Gathering Darkness (Falling Kingdoms #3)(46)

He thought he might save some time by taking a shortcut through a thatch of forest. Just as he started to praise himself for his first good idea of the day, a shadow swiftly approached him from either side. Before he knew it, Nic was on his back again, his breath knocked out of him.

“We meet again,” said an oddly familiar voice.

Nic blinked until his vision cleared enough for him to see Jonas Agallon crouching over him, pressing his jeweled dagger against his throat. It was the second time that Jonas had held that very dagger to Nic’s flesh.

“You—” he began.

“Don’t talk,” Jonas said. “Not yet. I’m going to explain something to you quickly before you speak. Understood?”

The rebel’s face was cast in the shadows of the canopy of lush trees overhead. Insects buzzed a constant symphony all around. The heat, combined with all the blood he’d lost earlier that day, made Nic feel close to losing consciousness.

He shot a glance at Jonas’s companion: a tall, tanned, and dangerous-looking boy standing with his arms crossed over his broad chest. Finally, Nic’s gaze returned to Jonas and he gave a small nod of agreement.

“We’ve had our differences in the past,” Jonas said. “And seeing you in that red uniform, I’m not sure this conversation isn’t going to be a huge waste of my breath, but here it goes. I have friends who are scheduled to be executed tomorrow at midday. I need to save their arses, but I’m running out of options. Despite that uniform, I believe you to be loyal to Cleo. If you’re loyal to Cleo, you’re not loyal to the Damoras. In fact, I’m going to bet you hate them. Yes or no?”

Nic managed to speak through gritted teeth. “Yes.”

Jonas nodded once, his expression grim. “I want them dead. But first I need to help my friends. And to help my friends, I need assistance from someone trustworthy inside those walls, someone who wears your uniform. I know what’s being said about me and what I’m accused of. If I’m recognized, I’ll be killed on the spot and my murderer will get a nice fat reward.”

“We gotta get out of here, Jonas,” his companion growled. “Let’s speed this up, all right?”

Jonas didn’t take his eyes off Nic. “I’ll need your help tomorrow. You should know, saying yes may end up getting you killed, but I promise it’ll be a damn glorious death. If you say no, I won’t kill you. You can go back to your new life at the king’s knee. It’s got to be your choice. Your answer can seal your destiny, Nic—right here and right now. Are you with me? Or are you against me?”

After this day of beatings and abuse and being made to feel worthless, Nic was finally being given a choice. By someone he’d hated since the moment he’d first learned his name.

A Paelsian savage driven by vengeance.

A rebel leader who’d failed many more times than he’d succeeded.

The alleged murderer of Queen Althea.

The kidnapper of Cleo.

Jonas Agallon was about as trustworthy as a slimy sea snake.

And no decision in his life had ever been easier.





CHAPTER 14


LYSANDRA

AURANOS



She remembered when the boys in her village would pick on her when she was six, maybe seven years old. Once, one particularly mean boy had tripped her on her way back from the forest, her arms weighed down with the wood she’d been sent to gather.

She hadn’t seen his foot. And she hadn’t noticed the mud puddle beneath her until she landed face-first in it, the firewood flying out of her grip and falling into the muddy water after her. Ruined.

“Lysandra’s a crybaby,” another boy had taunted as her tears began to flow. His friends joined in his laughter. “Boo hoo! Cry, Lysandra! Cry harder!”

They’d run away when Gregor approached, but she could barely see him through her tears. The firewood was spoiled and it had taken her forever to gather enough dry twigs and branches. Without it, there would be no dinner. No warmth.

She didn’t try to get up. She sat there, her skirts soiled, and she cried.

“Stop it,” Gregor had said.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop crying, no matter how much she’d wanted to.

“Stop it,” he said again, grabbing her wrists and pulling her roughly to her feet. “Stop crying!”

“That boy—he pushed me. He’s so mean!”

“And you’re surprised? He’s mean to everyone who lets him. C’mon, little Lys. I thought you were better than this.”

His words surprised her. “Better?”

“Maybe you are a crybaby.”

“I am not!”

He shoved her until she staggered back and dropped into the puddle again. She stared up at him with shock.

“You’re going to let me do that?” he demanded.

“Wh-what?”

“Get up!”

Shock gave way to anger as she got to her feet. She glared at him, her small fists clenched at her sides, her tears forgotten.

“That’s better,” he said. “You don’t cry when someone pushes you down. You get up. You get up and you fight back. And pretty soon nobody’s going to shove you anymore because they’ll see it’s not worth it. You won’t let anyone push you around and make you cry. Got it?”