There was no fear in the guard’s eyes, only a mocking edge. “I’ve heard so many fearsome rumors about the leader of the Paelsian rebels. But rumors aren’t facts, aren’t they? Perhaps you’re nothing more than a Paelsian peasant boy—not nearly ruthless enough to kill someone in cold blood. Not even your enemy.”
Jonas had killed before—enough that he’d lost count. In a foolish war that tricked Paelsians into allying with Limerians against Auranos. In the battle at the road camp. He’d only fought in order to strike down his enemies and bring justice to his friends, his family, and his fellow Paelsians. And to protect himself.
There had been meaning behind those deaths, even if that meaning had been jumbled and unclear. He fought for a purpose, believed in something.
He took no pleasure in taking lives, and he hoped he never would.
“Come on, Jonas. He’s useless,” Rufus said, his voice twisting with anxiety. “Let’s go while we still can.”
But Jonas didn’t budge, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He hadn’t come this far to give up now. “There was a girl who fought in the battle named Lysandra Barbas. I need to know if she’s still alive.”
The guard’s lips twisted into a cruel grin. “Ah, so this is why you’re so driven for answers. This girl belongs to you?”
It took Jonas a moment to understand his meaning. “She’s like a sister to me.”
“Jonas,” Rufus whined. “Lysandra’s gone. She’s dead. Obsessing about her is only going to get us killed, too!”
Jonas cast a glare at Rufus that made the boy wince, but it was enough to make him shut his stupid mouth.
Lysandra wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be. She was an incredible fighter—skilled with a bow and arrow like no one Jonas had witnessed before.
Lysandra had also been opinionated, demanding, and incredibly annoying from the first moment he’d first met her. And if she still lived, Jonas would do anything to find her.
He needed her—both as a fellow rebel and as a friend.
“You must know something.” Jonas pressed the dagger closer to the guard’s throat. “And you’re going to tell me right now.”
No matter how high the stakes, Jonas would never give up. Not until his very last breath.
“This girl . . . ,” the guard said through clenched teeth, “is she worth your life?”
Jonas didn’t have to think twice. “Yes.”
“Then I’ve no doubt she’s every bit as dead as you are.” The guard smirked despite the trickle of blood now sliding down his throat. He raised his voice. “Over here!”
A crunch of dirt and a snap of branches were all that warned of the half-dozen Limerian guards that now burst into the small forest clearing. Their swords were drawn, and two of them carried torches.
“Drop your weapons, rebel!”
Rufus swung his fist at an approaching guard, but missed by a mile. “Jonas, do something!”
Rather than drop the dagger, Jonas sheathed it, then drew the sword he’d stolen from Prince Magnus last week before Jonas had managed to escape. He hoisted it up in time to block a blow aimed directly for his chest. Rufus tried to fight back, punching and kicking, but it wasn’t long before a guard grabbed hold of his hair, yanked him backward, and put a blade to his throat.
“I said,” the guard hissed, “drop your weapon. Or your friend dies.”
The world skidded to a stop as the memory of Tomas’s murder once again crashed into Jonas. It had happened so quickly—no time to save him, no time to fight or even beg for his life. And then Jonas recalled another memory that would be seared into his soul forever: that of his best friend Brion, slain by the same killer while Jonas watched, helpless.
With Jonas momentarily distracted, a guard took the opportunity to slam his fist into his face. As hot blood poured from his nose, another guard wrenched the blade from his grasp, nearly breaking his fingers. Another kicked the back of his knees and slammed him down to the ground.
The world spun and sparkled before his eyes as he fought to remain conscious.
He knew it would end now, that he’d been on borrowed time ever since his most recent brush with death. There was no magic here to save him this time. Death no longer scared him, but the timing was wrong. He had too much left to do.
Just then, another figure entered the torch-lit clearing, causing the guards to spin around.
“Am I interrupting something?” said the young man. He looked a couple years older than Jonas, with dark hair and eyes. He wore a dark cloak, the hood back to show his skin was deeply tanned, and he gave an easy smile that showed straight white teeth, as well as his apparent nonchalance at the fact that he’d just casually strolled into the middle of a battle. He scanned the area, starting on one side with Rufus, who was still being held in place, then making his way over to Jonas, who braced himself against the mossy ground with two swords pointed at his throat.
“Get out of here,” a guard growled. “Unless you want trouble.”
“You’re Jonas Agallon,” the boy said, nodding at him as if they were meeting in a tavern instead of the middle of the forest in the dead of night. “This is quite an honor.”
Jonas never asked to be famous. But the wanted posters clearly sketched with his face that had been tacked up throughout all three kingdoms had ensured otherwise. Despite having few victories and more false accusations than actual crimes, his name had quickly become legend.
And the high reward his capture offered sparked the interest of many.
The older guard had been cut free from his ropes and was now gingerly rubbing his wrists. “You’ve been following this rebel scum?” he asked. “Does that make you aspiring rebel scum? We’ll save a spike back at the palace for your head as well. Seize him!”
The guards lunged for him, but he just laughed and dodged their grasp as easily as a slippery fish.
“Need my help?” the boy asked Jonas. “How about this—I help you, you help me. That’s the deal.”
He moved so well there was no way he was only a curious bystander. Jonas had no idea who he was, but right now he really didn’t give a damn.
“Sounds good to me,” Jonas managed.
“Then let’s get started.” The boy reached down and pulled out two thick blades the length of his forearms from beneath his cloak. He spun and sliced, moving faster than any of the guards could counter.
Jonas’s head was still swimming, but he managed to elbow the guard behind him directly in his face. He felt and heard the crack as the guard yelped in pain.
He jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword, thrusting the hilt behind him to catch the guard in his soft gut.
The new boy took down the guard holding Rufus. Now free, the unskilled rebel just stood there in place, staring at the violent scene for a frozen moment; then he turned and ran out of the clearing without looking back.
A part of Jonas was disappointed in Rufus, but another part was glad the kid finally had a chance to escape a fight he hadn’t been ready for since day one.
He might even stay alive if he played it smart and stayed out of trouble.
With the other guards now dead, scattered, or unconscious in the clearing, Jonas grabbed hold of his original prisoner and slammed him back against the tree.
The smugness in the guard’s eyes finally turned to fear.
“Spare me,” he gasped.
Jonas ignored him, turning instead to the boy who’d just saved his life. “What’s your name?”
“Felix,” he offered with a grin. “Felix Gaebras. Happy to meet you.”
“Likewise. Thanks for the help.”
“Any time.”
If Felix hadn’t intervened, Jonas would be dead. No doubt about it. He’d given him a chance at another day, one in which he might make a difference. For that, Jonas was damn grateful.
Still, he�
��d be stupid not to be wary of any stranger who knew his identity.
“What’s your price?” Jonas asked.
“Price?”
“You said if you help me, I help you.”
“First thing’s first.” Felix approached, nudging Jonas out of the way and taking the guard by the throat. “I’ve been eavesdropping. Rude, I know. But I heard you say you didn’t think Jonas was ruthless enough to kill someone in cold blood. Well, what’s your first impression of me?”
The guard drew in a shaky breath. “What do you want?”
“Answer the question. His friends—are any of them still alive?”
The guard trembled. “Yes. A handful were brought to the palace dungeon to await execution.”
“How many’s a handful?”
“I don’t know exactly . . . three, four? I’m not sure. I wasn’t there!”
Jonas winced. Three or four? There were so few survivors. . . .
“Names?” Felix pressed harder on the guard’s throat.
He sputtered, his face reddening. “I don’t know. I’d tell you if I did.”
“How long till they’re executed?” Jonas asked, trying to keep his voice steady. The thought of people he cared about trapped under the king’s thumb turned his blood ice cold.
“It could be a few days, or maybe a few months. Please, spare my life! I’ve told you all I know. Show mercy to me now, I beg of you.”
Felix regarded him for a long, silent while. “How about I show you the same mercy you would have shown us?”
One swipe of Felix’s blade, and the guard was silenced forever. His body slumped to the ground to join his fellow fallen guards in the flickering firelight, and Jonas found he couldn’t look away.
“You know I had to do that, right?” Felix said, his voice as cold as stone.
“I know.”
There was a hardness in Felix’s eyes that was foreign to Jonas. They showed no flicker of remorse for what he’d done, nor did they show any joy.
It was true: The guard would not have shown them mercy. He would have executed them without a moment’s hesitation.
“Much gratitude for saving my life,” Jonas said as Felix wiped his blades on the mossy ground before sheathing them.
“You’re welcome.” Felix peered into the dark forest. “I think your friend ran away.”
“He’ll be safer staying far away from me.” Jonas studied the bodies littering the area, then turned back to Felix warily. “You’re an assassin.”
With his fighting skills, his ease with a blade—it would have been obvious to anyone that he was a trained killer.
The coldness faded from Felix’s eyes as he grinned. “Depends on the day, really. One does what one must with the talents they have.”
That would be a confirmation. “So now what? I have far less gold than the wanted posters offer for my head.”
“Somebody’s a bit of a pessimist, isn’t he? With the king’s eyes everywhere lately, looking for anyone causing trouble, what I want is someone watching my back while I watch his. Why not partner up with the infamous Jonas Agallon, I say?” He glanced in the direction Rufus ran off. “I’m not seeing much competition. You need me. Simple as that.”
“You want to be a rebel?”
“What I want is to cause trouble and create mayhem wherever I can.” Felix’s grin widened. “If that makes me a rebel, then so be it. How about I start by helping you save your friends?”
Jonas continued to eye Felix with wariness, his heart pounding as fast as it had during the fight. “The guard was only telling us what we wanted to hear. We’ve no way to know if my friends are really in the palace dungeon.”
“There are no guarantees in this life, only strong possibilities. That’s enough for me.”
“Even if they are there, the dungeon would be impossible to breach.”
Felix shrugged. “I kind of like impossible challenges. Don’t you?”
Despite his best efforts to ignore it, hope had begun to well up in Jonas’s chest. Hope often led to pain. . . .
But hope could also lead to victory.
Jonas studied the tall, muscular boy who’d just taken out five guards single-handedly. “Impossible challenges, huh?”
Felix laughed. “The most enjoyable ones. So what do you say? Shall we be partners in anarchy?”
Felix was right about one thing: Jonas didn’t have a long line of skilled rebels waiting to fight by his side.
He relented, grasping hold of the fluttering hope inside of him and smiling. “Sounds like a plan.”
Felix grabbed Jonas’s outstretched hand. “And I promise I won’t run off into the forest with my tail between my legs like your friend back there.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Plans and schemes were already racing through Jonas’s head. The future suddenly seemed infinitely brighter.
“Tomorrow we get started on freeing your friends,” Felix said. “And sending as many of the king’s guards to the darklands as we can.”
As far as friendships went, Jonas thought, this was an excellent beginning.
CHAPTER 2
MAGNUS
AURANOS
Magnus had no appetite for a celebratory feast, yet that’s exactly what greeted him the day after he returned to the Auranian royal palace in the City of Gold. He’d just endured a grueling ride back from Paelsia and was now required to attend a banquet honoring his victory against the rebels.
Guests drank without restraint as bottle upon bottle of sweet Paelsian wine flowed like spring water. Not so long ago, Magnus would never have indulged in such frivolous things, which were forbidden in his homeland of Limeros.
But things had changed. Now, he’d decided, he would indulge whenever possible.
He arrived late. A few hours late, actually. He couldn’t care less about punctuality, but as the guest of honor he was supposed to have made a grand entrance, and it seemed as if he’d missed his initial introduction. He managed to enjoy three goblets’ worth of sweet wine before he was interrupted.
“Magnus.” The sound of the king’s voice cut through him like a blade. It was the first contact he’d had with his father since his return; Magnus had been purposely avoiding him.
He turned to meet his father’s cold, appraising gaze. King Gaius had dark brown eyes, just like Magnus’s, and their hair was the same nearly black shade—the king’s had not yet shown any sign of graying. His father wore his finest formal surcoat, made from richly woven charcoal gray cloth and bearing the Limerian symbol of intertwining snakes in red silk thread on the sleeves. Magnus wore a nearly identical coat, which was much too stiff and restrictive for such a warm day.
Standing with the king were Prince Ashur, a visitor from across the sea who had by now far outstayed his welcome in this kingdom, and a beautiful girl Magnus didn’t recognize.
“Yes, Father?” Magnus’s sheer hatred for the man before him caused his throat to constrict. He fought with all his strength to not let that hatred show on the surface.
Not here. Not yet.
“I’d like to introduce you to Princess Amara Cortas of the Kraeshian Empire. The princess has joined her brother Ashur as our most honored guests. Princess, I present my son and the heir to my throne, Prince Magnus Lukas Damora.”
How Magnus wished he were anywhere else. Meeting new people and appearing cordial was such an unpleasant chore, even when he was in a relatively good mood. Which he wasn’t.
Magnus tipped his goblet to the Kraeshian siblings.
He had heard rumors of Princess Amara’s beauty, and now he saw all of them proven to be true. Her pitch-black hair was swept up into a tight coil at the back of her long, graceful neck; her skin was as dark and as flawless as her brother’s and her eyes a pale, silvery blue to match his.
Magnus forced a smile and bowed his head. “An hon
or, princess.”
“No,” Princess Amara said, “it is my honor to have been welcomed into your father’s palace so graciously after giving barely any notice at all of my arrival.”
“My sister is full of surprises.” Ashur’s deep voice held the edge of a Kraeshian accent, just as his sister’s did. “Even I wasn’t made aware of her arrival until late last night.”
“I missed you terribly,” she said. “I couldn’t bear to wait until you decided to return home. You left us with no idea of how long you’d be gone.”
“I like Mytica,” he replied. “Such a charming little cluster of kingdoms.”
Magnus noticed the slightest twitch in the king’s cheek at the word little. Perhaps Prince Ashur had not meant it to sound dismissive, but . . .
It sounded dismissive.
“You’re both welcome to stay in my little kingdom for as long as you like,” King Gaius said, his tone free of any noticeable animosity.
One thing Magnus endlessly admired about his father was how he always managed to slather on the charm when necessary. It was a talent Magnus had yet to acquire.
“Where has your lovely wife gone?” Princess Amara asked Magnus now. “I only had a chance to meet her briefly, when I first arrived.”
Now, there was a word that made Magnus’s cheek twitch. Wife. He glanced around the crowded banquet hall, at the several hundred guests seated at long tables, mounds of food and drink set before them, swarms of servants ensuring no glass was fully emptied. A quintet of musicians played their instruments in one corner like a cluster of noisy crickets.
How different this was from the austere ways of Limeros, where there were few parties and it was rare to ever hear the sound of music. And how swiftly his father had altered his previous tastes and interests, adapting to new laws and rules in order to blend in with his surroundings. He was deceptive: a chameleon hiding in plain sight.
Magnus supposed it was easier to adapt to Auranian ways than to force a newly conquered kingdom to change their lives overnight. That would only lead to more rebellion than his father already had to contend with, and the Limerian army was spread thin across the entire continent.
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