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?”

At the time, Lysandra didn’t understand what he’d been trying to teach her. All she knew was that her skirts were muddy and her mother would be angry that she’d spent so long gathering nothing but dirt.

Get up. Again and again. There are those who would push you down into the mud and laugh at you. They wanted to see tears. They wanted to see defeat because it made them feel better about their own sad little lives.

But sometimes it was hard to rise back up. Sometimes the mud grew so solid and so thick around you that there was no escape. And the taunting laughter never stopped.

Suddenly, the sting of a slap made her gasp, and Lysandra was pulled out of her memories to find herself staring into the freckled face of Tarus.

“Come on, Lys!” He had her by her shoulders, his fingers biting into her flesh. “The guards are coming. I need you.”

“Good,” she whispered. “It’s finally time to end this.”

He shook her. “No! You can’t give up. It’s only us, you know that? Cato and Fabius are dead—they were killed trying to escape. We’re the only ones left!”

The news was yet another blow, but she wasn’t surprised. Cato and Fabius would have preferred to die fighting, rather than as a spectacle before a crowd.

Safe travels to the ever after, my friends, she thought, her heart heavy.

She glanced over to the corner where her brother had once slept. Where he’d searched and searched his dreams for his Watcher, hoping she held the answers he’d desperately needed to survive.

A sharp pain now twisted in her chest. Already the memory of his death had settled into her mind like the roots of a dark, malevolent tree, twisting and writhing, choking away all the life, all the hope, until nothing but darkness remained.

They’d killed Gregor in front of her and all she could do was scream.