man spoke. Magnus looked away from the argument to realize that Basha was staring at him, her brows drawn tightly together.

  “That’s who you remind me of, young man. You look a great deal like Prince Magnus, the son of the king.”

  She’d said it loud enough to gain the attention of other nearby tables. A dozen pairs of eyes now fixed upon him.

  “I’ve been told that before, but I assure you I am not.” He rose from his seat at the table. “Much
gratitude for the information you’ve given me, Basha.” Although, nothing worthwhile. Only more disappointment. “I wish you a good day.”

  He departed the tavern, looking neither left nor right, pulling his cowl closer around his face.

  • • •

  Magnus’s head ached by the time he returned to the palace. It was late in the day and the sun was setting. On his way from the stables, his path crossed with that of Aron Lagaris.

  “Prince Magnus,” Aron said. His voice sounded different, stronger. Perhaps the boy was taking his new station seriously and had refrained from drinking a bucket of wine already today. “Where have you been?”

  Magnus leveled his gaze with Aron’s. “My father seems oddly fond of you as his newest kingsliege, but has he suddenly assigned you to become my keeper?”

  “No.”

  “My personal bodyguard?”

  “Uh . . . no.”

  “Then where I have been is none of your concern.”

  “Of course not.” Aron cleared his throat. “However, I should let you know that your father wants to see you immediately upon your return from . . . wherever it is you’ve been.”

  “Does he now? Then far be it for me to keep the king waiting another moment.”

  Aron did an awkward half bow, which Magnus ignored as he swept past him. A day that started with nightmares and disappointment did not seem to be improving.

  The king stood outside his throne room, his favorite hound next to him. He spoke quietly with Cronus. As soon as he spotted Magnus, he sent the guard away with a flick of his wrist.

  “What is it?” Magnus asked, frowning.

  The king acknowledged his son with a nod. “You should know that Princess Cleiona has returned to us.”

  It was the last thing he expected to hear. “She has? How is this possible?”

  “She escaped from the rebels after an attack on their camp last night. She ran into the forest, hid from her captors, and made her way into the custody of my team of guards. She’s shaken but unharmed.”

  This news came as a strange relief. “A miracle.”

  “Is it?” The king pressed his lips together. “I’m not sure about that.”

  “I was certain they’d kill her.”

  “As was I. And yet, they didn’t. It leaves me with certain suspicions. A girl of sixteen without any survival skills finds herself in the hands of violent rebels who are currently making their home in the thick of the Wildlands. Yet she easily escapes? Without a bruise or a scratch? Now that I know the leader’s name in this particular group of heathens, this leaves me with many questions.”

  “Who is the leader?”

  “Jonas Agallon.”

  It took Magnus a moment to place the name. “The wine seller’s son from Paelsia. The one with the murdered brother. He was a scout for Chief Basilius.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who told you this? The princess?”

  “No—in fact, she claims to have been kept secluded during her captivity and did not see any of the rebels’ faces. My guards were unable to find the princess specifically, but in their travels they did uncover some information about the rebels. This was one piece of information.”

  Magnus considered all of this. “Are you saying that you believe her to now be aligned with the rebels?”

  “Let’s just say that I plan to keep a very close eye on her in the days ahead, and you should do the same. Especially with the wedding so close now.”

  A muscle in Magnus’s cheek twitched. “Of course. The wedding.”

  “Is there a problem with that?”

  “None at all.” He turned to study the Limerian coat of arms that now adorned the wall, which included the image of a cobra and a pair of crossed swords. “That she has returned in time for the wedding makes me believe she is in no way aligned with these rebels. I would think she would have liked to avoid such a ceremony if she could, even if it meant remaining among their kind.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But she is back. And you should also know that we’re expecting a very important guest for the wedding. The message reached me only this morning that Prince Ashur Cortas of the Kraeshian Empire will be attending.”

  The name was well known to Magnus. “What a great honor.”

  “Indeed. I was very surprised and very pleased the prince accepted our invitation on behalf of his father.” The king said this tightly, as if he did not mean it. The Kraeshian Empire lay across the Silver Sea and was ten times the size of Mytica. Prince Ashur’s father, the emperor, was the most powerful man in the world.

  Not that Magnus would ever say such a thing out loud in front of King Gaius.

  His father was silent for a moment. “There’s another grave matter I must discuss with you. Please come inside.” The king turned to the throne room and entered through the large wooden doors, his hound’s claws scratching against the marble floor as the dog stayed at his master’s side.

  Please. It was a word so rarely used by his father that it sounded like one from a foreign tongue. Slowly, he followed the king into the room.

  “What’s wrong? Is it Lucia?” Magnus asked, his voice strained.

  “No. This unfortunate matter doesn’t concern her.”

  The fear that had tightened like a fist in his chest unclenched. “If not Lucia, then what do you need to tell me?”

  The king looked off to his left and Magnus followed the direction of his gaze. Upon a marble slab lay the queen, her arms folded across her stomach. She was very still, very silent.

  Magnus frowned. Why would she be sleeping in the throne room?

  It took him a moment to understand.

  “Mother . . .” he began, his breath coming quicker as he approached her.

  “It’s the work of rebels,” the king said, his voice low and even. “They were upset that we refused to meet their demands about ceasing construction on the Imperial Road. This is my punishment.”

  The queen’s face was pale, and Magnus could have sworn she was only sleeping. He reached out a hand toward her but clenched his fist and brought it back to his side. There was blood on her pale gray dress. So much. His own blood turned to ice at the sight of it.

  “Rebels,” Magnus said, the words hollow in his throat. “How do you know?”

  “This was the weapon used. The murderer left it behind.” The king held up a dagger, one with jewels embedded in its hilt, the silver blade wavy. “Such evidence has helped us pinpoint his identity.”

  Magnus’s gaze moved from the ornamental weapon to his father’s face. “Who is he?”

  “This very dagger once belonged to Lord Aron. It was what he used to kill the wine seller’s son in the Paelsian market—Jonas Agallon’s brother. That was the last time Lord Aron saw this weapon.”

  “You’re saying Jonas Agallon is responsible for this.”

  “Yes, I believe so. And I also believe that by leaving the dagger behind, he wanted us to know it was him.”

  Magnus fought to keep his voice from trembling. “I will kill him.”

  “There’s no doubt that the boy will pay dearly for this crime.” The king hissed out a breath. “I’ve underestimated the rebels. To be so bold as to assassinate the queen . . . it’s a crime that Jonas Agallon will pay for very dearly. He will beg for his death long before I’ll give it to him.”

  This woman who’d given birth to Magnus eighteen years ago, the one who read him stories and danced with him as a child. The one who dried his tears . . . the one who’d shown her long-buried affection to him that day in the temple . . .

  She was gone forever.

  “Strange, though,” the king said into the heavy silence. “Another body was found close by, also stabbed. It was an accused witch we’d had in the dungeons in Limeros, one I had long since forgotten about.”

  With an aching
heart, Magnus studied the gray strands in his mother’s hair, which contrasted so greatly with the ebony darkness of the rest of it. She hadn’t liked that. She hadn’t liked looking older, especially when compared to the king’s mistress, who’d magically retained her beauty. “I don’t understand. Did the witch have something to do with the rebels?”

  “It’s a mystery, I’m afraid.”

  “I must start looking for Agallon.” Magnus forced the words out. Speaking was the last thing he felt like doing right now. “Immediately.”

  “You can join the hunt upon your return from the wedding tour.”

  He turned on his father, his eyes blazing. “My mother has been murdered by a rebel and you want me to make a tour across the kingdom with a girl who hates me.”

  “Yes, actually. That’s exactly what I want. And you will do it.” The king regarded Magnus with patience in his dark eyes. “I know you loved your mother. Her loss will be felt for a very long time—all of Mytica shall grieve her. But this wedding is important to me. It will seal my control over the people in this kingdom with no more opposition than necessary as I move ever closer to having the Kindred in my grasp. Do you understand?”

  Magnus let out a shaky breath. “I understand.”

  “Then go. And keep the information about the witch to yourself. We don’t want any rumors started that the queen associated with such lowly women.”

  Magnus frowned at the ludicrous notion. He’d assumed the rebels were acquainted with the witch, not his mother. “Do you think she did?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what to think right now or what would possess Althea to leave the palace in the wee hours of the morning.” The king glanced down at the face of the wife he’d had for twenty years. “All I know is my queen is dead.”

  Magnus left the throne room where his mother lay, his steps faltering when he got around the next corner and into an empty alcove—no guards, no servants. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He staggered over to the wall and braced his hand against it. A sob rose in his throat, but he fought with all his strength to swallow it back down.