Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms #2)(18)

“Oh, we will,” Jonas called after him as he scurried away without another word. “We certainly will.”

“Definitely not rebel material,” Brion murmured.

“Perhaps one day, but not today. He hasn’t seen nearly enough hardship.”

“He actually smelled like jasmine and citrus. Who smells like jasmine and citrus?”

“Certainly not you,” Jonas said, laughing. “When was the last time you . . .” His words trailed off as he saw a fresco on the side of a building of King Gaius’s handsome face. The words STRENGTH, FAITH, and WISDOM—the Limerian credo—were in the mosaic below, along with the larger word TOGETHER.

“He’s doing it,” Jonas grumbled. “That bastard is fooling them into submission with his shiny speeches and pretty promises. They don’t realize that he’d happily destroy them at his whim.”

“Hey, where are you going?” Brion called after him as Jonas marched across the road toward the mural. The artist must have just finished, for the plaster was still wet. Jonas began to tear at it, smearing what could be smeared and crumbling the dry parts away in his hands.

“Jonas, we should go,” Brion cautioned him.

“I won’t let him win. We need to show everyone what a liar he is.” His fingers had quickly begun to bleed from the effort.

“We will. I mean, we are. We’re going to make a difference.” Brion looked nervously over his shoulder at the people that were gathering to see the vandalism of the king’s mural. “Remember those Auranian rebels who lost their heads last week?”

Jonas’s hands stilled. He’d managed to destroy the king’s face completely. It was very satisfying to wipe away the smug expression. He longed to do it in real life. “Yes.”

“Let’s not join them, all right? And on that note, let’s start running.”

Jonas’s gaze whipped to the right to see that several guards were drawing closer, their swords in hand.

“Stop!” one shouted at them. “In the name of the king!”

Running was definitely a good suggestion.

“Your new king lies to you all!” Jonas yelled at the crowd as he and Brion darted past them. A girl with long dark hair and light-brown eyes studied him curiously and he directed his next words at her. “The King of Blood will pay for his crimes against Paelsia! Do you stand next to a deceitful tyrant or do you stand with me and my rebels?”

If he could change just one mind today, then it would be worth it.

The guards stayed on Jonas and Brion’s tail as they tore down cobblestone streets, along narrow alleyways, barely avoiding the carriages and horses of wealthy Hawk’s Brow residents. With each sharp turn, Jonas thought they might have lost their pursuers, but the guards were not so easily evaded.

“This way,” Brion urged, grabbing Jonas’s arm and pulling him down a side street next to a small tavern.

But there was no exit. The two came to a staggering halt at the stone wall blocking their path and turned to face the three armed guards. A hawk on the tavern’s roof took off in flight.

“Couple of troublemakers,” a guard growled. “Now we get to make an example out of the two of you.”

“You’re arresting us?” Brion asked hopefully.

“And give you a chance to escape? No. Only your heads will be making the journey back to the palace with us. The rest of you can stay right here and rot.” He smiled, showing off a broken tooth. His compatriots chuckled.

“Wait,” Brion began, “we can figure something—”

“Kill them,” the lead guard instructed, stepping back.

Jonas grappled for the jeweled dagger he kept at his waist—the very same dagger Lord Aron had used to take Jonas’s brother’s life—but it would be little use against three sharp swords. Still, if he would die today, he would take at least one of these brutes with him. He gripped the dagger tightly. Brion clutched another blade in his hand as the two guards approached, their hulking forms blocking the sunlight.

Then both guards staggered forward, their expressions registering pain and confusion. They fell forward, hitting the ground hard. Sticking out of each of their backs was a deeply embedded arrow. The third guard spun around, his sword raised. There was a sickening sound and he, too, fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from his throat.

A girl stood at the entrance to the alleyway. As she lowered her bow, Jonas realized it was the same girl he had seen in the crowd earlier, but now he noticed that she wore the tunic and trousers of a boy. Her dark hair hung in a thick braid down her back.

“You said you’re rebels. Is this true?”

Jonas just stared at her, dumbfounded. “Who are you?”

“Answer my question first and I might tell you.”

He exchanged a look with Brion, whose eyes were wide as saucers. “Yes. We’re rebels.”

“And you mentioned Paelsia. You’re Paelsian?” She swept her gaze over them. “Well, that should be obvious by how you’re dressed. Not nearly enough tailored silk between you to pass for Auranians. Tell me, though . . . do you nearly get yourselves killed every day?”

“Not every day,” Brion said.

The girl checked over her shoulder. “We should move. There are plenty of guards in this city, and they will soon wonder what happened to their friends, especially when they hear of the fate of the King of Blood’s mural.” She looked at Jonas. “Nice work there. Messy, but effective.”