“I. . I need to go hunting again,” she said.
“Lys. .”
“No, just. .” She glanced around at the other boys, who were now whispering to each other and laughing, despite their unease about the strange tremor. Brion’s crush on her was well known to everyone in camp by now, thanks to Jonas. “Just give me some space, all right?”
His expression fell. “I’m sorry. Of course.”
Lysandra grabbed her bow and headed deeper into the forest. Why should she feel annoyed toward the one boy in camp who’d been more welcoming than any of the others combined? The one who defended her to his own best friend when no one else did?
All she knew was that she didn’t feel anything other than friendship for Brion-and even that was frequently challenged.
She had no time for thoughts of friendship. . or of romance. Not now. And definitely not here.
“Stupid,” she mumbled after wandering aimlessly through the forest not too far from camp. Leaves and fallen branches crunched beneath her feet with each step she took. She wasn’t sure who or what she referred to, but just saying the word aloud seemed to help.
After the tremor, most of her potential prey had found shelter in well-concealed hiding spots. It took until near dusk before she spotted a deer in the distance. She stilled herself, holding her breath. Slowly, she aimed her arrow toward the animal.
You’ll make a good meal tonight, my little friend. Hold still.
The sound of something heavy crashing through the forest startled the deer and it took off before Lysandra could release her arrow. She swore under her breath. Someone must have followed her from camp.
“It better not be you, Brion,” she muttered, and turned in the direction of the noise.
A familiar form burst from the thick foliage beyond the trees she stood behind. He stumbled and fell, before scrambling to regain his footing.
She frowned. “Jonas?”
Behind him was a Limerian guard on horseback, who leapt off his mount and grabbed Jonas by his hair. “Didn’t think I’d catch you, rebel?”
Jonas didn’t say anything, but his knees buckled again. His face was covered in blood and his eyes were glazed.
The guard drew his sword and held it to Jonas’s throat. “I know who you are-Jonas Agallon, Queen Althea’s murderer. If I took your head back to the king, I’d get myself a fine reward. Got anything to say about that?”
“He doesn’t,” Lysandra whispered, then raised her voice. “But I do.”
As the guard glanced over his shoulder at the sound of her voice, she let her arrow go, hitting her target perfectly in his left eye socket. He was dead before he hit the ground. Lysandra swiftly closed the distance between her and Jonas, nudging the guard’s body aside.
“What happened?” she demanded, grabbing hold of his shirt. “Are there more guards after you?”
His breath came quickly, but he didn’t reply. As she inspected him, she saw he’d been injured. There was a deep wound on his side and the back of his skull bore an alarmingly bloody wound.
Her heart sank. “I told you not to go today, you fool. When are you going to start listening to me?”
She staggered from his weight as he crumpled against her. Checking over her shoulder to see if there were any more guards in pursuit, she dragged Jonas further away from the dead soldier and laid him down on the ground near the roots of a large oak tree, being very gentle with his head. She quickly ripped the fabric of his shirt open to get a better look at the wound on his side.
She grimaced at the sight of the torn flesh. “What am I going to do with you?”
She tore a long strip of fabric off her own shirt, which was cleaner than his, in order to press it against his wound and try to stop the bleeding. He could cauterize it himself later.
If he lived.
No, you’ll live, Jonas, she thought. You’re much too stubborn to die today.
A hawk had taken perch above them in the oak tree, and it looked down at them as if curious about what they were doing.
“Unless you’re going to help,” Lysandra said to it, “mind your own business.” Lysandra had noted its markings from last time. Just another female who’d found herself infatuated with the handsome rebel leader. She reached for a rock and hurled it at the bird. It flapped its wings and flew away.
“Your infamous charm seems to bypass species, Agallon,” she mumbled.
Jonas groaned as she used another torn piece of her shirt to wipe at the blood on his face. Her hands froze at the sound. His lips moved. He was trying to say something, but she couldn’t make it out.
She leaned closer. “What?”
“So bad. . I’m so sorry. . failed you. .”
His eyes opened to lock with hers. His were a shade of brown that reminded her of cinnamon, her favorite spice, and they had gold flecks just around the black irises-so black, just like his thick lashes. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed this.
“You need to get up,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. “Come on. We need to move.”
“You. .” he managed.
“Yes, it’s-”
He pulled her closer. Close enough to brush his lips against hers.
Lysandra stared down at him with shock. “Jonas. .”
“Cleo. .” he whispered.
She reared back from him completely, confusion disappearing only to be replaced by a fresh burst of annoyance. Then she hauled back and whacked him hard on the side of his face.
“Snap out of it, idiot. If you think I’m the princess then you’re in worse shape than I thought.”
Jonas jolted up to a seated position, holding his hand against his face. His brows were drawn tightly together.
“The guard,” he said.
“I killed him.” Lysandra could see in his eyes that he didn’t remember what just happened. Perhaps for him it had only been a dream.
“Good.” He pushed himself up to a standing position, then grimaced as he touched his injured arm.
“What happened? Where are the others?”
He gave her the bleakest look she’d ever seen, one that made her blood run cold before he even spoke another word. “Dead.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t speak for a moment. “Damn you, Jonas. I shouldn’t have bothered saving your arse just now. You don’t deserve it.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” He swallowed hard, his jaw tight. “But now I need to get back to camp.”
There was nothing more to say.
Twenty rebel boys had offered to go with Jonas to the temple in hopes of a glorious victory against King Gaius. Thirty had remained behind at camp, continuing to practice and plan.
Only Jonas had returned.
• • •
“Our friends. . they fought bravely, but we were outmatched,” Jonas finished grimly. He and Lysandra were back at the camp and he related the story of the massacre to the others. “I’m so sorry. It was a mistake to go and I take full responsibility.”
Silence fell as sharp as an executioner’s ax.
No one made a sound, except for one or two quiet sobs. The younger rebels didn’t have control over their emotions yet-not when it came to their grief. The older ones stood rigid, their attention fixed on the ground before them. The sound of crickets and the crackle of the fire were all that could be heard in the gathering darkness.
“This is your fault,” Ivan said. “Your idea. Your big plan that couldn’t fail.”
Brion stood at the opposite side of the fire from Jonas. “He didn’t know this would happen.”
“Didn’t know. Right. But he told that princess, didn’t he? She probably blurted everything to the king.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Jonas said, his head in his hands.
“Why wouldn’t she? What’s she got to lose with the blood of rebels spilled on her wedding day?”