by Jasmine Walt
38
Lukan made no protest as his uncle pulled him along. His mind in a whirl, he barely noticed where Felix was taking him until they reached the heavy steel door guarding the lair. Lukan lifted his thumb to the scanner, but Felix brushed his hand away.
“That will do you no good.” Knees creaking, his uncle crouched down until he was eye level with the tiny red glow emanating from the reader.
Lukan frowned, wondering what he was doing, just as the door slid open.
“New security measures. I still have to adjust the height of the scanner,” Felix grunted. “This way, Highness.”
Felix grabbed Lukan’s arm and marched him down the concourse that dissected the lair. The echo of their boots on the concrete floor bounced off the stark white walls. Their shadows, cast by harsh neon lights, passed door after door that hid Felix’s secrets.
Finally, his uncle stopped at a portcullis. A relic from ancient times, it looked out of place in this utilitarian passageway. But like all the doors inside the lair, the grate guarding the palace dungeons had been coated in titanium, making it virtually indestructible. Once incarcerated behind that portcullis, there would be no escape.
Lukan’s breath caught. His uncle wouldn’t dare imprison him, would he? He stopped several steps from the opening.
“What are we doing here?”
“There is someone inside awaiting our pleasure.”
“Who?”
“Patience, my crown prince, and all will be revealed.” His uncle creaked down again and eyed the scanner. Silently, the portcullis rose. By the time it disappeared into the brickwork, Felix had straightened his back. He waved Lukan into the narrow, dim passageway on the other side of the arch.
Nose scrunched at the putrid smell, Lukan folded his arms across his chest. “I think I have been more than patient, Uncle. I now expect an explanation before I go anywhere with you.”
His uncle had the temerity to sigh. “The person whom I wish you to meet holds the key to solving both of our problems.”
“Your problems?” Lukan said incredulously. “What could possibly be troubling you?”
Another sigh. “My dear nephew, it should comfort you to know that you do not hold the entire world’s burdens on your shoulders. Others have troubles, too, you know.”
Lukan leaned against the wall. Only one thing—or person—could worry Felix. “Axel. You don’t like his role in this any—”
“Any more than you do.” Felix scowled. “I will not see my son used in this way. Together, you and I have the power to change Mad Mott’s mind—and the course of history.”
Lukan snorted. Yet another person offering him a chance to change the world.
Somehow, Lukan doubted his uncle’s offer would be any more appealing than Dmitri’s suggestion to tell the high-born their gemstones were ice crystals programmed with tracking devices. But with a contract on his head, he was clean out of options. He reluctantly waved at the open maw leading to the dungeons. “After you.”
A line of grasping hands, protruding through narrow bars guarding each cell, greeted him as he stepped into the passageway. Temporary accommodation, these cubicles—so small, not even a child could stand upright—were used to house hapless palace dwellers caught between death or deportation to the prison camps. Most of them were here because Felix’s cameras had caught them disparaging the crown.
The minute Lukan shifted into view, the prisoner closest to the portcullis broke into a plaintive wail. “Your Highness, Crown Prince Lukan, have mercy. Spare me.”
The cry was taken up by other prisoners, building into a wave as he strode the length of the passageway between the lines of cells. Arms tightly to his side, Lukan stopped at the end of the passage. Silently, he cursed his father, Axel, his uncle, even Lynx, for forcing him into a clandestine meeting in this horrible place. Working to blot out the wails, he turned to Felix. “This had better be quick.”
“I assure you, it will be both quick and effective—for both of us.” Felix opened yet another titanium door. “Our prize is in here.”
A spotlight illuminated a man hunched in a tiny cell. His arms covered his face in a futile attempt to protect his eyes from the harsh glare.
Lukan’s stomach knotted, and bile filled his throat. “And who is this unfortunate creature?”
At the sound of his voice, the man looked up, squinting into the light. “Your Highness? Is it possible?”
Lukan sucked in a breath. It was Morass. He was about to step forward to speak to him when Felix gripped his arm, whispering, “Thanks to my light, he cannot see us. It would be better for our discussion if it stayed that way.”
Lukan licked his lips, then nodded. At Lukan’s silence, all hope died on Morass’s face. His head dropped back into his hands.
A thousand ants seemed to crawl over Lukan’s skin. Desperate to be away from here, he turned to Felix. “Talk.”
Felix stepped around a wall, out of Morass’s hearing. “That cretin betrayed us both.”
“Not so fast.” Lukan threw up his hands. “He was loyal to me. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have known about Axel and Lynx.”
“Yes,” his uncle spat, “and neither would your father. It’s all due to Morass’s eager tattling that you find yourself with an axe dangling over your head.”
The imagery made Lukan shiver. “You can thank your ice crystals for that. You are the one who programmed loyalty to the crown.” He turned to look into the room housing Morass’s cell. “Now let him go.”
Lukan didn’t expect his uncle to obey, so it surprised him when Felix pushed a button on the wall and the grate to Morass’s cell slid open. As pleased as Lukan was with the deference, it unsettled him. What was his uncle after? Every sense alert, he watched Morass crawl out.
Uniform filthy and smelling of death—presumably from the last victim who had occupied the cell—Morass hunched on his knees. He raised his arms to cover his eyes from the light. “My lord,” he stammered. “I—I felt a compulsion . . .” A thick tongue flicked across dry lips. “One I could not deny. That is why I spoke to the emperor and the crown prince.”
Lukan looked at his uncle in triumph. “See? I was right. Your ice crystals did this.” He had the satisfaction of hearing his uncle grunt. “Now turn off the light,” he commanded, taking full advantage of Felix’s discomposure.
Without moving from the shadows, his uncle obeyed. Lukan stepped forward to face Morass.
The soldier staggered to his feet, seemed to remember himself, and bowed low, sinking again to his knees. “Your Highness, I am your loyal guardsman. I will do anything you ask.”
Lukan grimaced, unnerved by the quiet fervor in Morass’s voice. Even faced with torture and death, the jasper controlled the man’s emotions, turning him into little more than a machine with no regard for his own life. Lukan had never seen an ice crystal operate this effectively. His mind reeled with possibilities. “Stay here, on your knees, until I return.”
“Of course, Your Highness. As you command, Your Highness.” He even sounded detached.
Lukan stepped out of the room, eager to see if Morass would continue to obey. “Turn the lights back on,” he commanded his uncle.
The light flashed on. Morass cried out in pain as it blasted his face, but apart from raising his hands, the man barely moved.
Lukan faced his uncle. “You have somewhere to sit in this foul place, no doubt? And I require an informa.”
“Of course, Crown Prince. This way.” Two steps down, his uncle slid open a door into a guardroom, now deserted. He gestured to a wooden chair. “Not the most lavish accommodation, but it will do.” Felix pulled a button-shaped informa tangled with a bloody handkerchief out of his pocket.
Lukan winced, refusing to touch it. “Program it to the camera watching Morass. I want to see how far his obedience stretches.”
“He will obey until given another command,” his uncle said, opening a visual of Morass kneeling in the light. Sweat poured down his
face, arms, and torso, but he hadn’t moved an inch.
Not wanting to view this torture he had commanded, Lukan faced his uncle. “So this is something new you have concocted?”
“Indeed.” His uncle waved his hand. “But then, I am always looking to enhance my systems. It is how I serve the crown—by ensuring we always have new technology to meet any situation, no matter how bizarre.”
Lukan snorted. Being on his father’s hit list was certainly bizarre. Still, something here didn’t make sense. He pointed to the image of Morass. “Then why did he betray you? I am sure it was not in your—or Axel’s—interest for Morass to tell my father about Lynx’s perfidy.”
“No, indeed it was not.” His uncle glowered. “An unfortunate hitch in my programming. The cretin should have been loyal to me.” Bony fingers flicked at the image of Morass. “But a few tweaks, and it should not happen again.”
Lukan’s eyes widened. “Then why is he obeying me if you programmed him to do your will?”
“Because, nephew, I rather suspect that we share the same will.”
So, they had finally reached the point of this discussion. Lukan waited while his uncle steepled his fingers, watching him.
Finally, Count Felix broke the silence. “We both want your father dead.”
“We do?” Lukan asked cautiously.
“Perhaps I presume to speak for you, Highness, but I certainly have no use for an emperor who would use my son for his dirty work.”
Lukan bristled. Even here, in the most basic of familial loyalty, Axel bested him with a father who actually cared for his well-being. It made Lukan hate his cousin—and Mott—all the more.
“It seems my father has few friends of late. What do you propose?”
His uncle pursed his lips. “With a little programming, a tweak here, a tweak there, I believe I can persuade our friend Morass to murder the emperor.”
Judging by Felix’s expectant expression, Lukan guessed he should have been shocked, but he wasn’t. That thought had already lodged in his mind. Although nothing much to look at now, Morass was a guardsman, trained in warfare and weaponry. He could very easily use those skills to kill Mott.
“And who takes the throne?”
A faintly shocked expression darted across his uncle’s face. “Why, you of course, Highness.”
Lukan was tempted to snort again, but he resisted the urge. Did Felix consider him a complete idiot? “I expected you would wish that honor for Axel. How do I know you won’t tweak Morass to kill me, too?”
Felix’s mouth dropped, aghast. Lukan couldn’t decide if it was at the suggestion of Axel on the throne—unlikely—or at the blatant accusation that his uncle would kill him.
“Crown Prince, you malign me. I have spent my entire life serving the crown. Every invention, every device has been aimed at ensuring the safety of the emperor and his sons—you and your brother Tao.”
“Please, save the bleeding heart. Why should I believe that you would put me on the throne and not Axel?”
His uncle pulled his cloak tight around his frail shoulders and dropped his voice. “It pains me to say this, Highness, but Axel has proven himself . . . easily swayed of late. I worry that he will not take guidance well, should he ever ascend to the throne.”
Guidance? Command and control by Felix, more like it.
As much as Lukan doubted his uncle’s integrity, he decided to wait until he had a better idea of what Felix proposed. “‘Easily swayed’? By Norin traitors? Is that what you are implying?”
Felix’s face clenched. “I have a solution for that, too. Tomorrow, at the wedding, when Morass eliminates your father, he can kill that Norin bitch, too.”
“Lynx!” A chill flushed through Lukan. “H-how do you think Axel will react if we murder his love?”
“‘Love’?” Felix scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Crown Prince. My son, it turns out, is a consummate actor. Trust me, he feels no more love for the bitch than you do. He’s merely using her to get to me.”
If Felix didn’t believe Axel loved Lynx, then it was possible he knew nothing about Dmitri’s appearance. The dead seer had been very clear about the love between Axel and Lynx.
Or he was lying.
Lukan rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, filing that information away for later study. But in the meantime, he could not be complacent—he had no desire to be flayed. His skin and muscles trembled at the very thought.
The only solution was to add Axel’s name to Morass’s hit list.
Lukan huffed a breath. Felix would never agree to his son’s death. But somewhere, there was a solution. He just had to find it. “Your idea has potential. How do you propose we proceed?”
“Simple, really. You are to command Morass to shoot two quarrels: one at your father’s heart and one at Lynx’s.” A gash of a smile split Felix’s face. “I have something special in mind for the Norin rebel.” He pulled a glass vial filled with an iridescent yellow substance from his pocket and held it up to Lukan. “I’ve finally gotten my hands on the poison the Norin use with such devastating effect against our troops. I was going to use it for another project I had in mind, but this is altogether more pressing.”
Lukan gasped. “How?”
“My operatives waylaid a Norin savage on his return trip from Tanamre after the princesses were dropped off.” Felix was positively gloating.
Lukan shook his head, still not quite understanding. As part of Norin fealty to their king, a raider would sooner shoot himself with the debilitating, slow killing poison than let it fall into a guardsman’s hands.
“The savage never even saw my guardsmen coming.” His uncle gave a rare chuckle. “We—and the vultures—have benefited from his lack of foresight.”
The guardsmen had killed a raider and left his corpse to bake in the sun? Lukan shivered.
Felix showed no reaction. “I propose filling Lynx’s quarrel with this poison. Fitting, is it not, that one of Thorn’s raiders should die a slow, painful death from their own poison?”
Lukan swallowed, wondering how Axel would react to Lynx dying in agony. Not well, to be sure. He pushed the thought aside. His father had left him no choice but to do what Felix suggested.
Unless . . .
Lukan cocked his head to the side, so deep in thought he barely saw his uncle watching him.
Unless he did what Dmitri asked and told the high-born about their gemstones. Was Dmitri’s plan a possible way out of this mess? Perhaps it was the only way out. Lukan closed his eyes, wishing he were in his archives, where he would have made a careful list of pros and cons.
But he wasn’t in his archives. He was here in the dungeons, torturing an innocent man with white-hot light, while Felix shuffled around, waiting for answers.
His thoughts began to tumble through his mind. How would it change things if he left here now and announced to the high-born that their gemstones were frauds? Would they revolt? That seemed likely. Would that insurrection give him time to breach the lair to disengage the ice crystals?
And what about Felix’s new program on the door—the eye thing? Without the reader being programmed to his eye, could he get in? He glanced up at Felix, waiting patiently for him. Would he have to remove his uncle’s head and use his eyes? Would that even work? His stomach turned at the thought. Perhaps Axel would take care of that detail.
Lukan shook his head, knowing that would never happen. Morass, then. He could be commanded to kill Felix. Lukan glanced at the informa. Morass had collapsed face-first onto the floor where Lukan had instructed him to stay.
And then another, even more horrifying thought struck.
Lukan felt the blood rush from his face. His uncle would never let him leave here alive without securing an agreement. He licked his lips. Even if he attempted to kill Felix now, it would probably do no good. Lukan glanced around the room, looking for booby traps.
Even though he saw nothing obvious, he wasn’t fooled. Felix was too canny, too devious not to consider that option. So
mething would shoot out to impale him if he made a threatening move.
Lukan suddenly understood what Dmitri had meant about the complications that came with prevarication. Had Dmitri foreseen this? Sweat trickled down his back. He had no choice but to appear to be in cahoots with Felix’s scheme—at least until he was out the door, and the sooner that happened, the better.
Struggling to steady his nerves, Lukan nodded. “Let’s break the news to Morass. I have no doubt my father is in one of the gambling rooms. Of Lynx’s whereabouts, I’m not so sure.” He stepped toward the door, but his uncle grabbed his arm.
“Highness, timing is everything. Your father is on his guard tonight.” Felix flicked through the programs on the informa, alighting on an image of Mott playing dice in the Green Room with some of the men from the Fifteen. He was surrounded by guardsmen.
Lukan sighed. No one with a crossbow—or any weapon—could get close to the emperor tonight. It made the risk of telling the high-born about their stones that much greater.
His uncle’s voice broke his train of thought. “Allay his fears by agreeing to marry Lynx. Then, tomorrow, after the wedding ceremony, Morass can let fly his quarrels.”
Lukan frowned, and then his face cleared. Tomorrow, all the high-born would be assembled in the great hall for the wedding. It would be an ideal time to break the news to them, before Morass could harm Lynx. He heaved a sigh of relief. Wrong reaction. But his uncle didn’t seem to notice.
Lukan cleared his throat. “You can explain those details to Morass when you brief him.” He turned to leave, then paused and pointed at his uncle’s informa. “I will see myself out. Program my eye to your door scanner.”
Felix slipped his informa into his pocket and pulled out his filthy handkerchief again. After a show of nose and mouth wiping, he said, “That is not possible, Highness. At the moment, Morass obeys you. As you know, I have had trouble changing the commands on the ice crystal, and thus, he has already betrayed me, twice. I would hate for it to happen for a third time, particularly with a command as important as this one.”