by Jasmine Walt
It was time to beat a tactical retreat.
As she stood, she caught Kestrel frowning at Lady Nithena; clearly, her sister was as offended as she was.
“We have plenty to talk about,” Lynx said in Norin, hoping neither Lukan nor Tao had bothered to learn their mother’s tongue.
Tao’s face was averted so she couldn’t see his reaction, but Lukan looked blank, so she guessed neither of them had.
At least she and Kestrel had that advantage over them.
Lady Nithena led them into the broad passageway outside the dining hall.
Four imperial guardsmen waited at attention.
“Your Highnesses, the guardsmen will escort you to your apartment.” Lady Nithena curtsied and left.
With two men in the lead and two trailing behind, Lynx and Kestrel walked through the palace. After a confusing number of twists and turns, the guardsmen took them into a side passage.
A young girl dressed in maid’s robes polished the already gleaming parquet floor.
As Lynx drew closer, a middle-aged woman appeared from nowhere, standing next to the girl.
Lynx stumbled, unable to believe her eyes.
The woman was startling, her face a portrait of evil. Strangest of all, her feet didn’t touch the ground but hovered above it. She flickered once and then vanished as if she had never existed.
The child’s eyes flew wide, her face contorted with horror. Screaming, she half-stumbled, half-ran toward Lynx, throwing herself at the feet of the nearest guardsman. “Help me,” the girl screeched. “The Dreaded.”
The guardsmen kicked the child in the ribs, sending her careening against the wall.
“Stop it!” Lynx yelled, punching the soldier on the arm above his vambrace. “Leave her alone.”
He immediately stood to attention, snapping a salute. Lynx was about to bend down to help the girl, but Kestrel beat her to it. Instead of responding to the kindness, the maid scuttled away on her knees, sobbing.
Too practical to believe in ghosts, Lynx bit her lip, trying to make sense of what she’d seen. She came up short on answers. What else could the apparition have been?
But then, why don’t we get them in Norin? Why only here, in the Heartland?
Nothing made sense.
She turned to the guardsmen. “Take us to our apartments. Now.”
As the guards set a brisk pace down the passageway, Kestrel linked her arm with Lynx’s. She could feel her sister trembling. Lynx squeezed her hand.
“What was she?” Kestrel asked in Norin. “I’ve never seen anything so terrible.”
“Uncle Bear called them ‘the Dreaded.’ They’re supposed to be ghosts. Or something like that.”
Kestrel shivered. “I’m doing my best to focus on the positives, but they certainly don’t make it easy, do they?”
“Positives?” Lynx snorted a bitter laugh. “You’re a better person than I am.”
“The magnificent clothes, the artworks. Did you see that exquisite hunting mural on the wall outside the dining room? It was breathtaking.”
Lynx shrugged. She had sort of noticed it.
Kestrel shook her head, smiling. “Oh Lynxie, can’t you see? A people who can create such magnificent art can’t be all bad?”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Lynx said doubtfully. “But don’t forget, they’re also the bloodthirsty bastards who killed Hare.”
They reached a narrow stone archway leading to an even narrower flight of slippery stairs. Lynx assumed they were climbing one of the palace turrets. Finally, they reached a large room, brilliant with oil lamps. A nest of comfortable sofas waited on a brightly colored rug in the center of the space, inviting conversation.
Kestrel sank into one.
Lynx looked around, seeing two doors leading off the room. She peeked through the closest doorway. A giant four-poster bed, nothing like her bedroll in her tent back home, stood in the middle of the room. She guessed the other room was a bedroom, too. She instantly missed her familiar tent.
One of the guardsmen spoke. “Your Highnesses, I’ve stationed two men at the top of the stairs. You can sleep peacefully, knowing you’re well protected.”
Monitored, more like it, Lynx thought.
He bowed low and then nodded to his companions, leading them out of the room.
Lynx considered throwing the cushions from the chairs onto the floor, but sooner or later, she had to get used to life in the palace. She eased down into one of the sofas, trying to get comfortable in her bustle.
Kestrel stretched out like a cat on her red velvet chair. “I might hate those ghost-things, but I could get used to this luxury.” She grinned. “No painful slumping on cushions in the Avanov palace.”
Lynx frowned, then decided there was no point debating with Kestrel about which seating arrangements were better, Chenayan or Norin. “So, Tao?”
Kestrel’s face fell, and her voice was flat, filled with disappointment. “He’s fine . . . if I wanted to marry a Norin. Which I don’t.”
“I’m sorry. Really I am. If it’s any consolation, though, I think Tao’s an infinitely nicer person than Lukan. For a Chenayan.”
“How would you know, given that you hardly spoke a word to Lukan during the meal?”
The sharpness in Kestrel’s tone surprised Lynx.
She answered in kind. “He made it very clear that he didn’t want to talk to me.” A sigh, and then she admitted, “Any more than I wanted to talk to him.” She stood and paced across the room, stopping to lean against the wall between two oil lamp sconces. “I worry about you. You seem determined to become like them.”
Kestrel sat bolt upright. “And what’s wrong with that? I never fit in at home. This is my chance to belong, to be happy, and I’m grabbing it with both hands.” She frowned. “But it goes against all my dreams to have to marry a man who looks like every boy who ever rejected me because I wouldn’t raid an egg.”
“Tao is more than just his looks.”
“By that argument, so is Lukan.”
Lynx grunted, acknowledging that Kestrel had a point. Her gaze settled on her sister’s face, wishing they were closer. She longed to tell Kestrel about her mission here. If she confided in her, maybe Kestrel would become the ally Lynx needed as she searched for the truth. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided to risk sharing her task.
Kestrel cut her off. “There are far worse things that could happen than making love to someone as gorgeous as Lukan. And as for that diamond next to his eye! Well, I have never seen anything so incredible or so beautiful. Did you notice that it’s bigger than Tao’s?”
Lynx shook her head, glad now for the interruption.
Kestrel looked at her, face etched with concern. “Wolf said I was to support you. So, Lynx, my advice would be to forget your hatred and appreciate what’s being offered to you on a golden platter.” She flopped down onto the sofa. “And if Lukan gets bored with you, you can always make a play for Axel. The two of you seem to have some kind of lusty thing going. He’s probably good in bed, too.”
Mortified Kestrel had sensed her reluctant interest in Axel, Lynx protested, “Axel! In my bed! You have got to be joking. I’d rather befriend the she-witch.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Lynx, and maybe you’ll begin to believe it. Just as well Heron is seven days away by train.”
Lynx’s face flushed, and a stab of longing pierced her heart. “Leave Heron out of this.”
“Whatever.” Kestrel lumbered to her feet. “I’m exhausted.” At the closest bedroom door, she stopped. “And by the way, keep your claws out of Tao. He’s mine.”
Lynx’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”
“Tao. He’s mine.”
“Yes, I heard that, but—”
“Oh please, Lynx. I saw the way you were flirting with him during dinner. Do us both a favor and content yourself with Lukan and Axel.”
“What are you talking about?” Lynx demanded, unable to believe her sister’s temerity. “
I was keeping Tao occupied while you cried over marrying him! Trust me, I have no interest in your betrothed.”
“So what if I was tearful?” Kestrel’s face flushed, and she took a step toward Lynx. “I came here to hold your hand, so how about repaying me by minding your own business?”
“Strange. I thought Lukan was my business. You had no problem spending most of the evening ogling him.”
“And we both know what business that is,” Kestrel shot back. “To find out what’s behind the gemstones.”
Lynx rocked back. “How do you know that?”
“I have ears, Lynx, and after hours of listening to your tedious fiddle playing, I finally came to tell you to shut up.” Kestrel gave her a smug smile. “I’m so glad I did, given the fascinating discussion I overheard between you and Father. Even he believes I should have been the one to get Lukan. He said I would make a wonderful empress! But, as usual, you always get the best, leaving me with meager pickings.” Kestrel stomped into her bedroom. “I finally have a chance to make a life for myself, even if it is with Tao, and I’m not going to let you mess it up. Forget about the gemstones, Lynx, because you’ll find no support from me if you jeopardize our safety here.” She slammed the door.
So much for Kestrel being an ally.
Angry with herself for how she’d handled that, Lynx’s legs gave out, and she slid down the wall, landing her bustled backside on the deep-pile carpet.
She had her answer: Kestrel would most certainly not watch her back while she scouted for information. The question now was: would her sister actively work against her?
17
Lukan drained his chenna and slammed the goblet down onto the table. His father should have called an end to this interminable evening hours ago. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Why was the old man taking so long? Even the dogs that scrapped for bones under the table had given up their vigil.
He glanced at Tao. His brother’s eyes drooped, and his chin rested on his hand. Like the dogs, all Tao needed was to start dribbling—or snoring. Either would liven up the evening. Lukan smiled despite his frustration.
The sound of shattering glass split the air, prompting Tao to jolt upright. The signal to leave.
His father had finally drained his chenna and thrown the goblet against the wall. Before any other chair squeaked, Lukan jerked back from the dining table and shot to his feet. Tao followed, relief blazing on his face. His brother tried to catch his eye, but Lukan elbowed past him and out into the passageway. It took all his self-control not to break into a sprint for the stairs leading to his apartment.
Keep calm. People are watching. You have to be regal. Remember.
Tao caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “Want to play dice? Anything to drown out the horror of this night. We can get Axel to join us.”
Lukan shook his brother’s hand off his arm. “He’s the last person I need right now.” He hated Axel—the brilliant soldier, everyone’s golden boy—almost as much as he did his father, and Tao knew that. It had always grieved him that Tao’s loyalty veered toward Axel.
His brother sighed. “Okay, not Axel then, but not just the two of us, either. No offense, but I’m in need of decent company.”
Lukan shoved Tao’s chest. “What’s gotten into you? I told you, I’m not taking the blame for your marriage, so you can stop flirting with Lynx and shoving your resentment at me. And how many times must I tell you to show some respect for the Dragon? If we don’t, how can we expect loyalty from our subjects?”
“A game of dice, Lukan, that’s it. I’m not interested in dragons, or Lynx, or Kestrel, or marriage, or resentment, or anything else. Not right now.”
“No.” Lukan turned his back on Tao and stalked down the passage toward his apartment. As much as it stung, he needed to mentally rehash his first meeting with Lynx.
Nothing had changed since summer. She was as distant and disdainful as she’d been then. That was a problem, because he still wanted her. Passionately. He had spent much of the evening imagining running his hands through her hair, over her lithe body, kissing her—everywhere—making love to her until she cried out, begging him for more.
And that was where his fantasy faltered and reality bit.
Lynx hadn’t been interested in him last summer, and she sure as hell wasn’t interested in him now.
As for her comments about the Dragon, well . . . they bordered on the seditious. He had no belief in the Dragon as a god, but he knew the value of the icon in governing the masses. To worship the Dragon was to worship the emperor. Lynx’s contempt was abundantly concerning, coming from a woman who could very well be the mother of the son foreordained to destroy him and his empire.
“She’s quite the girl, isn’t she?” a disembodied voice asked in his head, like a probing finger.
As much as he hated the intrusion, Lukan’s footsteps didn’t falter. What do you want, Thurban?
“An unprecedented challenge faces you, Crown Prince. Are you equal to it?”
Lukan guessed Thurban referred to Lynx. He bristled at the suggestion that anyone, dead or alive, would dare question his abilities. Of course I am.
“Lynx is no ordinary girl, Lukan. She’s a Norin of the most rabid kind.”
That doesn’t mean I can’t control her, Lukan shot back. Refusing to engage further in a conversation he didn’t want, he focused his thoughts on other, more pleasant things: the provocative sway of Lynx’s hips as she walked, the curve of her breasts, her legs, long and shapely, wrapped around him.
It was the only way he knew how to dislodge Thurban.
The day Thurban’s voice had appeared in his head, Lukan had almost choked on his soup. It had happened some weeks before his father had announced the wedding. It had taken all his acting skills to cover up his shock when, after he had caught his breath, the voice introduced itself as Thurban, Chenaya’s first emperor.
Telling anyone at the dining table was out of the question. They would have called him mad, insane, unfit to rule. He would quickly share his father’s well-deserved epithet: Mad Lukan.
Unable to endure such a humiliation, he had shot to his feet and rushed to the palace archive, the only place in the empire where books were permitted. Many of the manuscripts, printouts, and blueprints, all scientific and technical in nature, had survived the Burning.
When just a lad, Lukan had discovered the original copy of the Treaty of Hope signed after the Burning. Like all books, he had devoured it, discovering that the nations had agreed to destroy all printed matter—mankind’s desperate attempt to prevent a future annihilation.
Young as he was, it had shocked Lukan rigid that anyone would consider burning books. They were his lifeline, the only things that kept him sane in a palace where warfare, games of strategy, and jousting were everything.
Thankfully, despite proclaiming allegiance to the Treaty of Hope, Thurban had used the chaos after the Burning to order scholars to comb through the ruined cities and towns of the world. They had assembled all the books they could find. Those works formed the basis of the archives.
Over the last four hundred years, successive emperors had added to it as chemists, engineers, and scientists—hidden away from the public eye in far reaches of the empire—expanded the old technologies.
The day Lukan first heard Thurban’s voice, he knew that if it had been generated by the living—anything was possible in Chenaya—he would find evidence of the technology in one of the books in the archives.
But, after hours of fruitless searching through titles in the archives’ catalogue, Lukan had been forced to admit defeat. There were no tomes explaining the technology needed to create voices in the head. The only reference at all to voices was contained in the journal of Prince Maksim, a long-forgotten crown prince. Settled in his usual leather chair, he had read the book from cover to cover.
From the cryptic writing—apparently Maksim had also been reluctant to admit to insanity—Lukan gleaned that other crown princes had also been
harassed by unseen beings, even appearances by the ghosts themselves. They had provided the inspiration for the Dreaded.
All of these visitors from beyond the grave either supported or railed against Dmitri and his curse.
Lukan had left the archives in an even greater panic than when he had entered it. In the ensuing weeks, he became inured to Thurban’s voice.
And, he admitted, one good thing had come out of hearing Thurban: it explained generations of emperors’ obsession with perpetuating the Dreaded. If ghosts tormented crown princes, calling on them to support the overthrow of the empire, what happened in everyone else’s heads?
Deep in thought, Lukan jumped the steps to his apartment two at a time. Once in the privacy of his room, he would give some thought to a strategy to handle Lynx’s frosty welcome.
His apartment door loomed. He stepped inside, closed it behind him—and frowned. A Chenayan flag hung limply on a staff in the middle of the room, the black Dragon dull against faded red and gold silk. It wasn’t there when he and Tao had left the room. More offended by its ragged appearance than the oddity of its presence, he darted over to take it down.
He never made it.
In a blur of light, the walls of his room vanished. His first thought was that Felix had set up a display of Dreaded, but then the wood paneling and tapestries were replaced by an army so vast, it blotted out all traces of the landscape. An endless patchwork of skin tones, the army’s only unifying feature was the firmament of blue banners, spangled with stars, under which it camped.
He recognized the constellation: Nicholas the Light-Bearer.
Too elaborate to be Dreaded. What the hell is it?
His eyes widened as his own flag unfurled. Flexing black wings, the Dragon soared out of the tattered silk, growing to a monstrous size as it took to the air. It glided down in front of him, enveloping him in its shadow, transfixing him with its red eyes.
Heart threatening to explode, Lukan fell back. But the Dragon clearly had things other than attack on its mind. Its huge body bulged, and its head writhed. Screeching, it tore at its own scales and flesh. Lukan watched spellbound as the Dragon’s inner enemy emerged with each bite.