Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  Her jealousy didn’t concern him. Lukan clasped Lynx’s arm and set off toward the main doors to the great hall. Tao and Kestrel followed, with Axel bringing up the rear.

  The great hall was festive, with huge garlands of red roses spilling between black and gold bunting. An army of low-born waited in the kitchen to clear the chairs away and set up tables for a wedding feast Lukan knew would never happen.

  Not after the death of his father.

  The moment the guardsman at the door spotted their procession, he blasted his trumpet, and every knee—apart from the emperor’s—bent.

  Gliding slowly, as only a crown prince moments away from claiming the throne could, Lukan led Lynx up an aisle set between rows of seats lining both sides of the hall. Although years of practice ensured he could appear serene—majestic even—under the most trying of circumstances, the back of his neck burned, and rivulets of sweat trickled down his tunic.

  Morass lurked in a hidden spy cubicle at the far end of the hall, divided by a wall from the crowds of guardsmen and priestesses jamming the gallery. Lukan longed to look back, but years of discipline kept his eyes focused on Mother Saskia.

  The priestess waited at an altar below the dais, where his father sat on his throne, surveying the crowd.

  At last, the long walk was over, and he and Lynx reached the altar. His wedding ceremony was about to start. For good or for ill, Lynx the Norin raider would be his wife.

  The trumpet blared again, and the assembled throng rose to their feet, the high-born to sit on their cushioned seats, the rest of the observers to stand. Guardsmen and priestesses in the gallery would carry stories of his wedding into the homes of Cian. From there, rumor would spread throughout the empire, embellishing the simple announcement each town crier would have been commanded to make.

  Mother Saskia started to speak, but Lukan hardly heard her.

  How would his subjects greet the news of Mott’s death? Would they welcome him as their new emperor? How would his announcement to the high-born that their stones were a fraud change the lot of the nameless millions he would command? Despite the heat from the burning torches and the mass of bodies packed into the hall, he shivered. With everything else going on, he had given no thought to the shape his new government would take. All he knew was that both his father and his uncle had to die.

  Today.

  As the priestess’s voice droned on, he glanced up at Felix, sitting on a smaller throne below Mott’s.

  Lukan smiled in anticipation of shouting to Morass to shoot his uncle instead of Lynx. Let Felix suffer the agonizingly slow death of the Norin poison.

  And the consequences?

  What did it matter whom he killed today if the whole palace was in an uproar with rampaging high-born out for revenge? The Fifteen would praise him as a hero for freeing them from Avanov suppression.

  Someone nudged Lukan’s arm.

  Axel.

  His cousin glowered at him, rings on a black velvet cushion shoved at his chest. Lukan swallowed hard, looking around. Was it possible he had missed the entire ceremony? Axel’s expression suggested he had. He cleared his throat, gave Lynx a tentative smile, and took the smaller ring off the cushion. Lynx took the other.

  Facing Lynx, together with her, he repeated the Chenayan vows Mother Saskia chanted. “With this ring, I thee wed. With this ring, I thee troth. Mine to hold. Mine to have. Mine to keep until death us do part.”

  With shaking hands, Lukan slipped his ring onto the finger Lynx held out to him.

  Face expressionless, eyes frozen, she took his hand and fumbled to get her ring on his thumb. Task done, she turned to face Mother Saskia, as if nothing momentous had just happened between them.

  That rankled. The least the girl could do was smile for the crowds. Was that too much to ask? Face like stone, he turned to Mother Saskia.

  Holding her hands to the heavens, the priestess declared, “By the power vested in me by His Magnificence, Emperor Mott, Supreme Ruler of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories, I declare His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Lukan Avanov, and Her Highness, Princess Lynx of Norin, husband and wife.” She picked up a gavel and hit the altar. “So be it.”

  It was time for him and his new wife to face their subjects.

  “Wave and smile, and then we must kiss,” Lukan hissed under his breath as he took Lynx’s arm. Aware of her rigid body, he smiled and waved. Hopefully, all eyes would be on him, so no one would notice Lynx’s fake upturned lips and icy eyes.

  The crowd burst into roars of applause, which he took as a sign to kiss his bride.

  Heart racing, he turned to her. She was shaking, her whole body trembling as if she were gripped with fever, and her face was bleached white.

  “Do it. Quickly,” she whispered, her voice pleading.

  A frisson of anger mixed with sorrow coursed through Lukan. She was his wife, the woman he’d just vowed to spend the rest of his life with, but she didn’t want him. Yet, he still wanted her with an ache that threatened to crush him.

  He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm him. Sensing the anticipation—every person in the hall seemed to lean forward for a better view—Lukan forced his hand up to cup Lynx’s face. Next to him, Axel stiffened. Hating Axel, and his father, and Thurban, and Dmitri—everyone who had ever wronged him—Lukan closed his eyes and kissed his wife on her perfect, irresistible lips.

  Lynx did not kiss him back. Then she placed her hand on his wrist and kissed him lightly on his lips.

  Need, so strong it almost laid him low, gripped him. He reached out a hand to steady himself on the altar.

  His movement broke the kiss.

  Without meeting his eyes, Lynx stepped away from him and smiled out at the crowd.

  Lips burning from her touch, one thing was crystal clear: He wanted Lynx more than anything else in the world. And after his speech to the high-born, he could have her. That night he would make love to her, consummating their marriage and binding her to him until death them did part.

  Mother Saskia cleared her throat, a gentle reminder, perhaps, that Tao and Kestrel needed their time at the altar. After a last smile at the crowd, Lukan led Lynx to a double throne off to the side.

  The moment his brother and Kestrel were married, Emperor Mott stood and began his descent from the dais.

  Lukan’s insides turned to water. Any minute now, Morass would strike.

  Mott was almost at the base of the stairs. Nervously twirling her wedding band, Lynx kept her eyes on Axel. It was only his presence here, sharing her pain and despair, that stopped her from shouting out to Mott and the crowd that she despised Lukan and had married him only to fulfill a pledge to her father. An oath that now no longer bound her.

  As if sensing her turmoil, Axel glanced over at her and smiled—the sardonic grin she loved so much. It was instantly calming. The smile faded as he gestured to a table draped with a red cloth near the altar.

  On it sat the ugliest crown Lynx had ever seen. Not that she had seen too many crowns, despite being the daughter of a king. This serpentine thing was the smaller companion to the winged body of the Avanov Dragon Lukan wore on his brow.

  Axel picked it up and nodded, her signal to join him at the wooden rail beneath the emperor’s throne. It was time for her coronation as Crown Princess of all Chenaya and the Conquered Territories.

  Her stomach writhed at the prospect of having that hideous thing anywhere near her head. Wearing the Dragon was an affront to everything she believed. Still, it was unavoidable, so she would acquiesce without a murmur—until the day came when she destroyed the Dragon and all it represented.

  Slowly, carefully, lest she trip over her stupid skirt in her even stupider heels, she made her way to the red cushion on the floor below the rail where Mott stood.

  Axel smiled at her again and made a small bunching gesture with his hands. She guessed he was remembering the last time she had worn a floor-length Chenayan dress. She returned his smile. Who could have guessed that d
ay on the train that she would fall so helplessly, so painfully in love with him? And he for her.

  She reached the railing. Axel joined her, carrying the crown. They bowed to the emperor, and Lynx knelt on a red cushion. The emperor swept the crown off its cushion and held it high above her head.

  Then he bellowed, “Princess Lynx of Norin, as wife of His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Lukan, I declare you Crown Princess of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories.” With no thought to gentleness, he rammed the diadem onto her head.

  Lynx staggered under the impact as the Dragon’s malevolent face crushed the skin in the middle of her forehead. But her cry of pain was lost in a louder shriek.

  Eyes wide, Lynx watched a bloom of red spread across Emperor Mott’s golden tunic. Mouth now moving soundlessly, hand grasping at the quarrel embedded in his heart, Mott collapsed. His head hit the marble floor with a crack, but from the expression in his glassy eyes, the emperor felt no pain.

  Almost in slow motion, Lynx saw Lukan rise from his throne. She turned to Axel to ask what was happening but didn’t get to speak.

  Axel was already moving. He hit her side with the full strength of his body. She reeled to the floor with him on top, her cry of shock muffled by the cold marble tiles. Caught in yards of gold silk, it took her a moment to scramble upright.

  And then she screamed.

  Axel felt the quarrel rip through his brigandine and pierce his back—the target he offered to Morass with the least chance of an instantly lethal shot. Lying on Lynx, he staggered to all fours, trying to stand, but his legs seemed to have lost the will to obey.

  Then pain hit him. A burning so sharp he could have sworn a blacksmith had stabbed his back with a shaft of molten steel. Despite his desire to fight it, his body sagged and then crumpled to the floor next to Lynx.

  Through the haze of burning, he heard rapid boot falls and grimaced a smile. Stefan was on hand, as reliable as the sunrise. He and his band of his men rushed forward to protect Lynx. Before they could do so, he had to persuade her to obey them.

  Face in a rictus of terror, she fell down next to him. “Axel! Axel! Speak to me!”

  He forced his lips and tongue to move. “G-go with Stef. H-hide. T-they want to . . . kill you. My . . . father. Lukan.” He gasped, but the air burned like embers in his lungs. “Found out . . . lair—” His mouth stumbled, his tongue feeling like he was dragging it through molasses.

  Lynx leaned down and kissed him full on the lips. “I won’t leave you. Not ever.”

  He wanted to plead with her to go, but his mind couldn’t seem to hold on to the thoughts. In the distance, he heard the wedding guests shouting.

  Another voice, sharper, desperate. “Come on, Lynx. Now.” Malika. His sister tugged Lynx away, but she held on tight to his arm.

  “Your brother! He’s dying!”

  “He loves you with all his heart.” Malika sobbed. “Show your love by saving yourself—or his sacrifice is wasted.”

  “We can’t leave him here! He needs help.”

  “Trust me, he will get it.” Stefan’s voice, cool and collected. “But first, he instructed me to get you away from here before another quarrel flies. You would not deny him that, would you?”

  Another kiss, and Lynx slipped her hands from Axel’s arm. She called her sister’s name. Kestrel answered, running along behind Lynx, Malika, and Stefan. They broke through Stefan’s line of guardsmen, armed with drawn crossbows, which now divided the royal family from the crowd. A few of them broke ranks to escort Lynx to safety.

  Every cell in his back burning, Axel closed his eyes. His last thought as he slipped into unconsciousness was that someone else would have to save Treven.

  Caught between rising and sitting on his throne, Lukan forced his frozen muscles to move, to turn to face Felix.

  Felix!

  The only one who could have betrayed him, the only person who knew he had commanded Morass to wait until after his address to the high-born before cutting Lynx down.

  Up on the dais, Felix sat rock still. Then, his waxy face seemed to crumble as fierce keening split the air. The sound rode high above the clamor and screams coming from the wedding guests. His uncle staggered to his feet and stumbled down the stairs. He ran to Axel and flung his frail body down where Lynx had lain just moments before.

  “My son, my son,” Felix moaned, with the despair only a father who knew his child was beyond help could muster. “Why this?”

  Lukan was under no illusions about Norin hatred. What Norin king would hand over his coveted antidote to save an Avanov? Especially if one of his raiders had died in the procurement of the poison. Thorn was Lynx’s father, but that didn’t mean he would grant something so outrageous to his child. Lukan’s father wouldn’t have.

  It was just reward for all Felix’s conniving.

  But . . . but how could Axel have known about the plans to kill Lynx? He had to have known because he had thrown himself in the path of her quarrel.

  Lukan’s stomach clenched. Could he ever love like that?

  His eyes flickered to his father, lying unmourned in his own gore. This . . . this ice in my heart is all your fault. And now you’ve paid for all of it.

  Another thought hit him. Now was the moment, his chance to speak to the high-born, if he could just call them to order. Shaking, heart pounding, he slid his way across the bloody floor to the altar. He picked up the gavel and looked out over the crowd.

  Everyone was on their feet, shouting and screaming as they stumbled around overturned chairs in their panic. Some headed for the exit, already jammed with people trying to flee. Others stood together in clumps, mouths agape as if they could not believe what they had just witnessed.

  Lukan’s courage failed him. This was not the right time to add to the mayhem by making any announcement about the gemstones.

  His eyes trailed to Morass. The assassin had opened the door to the hatch before the shootings, but the dark space seemed empty. Morass had vanished.

  Felix. Again. Of course his uncle would have commanded Morass to flee, taking with him the evidence of Lukan’s part in this regicide. No doubt Felix intended to blackmail Lukan with Morass for the rest of his life. Worse, with a little tweak here, a little tweak there, Felix must have also programmed Morass to kill Lynx before he made his speech.

  Now the guardsman was gone, and Lukan could never prove his innocence to her in Axel’s shooting. Anger more potent than anything Lukan had every experienced flooded through him. He dropped the gavel and spun, boot extended, ready to kick Felix.

  The sharp rap of the gavel striking the altar rocked the hall. “Silence! I will have order!”

  As the crowd stilled, Lukan looked up to see Tao standing tall and regal with the gavel in his hand. Lukan’s jaw sagged in disbelief. His brother dared to step into his leadership role? He stumbled forward, ready to snatch the gavel away.

  Tao dropped to his knees before him, shouting, “The emperor is dead! Long live the emperor!”

  Slowly, perhaps reluctantly, the crowd took up the cry. As it built in momentum, Lukan swallowed. His brother was right; he was Emperor of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories. The man everyone claimed was too weak to rule.

  Oh, would he show them all!

  He straightened his back, brushed imaginary lint from his breeches, and turned to face his subjects.

  42

  Lynx paced the tiny cell in Mother Saskia’s cloister, where Stefan had brought her, Malika, and Kestrel. Hiding here went against her every instinct, but Stefan had told her it was Axel’s wish.

  How could she disobey?

  Axel had stepped in front of a quarrel for her. The depth of his love left her humbled—and furious. Furious they could not be together and even more livid that he could die while she paced here helplessly. Stefan had left immediately, promising to return with news of Axel and Lukan.

  From the bed, Lynx could feel Kestrel’s glares burning her back but ignored them.

  Kestrel t
humped her hands down onto the bed. “It was my wedding, supposed to be the best day of my life, and you all ruined it for me.”

  “We ruined it for you?” Malika jerked her tear-stained face toward Kestrel. “We saved you. The next quarrel could have been yours.”

  Kestrel folded her arms across her chest. “I’m a loyal subject of the crown. No one would harm me. And I don’t believe anyone would want to harm Lynx, either.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Malika hissed. “You don’t know how tempted I am right now. And my brother is dying because he took that quarrel to save her.”

  “How much longer do we stay here?” Lynx asked, not wanting to listen to them argue.

  “Until Stefan returns,” Malika said in a firm voice that belied her trembling shoulders.

  Kestrel jumped up off the mattress. “Where is Tao? What could be more important than looking after his wife?”

  “You do know his father has just been murdered?” Malika snapped. “He must be up to his ears in politics right now. The whole court must be in an uproar.”

  Kestrel stamped her foot. “Then I repeat, what could be more important than looking after his wife?”

  Malika opened her mouth to retort, but Lynx cut her off. “Did Axel tell you what he planned?”

  Malika’s mouth closed with an audible click. She turned to Lynx with a distraught expression. “Last night, while he was looking for you, he saw footage of Lukan talking to the assassin in the lair. They were discussing plans to kill you as well as the emperor. He tried to change the programming, but my father stopped him.” Malika wrung her skirt as tears flowed freely down her face. “Once my brother failed, there was no stopping him. Nothing Stefan and I could say would change his mind.”

  “Why didn’t he come to me last night? Didn’t he see footage of me being taken to the cloister?”

  “He did, but he knew you’d be safe because my father commanded Mother Saskia to protect you.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why he didn’t come to me.”