by Jasmine Walt
Axel didn’t bother to face her. “As the crown prince and his brother are a week away in Cian, I hardly think that matters. I’m sure that will give you plenty of time to correct any faults the Norin princesses may have.”
“In that case, I think Mother Saskia has her work cut out for her.”
Axel spun at the incredulity in Stefan’s voice.
The wagon had stopped at the stable block, and Axel had a clear view of the occupants as they hopped down onto the cobblestones.
Kestrel, the shorter of the two princesses, wore a corseted, flouncy floor-length dress with a large bustle. The kind Mother Saskia would have stipulated on her list of approved attire for Chenayan women. Her bustle looked about as comfortable, and as out of place, as a barrel strapped to her backside. Still, it did nothing to detract from her beauty—if one considered Norin fair hair, fair skin, and blue eyes attractive. He generally preferred Chenayan brunettes, with their warm bronze skin and dark eyes.
Princess Lynx was anything but compliant to Chenayan dress codes. Leather trousers hugged her long, shapely legs while a hip-length leather tunic accentuated her rangy figure. Two machetes in leather scabbards were strapped to her back. Locks of silvery blond hair braided with black ostrich feathers and white beads ringed her face. The rest of her hair cascaded down her back like an icy waterfall.
Stefan’s meticulous control gave way at the sight of her, dropping his jaw.
Axel smiled at him. “Those leathers certainly set her apart. No wonder Lukan’s drooling for her.” Axel gave a bemused head shake and then glanced over at Mother Saskia, wondering if she’d heard his comments about her precious crown prince.
She hadn’t.
The Great High Priestess staggered forward, clutching her veil. “Dragon’s curses,” she moaned. “You cannot be serious. That . . . that feral thing with the knives is intended for our crown prince? Ugh! Can you imagine the lice crawling on those feathers?” Desperation in her eyes, she turned to Axel as if he could do something to prevent the marriage. “She’s as wild as her name. What were her parents thinking? You cannot call a girl after a ferocious beast and expect her to turn into a kitten.”
“I doubt the crown prince had a kitten in mind when he saw her.” Axel grinned.
Mother Saskia glared at him. “At least the younger one obeyed the dress instructions I sent to Thorn. I can probably make something of her before we get to Cian.” Her glare morphed into a grimace. “But to call a girl after a bird of prey? It’s outrageous.”
Axel had seen—and heard—enough. It was time to get moving.
He gripped Mother Saskia’s arm. “As you are well aware, Mother, the Norin stopped giving their children real names after we invaded them. It’s just another act of rebellion designed to annoy us. Who the hell wants an empress named after a predator? Still, four centuries worth of Great High Priestesses have borne this indignity well. No doubt you will, too.” He made a show of looking at his wristwatch. “One hour, and then I’m leaving, whether the Norin have bathed or not.”
Mother Saskia pulled herself up to her full five feet and four inches. “My lord, as much as I respect your wishes, that savage will never be ready in an hour.” She gestured to Lynx, who stood with her arms folded across her chest, scowling up at the pavilion and clearly questioning her unfriendly welcome. “I cannot travel into the Heartland with a creature who looks like that.”
Axel sighed. Although it annoyed him to admit it, Saskia was right. The emperor would be furious if Lynx crossed into Chenaya dressed in leathers. Mott still frothed at the mouth when anyone mentioned Lynx appearing at court in her Norin gear during her summer visit. Her weapons would have to go, too.
But since hearing the Treven casualty figures that morning, Axel had urgent business in Cian that didn’t include wasting time while Mother Saskia titivated with the princesses. If he didn’t step in to save lives in Treven, who would? No one in Mott’s palace, that was for sure.
Axel scowled at Mother Saskia. “Then I suggest you begin. I’m leaving in one hour.”
Mother Saskia opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.
“Enough. Go greet your charges.” Axel gestured to Stefan. “Come, Colonel. Command the controllers to get that Norin scrap heap out of here.”
Stefan fell into step with him, and they strode across the pavilion.
Axel had just gripped the banister at the stairs when Mother Saskia called out, “Please, my lord, wait. You can see for yourself how ferocious the feathered girl looks. Do you honestly think she’ll submit to me bathing her? This will take time. Tact. She is, after all, our future empress.”
He turned to face her. She hadn’t moved an inch. In fact, with her arms folded across her chest, she reminded him of Lynx.
His patience snapped.
In seconds, Axel crossed the pavilion, stopping an inch from her nose. Mother Saskia staggered back as he towered over her.
“Do I have to remind you, Mother, that you are a priestess of Chenaya? You have enough power in your little finger to bring a seven-foot giant to his knees if you so choose. If Lynx complains about my schedule, then use some of it on her.”
Mother Saskia steadied herself. “I assume, Lord Avanov, that you will take full responsibility if the girl dies at my hands.”
Axel dragged the tattered remains of his patience together. “Mother, how old are you?”
The Great High Priestess’s eyes widened, but she answered, “Old enough to be your grandmother, my lord. I was born fifty summers ago.”
“Fifty years? Hmm . . . you look good. I’d never have guessed.” Axel cracked his crooked smile and changed his tone. “And you mean to tell me that, in all that time, you haven’t learned to control the power in your fingers enough to blast our future empress without killing her?”
“Of course I can control my power,” Mother Saskia hissed, sloughing off a glove. Her hand stretched out, fingers extended toward him. “Would you like to test my control?”
Acknowledging he’d been out-maneuvered, Axel laughed, jumping back. “That won’t be necessary. Just get the job done so we can get out of this rat hole.”
Mother Saskia bobbed a curtsy. “That, my lord, is why I tolerate your arrogance. You take your defeats relatively well.” She swept past him and Stefan, headed toward Lynx and Kestrel.
8
The sun grilled Lynx’s eyes. She held her hand up to her face, squinting at a pavilion on the other side of the parade ground. The massive canvas and wood structure was grand. She sighed at this irrefutable evidence that she’d left home far behind. No one in Norin would tolerate an over-engineered monstrosity like that. Although similar in size to their council tent, this thing would take an entire battalion to move.
Not that they were short of men.
Her eyes darted across the parade ground to where hundreds of imperial guardsmen drilled. Lynx made no secret of staring at them, but not one soldier broke ranks by glancing back.
It was unnerving.
But then, these guardsmen weren’t here to welcome her. As they had proved just days ago, their purpose was far more sinister. She shivered, dreading the ongoing threat they presented to her people. While this regiment was based at Tanamre, Norin would never be safe. And so, before they’d arrived here, she’d ordered three raiders to reconnoiter the area. If the Chenayans planned any more attacks, her father would be prepared. Heron was to rendezvous with them after leaving her and Kestrel here.
“Where are the people who are supposed to welcome us?” Kestrel’s voice pulled Lynx away from her fears. “Father said a general and a priestess would be waiting.”
Lynx gestured to the pavilion. “I guess they’re there. Watching us.” She rubbed her arms for comfort, hating being at such a disadvantage in the heart of the enemy camp.
“But I’m going to be Prince Tao’s wife.” Kestrel clutched her dress. “How can they treat me like this?”
“It’s Chenaya. Get used to it.”
Heron h
opped from the driver’s seat of their cart. He drew close to Lynx and slipped something around her wrist: a battered gold windup wristwatch with a scratched glass lens. It had been in his family for generations—a rare artifact that had survived the Burning.
Lynx’s eyes pricked with tears. “I can’t take this, Heron. It’s too precious.”
He stroked her cheek with a finger. “No. You are. But I’m losing you now, so I want you to have it. Think of me when you check the time.”
“I will. Always.” She hugged Heron, cursing the eyes she guessed were watching them.
Heron surprised her by tilting her face up and brushing her lips with his. His mouth was softer than she had ever imagined, warm and tender on hers. She had known for some time that his feelings for her had deepened beyond friendship. Until Mott’s letter had arrived, she would have welcomed his advances. Her stomach clenched with sorrow at all their lost possibilities.
“Lynx. Stop it,” Kestrel hissed. “Someone’s coming.”
Face flushing, Lynx pulled away from him.
A woman sailed across the parade ground toward them, her white robes billowing behind her. “Princess Lynx,” she screeched. “You are betrothed to the Crown Prince of Chenaya!”
King Thorn had insisted that all Norin learn to speak Chenayan. He called it knowing your enemy. At that moment, Lynx wished she’d never learned the horrible, guttural language.
The woman gestured around the parade ground. “Do you want every guardsman here to know you’re a hussy?”
Heron swore and darted forward, no doubt to defend her honor.
Lynx held up her hand to stop him and then said to the Chenayan, “By all the Winds, what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t kiss other men.” The woman sucked in a sharp breath. “Dragon’s curses. As if our crown prince doesn’t have enough to contend with in this marriage.”
“Saying goodbye to my friend does not classify me as anything other than caring.”
The rumble of an approaching steam carriage drowned out Lynx’s words.
A worried frown flitted across the woman’s face as the metal contraption chugged onto the road leading to a coal stop close-by. She grabbed Lynx’s arm, digging her nails into her flesh.
“Come with me. And you,” she shouted at Heron, “get going before the other carriage stops.”
“Why?” Heron demanded, gesturing to the expansive space between the cart and the coal stop where the carriage could park. “I still have to water and feed my horses.”
“I understand there is a river outside Tanamre. You can tend your horses there. Now go.” The woman dug her nails deeper into Lynx’s arm.
Lynx tugged away from her and skittered back. Unable to hide her shock and anger, she demanded, “Is this how you Chenayans welcome visitors to your empire?”
“It’s your empire, too, Princess,” a male voice said, “or haven’t you noticed we conquered Norin a few centuries ago?”
Lynx spun to see the speaker.
He was a typical Chenayan: olive skin, dark hair, brown eyes, arrogance. Young. That surprised her. Even though he could only have been a few years older than her, he carried the general’s insignia of five red dragons with swagger.
Then she saw the blood-red ruby next to his eye, and it all made sense.
This was General Axel Avanov: strategic mastermind, third in line to the throne, Lukan’s cousin, and a man she despised on principle.
“How dare you mock the conquest of my country?”
If Axel Avanov was here, then he was very likely the man who had given the order to attack the Norin camp. The machetes on her back screamed for use, to slash him open the way Hare had been killed.
That was a risk not even she could take.
Kestrel threw her shoulders back, standing tall. “And . . . and is this the welcome we’re going to get? We are marrying the heirs to the throne, you know.”
It struck Lynx that Kestrel had no idea who Axel Avanov was. Why should she? Her sister took no interest in military or political matters. Lynx couldn’t help but wonder if Kestrel still thought Chenaya and Chenayans so marvelous.
“Mother Saskia,” Axel Avanov said, patently ignoring them both. “We have a steam carriage arriving.” He pointed to Lynx and Kestrel. “Get them out of here.”
So she was the priestess. Of course, she was. Why hadn’t Lynx connected the white clothes with her rank? Maybe because she’d never seen a Chenayan priestess before.
The priestess bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, my lord.” She grabbed Lynx’s and Kestrel’s arms and tried to drag them away.
“Get your hands off them!” Heron yelled, as Lynx dug in her heels, refusing to budge. “These are Norin princesses you’re manhandling.”
Heron fell under Avanov’s imperious gaze.
“Raider. Get out. Now.” Avanov strode over to Heron’s cart and slapped the closest horse hard on the rump.
It bucked, and Heron had to fight to bring it under control.
Face infused with rage, Heron opened his mouth and then snapped it closed with an audible click.
Lynx was grateful. King Thorn had made it clear that Heron wasn’t to antagonize the Chenayans. Winds knew, his kiss was provocative enough. The Chenayans could easily kill him and confiscate the Norin horses and cart. His death would be more than Lynx could bear. Norin’s meager coffers couldn’t handle the loss of horses and a cart, either.
The only way of smoothing over this situation was to submit to the priestess.
Lynx turned to Heron and said in a soft voice, “Go. May the Winds be with you.” Heart aching at this cruel parting, she turned her back on her dearest friend and allowed herself to be pulled along. Her clenched jaw ached as Heron’s cart took off across the parade ground. Fighting tears, she prayed he would understand she had done it to protect him and not because she wanted to submit to the enemy.
The priestess interrupted her painful musing. Face contorted with a malicious smile, Mother Saskia pulled out a stumpy dagger from a pocket in her robes. Quick as lightning, she snatched a braid of Lynx’s hair and feathers and slashed through it. “A future Chenayan empress does not wear braids crawling with lice.”
Even Kestrel gasped as the priestess flung Lynx’s hair onto the flagstones and ground her heel into it.
The air escaped Lynx’s lungs. Instinctively, she grabbed a machete, ready to protect her surviving braid.
Someone misread her intent. A hand clamped around her wrist, restraining her with an iron grip.
“I warned you,” Axel Avanov said.
Lynx looked over her shoulder at his face. It was about as hard as the ruby next to his eye.
“Now take control of the situation.”
Clearly, he wasn’t talking to her, so Lynx shot her head around to see what the priestess was up to.
“Of course, my lord.” Mother Saskia’s tongue did a quick circuit of her lips, lapping up sweat. “I will immobilize her now. Mark my words, she’ll not be giving anyone any trouble again.”
Immobilize? What did that mean? Nothing good, to be sure. Lynx pulled out her second machete and jerked it down, driving the tip into the general’s thigh as a warning to leave her alone. She heard fabric rip and relished the satisfaction of metal slicing into flesh. It wasn’t a deep wound—she couldn’t risk that, not with an heir to the throne—but the message to both him and the priestess was clear: she would not be quietly “immobilized.”
“Lynx!” Kestrel shouted. “What are you doing?”
Axel Avanov jumped back, letting go of her hand. “You cut me!”
He sounded so surprised that Lynx assumed no one had ever challenged him.
“My lord!” the priestess gasped, lunging forward like a bodyguard.
Lynx ignored both the priestess and her sister, all focus on him because he was the one giving the orders.
“Nicely done, Princess.” He smirked. “So your weapons aren’t just for show?”
“Try to ‘immobil
ize’ me, and I’ll show you exactly what I use them for.”
He glanced at something over her shoulder, then shouted, “Mother, no—”
Lynx turned to see the priestess’s gloveless hand extended toward her. The moonstone next to her eye pulsed just as the priestess touched her fingers to the bare skin on Lynx’s arm.
A burst of pain, more exquisite than anything Lynx had ever experienced, shot through her arm and up into her chest. Gasping for air, tongue lolling as if gripped in a massive seizure, her knees collapsed, and she crumpled to the ground. Lynx writhed as Kestrel screamed, the sound muffled and distant. The priestess leaned over her, her face blurring around the edges.
Then everything went black.
9
Lynx groaned. An incessant clattering throbbed through her head, and the world rocked from side to side. Nausea curdled her stomach. She was lying face down on—what? A cushion? Slowly, she unclenched her fingers, feeling the surface beneath her. A padded bench.
Where was she? The sound and motion suggested a train, but that was impossible. Only moments before, she had collapsed in the stable yard. To find out, she would have to open her eyes. The idea made her head pound even more.
“Are you awake?” Kestrel’s voice.
Lynx forced her lips to move. “Barely.”
“Like I said, you shouldn’t have kissed Heron. Let alone stabbed that general. He’s an heir to the throne, you know. After Tao.”
Lynx groaned. I’ve woken up to this! “Where are we?”
“If you would sit up, you’d see.”
Lynx shifted, easing life back into her frozen muscles. Every inch of her body ached, but she’d be damned if she told Kestrel that. Even her skin felt different—heavy and constricting, it pressed down on her like it didn’t belong on her body. She sank back onto the seat.
A tide of dizziness swamped her as she opened her eyes. When the million dancing spots cleared, she saw she was lying in a compartment of a railroad car, lined with red and gold silk. One side even had a black dragon embroidered on the fabric. A small window gleamed next to her, making her eyes throb too much to even consider looking out of it.