Gathering Darkness (2 page)

JONAS

PAELSIA

“
I
've got a bad feeling about this.”

Rufus's voice was as distracting as a persistent horsefly. Jonas sent his fellow rebel an impatient look through the darkness.

“Really. Which part?”

“All of it. We need to get out of here while we still can.” Rufus craned his thick, sweaty neck to scan the line of trees surrounding them, guided only by the light of a single torch they'd shoved into the loose soil. “He said his friends would be here any moment.”

He was referring to the Limerian guard they'd captured after discovering him straying too close to the edge of the forest. He was currently tied to a tree, unconscious.

But an unconscious guard wasn't any use to Jonas. He needed answers. Though he had to agree with Rufus on one thing: They were swiftly running out of time, especially since they were so close to a village infested with the king's red-uniformed minions.

“Of course he said that,” Jonas said. “It's called a bluff.”

“Oh.” Rufus raised his brows, as though this hadn't occurred to him. “You think?”

A week had passed since the rebel attack on the road camp in eastern Paelsia beneath the Forbidden Mountains. A week since Jonas's most recent plan to defeat King Gaius had gone horribly awry.

Forty-seven rebels had descended upon the sleepy campground at dawn in an attempt to seize the road engineer, Xanthus, and the Limerian heir, Prince Magnus, to hold as hostages against King Gaius.

They'd failed. A flash fire of strange blue flames had burned everything in its path, and Jonas had barely escaped with his life.

Rufus had been the only other rebel waiting at the meeting spot later that morning. Jonas had found him standing there with tears streaming down his dirty face, trembling with fear and rambling about fire magic and witches and sorcery.

Only two of forty-seven had been accounted for. It was a crushing defeat in far too many ways, and if Jonas thought about it too much he could barely see straight, could barely function beyond his guilt and grief.

His plan. His orders.

His fault.

Again.

Desperately trying to push aside his own pain, Jonas had immediately begun to gather information about other potential survivors—anyone who'd been captured alive and carted away.

The guard they'd found wore red. He was the enemy.

He had to have answers that could help Jonas. He
had
to.

Finally, the guard opened his eyes. He was older than most other guards, with graying hair at his temples. He also walked with a limp, which had made him easier to catch.

“You . . . I know you,” the guard muttered, his eyes glittering in the meager torchlight. “You're Jonas Agallon, the murderer of Queen Althea.”

He threw these words like weapons. Jonas flinched inwardly, but showed no sign that the most heinous lie ever told about him caused him injury.

“I didn't kill the queen,” he growled.

“Why would I believe you?”

Ignoring Rufus's squeamish expression, Jonas walked a slow circle around the restrained guard, trying to determine how difficult it would be to get him talking.

“You don't have to believe me.” He leaned closer. “But you're going to answer some questions for me now.”

The guard's upper lip drew back from his yellow teeth in a snarl. “I'll tell you nothing.”

He'd expected that, of course. Nothing was ever easy.

Jonas pulled the jeweled dagger from the sheath on his belt. Its wavy silver blade caught the moonlight, immediately drawing the guard's attention.

It was the very same weapon that had taken his older brother from this world. That vain and pompous Auranian lord had left it behind, embedded in Tomas's throat. This dagger had become a symbol to Jonas, representing the line he'd drawn in the sand between his past as the son of a poor wine seller who toiled every day in his father's vineyard, and his future as a rebel, certain he would die fighting for what he believed in most: freedom from tyranny for those he loved. And freedom from tyranny for those he'd never even met before.

A world without King Gaius's hands wringing the necks of the weak and powerless.

Jonas pressed the dagger to the guard's throat. “I suggest you answer my questions if you don't want your blood to be spilled tonight.”

“I'll do more than bleed if the king learns I've done anything to help you.”

He was right—the crime of assisting a rebel would undoubtedly lead to torture or execution. Likely both. Though the king enjoyed making pretty speeches about the united kingdoms of Mytica with a broad smile on his handsome face, he did not receive the nickname “the King of Blood” by being fair and kind.

“One week ago, there was a rebel attack on the road camp east of here. Do you know about it?”

The guard held his gaze unflinchingly. “I heard the rebels died screaming.”

Jonas's heart twisted. He clenched his hand into a fist, aching to make this guard suffer. A tremor shook through him at the memory of last week, but he tried to focus on the task at hand.
Only
the task at hand.

Rufus raked his fingers through his messy hair and paced back and forth in nervous lines.

“I need to know if any rebels were captured alive,” Jonas continued. “And I need to know where the king is holding them.”

“I have no idea.”

“I don't believe you. Start talking or I promise I'll cut your throat.”

There was no fear in the guard's eyes, only a mocking edge. “I've heard so many fearsome rumors about the leader of the Paelsian rebels. But rumors aren't facts, aren't they? Perhaps you're nothing more than a Paelsian peasant boy—not nearly ruthless enough to kill someone in cold blood. Not even your enemy.”

Jonas had killed before—enough that he'd lost count. In a foolish war that tricked Paelsians into allying with Limerians against Auranos. In the battle at the road camp. He'd only fought in order to strike down his enemies and bring justice to his friends, his family, and his fellow Paelsians. And to protect himself.

There had been meaning behind those deaths, even if that meaning had been jumbled and unclear. He fought for a purpose, believed in something.

He took no pleasure in taking lives, and he hoped he never would.

“Come on, Jonas. He's useless,” Rufus said, his voice twisting with anxiety. “Let's go while we still can.”

But Jonas didn't budge, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He hadn't come this far to give up now. “There was a girl who fought in the battle named Lysandra Barbas. I need to know if she's still alive.”

The guard's lips twisted into a cruel grin. “Ah, so this is why you're so driven for answers. This girl belongs to you?”

It took Jonas a moment to understand his meaning. “She's like a sister to me.”

“Jonas,” Rufus whined. “Lysandra's gone. She's dead. Obsessing about her is only going to get us killed, too!”

Jonas cast a glare at Rufus that made the boy wince, but it was enough to make him shut his stupid mouth.

Lysandra wasn't dead. She couldn't be. She was an incredible fighter—skilled with a bow and arrow like no one Jonas had witnessed before.

Lysandra had also been opinionated, demanding, and incredibly annoying from the first moment he'd first met her. And if she still lived, Jonas would do anything to find her.

He needed her—both as a fellow rebel and as a friend.

“You must know
something
.” Jonas pressed the dagger closer to the guard's throat. “And you're going to tell me right now.”

No matter how high the stakes, Jonas would never give up. Not until his very last breath.

“This girl . . . ,” the guard said through clenched teeth, “is she worth your life?”

Jonas didn't have to think twice. “Yes.”

“Then I've no doubt she's every bit as dead as you are.” The guard smirked despite the trickle of blood now sliding down his throat. He raised his voice. “Over here!”

A crunch of dirt and a snap of branches were all that warned of the half-dozen Limerian guards that now burst into the small forest clearing. Their swords were drawn, and two of them carried torches.

“Drop your weapons, rebel!”

Rufus swung his fist at an approaching guard, but missed by a mile. “Jonas, do something!”

Rather than drop the dagger, Jonas sheathed it, then drew the sword he'd stolen from Prince Magnus last week before Jonas had managed to escape. He hoisted it up in time to block a blow aimed directly for his chest. Rufus tried to fight back, punching and kicking, but it wasn't long before a guard grabbed hold of his hair, yanked him backward, and put a blade to his throat.

“I said,” the guard hissed, “drop your weapon. Or your friend dies.”

The world skidded to a stop as the memory of Tomas's murder once again crashed into Jonas. It had happened so quickly—no time to save him, no time to fight or even beg for his life. And then Jonas recalled another memory that would be seared into his soul forever: that of his best friend Brion, slain by the same killer while Jonas watched, helpless.

With Jonas momentarily distracted, a guard took the opportunity to slam his fist into his face. As hot blood poured from his nose, another guard wrenched the blade from his grasp, nearly breaking his fingers. Another kicked the back of his knees and slammed him down to the ground.

The world spun and sparkled before his eyes as he fought to remain conscious.

He knew it would end now, that he'd been on borrowed time ever since his most recent brush with death. There was no magic here to save him this time. Death no longer scared him, but the timing was wrong. He had too much left to do.

Just then, another figure entered the torch-lit clearing, causing the guards to spin around.

“Am I interrupting something?” said the young man. He looked a couple years older than Jonas, with dark hair and eyes. He wore a dark cloak, the hood back to show his skin was deeply tanned, and he gave an easy smile that showed straight white teeth, as well as his apparent nonchalance at the fact that he'd just casually strolled into the middle of a battle. He scanned the area, starting on one side with Rufus, who was still being held in place, then making his way over to Jonas, who braced himself against the mossy ground with two swords pointed at his throat.

“Get out of here,” a guard growled. “Unless you want trouble.”

“You're Jonas Agallon,” the boy said, nodding at him as if they were meeting in a tavern instead of the middle of the forest in the dead of night. “This is quite an honor.”

Jonas never asked to be famous. But the wanted posters clearly sketched with his face that had been tacked up throughout all three kingdoms had ensured otherwise. Despite having few victories and more false accusations than actual crimes, his name had quickly become legend.

And the high reward his capture offered sparked the interest of many.

The older guard had been cut free from his ropes and was now gingerly rubbing his wrists. “You've been following this rebel scum?” he asked. “Does that make you aspiring rebel scum? We'll save a spike back at the palace for your head as well. Seize him!”

The guards lunged for him, but he just laughed and dodged their grasp as easily as a slippery fish.

“Need my help?” the boy asked Jonas. “How about this—I help you, you help me. That's the deal.”

He moved so well there was no way he was only a curious bystander. Jonas had no idea who he was, but right now he really didn't give a damn.

“Sounds good to me,” Jonas managed.

“Then let's get started.” The boy reached down and pulled out two thick blades the length of his forearms from beneath his cloak. He spun and sliced, moving faster than any of the guards could counter.

Jonas's head was still swimming, but he managed to elbow the guard behind him directly in his face. He felt and heard the crack as the guard yelped in pain.

He jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword, thrusting the hilt behind him to catch the guard in his soft gut.

The new boy took down the guard holding Rufus. Now free, the unskilled rebel just stood there in place, staring at the violent scene for a frozen moment; then he turned and ran out of the clearing without looking back.

A part of Jonas was disappointed in Rufus, but another part was glad the kid finally had a chance to escape a fight he hadn't been ready for since day one.

He might even stay alive if he played it smart and stayed out of trouble.

With the other guards now dead, scattered, or unconscious in the clearing, Jonas grabbed hold of his original prisoner and slammed him back against the tree.

The smugness in the guard's eyes finally turned to fear.

“Spare me,” he gasped.

Jonas ignored him, turning instead to the boy who'd just saved his life. “What's your name?”

“Felix,” he offered with a grin. “Felix Gaebras. Happy to meet you.”

“Likewise. Thanks for the help.”

“Any time.”

If Felix hadn't intervened, Jonas would be dead. No doubt about it. He'd given him a chance at another day, one in which he might make a difference. For that, Jonas was damn grateful.

Still, he'd be stupid not to be wary of any stranger who knew his identity.

“What's your price?” Jonas asked.

“Price?”

“You said if you help me, I help you.”

“First thing's first.” Felix approached, nudging Jonas out of the way and taking the guard by the throat. “I've been eavesdropping. Rude, I know. But I heard you say you didn't think Jonas was ruthless enough to kill someone in cold blood. Well, what's your first impression of me?”

The guard drew in a shaky breath. “What do you want?”

“Answer the question. His friends—are any of them still alive?”