by Jasmine Walt
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that honey works better than vinegar? Or, in your case, a sweet smile and a flutter of eyelashes.”
Lynx waved her hand, glad to finally be alone so she and her uncle could talk frankly. “I missed that lesson. I was too busy learning the best machete moves to take down a guar—”
“I get the picture,” her uncle interrupted quickly. “I would gladly kick your father’s arse for leaving you so unprepared.”
Despite the impropriety of speaking about her king like that, Lynx sniggered. Not in her wildest dreams could she imagine her prim and proper uncle kicking anyone anywhere, least of all in the arse.
“He has total faith in your ability to redeem me.” Her laughter faded, and her fear returned. “Should we be expecting trouble tomorrow? I didn’t exactly get a warm welcome when I arrived.”
“A word of advice when dealing with Chenayans: Always expect trouble. In that way, you’ll never be disappointed.”
Lynx bit her lip. If Stefan Zarot was right, her time with Uncle Bear could be over very soon. With thousands of guardsmen stationed at Tanamre, she needed information too desperately to be reticent. “Perhaps now would be a good time to plan our spying expeditions.”
“No, Lynx!” Uncle Bear gripped her arm. “These are not things we discuss in the open.”
Lynx’s mouth gaped. “But we’re finally alone. No one can hear us.”
Her uncle’s eyes swept the car. “No one is ever alone in Chenaya.” He stood. “Save your questions for when we get to my home. Hopefully, I will be able to answer them then. At least the ones that won’t get us killed.”
At first, Lynx couldn’t decide what had woken her. After lying still for a moment, she realized the train had stopped. She hopped out of bed, padded to the window, and looked out into the darkness.
An unfamiliar grunt and hiss came from in front of the locomotive.
She poked her head out. The lights of two additional locomotives winked at her through clouds of soot and steam. The behemoths edged toward their engine.
They must have finally reached the outskirts of the formidable Serreti Mountains.
The soaring peaks and precipitous gorges of the range stretched north and south for thousands of miles, nearly cutting the continent in half. It was the final bastion protecting Cian, the ventricle of the Heartland, from the rest of the empire.
Job done, the guardsmen hopped back on board. The lead locomotive let out a piercing whistle, and the train juddered forward, gradually picking up speed as the wheels sliced their way across the tracks.
Lynx crawled back to bed, nestling under her comforter. Her thoughts turned first to Uncle Bear’s cryptic comments about never being alone in Chenaya. Fear filled her, driving away all hope of sleep. She firmly shifted her mind to happier things.
Home. Clay’s egg raid she’d traded her happiness for. And bound myself with more oaths than any normal person could bear. That was not a sleep-inducing thought, either, so she pushed it away.
She rubbed her wrist, where Heron’s watch had been. She pulled her hand away. No! There is no point in hanging on to what may have been. That won’t help either of us. In time, he will move on, and I—
She didn’t want to think about what time would bring to her.
Lynx’s second wake-up call came from a sharp jerk of the train. A solid line of rock blocked the view, and much of the light, from her window. She guessed it was close to breakfast time. Although a plains girl, she knew the sun always rose later in the mountains.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that dinner had been served a long time ago. She rose, flung off her pajamas, and rummaged through her trunk for a dress from her uncle’s collection. Her hand brushed two silver bracelets Heron had given her when she had first won her egg. That gift had been the start of their friendship. Determined that no Chenayan would ever get their hands on those treasures, she wrapped them carefully in a sock and shoved them into a pocket of a jacket at the bottom of the trunk. She dressed quickly into another black bustled dress.
Her fingers reached instinctively for her missing braids and feathers.
She sighed in frustration. “What I look like doesn’t change who I am.”
She turned on the tap perched over the tiny metal basin, splashed water on her face, and brushed her teeth. After yanking a comb through her hair, she wriggled her toes into her shoes and stepped out into the aisle.
The car swayed precariously. She looked out the window as the train rumbled around a switchback. Another loomed, no more than two hundred yards ahead of them. Grateful she’d never suffered from motion sickness, she lurched toward the dining car.
She was the only one who had slept in.
Uncle Bear sat in front of an empty place setting at the table. His sweat-glazed face was green in the sunshine streaking through the window. Kestrel held a sick bag to her mouth. Even the she-witch looked wan. Only Avanov and Zarot indulged in the roast duck and array of roasted vegetables spread on the table. It looked more like lunch than breakfast.
Lynx’s stomach betrayed her by rumbling, and her mouth watered at the orangey aroma coming from the duck.
Avanov kicked out a chair next to him for her. “Glad to see you aren’t looking as green as the rest of this lot, Princess. Come eat before we hit the tunnel.”
“Tunnel?” Kestrel moaned into her sick bag.
“’Fraid so, Princess.” Avanov waved his fork at the jagged rock face flying past the window. “Fifty miles of track carved out under thousands of feet of rock. An engineering feat second to none. It’ll lead us right to the hub under the palace.”
Kestrel promptly threw up into her bag.
“What?” Avanov asked. “You could hardly expect a train carrying current and future members of the royal family to pull up at the bug-infested station in downtown Cian. We’re not that popular, you know. Someone might get it into their head to take potshots at us.”
“Ever wondered why that is, General?” Lynx picked her way across the yawing car.
“Oh, I’m under no illusions, Princess. We’re about as popular as a,” he cracked his mocking smile, “quarrel through the skull.”
Lynx grabbed the chair, but before she could sit, the world outside the train plunged into darkness.
Kestrel screamed.
A rush of claustrophobia hit Lynx at the tons of rock above her head. She dug her nails into the chair back, praying to the Winds to protect them from the Chenayan insanity that had people traveling like moles under the ground.
Avanov suddenly gripped her hand, dragging her down to sit next to him. “I guess someone should have lit the candles,” he drawled. His casual tone made her wonder if he’d planned for the darkness in the car. The way his thumb caressed her palm certainly confirmed it.
Why was another matter altogether.
The tingles of desire his callused thumb sent up her arm and into her stomach were reminiscent of the she-witch’s lightning bolt.
Lynx gasped, then pulled her hand away.
He released her.
“Is that another one for the scoreboard?” she asked, trying to fathom his motives and cover up her shock at her outrageous reaction to his touch. “Because if it was, I’m still winning.”
“That all depends on what I got from my . . . maneuver, doesn’t it?” he answered, way too smugly.
Lynx noted that he hadn’t announced to everyone in the dining car that he’d held her hand. She narrowed her eyes with confusion. What was his game?
In a casual tone, she said, “Maneuvers are something officers do when planning war strategies. Does that mean you and I are at war, General?”
“You tell me, Princess. After all, I’m not the one who attacked you.”
Lynx hesitated and then couldn’t resist asking, “So are you claiming that you didn’t send those guardsmen to my front gate? I assume you’re aware that their bones are now littering the desert beyond my tent flaps.” Lynx stared in his general direction, wishing
she could see his face in the darkness.
She heard him suck in a breath and knew she’d scored a hit.
It gave her no satisfaction. In fact, instead of filling her with anger, all she felt was heart-wringing sorrow.
“It seems I have my answer, General. It really doesn’t matter what benefit your . . . maneuver and your attack gave you, I will always outrank you on the scoreboard.”
A guardsman holding a lighted taper barreled into the room. “Apologies, General.” In the pale light cast by his candle, Lynx saw him bow low to a laughing Axel Avanov. He headed to the nearest sconce to light the candle.
Taking advantage of the light, Axel dished Lynx up a plate of food. “Eat, Princess. I may not be at the head of the scoreboard, but I do know that it’ll be hours before you see your next meal. I’d hate for you to starve. Who would I have to banter with, then?”
14
As the train shunted through the tunnel, Axel sat back in his chair at the dining table, watching Lynx stab the vegetables on her dinner plate. Despite her bravado about scoreboards, he read sorrow in her eyes at the death of her people, some of whom must have been her family or friends.
Part of him wanted to apologize for her loss—that was his heart talking, as he well knew. His head, which he kept firmly in charge of his heart, understood that nothing could get in the way of battle objectives. Soldiers went to war when objectives required it. People died. His job was to ensure that those objectives were met cleanly and with minimal waste. If Mad Mott had listened to his counsel to send in more guardsmen, he would have achieved that objective in Norin. Lynx would still probably be heartbroken over the deaths of fifteen raiders, but she wouldn’t be mourning the loss of children and servers, too.
But, she wasn’t the only one suffering due to the wasteful loss of her people. He, too, had lost a great deal of sleep this week, fretting about the families and friends of the thousands of soldiers being slaughtered in the carnage in Treven. Part of that lost sleep had been devoted to devising a plan with Stefan to solve the crisis. They called it Operation Treven.
It involved Lynx.
Mouthy, aggressive, and beautiful, Lynx was the perfect candidate for him to use to blackmail his father and his uncle. Maybe then they’d see reason about how badly they were conducting the war in Treven. A little flirting with Lynx, a few kisses perhaps, would be enough to get him sent to Treven without further argument. It was a low, sneaky plan to poach his cousin’s betrothed to meet a battle objective, he freely admitted, but all other reason had failed with his father.
Lukan may have been his cousin, but Axel had no regard for him. Mad Mott had been brutal when Axel, Lukan, and Tao were growing up. Coward that Lukan was, he had hidden behind Axel and Tao whenever Mott went on a rampage. Axel had willingly protected Lukan from Mott’s fists—until the day he realized his cousin was letting him take his beatings. And not because he was scared and defenceless, but because Axel was his future subject, a mere tool to be used to save Lukan’s skin. That’s when all respect—and liking—died. So Lukan’s feelings in this matter were irrelevant.
It was time to blackmail his way to victory.
Axel lifted up a fork and picked his teeth, lost in thought. When the idea of involving her first surfaced, he had rejected it. It was too dangerous—for Lynx. Unlike her, he had no doubt that he would not only survive but would benefit from the plan.
For her it would be different. In the short time he had known her, he had developed a fondness for the feisty princess. He would hate to see her harmed.
But with the passing of the week, his doubts faded. If anyone could handle being used to achieve a higher goal, she could.
Her twice daily visits to the guard car—undoubtedly searching for weapons—won over every guardsman on the train. That included crusty officers like Lieutenant Olec, not known for a sense of humor. None of those guardsmen were idiots; Axel didn’t use fools in his personal command. Stefan had handpicked soldiers who had proved strangely immune to the brain-numbing effects of the jasper ice crystals for this trip. They knew exactly what she meant by her red-faced flaunting of her wares. Yet, they warmed to her, playing along with her game. Lynx knew how to make allies from enemies. That impressed him. Even more than her legs had.
Still not convinced she would survive being embroiled in Chenayan politics, Axel devised a couple of tests for her. One involved giving her his hand axe, something he knew she had sought. Her slender hand had gripped it as though it had been made for her. Then she had tried to steal it from him. The woman had nerve.
She’d need that nerve for what he envisaged over the next few days.
His next test came with ignoring her. Instead of inviting her to play dice with him and Stefan, he pretended she didn’t exist. How would she take rejection? The outcome had been less than pleasing.
She seemed delighted by his absence.
Hmm. Not what he was used to when dealing with women.
But he didn’t doubt that the charm he was about to turn on her would win her over. His smile turned dangerous. He’d seen her drooling over him while he’d sharpened his axe. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
His final test involved holding her hand.
Her skin bore the evidence of years of work with weapons. She was not some pretty princess who had spent her life being waited on. Every intelligence report he had ever encountered about her was therefore true. Princess Lynx of Norin, commander-in-training of Thorn’s raiders, was a fighter who had won the respect and obedience of men.
She would more than survive the fallout from Operation Treven.
He tossed the fork onto the table and sighed.
Steeped in Chenayan tradition that said only men waged war, playing Lynx didn’t sit comfortably with him. Thankfully, he was known at court for being both unorthodox and sardonic, so if anyone could pull off using a woman as a military asset, he could. With aplomb, too, if he really set his mind to it.
But, no matter which way he spun it, he couldn’t claim any honor here. He certainly wouldn’t feel like much of a hero when he won the upcoming battle with his father. Still, the reward would be great—Chenayan victory in Treven.
He shifted in his seat, trying to escape his nagging conscience.
In his defense, he had tried to prepare her for the battle, within the constraints of being enemies. After Saskia had chopped off Lynx’s braid and then zapped her, Lynx wouldn’t listen to anything the priestess had to say.
That was concerning because a major part of Saskia’s job was to teach the princesses palace protocol. With Lynx’s obstinacy, those lessons weren’t happening.
So, in response, he and Stefan had concocted a scheme to give her some Saskia-free time with her uncle. Axel hoped Bear had used it to explain things Axel could never tell her, things that obviously didn’t matter in Norin—like bowing to superiors. Simple, life-saving tricks like that. Without them, she would be vulnerable in a palace where bowing and scraping were everything, and that would treble her risk in the blackmail.
Axel thumped his feet onto the surface of the dining table, wishing he spoke Norin so he could be sure of what Bear told her.
“Do you mind?” Lynx shoved his boots away from her plate, sending one of his feet clattering to the floor.
He grinned at her, dropping his other foot off the table. “Just relaxing before we hit the pomp and ceremony in Cian.”
“Well, do it somewhere else.”
Axel canted his head to look at her, and a rush of something even more powerful than conscience ran like lightning through his veins.
Desire.
It happened without fail every time he looked at her. Pity she’s betrothed to Lukan. He turned to Stefan. “Time for yet another round of dice before we leave this rolling prison?”
Stefan groaned.
If Stefan felt like Axel did, then if they both never saw another set of dice again, it would not be long enough.
Still, Stefan reached into his pocket and
pulled out the ivory cubes. “We really should have brought some tiles or cards along as well.”
“Yes, you were singularly unprepared.” Axel glanced at Lynx, wondering if he should finally extend an invitation to her to play. He decided against it.
She had thrown down her knife and fork and paced the dining car, as she was wont to do when bored. Watching her naked legs and swaying hips would be far more entertaining than playing dice with her.
Lynx had finished her tenth circuit when Stefan whispered, “Life will soon be more interesting than she likes.”
Axel nodded, adding just as quietly, “Bear’s not going to like our little surprise much, either.”
Despite the emperor’s promise to Bear that his nieces were to stay with him until the wedding, Axel had different orders.
Cruel, deceitful ones he didn’t approve of.
Orders he knew would drive an even deeper wedge between him and Lynx at a time when he needed her to continue their banter.
Stefan’s face remained expressionless. He didn’t agree with the emperor’s orders, either. That had made it easier for Axel to send Stefan to warn Lynx and Bear to be on the alert when they arrived in Cian. He doubted how much it would help, but at least he had tried.
Irked to be nothing more than a badly used tool in Mad Mott’s hand, Axel stood. “I think I’ve done my bit for dice. I’ll join you when we reach the hub.”
He strode to the guard car, ignoring the off-duty men who leaped up from their games to salute him. Grunting with frustration, he grabbed his hand axe and flung it hard at a target someone had set up on the wall. But not even the solid thud of steel against wood could quiet his whining conscience about all that lay ahead of him.
Then he remembered Operation Treven.
It was time to kick it into motion.
After an hour of darkness in the tunnel, light filtered through the windows. They had reached the hub. The light burned in sconces mounted to the walls. In a few minutes, they would stop under the palace.