Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  Mott’s words seemed to flush his nephew’s anger. Felix jolted his head up, concerned at that change. Something must have happened since the ball. Felix itched to leave the room to see what Lukan had been up to since deserting Lynx on the veranda.

  It had to wait.

  Then a thought struck him. Had Dmitri visited with Lukan the way the dead seer had when Felix enjoyed the title of crown prince? It seemed likely as the cursed Dmitri made a point of harassing all direct to the throne.

  When Lukan spoke, his voice was incredulous, confirming Felix’s fears. “Really? A mythical curse?” Still hiding the knife, Lukan spun, his eyes searching the carpet. He pounced on Felix’s informa, lying in a pool of chenna, and thrust it at Mott. “So explain why we have these.”

  With a disparaging wave, Mott brushed the broken informa away. “For four hundred years, crown princes have dreaded the day they must marry, and for four hundred years, they have been proven wrong. The Dmitri Curse is nothing but a legend designed to castrate us.”

  “And that explains why you and he” —his nephew lashed his hand out again, this time smacking Felix in the chest— “monitor everyone who moves?”

  “We monitor people so we can stay in power. A concept you would do well to grasp, Crown Prince,” Felix said, trying to further goad Lukan’s anger. It always puzzled him that Mott could so blithely disregard knowledge of the curse that Dmitri would have imparted to him before his marriage to a Norin princess. But that was Mott, through and through.

  Lukan glared at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Mott answered. “Power comes with succession, Lukan. This empire has stood for four hundred years because Avanov men have always subdued the Norin beauties Thurban provided for us. But what a disappointment you are. I doubt you have the balls to bring Lynx to heel. She will never submit to you.” Mott shoved Lukan’s shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling back. “Axel will have her, just as surely as Axel will govern Chenaya when I fulfill all your wishes and die. He’ll be the true ruler while you strut around, pretending to be emperor.”

  Felix watched Lukan with cold detachment, wondering how the crown prince was taking that unpleasant truth, finally aired. Lukan’s face was deathly white, yet his eyes burned.

  Felix prayed for an explosion of rage, but when Lukan spoke, his voice and face were eerily calm.

  “Actually, Father, I have a better idea.” The steel dagger flashed into Lukan’s hand, and his arm arched toward Mott.

  Felix grunted with pleasure as Lukan plunged the blade at Mott’s chest. His pathetic nephew had finally become a man. Pity he wouldn’t survive long enough to enjoy the experience. The Fifteen would take care of that once news of his regicide reached them.

  Then someone screamed. Raklus.

  Felix watched with some irritation as the count hurtled into Mott, sending him flying out of the trajectory.

  Lukan swore as the dagger thwacked harmlessly into the wood paneling.

  “Raklus!” Lukan yelled. “I’ll make you pay for getting in my way. And you”—his nephew kicked out at Mott—“maybe it’s about time you learned just how real the Dmitri Curse is.”

  Despite, the failure of his assassination attempt, Felix’s mouth gaped with delight. Never before had Lukan raised a finger in self-defense when his father had beaten him. A drop of spittle ran down Felix’s chin. He wiped it away with a quick swipe of his hand.

  Thurban’s manipulative voice had been a resounding success.

  Lukan kicked Mott in the kidneys, something Thurban had suggested more than once that Lukan should do. Raklus tried to protect his liege, only to catch Lukan’s boot in the stomach. Mott, knotted up on the floor with Raklus, did nothing but grunt. After landing a final kick to the emperor’s ribs, Lukan stormed from the room.

  Thrilled with one success—but disappointed that it hadn’t translated into Mott’s death—Felix leaned against his chenna-stained wall, arms folded, as his brother wrestled to disentangle himself from Raklus. Once on his feet, with a presence of mind that astonished Felix, the emperor strode over and ripped the dagger out of the paneling.

  “My mind is made up,” Mott announced. “I wanted to wait until Lukan provided me a grandson before I acted, so the succession wouldn’t fall to my other worthless son, but I can’t take any more chances. Lukan must die. Now.”

  Felix snorted. This was Mad Mott at his best—also helped along by the skillful use of Thurban’s voice. Felix’s lips twitched with a smile. Hearing people whisper about Mad Mott’s insanity was gratifying payback for his brother’s decision to rob him of a place in the succession. And, in the end, it didn’t matter how Mott—or Lukan—died, as long as Axel got the throne.

  Felix righted a chair and sat in it. “So, the future of the empire depends on that wimp, Tao, with Kestrel. What a lot we have to look forward to after your death. Tao will have given everything away to the low-born before you’re even cold in your grave.”

  Through Thurban’s voice, he had tried hard to persuade Mott against organizing a bride for Tao, but his brother had proved stubbornly resistant to that suggestion.

  Mott glared at him, then gestured with the dagger to Raklus to right a chair for him to sit on. Raklus leaped to obey. He picked up one for himself, too, but didn’t get to sit. Once enthroned, holding his dagger like a scepter, Mott commanded Raklus to leave. Raklus’s dark eyes shot to Felix, looking for answers.

  Although Felix knew enough of Mott’s thoughts to guess what was coming, he shrugged as if he, too, were clueless. While Raklus left the room, Mott ran his fingers down the blade of the dagger, as if testing its sharpness.

  Once the door slid closed, his brother said, “Who mentioned anything about Tao living long enough to inherit my throne? I don’t trust him any more than I do Lukan.”

  Felix faked a sigh. “For someone who claims not to believe in the Dmitri Curse, you are unreasonably paranoid about your sons.”

  “Only someone who isn’t emperor of the richest, most powerful dynasty in the world could be naïve enough to make a comment like that.” Mott cleared his throat and then added, flippantly, “It’s why I’ve never remarried. At least my bastards have no legitimate claim to my throne and are therefore not inclined to fling daggers at me.”

  Felix took a moment to think on how to steer this discussion—and Mott’s mind. “I foresee problems if you pursue this course.”

  It was his brother’s turn to sigh. “You always do.”

  “If you slaughter Lukan and Tao, who will provide the grandsons?” Face expressionless, Felix eyed Mott over steepled fingers. “I assume you’re hoping Axel will father sons for you to claim as your own?”

  Mott snorted. “And have the succession shift to your side of the family? The next emperor will come from my loins, not yours. I will not go down in history as the man who failed to provide a decent heir to a four-hundred-year-old dynasty. My sons are pathetic, but I have a plan to solve that problem.”

  “I hope you do because the Fifteen will never permit one of your bastards to ascend to power,” Felix said.

  Mott laughed. “You are too stupid to see the finer workings of my mind. But I don’t have the time—or the inclination—to explain it all to you.”

  Felix smiled inwardly. If his brother realized half of what he knew about his mind, Mott would thrust that dagger into his chest before he got his next breath out.

  “So let’s just stick with what you can understand,” Mott said, voice bleeding condescension. “Once the wedding festivities are over, Lukan will die. That gives him at least two nights to get his seed into the Norin rebel. I hope the bitch is fertile.” Mott glared at Felix. “And I don’t expect any mishaps with the monitoring of the murdering bastard. You are to watch him, and at the first sign of trouble, you will kill him.”

  Mott was even more unhinged than Felix gave him credit for.

  He resisted the urge to scoff. “Was I the only one who saw the images of Lynx slobbering over Axel?” />
  A troubled frown settled on Mott’s face. “Lynx is certainly willful, given the threat hanging over her family.” He paused. “But I’m not without resources. I have already sent Lynx a message. When she’s done listening to it, she will believe Axel betrayed her. That will make her despise him as much as she now detests Lukan.”

  “And that will get her into Lukan’s bed?” Felix shook his head, unable to believe the level of his brother’s stupidity.

  “Oh, I think Lukan’s lust will take care of that. He’s been drooling for her since the summer. Her skimpy little dresses only increase his desire for the whore.” Mott smiled maliciously. “That, and my goading about Axel will do the trick.” His brother rubbed his heart, so recently rescued from Lukan’s killing blow. “There are few things my son hates more than being compared to his cousin.”

  Felix strove—and failed—to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “And if Lukan does manage to drag Lynx off to his bed, do you think a couple of pokes will be enough to produce your heir?”

  Mott tapped his dagger against his thumbnail. “Possibly not. But it’s the risk of the game, isn’t it? That’s why I insisted on Kestrel for Tao. As soon as she delivers a boy, I’ll have Tao’s throat slit, too.”

  Felix shivered, but he pulled his cape around his shoulders to hide it. Even though he had no qualms about murdering Mott and Lukan—or anyone else, for that matter—not in his wildest dreams could he imagine wanting to harm his own children. But it was his brother’s cruelty—and an addiction for brain-rotting chenna—that had made him so open to persuasion by Thurban.

  “And if Tao can’t prove himself useful by providing an heir?” Felix taunted.

  Mott looked pained. “Then he will pay for that insolence by dying. And before you ask, I will then have no choice but to take another wife. Perhaps my next crop of sons will be less of a disappointment.”

  “So that’s been your plan all along, to purge your sons?” Felix hoped the question preempted any suspicion that he knew Mott’s motives.

  “Don’t be so crass, brother. Purges are your thing, not mine.” Mott’s smile broadened. “We’ll only have one other death to celebrate this wedding season—Raklus’s. A fitting end to a pathetic career, don’t you think?”

  This was too much, even for Felix. He gasped, shooting forward on his chair. “Raklus? The man who just saved your life?”

  “Astonishing irony, isn’t it? But yes. He needs to make place for a new Lord of the Conquest if we are to win the war in Treven. And that new lord needs to understand that failure is deadly.”

  “Axel,” Felix said, slapping his hand onto his thigh with frustration. “You intend to kill my friend and replace him with my son?”

  “It’s called giving with one hand while taking with the other.”

  “It’s called iniquity.”

  Mott held up his dagger to silence Felix. “Enough, little brother. Let’s recall the sequence of events that led to the war with Treven.” Knowing what was coming, Felix’s body locked rigid. “You were the one clamoring for the invasion—therefore, we could say you are equally responsible for the losses we have suffered.”

  Felix brushed his wispy hair away from his face. “You know as well as I do that we needed a fresh supply of ice crystals. The biggest reserves in the world are in Treven.”

  “So you keep telling me, but it seems only fitting that you should offer some sacrifices to pay for your poor counsel.”

  “And my son and friend are those sacrifices?”

  “If you choose to be that melodramatic, yes.” Mott grimaced. “But the hard, cold fact is that, right now, Chenaya needs a military leader with balls of steel.”

  “Yes,” Felix said. “Who else but a man who would help himself to the crown prince’s betrothed?”

  “Precisely,” Mott said, with a smugness that made Felix want to hit him. “I intend to give Axel a chance to prove if his balls are merely itching for a beautiful girl or if they are indeed loaded with the stuff that makes a Lord of the Conquest great.”

  Felix cursed Axel’s stupidity and life-threatening arrogance under his breath. Not to mention the sudden lucidity of his brother’s mind. “And the attack on Lapis will prove that to you?”

  “Of course not. That’s a mere diversion. I have no doubt Axel will crush Lapis without breaking a sweat.”

  “Then what?”

  “Telling Lynx about the ice crystals was an affront I’m struggling to come to terms with—even from Axel,” his brother said. “He has to make up for that by rendering me a service. It’s the only way I can trust his loyalty.”

  “What kind of service?” Felix asked warily. This conversation had taken a turn he had not foreseen and did not appreciate.

  “Before leaving for Lapis, he will kill Lukan and Raklus. He will then finish the job after Tao’s first son is born. Until then, he is under probation.”

  Felix’s icy blood chilled. “You plan to make my son complicit in murdering the crown prince and his brother? So—so you can blackmail and control him all his life? The Fifteen will never condone those murders. The minute they hear of them, they will howl for Axel’s blood.”

  “That will teach him to go chasing whores.” Mott grinned.

  “Never!” Felix stood, pulling his body as straight as possible. “I will not permit it.”

  “Shut up, Felix,” his brother said, dragging him back down onto his seat. “Axel isn’t a child. He’s a man with an appetite for power and beautiful women. He can have both—if he does what I command. If he fails, then, as valuable as he is on the battlefield, I’ll know he cannot be trusted, and I will hand him over to the Fifteen to do with him as they please.”

  Felix knew very well that any trial would be a farce. The Fifteen would be commanded to execute Axel, and they dared not disobey. His pale face flushed. “And you expect me to support this . . . this abomination?”

  Mott slammed his dagger into Felix’s dangling sleeve, trapping his hand to the arm of the chair. “Yes, I do. If you wish to live, because, as you yourself said, I’m in the mood for purges.” His brother pulled the knife free. “Now go and break the good news to your son.”

  Felix sat motionless. “Axel will never agree to this.”

  “Oh yes, he will, when you tell him to clear a space in his bed for Lynx. She can be his first prize. And when he’s tired of her, he can throw her to the wolves for all I care.”

  Mott flung the dagger at the chenna-stained portrait of the two of them hanging on the wall. The knife sliced a perfect gash in Felix’s throat.

  “Now go, before I finish you off and break the news to him myself.”

  34

  Lynx shook her head, refusing to believe that she had been so wrong about Axel. Why would he betray her? What did he have to gain? It didn’t make sense to her.

  There had to be more cameras in her room, ones Axel hadn’t known about last night. Cameras he’d discovered today.

  So what was Mott playing at?

  Cursing herself for not joining Axel for breakfast, she ran to the door, intent on finding him. As she reached for the handle, the door flung open, and Kestrel burst into the room.

  “Aren’t you excited?” Kestrel yipped, waving a diamond and emerald encrusted egg in the air. “It’s such an honor.”

  Lynx’s jaw sagged.

  “The raid. Didn’t anyone tell you?” Kestrel asked.

  Lynx shook her head to shake her sense of surrealism. The only raid she knew concerned their parents’ heads, but not even Kestrel could be that callous. Not trusting her voice, she prized the egg from Kestrel’s hand and opened it. No light burst forth. Instead, cushioned on a bed of gold, sat a miniature ostrich egg. She looked at Kestrel.

  Kestrel’s eyes gleamed back at her. “Everyone got an egg like this at breakfast. At least all us young high-born did. Oh, and Lukan wasn’t there. Although everyone was whispering about what happened last night. What were you thinking?”

  “All the wrong things.
Trust me, Kestrel, if I could undo that punch, I would. But I can’t. Now I just have to do my best to save the situation for both of us.”

  “Both of us?” Kestrel took a step back. “I’m not involved in your problems, Lynx. I’ve been the model princess. No one can criticize me.”

  “Of course you are.” Lynx sighed. “Okay, tell me about this egg.”

  “We’re having a treasure hunt today,” Kestrel breathed, all concern forgotten. “In a labyrinth, here in the palace. But,” she gave a mock bow and then squealed, “in our honor, the main prize is a golden ostrich egg covered in jewels. It goes to the person who finds it first.” Kestrel spun around, making her skirt twirl.

  Since when did Kestrel care about egg raids?

  “At last, I get a chance to raid an egg without the risk of killing myself.”

  “A mock raid?” Lynx demanded, biting back bile. “Can’t you see it? They’re insulting us, Kestrel. Norin culture. Our culture.”

  “Lynx, I’ve always believed in embracing the good from both cultures—and this is as good as an egg raid gets.” Kestrel snatched her enameled egg back from Lynx. “We are not savages living in Norin anymore. This is the Heartland, where they do things with class and style—and without unnecessary bloodshed. And at the end, one gets something of value—not just your stupid honor.” She rolled her eyes. “And with Tao so willing to give away everything he has, this is about the only way I’ll get any riches.”

  Regardless—or maybe in spite—of the cameras, it was time to educate her sister. Lynx grabbed her egg informa off the table and sat on the bed. “I have something to show you that may change your mind about how civilized they are.”

  “Make it quick because the raid is about to start, and I plan to be first off the line. I came to you because I didn’t want you to miss out.”

  “This won’t take long, I promise.” Lynx waited until Kestrel sat before opening the lid on her egg.

  Nothing but a miniature ostrich egg glinted back at her. Lynx swore, prodding it with her finger, but no light or voice beamed forth. Mott’s presence had obviously been a onetime wonder.