by Jasmine Walt
“That seems like a lot of rooms to go around,” Kestrel squealed, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Mother Saskia had excluded her own family from the families that mattered. “And Prince Tao, does he have a large—”
“Do you belong to one of the Fifteen, Mother Saskia?” Lynx drowned out Kestrel’s question.
Now Kestrel glared at her. Lynx ignored it, sickened at how quickly her sister adjusted to the promise of Chenayan luxury.
The priestess repositioned her perfectly positioned veil before replying. “Of course not, Princess Lynx. No priestess can claim to come from a high-born family.”
“Then how do you become a priestess? You’ve mentioned, repeatedly, that you hold an elevated position in Chenaya.”
A flicker of pride darted across Mother Saskia’s face. “I was blessed by birth to be a priestess. Just like my eldest brother was privileged to serve in the military. My current position is the result of my devotion to the Dragon.” She swallowed hard. “My brother recently lost his life, leading a platoon of troops in Treven. We were close.”
Lynx was aware Mott had invaded Treven. Due to the usual dearth of news from Cian, she had no idea how the conflict was going. She supposed she should offer the woman some condolences, but nothing in their interaction inclined her to sprout platitudes. “Was he a foot soldier?”
“Of course not, Princess! He wasn’t a common grunt. That’s the lot of third- and fourth-born sons. My eldest brother wore an imperial guardsman’s jasper, just as I was given the priestess’s moonstone at birth.”
“Yes. I was wondering about your stone. I saw it pulse when you shocked me. Was that just my imagination?”
The priestess’s pursed lips resembled a prune. “Our stones are a blessing bestowed by our beloved emperor. It is very bad form to question people about them.”
“So I didn’t imagine it. How did it shock me?”
Uncle Bear’s hand drifted to her knee and squeezed it. She flashed him a smile and looked expectantly at the she-witch.
Someone cleared his throat, making Lynx look up.
Colonel Stefan Zarot stood next to Mother Saskia’s chair.
Lynx hadn’t seen or heard him approach. She cursed inwardly at yet another interruption just as she was getting somewhere with her investigation.
“Colonel,” Mother Saskia tittered, her relief evident. “You require me?”
“I do.” He pulled back the she-witch’s chair.
Mother Saskia almost danced after him.
“Oh, that’s sad,” Kestrel said. “I was enjoying talking to her.” She dropped her knife and fork on her plate. “Everything on this train is so boring.”
Lynx suddenly saw the bright side to the priestess’s desertion. “I think it’s just livened up.” She gestured around the dining car, deserted except for the three of them. “We can finally have a private discussion with Uncle Bear. I am sure you must have questions for him.”
“I hardly think Uncle Bear will be able to satisfy my concerns.” Kestrel giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, but I don’t suppose you’re interested in dresses and palace gossip.”
Uncle Bear gave her a thin smile. “My dear, I am an emissary. I live and breathe palace gossip.”
“Ooh. Then tell me about Tao. Is he handsome? I love dark hair. Please, please, please tell me he takes after the Chenayan side of his family and has dark hair.”
A flicker of worry darted across Uncle Bear’s face. “Prince Tao is a very respectable young man. He is known for his kindness and generosity to the low-born. I’m sure you will find him most pleasing.” He turned to Lynx. “You have questions.”
“A million, so I hardly know where to start.”
“Let me help you, then.” Uncle Bear waved his hand at Kestrel and Lynx, drawing them in. When the three of them were huddled close, he whispered in Norin, “I must tell you about the Dreaded. They’re—”
The door slid open.
12
It was Avanov. He fixed his honey-brown eyes on Lynx, and a sardonic smile quickly followed.
Lynx didn’t smile back.
“You’re needing something, my lord?” Uncle Bear asked, reverting to Chenayan.
Although his voice was mild, Lynx felt his leg next to hers stiffen. He was no more pleased to see Axel Avanov than she was.
“Some space. That’s all.”
It didn’t seem to worry Avanov that the three of them were huddled together, obviously whispering. He disengaged his eyes from Lynx’s and sauntered to the far end of the dining table.
With one hand, he unbuckled his weapons belt and dumped it on the table. A sword and a short-handled hand axe clattered onto the glossy surface. In his other hand, he carried a whetstone and a bottle of sharpening oil that he also tossed down.
Nimble fingers unclipped his steel vambraces, letting them fall next to his weapons. Then, he rolled his black sleeves above his elbows. That done, he unhooked the hand axe from the belt and ran a scarred finger down one of the blades. The edge looked wickedly sharp—but obviously not sharp enough to satisfy the general. He squeezed a drop of oil onto the whetstone and honed the blade.
The rasp of metal on stone destroyed the silence.
Why he needed to do this job in here, when the guardsmen had a whole car, complete with a sharpening bench, was a mystery.
Unless he was here to take over vigil from Mother Saskia. Lynx scowled. “So, General, your priestess was telling us about her moonstone. Maybe you want to tell us about your ruby?”
“I hardly think you’d be interested in anything I have to say, Princess.” He gave her a cocky smile. “At least not on such a dull subject. But I’m sure you and your uncle have a great deal to talk about.”
Sure, while you eavesdrop.
Kestrel pushed back her chair and stood. “Talk, talk, talk. That’s all we do on this train.” She glared at Uncle Bear. “But when I bring up a subject important to me, no one wants to answer. So, if you excuse me, I’m going to find Mother Saskia. Maybe she’ll answer my questions about Prince Tao.”
“My dear—” Uncle Bear called as Kestrel flounced out. He sighed.
Avanov shook his head and bent to his sharpening. Lynx slouched back in her chair. Pretty much an expert at knife honing, she could at least compare skills. Axel’s privileged upbringing had not precluded such basic chores as weapon maintenance. The muscles of his forearms bulged beneath his sun-bronzed skin as he coaxed an even keener edge onto the blade. Even the sinews in his hands stood out in stark relief.
Watching him work was positively erotic.
Lynx swallowed hard, reaching for her lock of hair. Not finding it, her fingers hung limp next to her head.
The girls she’d grown up with had always swooned over abs or butts. She had been unique in seeking out forearms and hands to drool over. As handsome as Heron was, she had always lamented his blunt fingers.
Now, here, on this Chenayan, she’d found the most beautiful hands she’d ever seen. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She leaned closer for a better look just as Uncle Bear cleared his throat.
The sound bumped her back to reality. A wave of self-disgust flooded through her. What would Heron think if he knew she ogled Chenayans just days after parting from him? What would her father think, for that matter?
Her face hot as a pot-bellied stove, she turned to her uncle, praying to the Winds that Axel hadn’t seen, or sensed, her gawping at him.
Uncle Bear watched her with an intrigued expression.
It was mortifying. Lynx didn’t do mortifying. Not well at least. A change of direction was vital, so at the risk of Axel eavesdropping, she leaned in close, whispering in Norin, “You were saying something about the Dreaded.”
Her uncle’s thin lips looked in danger of vanishing. Then his head turned—deliberately as any raptor’s—and he studied Axel.
Axel seemed totally lost in his work.
Uncle Bear closed his eyes and pursed his lips—an action Lynx recognized.
Her uncle was thinking hard about something. Finally, he sighed and then gestured to Lynx with a bony finger to come closer. She angled her chair toward him.
His mouth pressed to her ear, he whispered, “I don’t trust Mott to honor the agreement to have you stay with me until the wedding, so despite my better judgment, I must grab this chance to speak to you.”
Back in command of her faculties, Lynx whispered, “But would they understand Norin?”
“Who knows? I doubt Avanov does, but still—”
“Perhaps it would be wiser if we exchanged notes. Did you bring parchment and quills?”
“The priestess didn’t limit her search to only your and Kestrel’s luggage. For the sake of peace, I relinquished my writing materials.” His voice dropped. “The risk of speaking is high, but I must warn you of a few things.”
Lynx glanced at Avanov, who whistled softly, his head still bent over his work. She took her uncle’s hand and leaned in even closer. “I’m listening.”
After a short pause, Uncle Bear said, “Every emperor lives in terror of the day someone destroys the empire. They have done everything in their power to prevent that happening. The palace writhes with informers—be careful whom you trust. But, although insidious, informers are not the greatest threat. Beware the Dreaded. Did you see them when you were at the palace?”
“I don’t think so. But I was only there for a couple of hours.” She frowned, uncertain. “I’m not even sure what the Dreaded are.”
Her uncle leaned in closer. “Spirits of the dead.”
“Oh.” A chill flushed through Lynx. “H-have you ever seen one?”
Uncle Bear nodded, tickling her ear with the stubble around his mouth. “I’ve seen images of hideous apparitions in the palace and on the streets of Cian. They appear out of nothing, flash, and disappear.”
“What are they for?”
“They watch everyone. It is whispered the Dreaded even report those who disobey Avanov rule to the guardsmen. Every Chenayan knows someone who vanished after seeing an apparition. Guard that tongue of yours, Lynx, so that you don’t become one of them.”
Lynx laughed nervously, hating his echo of her father’s words. “They’d kill me? Aren’t I supposed to be Lukan’s new toy?”
Her uncle grunted. “Quicker than the Winds blow. The history of Norin princesses in Chenaya has not been a happy one.”
“I know. Father and I were talking about that before I left Norin.” Lynx glared at Avanov.
His hand axe lay on the table, gleaming in the sunlight streaming into the car. He had started on his sword.
She leaned in and whispered, “Father wants me to find out about the gemstones and their superhuman powers.”
Her uncle’s brow furrowed. “I’m sure he does. I’ve been working on that for years, but it is no easy matter, as an outsider.”
“I recently killed a guardsman and prized the jasper out of his face, but it told me nothing.”
His hot breath warmed her ear. “It’s that kind of stomach that makes you so ideal for this job. You will need to be more subtle in Cian, though. Even admitting to killing guardsmen will earn you a swift execution. So, I will help you spy. Together, we’ll unravel this secret. But we’ll discuss more of this next time we’re alone.”
A wave of relief flooded through Lynx that she didn’t have to do this almost impossible thing alone. She relaxed and sat back, letting the legs of her chair clatter onto the wooden floor.
Avanov looked up. “Just because you don’t like the furniture, Princess, doesn’t mean you get to break it.”
“Huh. That’s rich, coming from someone who just flung his weapons on the table,” Lynx shot back. “And as mine were stolen from me, I don’t have the privilege of sharpening them.”
“My, we are in a grumpy mood.” Axel strapped his belt around his narrow waist. “You proved yourself unreliable with weapons, Princess, so you have only yourself to blame.” A derisive smile. “I can show you the scab to prove it, if you like.”
Completely ignoring the humor in his voice, Lynx leaped to her feet, sending her chair scooting back. “I was protecting my sole surviving braid from that she-witch you call a priestess. It’s not my fault you were stupid enough to get in the way.”
Her uncle covered his face with his hands, then groaned.
This was probably just the kind of thing he—and her father—had had in mind when he told her to guard her tongue. She grimaced. For a girl who was used to saying her piece, adapting to Chenaya was going to be much tougher than she’d anticipated.
“‘She-witch’?” Axel burst into laughter. He pulled his hand axe off his belt and sauntered over to her. “Your description of our glorious Great High Priestess has won you another shot at playing with sharp objects. So, at the risk of repeating my stupidity, I give you full permission to attack the furniture—and nothing else. If the she-witch complains, blame me.” He cocked his head. “Or maybe not. She might just fry me.”
Lynx snatched the axe from him and ran her fingers down the twin blades, engraved with dragons’ heads. Both edges were sharp enough to make matchsticks of the furniture. The black hilt, resembling an elongated dragon’s body, tapered down to four sharpened claws, ideal for ripping flesh. The words Axel Avanov were engraved on the dragon’s belly.
As ugly as the axe was, she acknowledged the brilliance of the craftsmanship. And it was a weapon—the one thing she had sought since leaving Tanamre. She had to filch it because she’d never sleep easy again if she didn’t have something sharp and deadly under her pillow.
Despite her uncle’s warning, she asked in her sweetest voice, “What makes you think I wouldn’t use it on you?”
“This time, you’d have to catch me first.” Avanov’s hand moved to the ruby next to his eye.
So he had enhanced powers, too.
Lynx frowned, strangely saddened by that fact. Why would Axel Avanov, a man endowed with a strong and lean body, a rough but handsome face, natural agility, and superior intelligence, need to deface himself?
With no answers, she took her frustration out on the nearest chair.
With one swing of the axe, she shaved the wooden arm rest in two. “Winds, your axe has a lovely balance.” She swiped again, this time slicing the wood and upholstery. The two halves of the chair clattered to the floor. “I love the feel in my hand.”
Axel watched her with open appreciation.
It sent a flutter of . . . of something totally unexpected and unmentionable coursing through her stomach.
A reaction too horrible to consider.
How can I find him attractive? He’s an Avanov! The bastard who sent guardsmen to attack Norin. To kill Hare!
Needing to be rid of him, she took a chance and said, “Thanks for the gift.” She held up the axe. “I’ll just take it to my compartment.”
A chortle. “Nice try, Princess, but I still need both my legs.” He held out his hand for the weapon.
Lynx pretended not to notice and sauntered toward the door. He grabbed her flapping skirt—that would never happen with trousers and a tunic—and tugged her to a halt. “Not so fast, Princess. Hand it over.”
With a sigh, Lynx slapped the handle down on his open palm.
Her dice roll should have taught her she’d never be lucky enough to score a weapon so easily.
The door opened, revealing Mother Saskia.
Axel groaned. “Well, there’s my cue to leave.”
Had he said that because he was no longer required to monitor them? Or was it because he so obviously disliked the priestess and what she stood for? Although she doubted it, Lynx hoped it was the latter.
Her eyes fluttered closed, angry with herself for caring.
13
It was past midnight on the last night of Lynx’s train journey. In the salon car, the she-witch knelt at the feet of her Dragon and Colonel Stefan Zarot leafed through some official-looking papers while Lynx sat with her uncle. She yawned, ready for bed. She was about to wish her u
ncle sweet dreams when the priestess excused herself.
The moment the door closed behind her, Stefan Zarot rose from his seat and strode across the car. He pulled out a chair and sat next to Lynx. The act was so unusual, she settled back to see what he wanted.
“Ah, Colonel Zarot.” Uncle Bear smiled his thin smile. “Please, feel free to join us.”
Zarot didn’t acknowledge her uncle’s sarcasm—although who could tell with his inscrutable face? “So, tell me, Princess Lynx, are you ready to take on your responsibilities as Crown Princess of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories?”
Lynx narrowed her eyes. “I assumed that lofty title only comes after my marriage to the crown prince.”
“Yes, an event set to take place in a couple of days.” Zarot tapped his fingers against his thigh.
Lynx frowned, wondering what had him so riled.
“Life in the Heartland will be very different than what you have known.”
Lynx glanced at her uncle before answering, but his face had become as impassive as Zarot’s. With no support forthcoming, she decided to prod the Dragon with a sharp comment, just to gauge Zarot’s reaction. Maybe that way, she could understand his unusual behavior. “The Heartland is indeed a fascinating place for those of us who come from the outer edges of the empire. We have no witches to manipulate us with superpowers there.”
Uncle Bear blinked once. “Colonel, I’m sure what Princess Lynx means—”
Zarot surprised Lynx by holding up his hand to her uncle. “By late afternoon tomorrow, we will be in Cian.” He fixed his dark eyes on her. “There will be a special welcome for you. I hope you will prepare for it.” He stood, gave her a shallow bow—nothing too respectful—and left the car.
Lynx turned to her uncle. “And that?”
“I have my suspicions.” He fixed her with a disapproving glare.
She smiled wryly. “I’m just trying to understand the man.”