Rebel Spring A Falling Kingdoms(33)

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!”

“What are you doing here?” Vara whispered.

The area was as crowded as a small city and buzzing with activity. Everywhere Lysandra looked there were piles of wood and rock as tall as cottages. Dotted along the edges of the road were large tents where the Limerian guards could take breaks and step out of the harsh sunlight.

Lysandra pulled Vara behind one of these tents to shield them from a nearby guard. “Where’s Gregor?” When the girl didn’t reply, she shook her. “Where is he?”

“I—I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.”

Lysandra’s heart twisted. “When did you see him last?”

“In the village—when they descended upon us.” Her voice broke and her eyes welled with tears. “Lysandra, so many are dead!”

It was only confirmation of what she already knew was true. “How many still live?”

“I don’t know. You shouldn’t be here! They might capture you too!” She bit her bottom lip, frowning. “But . . . but you’re a good fighter—I know this. You can help us.”

“Help you? With what?”

“Our escape.” Vara nodded firmly, but Lysandra noticed there was a strange, unhinged look in her eyes. “It was already supposed to happen. I’m only waiting for the sign. You’re the sign. You must be. It’s time for us to free ourselves.”

“What are you talking about? Is there really a plan for escape?” It lightened Lysandra’s heart to think that her people would be planning a revolt here, even against so much armed opposition. Jonas had been right about one thing—attacking a place with so many guards would lead to many, many deaths of rebels and slaves alike. And certainly no guarantee of victory.