She nodded toward Felix. “Are you responsible for the explosions?”

“Nope,” Felix said. “That would be Jonas’s other new friend.” “Friend might be overstating matters after what happened back there,” Jonas growled. “Petros likes to watch things burn too much. He’s got no control. He could have killed Lys and Tarus.”

Felix shrugged. “They’re fine. Anyone standing there ready to watch your friends lose their heads deserved what they got. Nothing to feel guilty about.”

Jonas hissed out a long breath. “I suppose you’re right.”

Lysandra was still stunned. “Why?” she choked out.

“Why what?” Jonas asked.

“You risked your life—both of your lives—to save us.” She reached for Tarus’s hand and squeezed it.

“And?”

“And . . .” She shook her head. “And it doesn’t make sense. There are more important things for you to be doing right now.”

“Really, Lys?” Jonas shot her an impatient look. “And what if it were me in that dungeon? Would you have let me rot there until they hacked me into little pieces so you could go on doing more important things? Or would you have been busting your arse trying to save me?” He barked out a laugh. “Forget I asked. Of course you’d have been much more practical than that. The life of one rebel wouldn’t be worth the risk, right?”

There was no questioning what she would have done if the tables had been turned. She would have risked anything to save Jonas.

“I did it because Brion would have wanted me to, that’s why,” Jonas said, turning away. “End of story.”

Brion. Another boy taken before his time because he stood up to those who oppressed him. Brion, who had loved her in spite of—or because of—her fierce, argumentative nature.

“Understood,” she said softly.

“Now come on. Let’s move. They’ll be searching for the two of you as soon as they realize you’re gone.”

“Where are we going?” Tarus asked.

“Paelsia. I’m taking you back to your family, kid.”

“But, Jonas—”

“No buts. You’re too young for all of this. You get another year stronger and then you can join me again if you want.”

“But I—” Any further protest died on Tarus’s tongue, and Lysandra saw a whisper of relief slide through his eyes. “Fine. If that’s your official order, I’ll do as you say.”

“It is.”

Lysandra’s mind relaxed for the first time in what felt like ages. The thought of Tarus with a chance to be relatively safe was a huge relief.

“What about me?” Lysandra asked. “I don’t have a family to go home to anymore.”

“Yeah . . . you. You’re more of a problem.” Jonas exchanged a look with Felix. “So I guess what you do now is your choice, Lys.”

Mere hours ago, she was as good as dead. Now her whole future was ahead of her.

“What’s your plan?” she asked. “If it’s still to kill the king, he was out in the open today. You could have taken a shot.”

“He wasn’t my priority today. I couldn’t lose focus for anything. But now that you’re free, my old plan is new again. I won’t rest until the king has lost his throne and his power is taken away forever. Until he has taken his last breath. Until all Paelsians are free to control their own destinies.”

Lysandra and Jonas locked eyes. “Then we have the same goal.”

He nodded once. “Then I guess you’re staying with us.”

“I guess so.”

Just when she’d been ready to accept her death, her fire had returned. It had been trampled, but it had never been fully extinguished.

Lysandra was alive. Her spirit was renewed.

And she was ready to fight again.

CHAPTER 15

LUCIA

AURANOS

How fascinating, to study the face of someone who knew she was moments from death.

Lucia hadn’t been present for the last set of executions, but there had been plenty of them in Limeros during King Gaius’s reign. In the past she’d always found it an unpleasant necessity, but she’d never felt sorry for the criminals. After all, those who lost their heads had chosen to commit crimes. They’d known the punishment but had acted unjustly anyway.

Her father had also put many accused witches to death over the years—all cruel women who’d used their magic to hurt others. After her elementia had awakened, he’d explained to Lucia how her magic was different from theirs.

The witches’ magic was evil, strengthened by blood sacrifice and dark deceit.

Her magic was pure, prophesized. It was good.

“Barbaric,” Cleo said under her breath as the two rebels were brought to the stage.

“Didn’t your father have executions?” Lucia asked Cleo. A boy with bright blond hair darted through the audience and caught her eye. He was one of few who didn’t stand with the crowd, transfixed by the king’s speech. In fact, he moved in the opposite direction with a lit torch in his hand, drawing annoyed looks from those he brushed past.

“Of course he did,” Cleo replied. “But they weren’t public spectacles like this.”

Was it cruel of Lucia not to care about the fate of these two rebels? She searched her heart, trying to find some sense of unease about their impending deaths, but found she had no sympathy for them at all. They’d chosen their path, and this is where it had led. They had no one to blame but themselves.