Rebel's Honor: Book One in Crown of Blood Series

by Gwynn White

  Her face hot as a pot-bellied stove, she turned to her uncle, praying to the Winds that Axel hadn’t seen, or sensed, her gawping at him.

  Uncle Bear watched her with an intrigued expression.

  It was mortifying. Lynx didn’t do mortifying. Not well at least. A change of direction was vital, so at the risk of Axel eavesdropping, she leaned in close, whispering in Norin, “You were saying something about the Dreaded.”

  Her uncle’s thin lips looked in danger of vanishing. Then his head turned—deliberately as any raptor’s—and he studied Axel.

  Axel seemed totally lost in his work.

  Uncle Bear closed his eyes and pursed his lips—an action Lynx recognized. Her uncle was thinking hard about something. Finally, he sighed and then gestured to Lynx with a bony finger to come closer. She angled her chair toward him.

  His mouth pressed to her ear, he whispered, “I don’t trust Mott to honor the agreement to have you stay with me until the wedding, so despite my better judgment, I must grab this chance to speak to you.”

  Back in command of her faculties, Lynx whispered, “But would they understand Norin?”

  “Who knows? I doubt Avanov does, but still—”

  “Perhaps it would be wiser if we exchanged notes. Did you bring parchment and quills?”

  “The priestess didn’t limit her search to only your and Kestrel’s luggage. For the sake of peace, I relinquished my writing materials.” His voice dropped. “The risk of speaking is high, but I must warn you of a few things.”

  Lynx glanced at Avanov, who whistled softly, his head still bent over his work. She took her uncle’s hand and leaned in even closer. “I’m listening.”

  After a short pause, Uncle Bear said, “Every emperor lives in terror of the day someone destroys the empire. They have done everything in their power to prevent that happening. The palace writhes with informers—be careful whom you trust. But, although insidious, informers are not the greatest threat. Beware the Dreaded. Did you see them when you were at the palace?”

  “I don’t think so. But I was only there for a couple of hours.” She frowned, uncertain. “I’m not even sure what the Dreaded are.”

  Her uncle leaned in closer. “Spirits of the dead.”

  “Oh.” A chill flushed through Lynx. “H-have you ever seen one?”

  Uncle Bear nodded, tickling her ear with the stubble around his mouth. “I’ve seen images of hideous apparitions in the palace and on the streets of Cian. They appear out of nothing, flash, and disappear.”

  “What are they for?”

  “They watch everyone. It is whispered the Dreaded even report those who disobey Avanov rule to the guardsmen. Every Chenayan knows someone who vanished after seeing an apparition. Guard that tongue of yours, Lynx, so that you don’t become one of them.”

  Lynx laughed nervously, hating his echo of her father’s words. “They’d kill me? Aren’t I supposed to be Lukan’s new toy?”

  Her uncle grunted. “Quicker than the Winds blow. The history of Norin princesses in Chenaya has not been a happy one.”

  “I know. Father and I were talking about that before I left Norin.” Lynx glared at Avanov.

  His hand axe lay on the table, gleaming in the sunlight streaming into the car. He had started on his sword.

  She leaned in and whispered, “Father wants me to find out about the gemstones and their superhuman powers.”

  Her uncle’s brow furrowed. “I’m sure he does. I’ve been working on that for years, but it is no easy matter, as an outsider.”

  “I recently killed a guardsman and prized the jasper out of his face, but it told me nothing.”

  His hot breath warmed her ear. “It’s that kind of stomach that makes you so ideal for this job. You will need to be more subtle in Cian, though. Even admitting to killing guardsmen will earn you a swift execution. So, I will help you spy. Together, we’ll unravel this secret. But we’ll discuss more of this next time we’re alone.”

  A wave of relief flooded through Lynx that she didn’t have to do this almost impossible thing alone. She relaxed and sat back, letting the legs of her chair clatter onto the wooden floor.

  Avanov looked up. “Just because you don’t like the furniture, Princess, doesn’t mean you get to break it.”

  “Huh. That’s rich, coming from someone who just flung his weapons on the table,” Lynx shot back. “And as mine were stolen from me, I don’t have the privilege of sharpening them.”

  “My, we are in a grumpy mood.” Axel strapped his belt around his narrow waist. “You proved yourself unreliable with weapons, Princess, so you have only yourself to blame.” A derisive smile. “I can show you the scab to prove it, if you like.”

  Completely ignoring the humor in his voice, Lynx leaped to her feet, sending her chair scooting back. “I was protecting my sole surviving braid from that she-witch you call a priestess. It’s not my fault you were stupid enough to get in the way.”

  Her uncle covered his face with his hands, then groaned.

  This was probably just the kind of thing he—and her father—had had in mind when he told her to guard her tongue. She grimaced. For a girl who was used to saying her piece, adapting to Chenaya was going to be much tougher than she’d anticipated.

  “‘She-witch’?” Axel burst into laughter. He pulled his hand axe off his belt and sauntered over to her. “Your description of our glorious Great High Priestess has won you another shot at playing with sharp objects. So, at the risk of repeating my stupidity, I give you full permission to attack the furniture—and nothing else. If the she-witch complains, blame me.” He cocked his head. “Or maybe not. She might just fry me.”

  Lynx snatched the axe from him and ran her fingers down the twin blades, engraved with dragons’ heads. Both edges were sharp enough to make matchsticks of the furniture. The black hilt, resembling an elongated dragon’s body, tapered down to four sharpened claws, ideal for ripping flesh. The words Axel Avanov were engraved on the dragon’s belly.

  As ugly as the axe was, she acknowledged the brilliance of the craftsmanship. And it was a weapon—the one thing she had sought since leaving Tanamre. She had to filch it because she’d never sleep easy again if she didn’t have something sharp and deadly under her pillow.

  Despite her uncle’s warning, she asked in her sweetest voice, “What makes you think I wouldn’t use it on you?”

  “This time, you’d have to catch me first.” Avanov’s hand moved to the ruby next to his eye.

  So he had enhanced powers, too.

  Lynx frowned, strangely saddened by that fact. Why would Axel Avanov, a man endowed with a strong and lean body, a rough but handsome face, natural agility, and superior intelligence, need to deface himself?

  With no answers, she took her frustration out on the nearest chair.

  With one swing of the axe, she shaved the wooden arm rest in two. “Winds, your axe has a lovely balance.” She swiped again, this time slicing the wood and upholstery. The two halves of the chair clattered to the floor. “I love the feel in my hand.”

  Axel watched her with open appreciation.

  It sent a flutter of . . . of something totally unexpected and unmentionable coursing through her stomach.

  A reaction too horrible to consider.

  How can I find him attractive? He’s an Avanov! The bastard who sent guardsmen to attack Norin. To kill Hare!

  Needing to be rid of him, she took a chance and said, “Thanks for the gift.” She held up the axe. “I’ll just take it to my compartment.”

  A chortle. “Nice try, Princess, but I still need both my legs.” He held out his hand for the weapon.

  Lynx pretended not to notice and sauntered toward the door. He grabbed her flapping skirt—that would never happen with trousers and a tunic—and tugged her to a halt. “Not so fast, Princess. Hand it over.”

  With a sigh, Lynx slapped the handle down on his open palm.

  Her dice roll should have taught her she’d never be lucky enough to
score a weapon so easily.

  The door opened, revealing Mother Saskia.

  Axel groaned. “Well, there’s my cue to leave.”

  Had he said that because he was no longer required to monitor them? Or was it because he so obviously disliked the priestess and what she stood for? Although she doubted it, Lynx hoped it was the latter.

  Her eyes fluttered closed, angry with herself for caring.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was past midnight on the last night of Lynx’s train journey. In the salon car, the she-witch knelt at the feet of her Dragon and Colonel Stefan Zarot leafed through some official-looking papers while Lynx sat with her uncle. She yawned, ready for bed. She was about to wish her uncle sweet dreams when the priestess excused herself.

  The moment the door closed behind her, Stefan Zarot rose from his seat and strode across the car. He pulled out a chair and sat next to Lynx. The act was so unusual, she settled back to see what he wanted.

  “Ah, Colonel Zarot.” Uncle Bear smiled his thin smile. “Please, feel free to join us.”

  Zarot didn’t acknowledge her uncle’s sarcasm—although who could tell with his inscrutable face? “So, tell me, Princess Lynx, are you ready to take on your responsibilities as Crown Princess of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories?”

  Lynx narrowed her eyes. “I assumed that lofty title only comes after my marriage to the crown prince.”

  “Yes, an event set to take place in a couple of days.” Zarot tapped his fingers against his thigh.

  Lynx frowned, wondering what had him so riled.

  “Life in the Heartland will be very different than what you have known.”

  Lynx glanced at her uncle before answering, but his face had become as impassive as Zarot’s. With no support forthcoming, she decided to prod the Dragon with a sharp comment, just to gauge Zarot’s reaction. Maybe that way, she could understand his unusual behavior. “The Heartland is indeed a fascinating place for those of us who come from the outer edges of the empire. We have no witches to manipulate us with superpowers there.”

  Uncle Bear blinked once. “Colonel, I’m sure what Princess Lynx means—”

  Zarot surprised Lynx by holding up his hand to her uncle. “By late afternoon tomorrow, we will be in Cian.” He fixed his dark eyes on her. “There will be a special welcome for you. I hope you will prepare for it.” He stood, gave her a shallow bow—nothing too respectful—and left the car.

  Lynx turned to her uncle. “And that?”

  “I have my suspicions.” He fixed her with a disapproving glare.

  She smiled wryly. “I’m just trying to understand the man.”

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that honey works better than vinegar? Or, in your case, a sweet smile and a flutter of eyelashes.”

  Lynx waved her hand, glad to finally be alone so she and her uncle could talk frankly. “I missed that lesson. I was too busy learning the best machete moves to take down a guar—”

  “I get the picture,” her uncle interrupted quickly. “I would gladly kick your father’s arse for leaving you so unprepared.”

  Despite the impropriety of speaking about her king like that, Lynx sniggered. Not in her wildest dreams could she imagine her prim and proper uncle kicking anyone anywhere, least of all in the arse.

  “He has total faith in your ability to redeem me.” Her laughter faded, and her fear returned. “Should we be expecting trouble tomorrow? I didn’t exactly get a warm welcome when I arrived.”

  “A word of advice when dealing with Chenayans: Always expect trouble. In that way, you’ll never be disappointed.”

  Lynx bit her lip. If Stefan Zarot was right, her time with Uncle Bear could be over very soon. With thousands of guardsmen stationed at Tanamre, she needed information too desperately to be reticent. “Perhaps now would be a good time to plan our spying expeditions.”

  “No, Lynx!” Uncle Bear gripped her arm. “These are not things we discuss in the open.”

  Lynx’s mouth gaped. “But we’re finally alone. No one can hear us.”

  Her uncle’s eyes swept the car. “No one is ever alone in Chenaya.” He stood. “Save your questions for when we get to my home. Hopefully, I will be able to answer them then. At least the ones that won’t get us killed.”

  * * *

  At first, Lynx couldn’t decide what had woken her. After lying still for a moment, she realized the train had stopped. She hopped out of bed, padded to the window, and looked out into the darkness.

  An unfamiliar grunt and hiss came from in front of the locomotive.

  She poked her head out. The lights of two additional locomotives winked at her through clouds of soot and steam. The behemoths edged toward their engine.

  They must have finally reached the outskirts of the formidable Serreti Mountains.

  The soaring peaks and precipitous gorges of the range stretched north and south for thousands of miles, nearly cutting the continent in half. It was the final bastion protecting Cian, the ventricle of the Heartland, from the rest of the empire.

  Job done, the guardsmen hopped back on board. The lead locomotive let out a piercing whistle, and the train juddered forward, gradually picking up speed as the wheels sliced their way across the tracks.

  Lynx crawled back to bed, nestling under her comforter. Her thoughts turned first to Uncle Bear’s cryptic comments about never being alone in Chenaya. Fear filled her, driving away all hope of sleep. She firmly shifted her mind to happier things.

  Home. Clay’s egg raid she’d traded her happiness for. And bound myself with more oaths than any normal person could bear. That was not a sleep-inducing thought, either, so she pushed it away.

  She rubbed her wrist, where Heron’s watch had been. She pulled her hand away. No! There is no point in hanging on to what may have been. That won’t help either of us. In time, he will move on, and I—

  She didn’t want to think about what time would bring to her.

  * * *

  Lynx’s second wake-up call came from a sharp jerk of the train. A solid line of rock blocked the view, and much of the light, from her window. She guessed it was close to breakfast time. Although a plains girl, she knew the sun always rose later in the mountains.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that dinner had been served a long time ago. She rose, flung off her pajamas, and rummaged through her trunk for a dress from her uncle’s collection. Her hand brushed two silver bracelets Heron had given her when she had first won her egg. That gift had been the start of their friendship. Determined that no Chenayan would ever get their hands on those treasures, she wrapped them carefully in a sock and shoved them into a pocket of a jacket at the bottom of the trunk. She dressed quickly into another black bustled dress.

  Her fingers reached instinctively for her missing braids and feathers.

  She sighed in frustration. “What I look like doesn’t change who I am.”

  She turned on the tap perched over the tiny metal basin, splashed water on her face, and brushed her teeth. After yanking a comb through her hair, she wriggled her toes into her shoes and stepped out into the aisle.

  The car swayed precariously. She looked out the window as the train rumbled around a switchback. Another loomed, no more than two hundred yards ahead of them. Grateful she’d never suffered from motion sickness, she lurched toward the dining car.

  She was the only one who had slept in.

  Uncle Bear sat in front of an empty place setting at the table. His sweat-glazed face was green in the sunshine streaking through the window. Kestrel held a sick bag to her mouth. Even the she-witch looked wan. Only Avanov and Zarot indulged in the roast duck and array of roasted vegetables spread on the table. It looked more like lunch than breakfast.

  Lynx’s stomach betrayed her by rumbling, and her mouth watered at the orangey aroma coming from the duck.

  Avanov kicked out a chair next to him for her. “Glad to see you aren’t looking as green as the rest of this lot, Princess. Come eat before we hit the
tunnel.”

  “Tunnel?” Kestrel moaned into her sick bag.

  “’Fraid so, Princess.” Avanov waved his fork at the jagged rock face flying past the window. “Fifty miles of track carved out under thousands of feet of rock. An engineering feat second to none. It’ll lead us right to the hub under the palace.”

  Kestrel promptly threw up into her bag.

  “What?” Avanov asked. “You could hardly expect a train carrying current and future members of the royal family to pull up at the bug-infested station in downtown Cian. We’re not that popular, you know. Someone might get it into their head to take potshots at us.”

  “Ever wondered why that is, General?” Lynx picked her way across the yawing car.

  “Oh, I’m under no illusions, Princess. We’re about as popular as a,” he cracked his mocking smile, “quarrel through the skull.”

  Lynx grabbed the chair, but before she could sit, the world outside the train plunged into darkness.

  Kestrel screamed.

  A rush of claustrophobia hit Lynx at the tons of rock above her head. She dug her nails into the chair back, praying to the Winds to protect them from the Chenayan insanity that had people traveling like moles under the ground.

  Avanov suddenly gripped her hand, dragging her down to sit next to him. “I guess someone should have lit the candles,” he drawled. His casual tone made her wonder if he’d planned for the darkness in the car. The way his thumb caressed her palm certainly confirmed it.

  Why was another matter altogether.

  The tingles of desire his callused thumb sent up her arm and into her stomach were reminiscent of the she-witch’s lightning bolt.

  Lynx gasped, then pulled her hand away.

  He released her.

  “Is that another one for the scoreboard?” she asked, trying to fathom his motives and cover up her shock at her outrageous reaction to his touch. “Because if it was, I’m still winning.”

  “That all depends on what I got from my . . . maneuver, doesn’t it?” he answered, way too smugly.