Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  The recent attack on the Norin camp probably wasn’t helping, either. But there was nothing Axel could do about that. If the Norin weren’t so bent on rebellion, it would not have been necessary.

  So, Axel watched Lynx over the rim of his crystal goblet of chenna. Even though he preferred brunettes, he had to admit she was beautiful.

  And bold. Very bold. As her antics with the machete attested.

  He rubbed his bandaged thigh, marveling at how coolly she had jabbed him. It had caught him totally off guard. The women he knew didn’t carry weapons other than, perhaps, a small dagger tucked in a bodice or pocket, and they certainly didn’t attack members of the royal family.

  It was refreshing.

  Almost as enchanting as Lynx’s legs, in fact.

  Sadly, the knot in her dress had come undone, and the hideous pink froth now hid her assets. Perhaps I should invite her for another round of dice. He smirked. He’d have given a lot—okay, two thousand mycek—to see her face if she’d won their little bet. No doubt she’d have found a way to brazen her way through that, too.

  Her courage did more than just thrill him; he could use information like that. Perhaps Lynx was just the bargaining chip he needed in his upcoming negotiations with his father and his uncle about solving the war in Treven. The question was, would she be tough enough to endure the inevitable fallout if he played her?

  He had seven days on a boring train to find out.

  Bear placed his drink on the table. “Princess Lynx, I had a seamstress run up a few items for you. Some dresses to ease you into the new style before you reach the palace. Once there, I’m sure you will have a better idea of what to order from the royal seamstress.” Turning to Axel, he added, “Perhaps, my lord, you will arrange for one of your guardsmen to transfer the trunk to the princess’s compartment?”

  Lynx jumped in before Axel could reply. “Clothes? For me? Where did you get that idea?”

  “And where are mine?” Kestrel demanded.

  Bear picked up a knife and sawed off a chunk of cheese on a board in front of him.

  “Uncle Bear?” Lynx demanded.

  Bear cleared his throat. “Er . . . your mother may have mentioned something in her last letter.” He gave Kestrel a thin smile. “She also said your wardrobe was complete.” When Kestrel scowled, he added, “And you do look quite lovely in that gown, my dear.”

  Kestrel smoothed her skirt. “It is very fine silk, isn’t it? Are the dresses you’ve brought for Lynx as pretty?”

  Axel rolled his eyes, then noticed Lynx’s hand dart to her hair, feeling for something. Probably her feathers and beads, cut off by that idiot Saskia.

  For a raider, losing braids was probably the equivalent to ripping out his ruby. Painful in ways impossible to express. It intensified his dislike for the priestess. He glared over at her, kneeling below the Dragon.

  Lynx’s fingers drumming her armrest called his attention back to her. Clearly, she liked the idea of her new Chenayan wardrobe as little as he did.

  They would both have to put up with it.

  Still, that didn’t mean Axel couldn’t have some fun with Lynx. It was payback for the wound that burned on his thigh. “Of course, Lord Emissary. Pity, though. The princess promised to stake her legs on a game of dice. That was after she impaled me with her machete.”

  Axel suppressed a laugh as Bear’s thin lips almost disappeared into his mouth along with his cheese. The emissary coughed, looking aghast at Lynx. She ignored him, focusing her attention on Axel.

  The intensity of her glare was almost enough to make him squirm. He straightened in his chair and accepted her unspoken challenge. For the first time in his life, he was the first to break eye contact.

  Axel cracked a smile. “You win that round, Princess. But two against nil is a challenge I now cannot ignore.” He pulled the two thousand mycek out of his pocket and held them out to her.

  Her face puckered at his offering, making it almost worth conceding defeat. Then a troubling thought struck—even if she was Lukan’s betrothed, displaying every emotion without censure was not a recipe for a long life in Cian. Like her defiant machete wielding, it would be sad to see her candor go, but go it must if she were to survive the Avanov palace. Maybe if she stopped glaring at him, he might take the trouble to clue her in.

  He waggled the money at her. “Take it. We’re traveling on a military line, the most boring place to be if you aren’t heading off to conquer someone.”

  Lynx’s eyes flashed. Coming so soon after the attack on the camp, Axel regretted his comment. Not that he would ever tell her that.

  Her sister was not so reticent about accepting the cash. Kestrel smiled, holding out her hand. “I’ll have it, if she doesn’t want it.”

  Axel threw a smile Kestrel’s way and then addressed Lynx. “Our only excitement will be dodging Mother Saskia and playing dice. The food’s not too bad, either,” he admitted as an afterthought. “As your uncle disapproves of using your legs as chips, you will need cash.”

  Lynx’s face flushed. With a small swagger, she snatched the money and dropped it onto her lap. “I love a challenge. And don’t for a minute think I will let you even that score, General.” A shimmer of a smile played on her perfect lips, pulling his eyes from her reddened cheeks. “So, anytime you’re ready.”

  His stomach flipped unexpectedly. Startled, he brushed the sensation away by challenging, “A one, a six, and a four. That was your last call, if my memory serves.” He tossed three dice onto the table and followed up with a hundred mycek bill to start the bidding.

  Lynx’s eyebrows shot up. “How typically Chenayan. You expect me to counter your measly hundred with one of my thousands?”

  Axel ramped up his sardonic smile, ignoring her slight that Chenayans always took more than they gave. It was true, but he wasn’t getting into a political debate with a Norin. They were unwinnable. “It seems you have a problem, Princess. How’s that scoreboard looking now?”

  “Unchanged, General.” Her voice was hard, leaving him in no doubt that Norin hatred of Chenayans ran deep in Lynx’s veins. “I don’t have problems. I have solutions.” She jerked her skirt to the side, bunching folds of hideous pink onto her lap. With a thunk, she hoicked a foot onto the table, exposing her thigh. “Care to raise me? Or would it be easier to get your priestess to ‘immobilize’ the problem? Fifteen guardsmen sent to my compartment while I’m sleeping might also work.”

  Axel’s mouth dropped. She wasn’t exactly holding back, was she? He wondered if she was always this volatile. Something told him she was.

  A glance at Bear. Even the emissary, trained to keep a straight face regardless of the circumstances, looked aggrieved at the mention of the Norin massacre. Axel sent up a silent curse at Mott for the ordering the attack just days before he had to spend a week on a train with three outraged Norin.

  Still, it would not serve him to expose his niggling conscience that the attack had been wrong on so many levels. He tossed another hundred into the center.

  Lynx responded by sliding her other foot onto the table. Her fair skin, golden in the lamplight, sent a shiver of desire shooting through him. For a moment, he toyed with raising the ante, but he didn’t trust Lynx.

  Or Mother Saskia.

  Drawn to their tussle, he sensed the priestess watching them from the other side of the room.

  It was time to end this.

  Axel flicked another hundred onto the table. Grinning at the unintended pun, he said, “I see you.”

  Lynx fisted the dice, brought them to her mouth, and blew on them for luck. Her pouted lips sent another blast of want through him. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw, unable to recall when last a woman had affected him like this. Teased, he corrected, since Lukan would be the only one who would ever get to sleep with her.

  Face taut, Lynx threw the dice onto the table. Axel leaned forward to see how they’d fallen at exactly the same moment Lynx did. They bumped heads. He pulled back, laughing, but she scowle
d at him.

  Crazy as it was, her reaction stung.

  He quickly followed with a wicked smile and pointed to the dice. A three, a two, and a five gleamed up at him. “Looks like I’ve won, Princess.” He pocketed his bet. “Two to one on the scoreboard.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head, General. I have many more tricks up my sleeve.”

  He snorted a laugh, relishing her fire. “I bet you do, Princess. Any time you want to play, just bring it on.”

  Bear cleared his throat noisily.

  Lynx’s face flushed bright red, and her feet thudded to the floor. She yanked her skirt down, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

  Axel glanced around. Stefan looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow—a riot of expression from him. Kestrel’s mouth hung open.

  Had his standoff with Lynx been that interesting?

  “Perhaps this would be a good time to confirm the arrangements for when we reach Cian.” After another round of throat clearing, Bear said, “I have the emperor’s assurance that the princesses will stay with me until the wedding.”

  Axel faced him, refusing to appear flustered. “Then you hardly need worry about my compliance.”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but I would be pleased to hear it from your own lips.” Bear looked anything but mollified.

  Axel grunted. The emissary must have learned through bitter experience that it was never wise to take a Chenayan assurance at face value—especially not one issued by Emperor Mott.

  From the way Lynx leaned forward, he guessed she shared her uncle’s concerns.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to joke with her, but the two of them had already caused a stir. “You can rest assured, Lord Emissary. The emperor has given me my orders.” Axel gestured to Stefan. “Now, if you’ll forgive us, the colonel and I have matters of business to discuss.” He stood, trusting Stefan’s inscrutable face not to betray his surprise at the summons.

  Stefan didn’t fail him.

  The skin on Axel’s back tingled as he sensed Lynx watching him leave the compartment.

  She belonged to Lukan, he told himself firmly. Unless—

  Time, he told himself. He needed time to work out exactly what he and Princess Lynx of Norin could do for each other.

  11

  Under the guise of exercise, Lynx sauntered the length of guard car, her destination on her twice-daily march down the train. Conscious of a dozen guardsmen watching her, she stopped at the open window in the locked steel door at the end of the car. Her tongue worked in her mouth, building up a juicy blob of saliva.

  A shiver of satisfaction trilled through her at the thought of lobbing it at the railway tracks. It would be a small protest—but one that clearly showed her disapproval of the Chenayan Heartland through which the train now traveled.

  But she didn’t.

  She needed something these troops had, and offending them wasn’t going to help her cause, even though, not so long ago, she was shooting arrows into the backs of men just like them.

  A voice spoke. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Highness. Make our day, your visits do.”

  Lynx gritted her teeth and then turned to face the speaker.

  He was a young sergeant with a pleasant face, marred by the pea-sized chunk of jasper next to his right eye.

  She smiled like she was delighted to see him, too. “You have a way with words, Sergeant Pasha.” She had made a conscious effort to remember as many names and ranks as possible, going as far as to start a cryptic dossier on Axel Avanov and Stefan Zarot. Every bit of information she gleaned could prove valuable to her father. “No one has welcomed me to Chenaya quite like you and your men.”

  Before arriving on this train, it had never occurred to Lynx to use her “assets” to get what she wanted in life, but she’d seen and learned from Axel and Stefan’s reactions to her legs. If showing a bit of skin bamboozled these doltish Chenayans enough to get her what she needed to protect herself, her family, and her people, then so be it. Painfully aware of her blush of embarrassment, she leaned back against the door and extended her leg, making sure each soldier got a good look at its curves.

  Some of them blushed, too; others looked down at their feet. All sneaked longing peeks at her flesh.

  It helped that she wore one of her uncle’s “training dresses.”

  The back was designed to accommodate the stupid bustle, with the fine black cotton and lace fabric skirting her ankles. Up top, she wore a black corset, which showed off more of her breasts than she would ever have dreamed of revealing at home. The lacy black skirt in front of the dress stopped just above the knee—a sight rarely, if ever, seen in Chenaya. Once at her uncle’s home in Cian, the training dresses would be destroyed, and her hemline would plummet to her ankles.

  With the soldiers’ focus blown, it was time to get to the real purpose of this visit.

  Lynx quickly scanned the room for a stray weapon she could filch before leaving. As usual, no axe or sword lay neglected on a table, waiting to be scooped up into her cloak. She sighed. How was she supposed to re-arm herself if they insisted on being so meticulous?

  “Like I’ve said every day since you first arrived, ma’am, it builds the men’s morale to have our future crown princess visit us,” a ragged-toothed lieutenant added. “Maybe you’ll even remember us when you are empress. Dragon’s blessing on our great emperor, Mott the Magnificent.”

  “Dragon’s blessing,” all the other men murmured, giving full salutes at the mention of Mott’s name.

  Lynx resisted the urge to make a vomiting sound. As soon as the rumble died down, she said, “Visiting with you helps us pass the time, Lieutenant Olec. You have to admit the last five days have been mind-bendingly dull.” She pointed to the jasper next to Olec’s eye. “Your stone is so . . . striking. What does it signify? You all wear them, so it can’t just mean rank, the way General Avanov’s ruby does.”

  Lieutenant Olec rubbed the jasper. “No, indeed, Your Highness. Our stones give—”

  A guardsman poked his head around the door. “Ah! Here you are, Your Highness.” He stepped into the room and bowed. “Lunch has been served. I will accompany you to the dining car.”

  Lynx sighed, barely hiding her frustration. “Thank you, Corporal Telev. Yet another meal. It’s all we seem to do.”

  “Better than starving, ma’am,” Lieutenant Olec grinned, showing his terrible teeth.

  “I can always rely on you to see the bright side, Lieutenant.” Lynx nodded at the men. “Until later, then.”

  Lynx slid open the door to the dining car. Only Kestrel, her uncle, and the priestess had gathered for the meal. She wondered if Avanov and Zarot would deign to join them.

  Unlikely.

  They seemed to find other things to do during the day, only appearing at dinner. Avanov hadn’t renewed his invitation to play dice with her.

  Her uncle beamed when he saw her. “Lynx! Come, join us, please do.” He patted the chair next to him.

  What were the she-witch and Kestrel talking about that he was so eager for her company? She sat next to him to listen and pulled a serving bowl of food over to her plate.

  “—amazed when you see the palace,” the priestess said to Kestrel. “It has over a thousand rooms! Each magnificently decorated with the finest furnishings and silk—”

  “You mean more red, gold, and black,” Lynx interrupted. She waved a serving spoon covered in mashed potatoes at the walls to make her point.

  Mother Saskia took a moment to glare at Lynx and turned back to Kestrel. “Through the ages, great artists like Gustave, Taim, and Naxor have all had a hand in beautifying your new home. I can assure you, their tastes include more than red, black, and gold.”

  Lynx smiled at Kestrel’s blank expression as she helped herself to a dollop of stewed venison with vegetables. The names, obviously hallowed in Chenayan art circles, meant nothing to her sister, despite her claims to be an artist.

  The priestess clicked her tongue. “Oh, there is so much for
you to learn, Princess.” She tucked a strand of Kestrel’s hair behind her ear.

  Despite the she-witch torching her book, Kestrel didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “I—I might not know the names of all your artists, but I can paint. I do, all the time. Animals and birds, mainly. It’s one of the reasons I’m so excited to get to the palace.”

  “A talent! How wonderful. I’ll inform the relevant people as soon as we arrive. I promise it won’t take long until you’re given all the materials you need to create your masterpieces.”

  Lynx glanced at her uncle and wondered what else would be revealed about her and Kestrel at that debriefing. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. Perhaps he understood her silent communication.

  “Oh, Mother, that would be perfect.” Kestrel’s face flushed, and her voice trilled with anticipation. “And a master painter to teach me? Would that be possible? Nothing would make me happier.”

  Lynx leaned forward. “Those thousand rooms . . . who lives in them? I didn’t stay at the palace long enough to find out.”

  It took Mother Saskia a minute to grasp the gist of her question. “The high-born, of course. All the elite and their children are privileged to live at the palace. Emperor Mott, Dragon’s blessing upon him, insists they live with him, so he can lavish them with luxury and comfort.”

  A gilded cage. Mott kept them there to stop them from plotting against him. Lynx studied the she-witch through hooded lids. Do you believe your own propaganda?

  The priestess’s face betrayed none of her thoughts.

  “A thousand rooms stuffed with Chenayans,” Lynx said, the offense intentional. “That sounds cloying and unpleasant.”

  The priestess’s throat bobbed, and her fingers gripping the table whitened. “Hardly, my dear princess. As I’m sure you are aware, there are only fifteen families that matter in the empire. Apart from the Avanovs, of course. They are the high-born, the men who serve on the High Council, assisting the emperor with the running of the empire. We call them the Fifteen, and it is they and their families who occupy those apartments.”