Morgan Rhodes - Rebel Spring

Paelsians were not fooled as Auranians were by anything the king said. These people had already seen his deception, his cruelty, with their own eyes. Such things could not be forgotten or forgiven.

By the time their entourage sailed up the coast to Limeros’s Black Harbor, Cleo was dismayed that she’d learned nothing useful about her ring, which sat heavy on her finger as it had since she first left the City of Gold. Nor had she learned anything more than repeated stories about the Kindred. The time to find such information grew shorter with every day that passed, and her anxiety increased.

Now that their journey had reached Limeros, Cleo had to bundle up in a thick ermine-lined cloak to keep out the chill of the frigid, frozen landscape. Where Auranos had a palace that literally sparkled like a jewel under the bright sunshine, the Limerian castle seemed to absorb light, killing it on contact. It was large and black and ominous, its spires rising up into the cold sky like the claws of a demon. Its windows were the only things that reflected light, much like the eyes of some ravenous beast.

Magnus’s true home suited him perfectly.

“Is that all of them?” Magnus asked, eyeing the trunks that Nic had unloaded from the carriages.

“It is, your grace.” To his credit, Nic managed to say this without sounding sarcastic. Sweat coated Nic’s brow after he’d single-handedly dragged all their luggage chests into the castle.

“Good. Now go see to the horses. I must check if there are any messages waiting for me here from my father.” He turned on the heels of his black leather boots and stalked off down the hall without another word.

“I hate him,” Nic snarled.

“So do I,” Cleo replied.

“Could have fooled me by how much you’ve been snuggling up to him on this trip.”

She grabbed his arm as he was about to walk away, digging her fingers in until he looked at her again. “Anything you think you see between us is for show only. Remember that.”

Nic’s shoulders slumped. “Apologies, Cleo. Of course I know that. This all must be so hard for you.”

“Thank the goddess you’re here with me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

She grinned, his hurtful words already forgotten. “I mean, who else would carry my chests of gowns so well?”

He laughed as she pulled him into a tight hug, never wanting to let him go. “I’m here for you, Cleo. Whenever you need me.”

She nodded, pressing her face against the rough fabric of his uniform. “I know.”

“You’re so brave-spending time with that monster. Forced to share his bed.” A look of hatred crossed his face as he leaned back from her. “Every night I imagine killing him for you.”

Cleo grabbed hold of Nic’s hands, squeezing them tightly in hers. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle the prince.” She wanted to tell him that Magnus did not share her bed and that she spent every night alone, but she held her tongue. No one, not even Nic, could know such things. “Please rest up so you can be by my side tomorrow. I need all the support I can get.”

“I’ll rest up. As soon as I take care of the horses for his majesty .”

“See you tomorrow.” She went up on her tiptoes to kiss Nic’s cheek. At the last moment he turned his face so she kissed his lips instead.

This earned her a newly brightened ear-to-ear grin. “Till tomorrow, princess.”

• • •

After a sleepless night, she’d been woken early by Dora and Helena, who were just as disrespectful to her here as they were at the Auranian castle. They helped her dress and look presentable. She wore a new fur-lined cloak draped over one of her finest new gowns. This, as well as the cloak, was red, to pay tribute to the

official color of Limeros. The color of blood. Likely, not a coincidence at all. On the sleeves of the gown, golden snakes were embroidered, the kingdom’s sigil. Also appropriate for a kingdom filled to overflowing with serpents.

Outside the castle, following in Magnus’s footsteps, she turned a distracted glance toward the gathered nobles who’d joined them today for an official presentation of a wedding gift by Lord Gareth, a close friend of the king’s. To their left was a pathway that wound through the ice gardens and into an intricate labyrinth of frost-covered hedges. To the right was a large clearing with a long, rectangular frozen pond, which led toward the castle itself. Beautiful but stark and pristine. Not an ounce of warmth existed in any direction.

“This is said to have belonged to the Watchers themselves.”

Her gaze immediately snapped back to Lord Gareth. She finally noticed the object they had halted near, the gift from Lord Gareth. It was a carved stone wheel taller than Cleo’s shoulder that protruded from the frozen ground at the entrance to the gardens.

“What about the Watchers?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Oh yes,” Magnus said. “Please tell us. It’s all so fascinating.”

It was rare that the prince said anything that didn’t mock whomever he spoke with. It was equally rare, she’d found, that anyone caught on to this as easily as she did.

Cleo remembered the rebel boy, Tarus, mentioning stone wheels that were associated with the Watchers and the Sanctuary. This couldn’t possibly be the same thing. Could it?

The balding but distinguished-looking lord clasped his hands in front of him, rocking on his heels, seemingly pleased he now had the royal couple’s full attention. “The Watchers watch us in the form of hawks.”

“A child’s tale I’ve heard a thousand times,” Magnus said, dismissively.

“Is it? Or is it true?” The lord appeared to welcome the chance to debate this. “Magic is very real, your highness.”

Magnus watched him, his gaze steady. “What makes you believe that?”

“I’ve seen many things that can’t be explained. I’ve met witches who can reach into themselves and use small pieces of elementia to create magic in the mortal world.”

Every piece of Cleo’s attention was now focused entirely on this man. This was it. This man could be the one to tell her what she needed to know most. “Is the Kindred real? I’ve heard stories about the elemental crystals, but they could just be legend.”

He glanced at her. “I believe it’s true. There is a whispered prophecy that says when the sorceress is reborn, she will be the one who leads the way to the Kindred.”

Cleo listened intently. A sorceress would lead the way? There was one thing she believed most of all-that the ring she now wore had once belonged to the sorceress Eva.

What did this mean?

The skies were gray today and snowflakes began to fall, speckling Cleo’s red cloak and the clothes of the nearby dignitaries with dots of white.

“Tell us more about this wheel, Lord Gareth,” Magnus said.

Heart pounding, she twisted her hands together, feeling the cool surface of her amethyst ring beneath her touch. She glanced toward Nic, who stood stiffly next to the other guards, as still as statues. His disdainful gaze was fixed entirely on Magnus.

The man moved toward the wheel and slid his hand over the curve of it. “Wheels identical to this are scattered across Mytica. For centuries no one has understood what they are and where they come from. Only that they’re very old and somehow connected to the Watchers.”

“How many wheels are there?” Cleo asked.

“A dozen have been found and documented. Each exactly the same but in different stages of disrepair.”

“How do you know they have something to do with the Watchers?” she asked, ignoring Magnus’s curious look at her.

The lord kept his hand on the wheel as he admired the carved surface of it. “There was an old man who lived in northern Limeros. Near the end of his days, he swore to all who’d listen that he was an exiled Watcher who had left the Sanctuary never to return. Once here, he became mortal, he aged, he became senile. His children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren listened patiently to his ramblings, but didn’t think much of it. He spoke of the wheels being here for a reason. He asked to be taken to one so he could touch immortality once again.”