Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms #2)(31)
“I won’t be able to protect you if you run off and do your own thing.”
“I don’t need your protection.” She tried to keep her tone even and controlled, but the suggestion that she was a weak girl who needed a strong boy to protect her was infuriating. “Don’t worry about me, Agallon. Spend your precious time worrying about Princess Cleo. Perhaps she’ll jump aboard the next scheme you come up with that doesn’t dare put anyone at risk of spilling even one drop of blood.”
She twisted the words as if they were a weapon and succeeded in making Jonas wince. His decisions were ludicrous to her. After all, each and every rebel had known the potential for danger when they’d signed up for the job!
Jonas shot Brion a withering look. Lysandra had learned quickly that a few kind words, a mere touch of his arm, or a smile would have Brion eating out of her hand and telling her secrets. Such as Jonas’s clandestine visit to the princess, which resulted only in failure.
“We should go with her,” Brion said firmly, ignoring Jonas’s glare. “We need to see for ourselves the proof of how the king is treating our people.”
Lysandra’s heart swelled. “Thank you, Brion.”
His eyes locked with hers and he offered her the edge of a smile. “Anything for you, Lys.”
Jonas was quiet, his expression hard, as he looked at both of them in turn.
“Fine,” he finally said. “You and Brion wait here for me while I go back to camp and put Ivan in charge while we’re away. We’ll go together and we’ll return together.”
Lysandra wasn’t sure why the stubborn rebel leader’s decision felt like a major victory for her. But it did.
? ? ?
During their two days’ journey, the trio encountered an enormous black bear who’d appeared to them like a demon, barricading their path. Brion had barely managed to escape the swipe of its razor-sharp claws, and Lysandra had felt the heat of its breath on her neck as she snatched him out of its way just in time. Later,
they also found a small camp of outlaws who, when offered the chance to join the rebel ranks, unsheathed their daggers and threatened to cut the three into tiny, bloody pieces and eat them for dinner.
They took that as a firm no.
Finally they emerged from the forest and moved east into Paelsia—the tips of the jagged Forbidden Mountains visible at the horizon, stretching tall and ominous into the gray clouds above.
Chief Basilius’s compound was a walled area with clay and stone huts and cottages. Everyone who’d made it their home had scattered after the chief’s murder, leaving it deserted. It had been transformed into a temporary city of tents for the guards and soldiers who surveyed the area.
Here, the ground still held some vegetation, the trees some leaves. To the south, the edge of the Wildlands was a half day’s journey. To the west and toward the Silver Sea lay small villages, including the remains of Lysandra’s.
Swarming with Paelsian workers, the king’s road cut into the ground like a fresh wound. It was incredible to Lysandra how quickly it was being constructed, as if the king had slid his finger across the dusty Paelsian landscape and the road’s path had magically appeared wherever he touched.
But there was no magic here. Only sweat. Only pain and blood.
The three looked on grimly at the sight before them from where they crouched unseen in a forest thick with evergreens near the compound and camp.
A meager river wound through the dusty land parallel to the road, the only fresh water this area had to offer. Beyond it, literally thousands of Paelsians lined up along a two-mile section to toil. All ages—from young to old. Two Paelsian boys worked feverishly thirty paces away from the hidden rebels, sawing a thick tree trunk. Others carried heavy stones that had been painstakingly chiseled flat to the front of the road, which was out of sight from where Lysandra pressed up against a tree, the bark’s sap leaving its sticky trace on her skin. Whenever anyone slowed their pace, the crack of the guards’ whips sounded out, slicing brutally across bare backs.
“You see?” Lysandra whispered. “I wasn’t lying. This is what it’s like here. This is how our people are being treated.”
“Why are they being abused like this?” Brion’s voice was hoarse. “No one could work at this pace without rest.”
“These are not people to these guards. They’re animals who serve one purpose.” Lysandra scanned the area until her eyes were strained, searching for familiar faces—searching for Gregor. Her gaze finally moved to Jonas’s tense expression. He stared at the sight before them with disgust. His hand had dropped to the jeweled dagger at his waist as if he itched to use it.
“We need information,” Jonas finally said. “But how do we get close enough to talk to anyone without the guards seeing us?”
“They keep the slaves in line by intimidation and threat.” Brion’s brow furrowed. “But there are no chains, no walls.”
Lysandra had stopped listening. She’d spotted someone she recognized from her village and her heart began pumping hard and fast. She waited until a guard on horseback had turned his back so he wouldn’t see her approach, and then she slipped away from the shield of trees and into the midst of the Paelsian laborers.
“Vara!” Lysandra thundered up to the girl, who looked at her with wild, scared eyes. “You’re alive!”