Morgan Rhodes - Rebel Spring

“If you’ll excuse me, sister.” He swallowed his disappointment. By now, it was a familiar taste. “I must leave once again. I only hope my beautiful new bride does not miss me too much while I’m gone from her side.”

• • •

Even though he knew meeting with the exiled Watcher could give him more clues about how to find the Kindred, all Magnus currently cared about was vengeance. Finding the rebel who’d killed his mother helped sharpen his focus like a killing blade.

The rebels, however, were much harder to track down than he’d thought. Privately, he’d ridiculed Aron’s failure to gain any clues to Jonas Agallon’s whereabouts. Now, after a full week of searching with no success, he too felt the staggering weight of failure.

At dusk, the prince’s entourage arrived at a camp set up by a unit of guards in eastern Auranos, barely an arm’s reach from the edge of the thick tangle of Wildlands, following rumors of the rebels’ shifting travels. Next, Magnus was pained to admit, they would have to put the search for Jonas on hold to journey into Paelsia itself and head directly to the road camp currently located in the shadow of the Forbidden Mountains.

Magnus’s large tent was readied for him to take dinner and rest for the night. The sun had mostly set, but there was still enough light to see. A campfire crackled nearby. The days in this particular region were warm and temperate, but at night, and so close to the Paelsian border, it cooled down considerably. The cool air held the scent of the smoky fire and roasting venison and the sound of hidden insects buzzing and chirping in the thick forest only thirty paces from camp.

“I think we make an excellent team,” Aron said, jarring Magnus from his thoughts.

Lord Aron Lagaris might now have the official designation of kingsliege, but he was a complete waste of space, Magnus reflected sourly-nor did he have any clue of the real reason they were next headed to the road camp other than for a general inspection. The silver flask Aron continually drank from was an annoyance-almost as much as the boy himself. Magnus had no respect for anyone who relied on artificial means to maintain their courage.

Magnus removed his black leather gloves and warmed his hands over the fire as he gave Aron a sidelong glance. “Do you, now.”

Aron took yet another swig from his flask. “I know things have been a bit tense between us, what with the Cleo issue. .”

“‘Cleo issue’?”

The boy nodded. “It’s best in the end that a princess marry a prince. I suppose.”

“Ah. I suppose.” Oh, this was deeply unpleasant. Being trapped into meaningless small talk with an idiot had never intrigued him, even on a good day. Which this wasn’t.

“I only hope for your sake that she’s forgotten the night of passion we shared.”

Magnus gave him a hard look. “You are deeply unwise to broach this subject right now.”

Aron immediately blanched. “I mean no disrespect.”

A hot rise of anger fought to push past his simple annoyance. “Of course you do. All that ever comes out of your mouth is disrespect, Lagaris.”

Aron raked a hand through his hair and paced back and forth, taking another quick swig from his flask. “It’s just that to wed a girl who could not keep herself pure for her future husband-”

“Close your mouth before you insult my bride’s honor with another word.” Magnus drew out his dagger to absently run it under his fingernails. Aron followed the blade’s movements with fearful eyes. “She belongs to me now, not you. Never forget that.”

Not that he really cared, he reminded himself sternly. He had not touched Cleo apart from the kiss in Limeros. And that had been under duress.

Still, Magnus had to admit the girl was an excellent actress. With his lips pressed to hers, he could have sworn he tasted warm honey rather than cold venom in her response. And he also had to admit, if only to himself, that such unexpected sweetness had coaxed a much longer kiss than he’d originally planned.

The princess was dangerous yet could appear so very innocent to one who didn’t know the truth-much like a spider and her shimmering web. Perhaps Magnus would do best to look at Aron as a hapless fly who’d once found his way into that trap through no fault of his own.

At that moment, a group of guards approached with a prisoner, his hands bound behind his back. The boy was no more than eighteen, his brown hair dark and unruly, his skin tanned from the sun, his eyes flashing with anger.

“Who is this?” Magnus asked, his gaze sweeping the fierce-looking boy.

The lead guard shoved the prisoner forward. “Part of a group of rebels attempting to steal weapons from us.”

“A group of rebels? And yet you captured only one.”

“Apologies, your highness. But, yes.”

“How many were there?” Aron asked.

The guard had begun to sweat. “Three, my liege.”

“How many did you kill?”

A muscle in the guard’s cheek twitched. “The rebels are vicious, Lord Aron. They’re like wild animals, and-”

“Perhaps you did not hear my question correctly,” Aron snapped. “How many rebels did you kill of the three?”

The guard blinked. “I’m afraid none today, my liege.”

Aron glared at him with disgust. “Step back. Now.”

The guard retreated.

What a complete jackass Aron was, spouting threat and intimidation as if he had the strength of will to back it up.

“Yes, your grace?” Aron asked evenly, noticing he’d gained the prince’s full attention.

“May I question the prisoner, or would you like to have the honor?” It was an honest question, if offered on a slightly menacing level.

Aron gestured with his hand. “No, please. You go right ahead.”

How shocking. It was the correct answer. “Much gratitude, Lord Aron.”

Magnus indicated that the guards should bring the prisoner further into camp by the fire. There the rebel stood with his hands bound, but his shoulders were squared as he met Magnus’s gaze directly, without flinching.

“Welcome.” Magnus began with a smile, one that would mirror his father’s ease, if not the king’s famous charm. “I am Magnus Lukas Damora, crown prince and heir to the throne of Mytica.”

“I know who you are,” the boy said with distaste.

“Good. That will make things much simpler. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

The boy’s lips thinned, his eyes stony.

Magnus nodded to a guard, who backhanded the rebel. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but his gaze only grew more defiant.

“Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Magnus asked again. “This can go easy or it can go hard. The choice is yours. Answer my questions and I am capable of benevolence.”

The boy laughed at this, spitting out the blood that filled his mouth. “Prince Magnus benevolent? This I find hard to believe.”

Magnus’s smile thinned. “Your name?”

“Brion Radenos.”

“Very good, Brion.” Magnus leveled his gaze at the boy’s. “Now tell me, where is the rebel leader, Jonas Agallon?”

Brion cocked his head. “Jonas Agallon? Never heard of him before.”

This boy tried his patience. “You lie. Tell me where he is.”

Brion laughed at this. “Why would I?”

Magnus regarded him with distaste. “Jonas Agallon crept onto palace grounds and stole the life of Queen Althea. There is proof of this. He will pay for this with his own life.”

Brion’s brows drew together. “I’ve seen the posted reward for his capture; I’ve heard the rumors. But you’re wrong. I don’t care what proof you think you have, he had nothing to do with that murder.”

The anger swiftly rising inside Magnus literally made him tremble. The nearby guards glanced at each other uneasily. “For a moment, I thought you were intelligent. But you’re just a fool whose mouth is bigger than his brain.”