by Jasmine Walt
And I will never see them again.
As for the thousands of troops at Tanamre? Mott had made it clear that they would be a permanent fixture on Norin soil.
A sudden lull in the chirping of crickets and nightjars alerted her to someone watching. She spun and saw her father standing in the shadows.
“I know you want to be alone,” he said, “but you and I need to talk.”
Lynx lowered her fiddle and bow. “Why do I break out into a panic when you say that?” She grinned. “Oh, yes, maybe it’s because you will then proceed to tell me that I have to marry Lukan.”
“And you will threaten to have us all killed if I don’t give into your blackmail. I think we’re quits on that one, my Lynxie.” He gestured to the coarse grass. “Can we sit?”
Can we sit? He was obviously wearing his father hat tonight. Lynx adjusted her thoughts accordingly. She plunked herself down, sitting cross-legged in her leather trousers, and laid her fiddle and bow across her lap.
He took a deep breath, finally blowing it out of pursed lips. When he spoke, his voice was heavy. “We would be idiots not to take advantage of your presence at the palace, Lynx.”
“Intelligence gathering, you mean?” Lynx asked, going for a lighter tone. “I already have a list.” She gave a wry smile. “Number one, find out what gives the Chenayans superhuman powers. Number two, check out why they wear those stupid rocks in their faces—I’m sure there is a correlation. Number three, fulfill my oath to you by marrying that moron Lukan, though I make you no promises that I won’t stick a knife in him on our wedding night.”
Her father didn’t even smile. He took her hands in his. “Be careful, my Lynxie. I know you. You embody all that is best . . . and worst about the Norin. You shout your mouth off like you own the world. You’re defiant, prideful, and arrogant—”
“Whoa!” Lynx held up her hands. “You say all that like it’s a bad thing.”
Her father snorted. “The trouble is that I’ve indulged it. Encouraged it, even, because I never, not for a minute, believed that Mott would choose you, when Kestrel would make such a perfect Chenayan empress.” He rubbed his hands across his face. “You know how confident I was that you would never be chosen.”
Lynx nodded. He would never have started training her to take over the raiders if he had believed her destined for Lukan’s bed.
“That was my mistake and my deepest regret. I have not prepared you well—” He snorted again, this time filled with self-loathing. “I have not prepared you at all for the Chenayan court.” His hand brushed her face. “My Lynxie, Mott and Lukan won’t be as tolerant as I have been.” He fixed her with a stare, the same look he always used when extracting oaths from people. “Swear me an oath that you will do nothing to antagonize them.”
That she couldn’t do, not when she knew, by her very nature, that it would be impossible to keep. Even if her father wasn’t at the palace to police and enforce the oath, part of her would die if she wasn’t true to him and herself. She could never live with that.
After a long silence, her father sighed. “We are obligated by the Unity to marry our daughters off to them, but the Chenayans have never welcomed their Norin brides. It is not just bad manners that stopped Mott from inviting your mother and me to your and Kestrel’s wedding. Watch your back, Lynx.”
Lynx twirled her feathers and hair. Despite her bravado, what her father said was true. There were many tales told of Norin brides who vanished after providing a couple of heirs.
“Stay close to Bear. I have arranged with Mott that you and Kestrel are to stay at his home in Cian until the wedding.”
Uncle Bear was her father’s brother and emissary at the palace in Cian. Her father scowled, she guessed more at himself than at her.
“I have charged him with doing what I should have done—teaching you court protocol. It is very different than how we do things. More formal. Constricting. You will be under constant scrutiny. Bear will use the time at his home to educate you. Mind well what he says to you.”
From Lynx’s brief visit to the palace, she knew just how suffocating the place was. Fear itched at her, a thousand imaginary ants biting her skin. “I won’t let you down, Father.”
“I know you won’t. But perhaps my best advice, Lynxie, is to tell you to trust no one. At least until you have learned your way through their politics.”
Lynx sighed. “Why they still enforce the Unity is a total mystery. You’d think they’d be tired of blond-haired, blue-eyed emperors.”
In reality, enough emperors had ended up heirless, which meant other dark-haired, dark-eyed Avanovs had filled the throne. It was from one of these lines that Lukan got his dark looks. It was some consolation, then, that she and Lukan were not related by blood.
“Generations of Norin have wondered why the Avanovs keep the treaty alive, and generations of Norin have come up with the same answer—they just do.”
“Maybe I can add that bit of intelligence gathering to my list.” Lynx tried for a smile, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate.
“As if you don’t have enough to worry about.” Her father’s face hardened, taking on a regal air.
Was he changing hats? Would he now demand—and get—an oath that she wouldn’t antagonize Lukan?
“Lynx, I must—”
Lynx interrupted quickly, “The only way we will ever truly defend ourselves against them is if we know what gives their guardsmen superhuman powers. As you said, it would be stupid if I didn’t use my position at the court to dig around. I make you an oath, sir,” her fist thumped her heart in salute, “that I will do everything in my power to find that information for you.” She smothered a wince. It had been an expensive week for oaths, but it could not be helped. This was a promise she stood a chance of keeping. She would go to Chenaya, as bound to marry Lukan and be his empress as she was to find the key to overthrowing his empire.
Her father’s face remained inscrutable. Then he smiled, a weary one. “I’ve wrestled this past week with this dilemma—to use my daughter for the good of the tribe or to protect her from harm. On this occasion the needs of my tribe won out over my duty to my family. That’s why I came to talk to you tonight. I’m grateful you spared me the indignity of having to ask.”
He had never intended to bind her to blind obedience to Lukan and the emperor? She shook her head in admiration at how skillfully her father had played her. Her manipulative skills were definitely something she’d inherited from him.
She grinned in acknowledgement. “You know I will do anything for Norin.”
Her father cupped her cheek. “I hope life always looks so black and white for you, Lynx. It’s so easy to get lost in the gray.”
Lynx let his hand linger for a moment and then shrugged. It was time to get practical. “Letters home? Surely they’ll be read? Isn’t that what you and Uncle Bear always say, that Felix checks your mail?”
Her father nodded. “Over the years, Bear and I have worked out a code, of sorts. Thus far, it seems to have gotten past Felix.”
Lord Felix Avanov, Mott’s brother, was in charge of empire security. As an Avanov, he was one of the few people in the empire who could read.
“I don’t want you writing compromising letters. Whatever you find out, tell Bear. He will find a way to relay the information to me.”
Lynx picked at the strings of her fiddle. How easy would it be, finding this information? It was unlikely to be lying in the open, waiting for her to stumble upon it. That meant she would have to ask questions, calling attention to her quest. But if she didn’t take risks to learn their secrets and the Chenayans attacked again, how would she forgive herself? The image of Hare’s butchered body floated before her mind’s eye, making her shiver—and steeling her resolve. That would never happen again, not while she drew breath.
She looked up at her father. “I am bound so tight by oaths that I feel like a fly in a spider’s web. All I can do is use every resource I have before the spider strikes.”
General Axel Avanov strode across the expansive balcony of his command pavilion, gripped the mahogany railing, and glared out across the parade ground.
The carriage carrying the Norin princesses was late.
He kicked the wooden balustrade rhythmically with his knee-high black boot. He’d already wasted a month of his precious time here at Tanamre, preparing a suitable welcoming party for them. Welcoming party—that was one way of describing a regiment of bloodthirsty imperial guardsmen.
He cracked his crooked smile too sardonic to be considered attractive. Not that his looks mattered. He’d never needed his powerful body or striking face to open doors for him. As Emperor Mott’s nephew, birth alone had done that, catapulting him to third in line for the throne.
Third place.
Axel rubbed the gemstone embedded next to his right eye. Rare as the ruby was, it would always be second to the diamonds worn by Mott and his sons. He dropped his hand from his eye to the railing, his fingers tapping out the same rhythm as his boot. Regardless of the gemstone, everyone who mattered knew he’d be the true power behind the throne when Lukan became emperor. He could live with that.
Even his few decriers admitted that it wasn’t just his arrogance talking either. He was only twenty-four, but he’d already proved to be a daring military strategist. Some said, one of the best Chenaya had ever sired. No small achievement, given he was up against four hundred years of stiff competition. In a world where military prowess was worshiped, many considered him a god.
He was more disparaging about both the gods and himself.
The rasp of boots across the polished wooden floor made him turn. “Ah, Colonel Zarot, you have news about our elusive princesses?”
The officer bowed, then saluted. “My outriders report that they’ll reach us in about five minutes, General.” Even in the midday sun, the emerald next to Zarot’s eye looked dull against his olive skin. Still, its message was clear: Stefan Zarot came from a high-born Chenayan family that had supported the Avanovs for generations.
Axel sighed. “You can always rely on the Norin to infuriate.” He locked eyes onto four soldiers in the center of the pavilion. They were poring over a large wooden table spread with a map used to display troop movements. “Dismissed.”
The guardsmen dropped their plotters and pencils, bowed low, and then saluted him and the colonel. Boots pounding on the wooden floor, they marched to the steps.
Axel turned to Stefan. “You do realize that, thanks to Norin inability to keep to a simple schedule, your replacement will arrive about the same time as they do? Not good, not good at all. King Thorn is undoubtedly hoping to use this opportunity to get his raiders to do some intelligence scouting.”
“The timing is awkward, General,” Stefan replied, face as inscrutable as his voice, “but at least it will give me an opportunity to brief him in person before I leave my regiment to accompany you and the princesses to Cian.”
“You instructed him to break up this camp and to redeploy to Treven as I commanded?”
“Of course, sir. That was in my original brief to him.”
The guardsmen clomped down the stairs.
When the sound of their leaving faded, the colonel slouched against the railing. “Axel, I still don’t feel right about it, though.”
This wasn’t news to Axel. “Stefan, despite the Unity, Thorn made it clear when he and Lynx were in Cian that he wouldn’t easily give up his precious princess to our illustrious crown prince. That’s why Mott insisted we attack the Norin camp. A not-so-subtle warning of what will happen if Lynx and her sister don’t pitch up here today.”
Axel scowled. Emperor Mott’s decision to sacrifice fifteen guardsmen by sending them into the Norin camp infuriated him. It was a waste of human life and did nothing to build confidence in Avanov leadership amongst his men.
Nor did it do much for Chenayan–Norin relationships, always fragile at best.
Axel had argued to send in fifty troops. Fifteen men to precision-kill the equivalent number of Norin raiders—not servers, and certainly not children—as a warning to King Thorn. The remainder of the men would watch their backs. With his troops’ enhanced fighting skills, both Chenayan and Norin casualties would have been minimal.
Mad Mott had overruled him. The result had been a bloodbath for both Chenaya and Norin.
Axel had been tempted to disobey the order, but he was planning another, more important, rebellion and didn’t want to risk the emperor’s ire unless it served his overall battle strategy. Still, squandering troops in ill-planned military adventures went against everything he believed.
In his musings, Axel noticed Stefan’s eyebrow twitch. Axel grunted; he understood the colonel well enough to recognize it as a frown. He and Stefan had been friends for years, having grown up together at the palace in Cian.
“Now what?” Axel demanded. “You do know I’m supposed to be the general here, the one giving the orders?”
“Yes, but you always listen to your men. It’s part of what makes you great.”
Axel didn’t deny it. He’d never believed in throwing his weight around to get things done. His men obeyed him because he was the best, not because he was royalty.
Stefan’s dark eyes flitted across the parade ground to where hundreds of his troops drilled. “What’s to prevent the Norin finding out we redeployed the regiment after the train leaves? With no troops left here to attack them, Thorn and his raiders could sabotage it to rescue the princesses.”
“That would lead to war, the last thing we need now. That is precisely why I don’t want raiders hanging about here.” Axel walked to the map on the table. He picked up a pushing stick and nudged a block representing the regiment stationed at Tanamre west to Treven.
Until a month ago, when Emperor Mott invaded the country, Treven had been one of the Free Nations that skirted the empire. The emperor tolerated the existence of these disjointed nations as long as they didn’t get in the way of Avanov objectives, the way Treven had.
“The sooner this regiment gets to Treven, the better.”
Colonel Zarot’s eyebrows twitched again. “So it’s true?” he whispered. “The invasion hasn’t gone so well?”
“Don’t bother whispering. Why do you think I’m so disgruntled today? I got a message from Mott this morning burning my ear off about the Treven campaign. Like it’s my fault he and my father chose that idiot Azan to lead the invasion.”
“You said yourself, the emperor believes getting the princesses to Cian the more critical task.”
Axel frowned at Stefan. “In Mad Mott’s mind, yes. But since when is babysitting silly girls more important than protecting the lives of thousands of men in Treven?” He took a swipe at the table leg with his boot, making it rock. “If the number of casualties ever leaks out, the whole empire will know a regiment of Chenayan grunts was virtually annihilated by the psychotic King Chad.”
Axel slapped his hand on the map, making the blocks jump. “If I’d been in charge, it never would have happened. Clean precision, that’s how I would have handled it. Chad and his heirs would be dead, and their ice crystal mines ours.”
“But we both know the truth about casualties will never leak out.”
“No, of course it won’t. We’ll just have more pointless deaths.” Axel sighed. “And to think, with all this going on, we still have to waste seven days on a train when we could do the trip in three days in an airship.”
A shout from the parade ground caught Axel’s attention. A dilapidated horse cart lumbered down the well-worn road leading to the camp. He snorted. “Just as well the Norin refuse to travel under the Chenayan flag. Can you imagine our Dragon on that scrap heap?”
Stefan glanced sideways at Axel. “Anything to defy the emperor.”
“The Norin happen to be very good at that.” Axel picked up a spyglass from the pavilion railing to get a closer look at the princesses. Light footsteps snaking their way up the wooden stairs distracted him, and he pu
t it back down.
A woman dressed in a floor-length white robe appeared on the platform. Her gem was a moonstone, the stone worn by all Chenayan priestesses.
Axel’s heart sank. His day had just gotten worse.
7
“Welcome, Mother Saskia,” Stefan said to the white-clad woman. “The general and I are delighted to see you.” He gestured to the Norin wagon. “It seems the princesses have arrived.”
Axel folded his arms over his chest, grinning. Stefan welcomed Mother Saskia like the pox.
“About time, too.” Mother Saskia eased an errant lock of black hair streaked with silver back into her bun. She then pulled her white veil into place over her head with white-gloved hands. Finally, she bobbed a knee at Axel. It was the closest he’d ever get to a curtsy from the Great High Priestess, spiritual mother of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories.
He didn’t like her much, either.
Chenayans—Axel excluded—worshiped the Dragon, a being of power and majesty who, it was believed, had kept the Avanovs in power for centuries. Axel knew the Dragon was nothing more than heraldry.
Saskia glided to the balustrade. “They should have been here hours ago. It’s an affront to our dear Crown Prince Lukan, Dragon’s blessing upon him.” She picked up his spyglass and leveled it to her eye. That was presumptuous, even for her.
Axel grabbed it, wiped the eyepieces on the sleeve of his black uniform shirt and placed it back on the railing. “Mother, I wish to leave within the hour. You and the Norin had better be ready.” He turned to leave.
He had only taken a few steps when Mother Saskia spoke. “That all depends on the state of the princesses, my lord. They are reputed to be a wild lot. It’s doubtful they even bathe. Our crown prince and his brother deserve better than that.”