by Jasmine Walt
It was a young man.
Brushing sable-dark hair from his jet-black eyes, the man stepped away from the tattered remains, looking down at it briefly with a hero’s sneer of contempt. He strode to the blue army, grabbed a flag, and held it high for everyone to see.
“It’s me,” Lukan whispered in disbelief.
“Lukan, Crown Prince of Chenaya,” a voice he didn’t recognize said, “see what awaits you. A son who will torment and plague you all the days of your life.”
Lightning zigzagged from the cloudless sky, striking his doppelganger in the face. The young man’s image flickered and then re-ignited. He now looked at Lukan through glacial blue eyes.
Lynx’s eyes.
With a derisive smile, he fixed those blue icicles on something behind Lukan. Following his gaze, Lukan saw great plumes of smoke billowing from the roof of the Avanov palace. He watched as the inferno devoured his home, the seat of his government, the heart of his empire.
Lightning sparked again and struck the man in the face. As he crumbled to ash, the smoke from the palace was sucked back into the roof, and the flames guttered and died.
The image flashed and then vanished.
Lukan sank to the floor, trying to make sense of what he’d seen. He had lived all his life with the Dreaded, designed to terrify and control his subjects. What he’d seen here was nothing like any of those.
It had to be a vision. The kind he had read about in Maksim’s journal. He writhed, a thousand phantom ants crawling over him.
Did it confirm that he would be the emperor cursed to be murdered by his own son? But if so, then why did the Dragon rise again to destroy his enemy? Nothing made sense.
But whatever it meant, surely even his father must see that marrying Lynx was impossible if this would result? How to communicate that to Mad Mott was the biggest challenge.
Lukan had no answers that wouldn’t get him beaten to a pulp. Desperate for company to counter his fear, he slammed his apartment door shut and raced to the gambling room he knew Tao—and unfortunately, Axel—frequented. With each step he took, anger mounted in his chest.
A high-born man turned the corner and almost bumped in to Lukan.
“What do you want here?” Lukan yelled at the top of his voice. “Get out of my way.”
The man bobbed a bow, then fled the way he’d come.
Lukan slumped against the wall, even angrier with himself than he was at the high-born, his father, or the vision.
What’s the point of working on my image if I scream at people? The bastard shouldn’t have been here.
But even as he thought that, he knew it was stupid. The man lived in the palace; he had every right to walk the halls.
Lukan had to get a grip. His temper had run riot since Thurban started talking to him. He couldn’t let these weird supernatural things mess with his control like this.
In the face of the worst provocation his father could inflict on him, he’d always managed to appear poised and regal, a man above his circumstances. He had prided himself on that achievement the way Axel strutted around boasting about battlefield conquests.
It was only when his heart stopped pounding that he entered the gambling room.
As to be expected, Tao was with Axel and Stefan.
Lukan stopped at the door to watch them and sighed.
They were playing tiles, a game of military strategy he loathed. No matter how many times he played the stupid game, he always lost. When he was younger, he had even taken lessons from some of Chenaya’s most decorated generals—but to no avail. Whatever tricks he was taught, Axel always knew how to counter him. He had stopped playing tiles years ago.
Axel looked up, caught sight of him, and smiled. It was not a pretty sight.
“Lukan, our beloved crown prince,” Axel drawled in his usual mocking tone.
Both Tao and Stefan turned to stare.
His cousin laughed and said to Tao, “I’ve been spending way too much time with Mother Saskia.”
Heartbreakingly, Tao joined in the laughter. At least Stefan had enough respect to stand and bow, which was more than he could say for Axel.
Lukan’s skin burned with anger at the affront. He took a deep breath and shook his shoulders to force his muscles to relax.
Axel kicked out a chair. “Lukan, come, sit. It’s been a long time since we’ve battled each other over tiles.”
Lukan took the chair. “Don’t get your hopes up, Axel. I have an urge to play dice.” He reached across the table and picked up an unopened pack of dice. He was about to crack the seal when Axel laughed.
Like every encounter with Axel and his cronies, this was turning out to be humiliating.
Axel reached over and took the pack from his hands and tossed it onto an empty table next to them. “Not a chance. If you want part of our action, you play by our rules. And tiles it is.”
Lukan leaped to his feet. Eyes fixed on Tao, he said, “And you say I’m bad company?”
Without waiting for Tao to reply, he left the room. Nothing this side of hell would induce him to spend any more time here. Not when he had to face Lynx in the morning.
18
“Open the door, Princess.”
Lynx groaned, rolled out of bed, and stumbled across the deep-pile carpet to the door.
The she-witch was there, holding out a candle. “Dress,” she commanded. “The emperor summons you. I will take you to his chambers.”
Shock pierced Lynx like a sword. But this hateful woman would never be privy to that.
Feigning nonchalance, Lynx asked, “What time is it?” She held up her wrist. “I wouldn’t need to ask, but someone took it upon herself to destroy my watch.”
The she-witch’s lips twitched. She swallowed and then said in a conciliatory tone, “Let bygones be bygones, Princess Lynx. I’ve discovered, to my cost, that life is too fragile . . . fleeting, even, to bear grudges.” The priestess’s breath hitched. “In fact, my dear, this may well be the last time we see each other.”
Lynx jerked upright. What in the world could have happened to the woman? Was it possible the priestess was human and not just the emperor’s tool, bent on destroying all individuality?
Too little, too late. Lynx took the candle. Once the door closed, she headed for her dressing room, bigger even than her tent in Norin. A maid had hung up the garments Uncle Bear had given her. None of Mother Saskia’s “proper” dresses had made it into the collection. That left her with limited choices. Bustle firmly in place, she slipped on an elegant—or at least she thought it grand—green dress. Her hands trembled as she laced her corset. Without thinking to brush her hair, she rushed to the door to meet the she-witch.
They walked in silence past the guardsmen at the entrance to her apartment.
Lynx made special note of features to help her navigate. A statue of an unknown emperor glared at her from a column, then she passed a wall of stained glass windows, a tapestry depicting a black dragon in full flight, and a wall covered with flags that once belonged to the conquered. A stuffed snow leopard and her cubs were the last notable sight before the parquet floor gave way to slick, marble tiles. Although the furnishings changed, one thing remained constant: the absence of people, aside from the occasional patrolling guardsman.
What was so important that Mott had to drag her out in the middle of the night? She considered asking the she-witch but dismissed the idea almost as it formed. She would know soon enough.
They reached a wooden door guarded by two more soldiers.
Mother Saskia knocked far more tentatively than the rap she’d sounded on Lynx’s door.
Neither the thickness nor the weight of the solid oak muffled Mott’s voice. “Enter.”
Heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, Lynx waited as a sentry opened the door for her. She stopped at the threshold, taking in the expansive room.
Well lit with oil lamps and furnished with heavy wood and leather furniture, it seemed deserted, until Mott spoke from behind a
wing-backed chair. “Get over here, girl.”
Bristling at the tone, Lynx eased around a couple of sofas and a low table toward his chair, facing a blazing fireplace that stretched the length of one wall. Mott waited, dagger in his hand. She forced herself to stand tall, as if she faced knife-wielding emperors every day. She caught an acrid whiff of chenna from his breath, and a goblet of the stuff waited next to his elbow. How sober was he?
Mott wasn’t in a hurry to satisfy her curiosity, keeping her waiting at least a full minute before asking, with nary a slur, “Why are you here, girl?”
Lynx looked at him warily, wondering if this was a trick question.
Mott slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the goblet.
Lynx jumped back, wishing for the umpteenth time she had her weapons.
The emperor reacted by angling his dagger toward her heart. “Since you don’t appear to have an answer, I’ll tell you. You’re here for one reason only: to secure the Chenayan succession or, in words a low-born Norin like you might understand, to produce a son.”
Lynx flushed, and her fists clenched, all fear driven out by anger. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go hang himself, but the dagger was a major deterrent. That didn’t stop her eyes from narrowing.
“Still full of Norin defiance, I see. Well, I’ll soon knock that out of you.” Mott heaved himself up and moved in close. “I’ve watched you since your arrival here, and I’m not happy. At dinner, it was clear you have little interest in the Crown Prince of Chenaya.”
“If I’m just a defiant low-born Norin, why do you even want me for your crown prince?”
Dagger in hand, Mott used his other to touch her face. His clammy fingers pressed a line down her cheek, pinching her lips. “My, you are a wild one. I’m almost tempted to keep you myself.”
She flinched and tried to pull back.
He laughed, and his grip on her mouth tightened, yanking it out of shape. “But it’s not more bastards I need, so I suggest you overcome your squeamishness”—his smile turned ugly—“because if you don’t make me a happy announcement of a pregnancy within three months of your marriage, I’ll send my guardsmen stationed at Tanamre to bring me your father’s head on a pike.”
“No!” Lynx cried out, before suppressing the shock Mott’s words induced.
“And that’s how we welcome guests to the Heartland,” a low voice interrupted. A frail, gaunt man stepped into the room. A large ruby was the only color in his waxy face.
“Felix.” Mott’s hand dropped from her face, and from his gruff tone, she deduced he was unhappy with the intrusion. Then, he laughed as Lynx stared shamelessly at Felix’s almost corpse-like features. “Girl, meet my little brother, Count Felix Avanov, Lord of the Chenayan Household. And father of the brilliant General Axel Avanov.”
Lynx gaped; apart from the ruby, there was no possible resemblance between this waxy, shriveled creature and Axel. It wasn’t hard to imagine him reading her uncle’s letters.
“Rest assured,” Mott continued. “My brother will take great delight in watching your every movement.”
Felix hobbled over to join them.
Mott grabbed Lynx’s chin, forcing her to look at him again. “Princess Lynx of Norin, I will tolerate your flagrant disregard of my dress rules only because my son seems to like ogling you. So, you may wear your skimpy dresses, but know this: unless you wish the view from your bedchamber to be forever marred by the sight of your parents’ rotting heads, you will provide me with the grandson I seek. Now go and do as I’ve commanded.”
Lynx turned and headed for the door, hoping her ramrod-straight back hid the anger and revulsion roiling within her at this terrifying threat.
Mother Saskia waited for her outside the emperor’s office. “Come, Princess, I will escort you back to your chamber.” Fighting against trembling limbs, Lynx walked with her in silence until they were almost at the top of the stairs leading to her apartment.
Finally, the priestess smiled stiffly. “You look pale, Princess, even for a Norin.”
Lynx’s fingers sought her hair, finding a new lock to twirl. The last thing she wanted was to discuss the emperor’s threats with the she-witch, so she changed the subject. “Why did you fetch me? It’s hardly the job for someone of your station.”
The priestess’s lips twitched. “The emperor commands, and I obey. It’s what we all do.” They reached the landing, and the priestess turned her back on the guardsmen standing at attention there. Whispering so softly Lynx had to strain to hear, she added, “Remember, my dear, there is no place in Chenaya for powerful women.” She glided away before Lynx replied.
Lynx watched her go in astonishment and then walked to Kestrel’s room. She stopped at the door and heard gentle snoring. It seemed her sister had not been called. She rested her forehead against the wooden doorframe.
None of this made sense, although it did explain the surprising contents of her wardrobe. Still, surely, the emperor could see Kestrel was best suited for marriage to Lukan? Kestrel would probably be delighted to sleep with the crown prince, bearing him an army of children, if that was what they wanted, so why was Mott bombarding her with unreasonable threats? Threats she had no doubt he would carry out.
And forcing Tao to marry a Norin? What was that about? Why would he want more Norin blood in his line? Weren’t there other families in his empire he could terrorize into coughing up a daughter to marry his son?
She had no answers.
There was only one certainty: she and Lukan had to produce a child. But it was up to the Winds to decide if that child would be a son.
19
Lynx was still curled up in bed after her night pondering Mott’s threats when she heard footsteps at her door.
Someone knocked.
Her heart leaped in her chest. “What now?” she whispered, reluctantly getting up to investigate.
A guardsman stood at attention. He bowed and then spoke in a monotone voice, “Your Highness, I am commanded to tell you that the prenuptial breakfast will commence in one hour. Your lady-in-waiting will be along to collect you.”
Lynx nodded her thanks, and the soldier knocked on Kestrel’s door. Without waiting to greet her sister, Lynx closed her door and made her way to her dressing room.
A silky red dress caught her eye.
She grabbed it before she could change her mind. After Mott’s threats, she could no longer afford to reject Lukan’s advances, and after their spat the night before, she had some work to do to rekindle Lukan’s ardor. Dressing in scarlet and styling her hair was a small sacrifice to make for her family’s safety.
“I can always pull a pillowslip over my head on our wedding night so I don’t have to look at him.” She grimaced; it was unlikely he’d notice—he was so obsessed with the rest of her.
Images of Axel’s strong face, lean body, and beautiful forearms floated before her mind’s eye. Her stomach flipped, shooting desire through every fiber. She gritted her teeth against it and tried to think of Heron, but Axel’s wicked smile mocked her attempt to evict him.
“What’s the matter with me?” she muttered. “Axel is not only a Chenayan, he’s an Avanov, and he sent guardsmen to murder my people.”
Frowning in disgust at herself, she grabbed the dress, some underwear, and a dainty pair of red boots, then headed for her bathroom.
Despite her stress, she grinned with childlike glee as she surveyed the marble bath, big enough for her to lie in. What’s more, it was plumbed with unlimited hot water. Back in Norin, she had to carry buckets of warm water into her tent to fill a small metal drum when she bathed. This was pure luxury, the kind even she could get used to.
She turned on the tap and closed the door to trap the steam. In the corner of the room stood an elegant dresser laden with a dozen pretty glass jars. She dumped her clothes on the floor and opened the lid of the closest one. The sweet scent of orange blossom wafted up to her. Squealing with delight, she plucked the stopper off the next jar and
then the next, until the room was flooded with the heady scent of a dozen exotic flowers and spices.
Perfume had always been her one feminine guilty pleasure, but she could rarely afford to buy any. Heron had once given her a tiny bottle, bought at a market in Lapis. She’d eked it out, making it last for years. Now, here on this dresser, waited more sweet-smelling things than she could have dreamed possible.
Quivering with delight, she stepped back, considering which oil to use in her first palace bath. Her hand hovered over the jasmine and flitted to the frankincense before darting to the rose. Unable to decide, she finally poured a couple of drops from each bottle into the water. She closed her eyes and drank in the scent.
Glorious? Oh, yes. Overpowering? Maybe a little.
Right now, she didn’t care.
Lynx lowered herself into the water and lay back to soak. Her skin was beginning to wrinkle when a respectful knock on her apartment door ripped her from her quiet meditation.
Panicked, she leaped out of the water, grabbed a towel and her clothes, half-drying, half-dressing as she raced into her bedroom. She poked her head around the apartment door, but whoever had called was gone. That didn’t mean she had time to waste. She was busy with her hair when Kestrel rapped on her door.
“Come on, Lynx. I’m starving. What are you doing in there?”
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” Lynx shoved bits of hair back into the bun she was trying to construct. She’d seen a painting once of a girl with her hair in a knot, tendrils curling down her face. Heron had said it looked pretty—for someone without feathers and beads. “It’s just . . . damn, how can this be so hard?”
Kestrel threw open the door. And gasped. “You look . . . stunning. But—but isn’t scarlet a bit much for breakfast?”
“Is it?” Lynx started tugging at the ribbons on her corset. “What’s a breakfast color, then?”
“Leave it.” Kestrel crossed the room in a blur of cream taffeta. “It’s perfect for you.” Her sister’s nose twitched and then erupted with sneezes. Finally, she managed to croak, “Oh my word, Lynx. The oils. How many did you use?”