Rebel Prince

by Justine Davis

  She snapped out of her musings with a start. Was she truly thinking of such things? How had she gone from resisting this with all her might to pondering a future with a child?

  As if her jump had transmitted to him through their connected bodies, he slowly, almost lazily lifted his head, as if he were indeed the fabled golden Arellian lion, bestirring himself after a nap in the sun.

  Or after a fierce mating with his lioness.

  Something new, something different glowed in his deep blue eyes. And she could have sworn he was fighting a smile when he said, “How much does it provoke you that they were right?”

  She blinked. Tried to brush away the lingering fog of pleasure. “What?”

  “The ones who wished this upon us.”

  She nearly gaped at him. Of all the things he could have said. . . . But the moment she thought about it, a rueful smile curved her lips. He knew her so well.

  “I know how little you like being given no choice. You’ve been fighting it your entire life.”

  “And you have not? You have always had less choice than I.” The still new realization hit her. “Or,” she amended, “at least you did.”

  “Now we’re even,” he said.

  He lowered his head and kissed her, this time a light, gentle caress that nevertheless sent a tingle through her.

  “I should have known,” she said with a small sigh.

  “I think I did,” he said. “On some level. It’s why I . . . dallied now and then, a few kisses, but this”—he shifted, pressing his body against hers—“this was only for you.”

  She was torn between kissing him and demanding to know who had been the recipient of those kisses, although she suspected Glendar’s great-niece, who had made no secret that she greatly admired her prince.

  Sorry, Avalyn. He’s mine. He has always been mine, and now he is in every way.

  “I was not so wise.” Her voice was quiet. “Yet I dreaded losing you to your future more than anything.”

  “You are my future, Shay.” He ducked his head, pressing his lips to the spot where her pulse beat in her throat. “And I’m glad you waited for me.”

  “It is the Triotian way.”

  “And you—we—are half-Arellian.”

  “Perhaps that’s why it happened here.”

  He smiled as if he liked that. “It is not a bad place, this home of our mothers,” he said, glancing around.

  He froze. He was staring over his shoulder, and she could not see at what. She was loath to surrender the connection between them, but something about his reaction made it imperative. She moved to sit up, and he shifted to let her, but slowly, as if transfixed by whatever had caught his attention.

  She wondered if she should dive for her weapons, if their follower had returned, or if—

  She saw it then. Her eyes widened. For a moment she forgot to breathe.

  It had not been just a flight of fancy, a by-product of consuming pleasure when she had felt the ground beneath them rumble.

  It had.

  The split boulder had moved. Had rolled apart, as if moved by an unseen hand with the power to move mountains.

  For Graymist of pure heart and mind, the cavern of the waterfall shall open when the two halves are joined, when what is destined is completed.

  The old man’s words echoed in her head.

  It hadn’t been the rock he’d been speaking of.

  It had been them.

  “We’re the halves,” Lyon whispered.

  She rose to her knees, staying close to him yet staring at the impossibility before them.

  A breeze caught the spray of the waterfall at the base, which they could now see. And there was no mistaking the dark opening behind it.

  Chapter 34

  “DO YOU KNOW of a private place in the forest, or on your mountain here?” Rina asked with a vague wave upward as she took another sip of the dark, powerful morning brew in her mug. Even weakened with water, as Tark had done for her before handing it over with the explanation that he’d gotten used to the more potent strain of the beans it was produced from, it was more than she was accustomed to, and she guessed a small amount would go a long way.

  He stopped his restless pacing—the man never seemed to be still if he was on his feet—and turned to look at her. “A private place?”

  “Somewhere no one would stumble across.”

  He considered for a moment. “I know of a few, yes.”

  “Good.”

  He tilted his head slightly, brows furrowed. “Are you thinking of a meeting place? For the watchers?”

  “I am thinking,” she said, her gaze fastened on him, “of the pleasure of mating with you in the sunlight.”

  For an instant he just stared at her. And then, abruptly, as if his legs had given out, he dropped to the stone bench. In the glow of the huntlight he’d turned on when they had at last left his bed, she saw with satisfaction the tinge of color beneath the sun-toughened skin.

  “Mating with me,” he said harshly, “is something better kept in darkness.”

  “If I thought that, it never would have happened at all,” she said. “Why is it so hard to believe I find you beautiful?”

  He laughed, and it sounded even harsher than his voice had. “I do not have a mirror, but the faces of the people who see me serve as well.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, her tone intentionally mild, “it is your glowering expression they fear.”

  He made a sound, a low, unintelligible sort of grunt that nearly made her laugh. She had heard this sound from Dax, from Dare, even from Lyon when they were uncertain of their ground with their women.

  “You are, after all,” she went on, “the man who laid waste to an entire battalion of Coalition troops. When you go about looking as if you’d like to do the same to them, anyone would be wary.”

  “You weren’t.”

  “But I am notoriously stubborn,” she said blithely.

  “That,” he said, his mouth quirking, “you are.”

  “And I,” she added, putting all she had of sincerity into her voice, “have adored you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. No mark, no scar could change that.”

  “Rina, I—”

  She was thankful when an odd knocking sound cut him off; she did not want to hear that while she might be Triotian, he was not. True, but she had Califa and Shaylah as examples of offworlders who had accepted bonding.

  Belatedly she realized the knock had come in an odd rhythmic series, rapid, then slower.

  “A signal, I assume?” she asked as he rose.

  He nodded. “One of us.”

  He crossed to the hidden door. She stole the moment to watch with enjoyment; he had not put on his shirt—because she was wearing it—and she found the sight of his muscled back and shoulders, brushed by dark strands of the hair she had not so long ago had her fingers buried in, a much more potent brew than that in her mug.

  As Tark reached to open the door, it occurred to her that her own skimpy attire at the moment might be a reason for concern. Quickly she darted back to the sleeping alcove and grabbed up her own clothing, reluctantly surrendering the worn yet comforting shirt she had pulled from his body last night.

  She dressed hurriedly, wondering if she should stay here, hidden, if Tark would be embarrassed if her presence were revealed. She discarded the idea almost instantly. Not only would she not hide her feelings from him, she would hide them from no one else, either. Besides, anything worth the trek out here was something she wanted to hear.

  She stepped back into the main room. One of the men she’d seen at the meeting was the first thing she spotted. His face was knotted with worry. Crim followed. And then she heard a female voice. She took another step into the room and saw Kateri, somehow still managing to look
imperious even in a slightly frayed cloak.

  The woman might be old, but her eyes were quick and clear. She spotted Rina the moment she moved. A gray brow rose, and that penetrating gaze flicked to Tark for an instant, but it was followed by a slight nod. And, Rina thought, a fleeting smile that looked almost as one of approval. And it warmed her, not for herself, but for the simple idea that someone cared enough about him to be concerned.

  She glanced at Tark, half-afraid she would see embarrassment in his face. But she saw only a new grimness, and wondered what news Kateri had brought.

  “Good morning,” Rina said respectfully.

  “’Tis well you’re here,” Kateri said, her voice brusque. “We received word this morning that what appeared to be a Coalition flagship was spotted leaving Darvis II two days ago. Our informant states it jumped to light speed almost immediately.”

  Rina sucked in a breath, her mind racing, doing the navigation in her head, the calculations. “It could be here by tomorrow, if they’re any good.”

  Kateri nodded, and the approval was more definite this time. “We’re sending a scout up, to monitor the rally point where the other ships are holding.”

  “You have a ship capable of reaching the far side of the outer moon?” Rina asked, surprised. From what Tark had told her, what ships Arellia had not decommissioned were in no shape to venture that far.

  “No.” To Rina’s surprise, Kateri gave her a wink as she added, “But we have one capable of low orbit equipped with a Paraclon-modified scope.”

  Rina grinned at the mention of the eccentric but brilliant Triotian inventor. The old man had come up with a rather bizarre-looking arrangement of mirrors and hinges and beam enhancers that enabled his telescopes to, in effect, see around corners.

  “Tark?” Kateri said.

  He was, of course, pacing. He turned then, and Rina stared at him. Gone was the brooding, shadowed man she’d first seen when she’d arrived. Gone even was the intense but tender lover of last night. This was Captain Bright Tarkson, before the token promotion, the man who had been the pride of the Arellian operations force, the daring tactician, the fierce warrior who had held twice against impossible odds.

  “We have little time,” he said. “If this is true, and I have no doubt that it is, then our assessment was correct. The battle is imminent.”

  “You think they will strike on the anniversary?” Kateri asked.

  “They are much about the significance, the symbolism of such things,” Crim said. “And the people will be in the streets, even more than now.”

  “Easy targets,” Tark agreed. “And yet . . .”

  “What?”

  Kateri’s demeanor was one of respect, as if she knew she was now dealing with that warrior. Rina liked her even more for that.

  “They might realize we would expect that,” he said.

  “And thus strike at a different time?”

  “When we are off guard.”

  “Do we know which of their strategists survived?” Rina asked.

  Tark glanced at her, and one corner of his mouth turned up slightly in approval. She felt a burst of heat within, so fierce she feared it must show in her face.

  “We know Brakely is still with them,” he said, his voice suddenly husky, as if he had indeed seen her response.

  She fought to keep her voice even. “Then if he is in charge, anything could happen.”

  Tark nodded. “He is half the reason the Coalition was able to spread as far as they did. He is brilliant, and unpredictable.”

  “And trained by Califa Claxton,” Rina said with some dread. “And if Mordred is truly here, if he is somehow back in the Coalition fold—”

  She stopped as Kateri held up a hand. “We have news on this as well. One of ours swears he saw Mordred last night. Off in a corner in a taproom, plying a drunk with more drink.” Her mouth tightened. “The drunk was Hared.”

  Rina knew from the groan that went around that this mattered more than just the confirmation of the presence of one of the Coalition’s most infamous officers. Tark saw her expression and explained.

  “He is not one of us, but is the one who first spotted the gathering of ships.”

  She frowned. “Does he have some other knowledge in addition to that?”

  Kateri shook her head. “We know he has a weakness for drink, and it loosens his tongue. We’ve kept away from him.”

  “Then why would Mordred care? He would know already, would he not, about the presence of the ships?”

  Tark went still. “Unless he did not.”

  “But if he is back with the Coalition, then . . .” Rina’s words trailed off as his meaning registered. “You think he did not know, that he is still in disgrace?”

  “And he hopes to use the coming battle to somehow regain his place?” Kateri asked. “It would fit what I know of him.”

  “And I,” Tark agreed. “He always had a very high opinion of himself.”

  Unlike you, whose isn’t high enough.

  Rina shook it off, now was not the time. “This man from the inn who reported, he’s reliable?”

  “Yes. We have used the Mountaintop Inn for our meetings, when we needed to be far away from prying eyes in town,” Kateri said.

  Rina went still. “Mountaintop?”

  “It’s not really at the top,” Kateri explained. “Only halfway, but it’s the highest place there is.”

  “Mordred is on the mountain?” Her voice was low, tight. Tark, who had begun pacing again, stopped at the sound of it. She saw him get there.

  “Dax’s daughter,” he said, in a tone that echoed her own. “And the prince.”

  “What better way to buy his way back to power?” She leapt up, began to gather her things.

  “Are you saying,” Kateri asked, “that the Prince of Trios is already here? And that he is on the mountain? With the flashbow warrior’s daughter?”

  “Yes,” Tark said, sparing her the need to answer.

  Rina asked, her tone clipped now, “Can someone show me the path to this inn?”

  “I will take you,” Tark said.

  “You will be needed here,” Kateri said.

  “I need only the location,” Rina said, not wanting him to be torn between his duty and her job here, which she had obviously not taken seriously enough.

  “I will go with you,” Tark insisted, then turned to face Kateri. “If those two are taken, this could end before it begins, and not in our favor. Do we really want the son of our closest, best, and right now only ally taken on our soil, when we could have stopped it?”

  “It might make them fight all the harder,” Kateri observed. Anger flared in Rina, and all her newfound liking for the woman nearly vanished in that moment.

  “If Triotians fight, they fight to the fullest measure, whether it be for themselves or a friend. That you would even consider letting the rightful Prince of Trios be captured, because you think it will spur them on, is—”

  “—Coalition thinking,” Tark said, putting a gentle hand on her arm, restraining her. She bit back the considerably more severe words that had been on her lips.

  “My apologies,” Kateri said, with a nod to Rina. “I am too long used to being alone in this battle. I cannot make my own people see the truth, the danger, the need to prepare. I forgot Triotians are a different breed.”

  “Indeed they are,” Tark said, so softly she knew it was intended for her ears only.

  Kateri reached into the folds of her cloak. “Take this,” she said, holding a small comm unit out to him. Rina knew they, along with weapons, were scarce. “At the inn you will be at the very edge of its range, but we should be able to get something through if the situation here changes.”

  He nodded, and took the device.

  “Want my blaster?”
old Crim asked Tark, holding out the oversized pistol.

  “Tempting though it is,” Tark said, eyeing the battered weapon that appeared held together with a few twists of wire, “you may need it more here. My own weapons will do.”

  He turned then, vanishing into the sleeping alcove. Rina allowed herself a moment of sweet memory of last night, of dreams fulfilled, of long-denied passion, and the glory of life where she had once thought there was only death. And then he came back, wearing the shirt she’d taken off, which gave her a hot sort of thrill again, deep inside, in the places only he had ever touched. He wore the familiar, battle-scarred leather coat and boots. The lethally sharp dagger was sheathed at his waist, and a disrupter was tucked into his belt. He had a small pack slung over one shoulder, the long gun she remembered over the other.

  He was once more the fierce fighter of her memories, the man who had saved more lives than anyone could count with the willingness to lay down his own.

  And now he was going to risk it again, for her. For all his talk of hostages, which was, she had to admit, based in truth, she knew deep down he was going as much for her as for Lyon, or the daughter of the man he called friend.

  Without a word he took a place by her side. With nothing more than a nod, which got him one in turn from Kateri, he led the way to the disguised door.

  To save her family, Bright Tarkson was doing what he had never wanted to do again. He was going to war.

  And for all she knew, he could be walking into another ambush.

  Chapter 35

  DAX SAT AT THE command station, allowing himself a last moment to remember the times spent in this chair on the original Evening Star. Those days had been wild, reckless, and no doubt insane. But they had also been invigorating—exhilarating, and he’d felt utterly alive.

  But then, war was also all of those things. Perhaps anything that teetered on the sharp edge of death on a regular basis was.