by Jasmine Walt
Felix smiled as Axel jerked upright.
But all self-satisfaction vanished when Axel drawled, “It wasn’t all night—it was half the night. I spent the rest of the time with Malika.” Unconcerned, Axel folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against the headboard.
“You dare quote the same line to me you used on Lynx!”
“You must be worried about our Norin princess if you’ve added more cameras to her bedchamber, apart from the one I disconnected.” Axel paused. “Or do you like getting off watching her dress?”
The blood rushed from Felix’s face. Axel certainly knew how to try his patience. “That doesn’t warrant an answer.”
Axel stretched his right arm until his shoulder clicked. Then, he did the left. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. She is magnificent.” He swung his legs out of bed, moving with catlike grace Felix could only dream of.
Felix gripped Axel’s arms. “No. You will listen.”
Axel stopped, eyebrows raised.
“How could you show that bitch our secrets? And then tell her about the curse? You’ve made her into a Dmitri sympathizer!”
“‘Sympathizer’? Don’t you mean she could be the mother of the man who destroys the empire? Why don’t you say what you really think, Father?”
Despite Felix’s gasp of disapproval, Axel stepped around him and continued across the room. Felix lumbered forward to stop him as his son’s hand reached the wardrobe door.
Axel turned to face him. “I warned you. Allow me to go to Treven, or I will play havoc with Lynx. When I’m finished with her, you won’t have a secret left.”
Felix always prized himself on his self-control, but rage made him vibrate like a tuning fork. Fighting for calm, he said, “So you knew I would be listening?”
Axel gave one of his infuriating shrugs. “No, but in retrospect, I should have anticipated it. Who planted the new devices?”
“Morass. Who else?”
Axel’s scoff didn’t surprise Felix. Morass was not one of Axel’s favorite guardsmen for all the reasons Felix found the obsequious, greedy man useful. Last night, after watching Lynx and Axel dance, Felix had sent Morass scuttling to her room to hide the cameras.
Just as well, given what Felix had seen on waking this morning.
If someone told him Axel—Axel!—would be guilty of disengaging palace cameras, he would never have believed it. Felix always considered his son too ambitious to risk the security of the empire. He opened his mouth to renew his attack and then closed it again in disbelief.
Axel stood in front of his narrow closet. The rest of the Avanov family had dressing rooms—but Axel owned only a small closet of clothes he had worn for years. He flicked through his trousers as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Not the reaction Felix expected.
The images of Axel cajoling Lynx into a kiss last night had been convincing. After decades of interrogating people, Felix recognized truth when he saw it. Also, if Axel cared for her, then it made sense that he edited out the damning train footage after it had been translated. And damning it was: From Axel’s own lips, Felix heard that Bear had told the bitch he’d help her spy.
Not that it had helped the emissary.
Guardsmen had already called on Bear’s house this morning to arrest him. Right now, Bear faced his executioner.
But none of this explained why Axel took the news of this additional monitoring so casually.
Felix shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I don’t understand you, Axel. If you hadn’t told her about the ice crystal, you could have sullied her. Instead you soured her with tales of cruelty. Care to explain?”
Axel’s smile reminded Felix of a sharpened blade. “Funny, you can scrutinize every aspect of our lives, but you can’t read our thoughts. That must be very frustrating for you, Father.”
“Wrong, Axel. My latest generation of ice crystals can read minds. I call it the Final Word in Human Surveillance.” In fact, some months ago, Felix had visited Lukan’s and Mott’s bed chambers, injecting the tiny chips into their necks as they slept. His devices gave him unparalleled insight into his adversaries. “Don’t force me to use one on you.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Axel’s eyes betrayed his concern, but he looked away, focusing on his clothes instead.
“Don’t try me.” Not that he would ever invade his son, but it didn’t hurt for Axel to think he might, especially now that Axel was being so trying. The boy was going through a phase, one that would pass if Felix just kept his head and didn’t lose his temper.
Axel’s face was as hard as any ice crystal. “I wonder how Lukan and Mott would react if someone told them it was your manipulation creating Thurban’s voice in their heads?”
Felix sucked in a breath. “I told you that in the strictest of confidence. Don’t even think of trying to blackmail me with that information.”
“Why not, when you threaten me with your invasive inventions?”
“You, of all people, should like to see Mott punished.”
Too often, when his son had been a lad, his hateful brother had exploited his rank and Felix’s physical weakness to beat Axel senseless. Felix had never forgiven his brother for that. If he could have murdered Mott, he would have. But with his hatred of Mott, the Fifteen would consider him a prime suspect. Not even he could evade their justice.
“Mad Mott is a paranoid megalomaniac, as you well know,” Felix said, “and the only way to get him to do what serves me—us—is to manipulate him with the voices. Lukan, too. It’s Thurban’s voice in their heads, driving them crazy, that will ultimately put you on the throne.”
“And Tao? You better not have invaded him.” Axel’s voice wavered, a rare sign of weakness.
Felix knew at once that he had been right to exclude Tao from this experiment. Axel would never have forgiven him for bugging his precious cousin.
“Tao, patron of the low-born, is no threat to us. You know that as well as I do. He has no desire to rule and will gladly step down for you.” It was a matter of much mirth amongst the Fifteen that Tao used his resources to fund a dozen or more low-born soup kitchens in Cian.
Some of the tension drained from Axel’s eyes.
Felix pulled a pair of military leathers off a hanger and thrust them at Axel. “Now, if you don’t want me prying in your head, explain to me why you are intent on destroying all my plans for you.”
“I’m off-duty until the wedding.” Axel pushed the offering away and extracted a pair of faded black trousers. He pulled them on with annoying slowness.
“I’m waiting.”
“My motivations are clear. Send me to Treven, and I’ll be a good boy and never meddle with your cameras again.”
If those were Axel’s motives, they weren’t worth hearing.
“Have you considered what will happen to you if Mott finds out you were in Lynx’s room? He’s already panicking about you and Lynx.”
His son picked out a soft blue cotton shirt, also faded from too many washes, and pulled it over his head.
“He’s never going to find out, is he, Father?” Axel tucked the shirttail into his trousers. “You’ll never risk either Mott or Lukan discovering that I canoodled with Lynx. It’s what makes my scheme so—workable.”
Forcing a patience he didn’t feel, Felix said, “Don’t be so sure of yourself. You may find this arrogance to be your undoing.”
“Unlikely.” Axel dug into his closet for a pair of boots. He pulled out a pair, worn at the heels, and sank down onto a chair to pull them on. “You all play so perfectly into my hand. You’re obsessed with hiding things from Mott. He’s convinced everyone will do what he wants, when he wants, because he’s emperor, and Lukan is an idiot.” Dressed, he jumped to his feet.
Felix shook his head in dismay. When his son was off-duty, he dressed like a low-born. It was only the ruby that set him apart as an heir to the throne.
“The only one I need to watch out for is Lynx.” Axel raked his finger
s through his dark hair as if they were a comb. “She’s the one I care most about, and I would not thank you if you forced me into destroying my relationship with her.” Axel’s smile now reminded Felix of an executioner’s axe, ugly and lethal. “But before I allow that to happen, I will inform Lukan and Mott about the voices. I’m sure Lukan will be thrilled to learn you planted Maksim’s journal in the archive to con him into believing Thurban’s voice in his head is real.”
Axel pushed past Felix and headed for the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Unless you want to watch me brush my teeth, this meeting is over.”
Anger flared through Felix, but he controlled it. He had tried reasoning with Axel, but that hadn’t worked. Now it was time to ramp up his game. He straightened his back. “Wrong again, Axel. Nothing is ever over until I say it is.”
With more questions than answers buzzing in his head, Felix made his way back to his lair. Scowling, he unlocked the door and stepped inside his office—and shivered.
The room was cold.
It shouldn’t have been; hidden ducts spewed in hot air both day and night. Someone must have been in here to turn off his heating. That was troubling.
Felix fumbled for the heater’s on-button, concealed behind an oil painting of him and Mott while he scanned the room. His informa wasn’t where he’d left it, and his chair angled toward the wall. He was always meticulous about tucking it away under his desk before leaving the room. Cursing, he moved over to investigate, then stopped as the chair spun to face him.
His breath caught.
Not possible! I locked the door.
Anger replaced his surprise. “You have programmed your thumb onto my office door! How dare you?”
“I am emperor, and there is no door on the planet I cannot enter if I so choose.” Mott, dressed in a full military uniform, waved a dagger in the air, gesturing to the air vents. “I turned that damn thing off, too, because it’s like an oven in here.”
“I like it like that,” Felix snapped, eyeing Mott, waiting for him to reveal the purpose of this unscheduled—and most unwanted—visit.
Mott leaned back in the chair and clunked his boots onto Felix’s treasured antique rosewood desk, making him wince. Then Mott drawled, “So Lynx is not only beautiful, but she’s quite the kisser, too, it would seem.”
30
Desk forgotten, Felix clutched his heart at the emperor’s pronouncement. What good was all his surveillance equipment if Mott could sneak up on him like this?
“Hmm,” Mott said. “And just when did you intend to tell me about Axel’s indiscretion?”
Felix sank into the chair opposite his brother, cursing Morass, the only person who could have reported this terrible news to Mott. “We both know you aren’t an early riser. I would have told you when you decided to grace us with your presence. That’s usually around lunchtime, isn’t it?”
“Careful, little brother.” Mott pointed the dagger straight at Felix’s heart.
Felix pulled in a calming breath. “I understand the problem, Mott. Trust me, I do. And I’m handling Axel. But it’s the Norin bitch who’s the real danger—”
“Chenna?” Mott interrupted. “Where do you keep it?”
Felix raised his pale eyebrows. “Chenna? Now? It’s not even nine o’clock.”
Mott slammed the dagger deep into Felix’s desk, shooting a crack through the wood. Felix scrambled to his feet before his brother inflicted any more damage and staggered to a wall cabinet. He pulled out a crystal decanter and a glass.
“Two more glasses,” Mott commanded. “Count Raklus is joining us.”
“If you’re offering chenna, I’ll take a glass.” The door closed behind Raklus, and he collapsed into a chair next to Felix. His usually florid face was pale and pasty, as if sleep had been scarce.
Shocked anyone wanted chenna before breakfast, Felix didn’t even comment that Mott had keyed his friend’s thumb to open his door. His brother was punishing him for Axel’s infraction with Lynx.
Anxious to preserve the remains of his priceless desk, Felix spread four coasters on the glossy surface before placing the decanter and glasses on each one. Lips pursed, he poured the chenna and watched as both Mott and Raklus snatched for their drinks. They tossed the fiery alcohol back and thumped their glasses down in front of him expectantly, as if he were nothing more than a palace butler.
Felix ignored the gesture and sat down next to Raklus. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”
Mott yanked the dagger from the desk and waved it at Raklus. “Come now, Raklus, my Lord of the Conquest, tell Felix what happened last night while we celebrated Lukan’s betrothal.”
Eyelids fluttering over deep-set eyes, Raklus turned to Felix. “Troops from Lapis have joined Chad in Treven.”
Felix looked at him blankly.
“Don’t be so gormless!” Mott shouted. “It’s not as if you don’t know what Lapis is.”
“I know very well what Lapis is,” Felix said icily. The existence of the Free Nations had always irked Felix. Lapis, with its small printing presses and markets selling those books, annoyed him most of all. “What I cannot surmise is why King Jerawin would risk joining forces with our enemies. Does the man have a death wish?”
“My brother has asked you a question,” Mott said, spewing his ire at Raklus. “Answer him.”
Raklus helped himself to another glass of chenna before mumbling, “He believes Treven stands a chance of beating us in the war.”
“Yes!” Mott’s arm sent Raklus’s chenna glass flying. “And why would he think that, Raklus? Is it because you’re the most useless Lord of the Conquest in the history of the empire?”
Raklus’s face tuned puce. “That isn’t my fault, sire,” he stuttered. “I’ve done my very best to wage that war, but the noxious vapors, they—”
“Count Raklus,” Mott interrupted. “I pay you handsomely to counter things like noxious gas. Or aliens falling from the sky. Or monsters rising from the sea.” His brother punctuated each word by pounding his dagger onto Felix’s desk. “It’s your job to anticipate the impossible and then to defeat it.”
Raklus thumped his hands down onto the desk. “Sire, the wrong general is leading our troops in Treven. Azan may carry the title of Warlord, but he doesn’t know the first thing about waging war.”
Felix grimaced as Raklus shot him an apologetic look. Raklus was aware that Felix had prevented Axel from spearheading the invasion. Under the circumstances, Felix didn’t resent the betrayal. Knowing Mott, Raklus was fighting for his life here.
“Then kill Azan,” Mott yelled. “Why do I have to tell you this? And then send in the right general.” Mott sneered at Felix. “Ah, but that’s not possible, is it? Because the general we need is being hidden behind his father’s cloak here at the palace.” His brother’s dagger gouged a chunk of wood out of the desk.
“I take it you are referring to my son?” Felix said, trying to ignore the conflicted poundings of his panicked heart. He certainly didn’t want Axel going to Treven, but if his son replaced Azan, he would be the youngest Warlord in the history of the empire.
“Who else but Axel?” Mott’s hand drifted to the informa lying on the ravaged desk.
Without a doubt, his brother was blackmailing him.
It confused him. If Mott were planning to promote Axel, why show those damning images of his idiot son kissing that Norin bitch? Even though Raklus was his oldest friend, Felix could not bear to have Axel’s reputation sullied.
He spoke quickly. “Mott, I told you, I’m handling Axel. I’ve decided to put him on the Treven command team here at the palace. He will have access to the threat-boards and will be able to advise the commanders on the ground on a moment-by-moment basis on how best to manage the campaign. It will keep him so busy he won’t have time to think about other . . . distractions.”
“Not good enough.” Mott callously stroked his thumb against the informa.
The image of Axel kissing Lynx burst open before the
m.
Raklus gasped.
Blackmailed. Again. Felix couldn’t stop a vein from pulsing in his temple. There was now only one way out of this crisis Axel had plunged him into. Voice filled with resignation, Felix said, “Axel has earned his place back on the battlefield. I will instruct him to leave today.”
Raklus threw up his hands in obvious relief. “The Dragon has finally heard my prayer. I’m sorry, my friend,” he said to Felix, “but the needs of the empire must surely take precedence over individuals.” Raklus leaped up, bowed to Mott, and started for the door. “I’ll go and issue the orders for Azan’s arrest and execution. Then, I’ll promote Axel to Warlord.”
Mott grabbed Raklus’s cloak, pinning it to Felix’s desk with the dagger. “Sit. Stay. I said nothing about promoting Axel to Warlord.” His brother gave Felix a withering glare. “Yet.”
Knotted in his cloak, Raklus sat, his face a mixture of puzzlement and fear. Mott snatched the crystal decanter and slopped more chenna onto the desk than into his glass. Felix resisted the urge to mop it up with his handkerchief.
With infinite slowness, Mott sipped his drink while Felix—and Raklus—waited. To hide his fear and anticipation, Felix pulled out his handkerchief and made a show of blowing his nose.
Finally, his brother slapped his lips together and announced, “There must be no doubt in anyone’s mind that siding with our enemies leads to annihilation. To that end, Axel will remain here until after the wedding festival. Then, using his current rank, he will head a campaign to Lapis. Should he meet my battle objectives, I will promote him to far greater things than just Warlord.”
There was only one military rank higher than Warlord, and that was Lord of the Conquest—Raklus’s job.
Sweat broke out on Raklus’s forehead, and Felix wasn’t sure if he should commiserate with his friend or rejoice for Axel. This was certainly a strange prize for messing with the crown prince’s betrothed. Felix opened his mouth to speak just as the office door slid open again.
So much for all his security.
Once this meeting was over, he’d change those access codes, and no one—no one—he didn’t authorize would ever enter his lair again.