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

by Gwynn White

  In their place sat a book, nearly as tall as his hand and as thin as one of his fingers.

  He glanced around the room. The lock on the door remained untouched, and he was alone. Every hair on Lukan’s body stood. So who had put it there? A ghost? Someone like Thurban?

  It had to be.

  Small as the book was, it had an alluring cover, old blue leather with a portrait of an unknown man inlaid in the center. The colors had faded, but the image was still sharp.

  Unable to resist the lure of new knowledge, he lifted it to the candlelight and saw elaborate calligraphy on the title page. The Illustrated Book of Chenaya. An exquisite gold and jewel-colored illumination decorated the parchment.

  He swore as he read the subtitle: The Full History of The Dmitri Curse.

  Breathless with shock, he did what he always did when he found a new book: flipped through the pages, scanned the text, picked up a word here, a sentence there.

  Published in the year 20 Post Burning. His eyebrows rose. Lust and greed, he read, prompted Thurban to invade Norin. Nothing new there, so he turned the page. Beautiful Norin princesses will be sent to Chenaya as temptresses to see if Thurban’s posterity, the crown princes, can curb their lust. He winced at that, then rifled through another couple of pages. Not even the threat of a—

  The book slammed shut, squashing his fingers. A hand, gleaming like mother-of-pearl, rested on the cover.

  Lukan’s eyes widened as the hand grew an arm, then a torso and a neck, followed by a man’s head, with the same regal face depicted on the title page. Transfixed, he watched as the rest of the man’s wiry body, clad in a rich sapphire robe, emerged from the ether. He was of medium height, with short-cropped hair, the color of salt and pepper mingled. Intelligent, dark-brown eyes set in a hard, uncompromising face watched Lukan.

  He couldn’t decide whether to run screaming from the room or stand his ground to learn more. The fact that his feet seemed to have melted into the floor decided matters. He was going nowhere.

  The stranger spoke, his voice measured but firm. It was the same voice Lukan had heard during his vision. “It pleases me you wish to read the words of my cursing, Crown Prince.”

  Skin crawling with a combination of fear and fascination, he stuttered, “Y-your cursing? Does that mean you’re . . . Dmitri?”

  “Aye.” Dmitri extracted the book from Lukan’s hand and tucked it under his arm, all the while studying Lukan.

  Mouth opening and closing in panic, Lukan eyed him back. Then, deciding this meeting would be better served if he were sitting, he lowered himself into a chair. He even propped his feet on the desk, feigning nonchalance in the hope of hiding his fearful trembling. “Can this day get any stranger?” When Dmitri didn’t reply, Lukan added, “So, you are a ghost?”

  Lukan shook his head, marveling at how wrong Felix’s insubstantial holograms of the Dreaded were. Dmitri’s form—solid, radiating warmth—looked and felt nothing like a generated image. Felix had a lot to learn if this was a real resurrected person.

  Dmitri frowned. “Don’t insult me. I am no fabrication.”

  Lukan crossed his arms, hugging himself tight. Then, suspecting his body language conveyed more fear than confidence, he cocked his head toward the book. “I was reading that.”

  His visitor opened the manuscript, holding up a page illustrated with a man identical in appearance to Lukan, even down to the diamond next to his eye and the black-and-silver clothing. He carried the now familiar sapphire-blue banner, spangled with golden stars.

  “The old Norin flag,” Dmitri said. “Nicholas the Light-Bearer was their symbol of knowledge and freedom. It flew on the pinnacle of every Norin university before the invasion. Inspiring, isn’t it?”

  Lukan swallowed hard. It was beautiful. It didn’t take much imagination to plot the lines between the stars to see Nicholas’s powerful body or the flaming torch he held.

  Dmitri pointed to a comet sweeping into the sky behind the man’s head. “The Pathfinder. You have heard of it?”

  Lukan nodded. He had worked out that the comet always appeared some years before Nicholas the Light-Bearer took the northern point of the skies.

  “Good. Then you will know when you see it that my curse is on the brink of being fulfilled.”

  Lukan swallowed again. Secretly thrilled to be immortalized, he asked, “Why’s my image in a book written almost four hundred years ago?”

  “You would have to read it to find the answer. My followers wrote this after my brother executed me. It’s the truest record in existence of my curse.”

  Lukan licked his lips—they were desert dry—and kept his eyes fixed on the picture. “It seems like my day for seeing myself in strange places. I saw a—a hologram, or I think that is what it was, about—”

  “Aye, you heard my voice. Not hard to fathom that I showed you the vision,” Dmitri interrupted. “And trust me, it was as real as we, standing here now.” Dmitri leaned forward. His breath brushed Lukan’s face, adding veracity to the man’s words. He fixed Lukan with a penetrating stare. “Your uncle manipulates you all with his diabolical creations, but it is up to you to decide what is real or programmed.”

  Lukan chewed his lip, still unable to believe he was actually having this conversation. It seemed the words he’d read in Maksim’s journal were indeed true. The dead still walked and talked. “So, if you showed me the vision, why do I hear Thurban’s voice in my head?”

  Dmitri took a moment to reply. “Crown Prince, you support Felix’s efforts to create a world where truth is a lie and lies are the truth. So, what are your thoughts on all that deception?”

  “I always thought I knew my views, but now . . . it’s all so confusing.” Lukan probed the buttons on his waistcoat, deriving comfort from the familiar silver knobs.

  “Aye, that it is. You understand better than most what happens in your uncle’s lair and in his secret laboratories and factories. Consider your future subjects’ terror when the Dreaded torment them. Some may say the voices in your head are fair payback for what you have permitted Felix to do to others.”

  Lukan’s skin prickled, but he didn’t want to acknowledge what torture their technology must be to the unlearned. Having borne Thurban’s voice in his head, he had some inkling of how they felt. “How am I supposed to stop my uncle? My father gave him his mandate. I have no control over what happens in the lair, or elsewhere.”

  Dmitri eyed him, making Lukan even more uncomfortable.

  Lukan changed the subject. “Your vision showed two outcomes. I am interested in the part where the lightning destroys Lynx’s son. Is it possible she won’t create the traitor who overthrows my empire?”

  “‘Traitor’? That’s such a pejorative word.” Dmitri gestured to a chair leaning against the wall. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Surprised you even asked.”

  “I will always ask, Crown Prince. Human choice is inviolate. I was born, lived, and died to guard its sanctity.”

  Dmitri flicked a finger, and the chair slid across the floor, stopping next to Lukan. He tried to hide his astonishment, but still his mouth gaped. Dmitri sat but didn’t relinquish the book.

  “To answer your question, Crown Prince, you appear in the record because you are mentioned in my curse—in its antidote, to be more precise.”

  Delight at being singled out trilled through Lukan. At last, someone recognized his worth. Then, it struck him that other crown princes could have a mention. It doused his excitement. “What makes me so special?”

  “I was inspired to utter three names in my cursing: yours, Lynx’s, and Nicholas’s.”

  Lukan’s first thought was that he was talking about the constellation known as Nicholas the Light-Bearer. Then another thought struck. Could Nicholas be the name of his and Lynx’s son—if they ever got so far as to have him? So tantalized by that tidbit, his fingers itched to snatch the book away so he could read it himself.

  Dmitri pulled the tome closer to his chest.

 
This impasse wasn’t helping, so Lukan asked, “Why me?”

  “Your love of learning—not for power’s sake, but for the thrill of knowing—sets you apart from every Avanov ever born, myself included.” Dmitri shook his head ruefully. “I was a terrible scholar in my day. Playing truant with Thurban was far more appealing than attending my lessons.”

  As impossible as it was to imagine this man of legend as a naughty boy following his brother into mischief, Dmitri suddenly seemed more relatable.

  It prompted Lukan to say, “That’s why I didn’t go into the military. I thought it a waste of time when I wanted to do more productive things.”

  He didn’t add the other reason—the major one—was that he refused to train next to Axel. He didn’t need the public confirmation that his cousin was a better soldier than he. Now it was just a matter of speculation. Not that it mattered to his father. In the old man’s mind, Axel would always be the hero and Lukan the failure.

  “How did you know about me—and Lynx—four hundred years before my birth?”

  “Like mine, your spirit is immortal. It existed before your birth and will exist after you die.” Face expressionless, Dmitri added, “We knew each other before either of our births.”

  Lukan snorted his disbelief even as the truth in the seer’s words resonated in his chest.

  “Regardless of your father’s view, you’re no failure, Lukan. But now it’s time to take your rebellious streak to its logical conclusion.”

  Sweat prickled on the back of Lukan’s neck. “That sounds—seditious.”

  “Aye.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lukan waited for something more, an explanation perhaps of what Dmitri meant by ‘sedition.’ Dmitri merely eyed him with a penetrating gaze.

  Finally, Lukan said, “I’ve just told you, I’m not a soldier.”

  “It is not a soldier the world needs. This conflict started with a war for knowledge. Let knowledge end it.”

  “Riddles were never my thing.” Lukan pointed at the book in Dmitri’s arms. “Why don’t you leave that with me? Once I’ve read it, I’ll know what I need to do.”

  “Crown Prince, this book cannot be stolen or taken by force.” Dmitri patted the leather the way a mother would soothe a baby’s back. “You have to earn the right to read about your part in the history waiting to unfold.”

  “And how would I do that?” Lukan asked warily.

  Dmitri raised his hand and gestured to the shelves of tomes around them. “You have a great library here in your observatory and in the palace archive, filled with thousands of books that belong to the world. But only you, your immediate family, and your handpicked scientists are able to read them.”

  Lukan shrugged dismissively, wishing he knew where Dmitri was going with all this. “Most people have no interest in reading. You said it yourself—even you, the great Dmitri, chose fun over lessons.”

  Dmitri looked at Lukan through hooded eyes. “Hidden in the far reaches of your empire are scholars and scientists, held against their will and forced to work on nightmarish projects designed to entrench your rule for another four hundred years.”

  Lukan tried for another dismissive shrug, but this one was harder to justify. “How else can one be expected to keep an empire this size from falling apart?”

  “So you admit it is not through choice that your subjects wear the Avanov yoke?”

  Lukan shifted in his seat, not wanting to think about the thousands of people imprisoned in Zakar satrapy —scientists, miners, factory hands—who created the empire’s technological marvels. “What has any of this got to do with me reading a book?”

  “Everything.” Dmitri tapped the book again. “If you wish to discover the truths about yourself contained herein, then you must first share the knowledge in your archives and in your secret laboratories with the rest of mankind.”

  Lukan’s eyes bulged as if Dmitri were insane. “If I did that, everyone would have the weapons and advantages we have. It would be like before the Burning. We’d lose the empire.”

  “And would that be so bad?”

  Lukan snorted his derision. “You’re as crazy as my father. Why should I listen to you? I don’t even know what you are.”

  Dmitri continued as if Lukan hadn’t spoken. “Since your earliest childhood, you have lived in fear of your father’s fists and ridicule, but even amid all your anguish and hate, you have always had hope—hope that one day he will die, and you will be free.”

  Dmitri would speak openly of that humiliation? Lukan’s whole body burned. He lashed out a wild punch, catching Dmitri on his solid chest.

  Without shifting an inch, Dmitri grabbed Lukan’s hand and pressed it to his heart. “Enough with the violence, Crown Prince. It is not in your nature, and it does not serve you.”

  Feeling like a complete idiot, Lukan pulled his hand away. “I don’t discuss my father’s abuse with strangers.”

  “I am afraid that, tonight, there is no subject we will not discuss.”

  Lukan eyed the door, considering leaving. But there was too much that he didn’t understand about this apparition to flee just yet.

  “What hope is there for your countrymen?” Dmitri asked. “For four hundred years, Chenayans have lived with the cruelest abuse, without recourse to mercy or justice. When your father dies, what then, Lukan? Must they endure another four hundred years of despair?”

  Lukan squirmed, hating that Dmitri made perfect sense. But all the suffering in the world was not enough to outweigh Lukan’s longing to rule, to prove that he was not the weakling his father always claimed him to be. He hedged. “What’s in it for me, if I throw open my archives and give away the empire?”

  “The chance to go down in history, not just as one more Avanov dictator but as the man who brought freedom to the world. The man Dmitri the Seer prophesied about.”

  Lukan could be the man prophesied about? Was it possible? Was that how the curse worked? Lukan had no answers, but to be known as a hero, not a failure, carried an enormous appeal. He licked his lips, wishing it could be true. He had to know more. “Then what about Lynx? How does she fit into all this?”

  Dmitri took a moment to steeple his fingers. “Lynx stands at a crossroads. The direction she takes depends entirely on you. If you do as I ask and share your precious books, she will be free of the imperative of my curse. It will enable her to follow a path of her own choosing, unfettered by duty—and oaths. If her father knew her true circumstances here, he, too, would release her from all other obligations.”

  Lukan had no idea what Dmitri was talking about with his mention of oaths. Still, as much as it grated, he was wise enough to surmise that Lynx would never willingly give herself to him, no matter how much he wooed her. He wondered if her path would take her back to Norin, or would the allure of his cousin be enough to keep her in Cian?

  To forever taunt me.

  Dmitri’s voice pulled him back to the present.

  “Crown Prince, if, on the other hand, you choose to continue as an Avanov emperor, you will force Lynx onto the path of destruction I prophesied of, in which your life is forfeit.” Dmitri’s voice firmed. “I know it seems unfair, but either way, Chenaya and the empire will be free. How that happens is up to you. Will you go down in history as the hero who changed the world, or will that honor belong to your son?”

  Any doubts Lukan had about Dmitri being real vanished. Not even Felix would create a scene so horrifying or so seditious. Was this why generations of crown princes and emperors had suffered the Norin to live? Dmitri haunting them with guilt and ruinous consequences?

  “You bastard. This is perfect blackmail!” Lukan stood and began to pace. “Either way, I lose. How can you say you support human choice when you’ve painted me into this corner?”

  “What did you want, Lukan? A smorgasbord of options? You still have choice, with consequences. Be thankful. It is more than most of your subjects can claim.”

  Lukan took a deep breath. “Okay, if
I believe you, then let’s look at this logically—”

  “Good idea,” Dmitri interrupted. “The logical place to start is with the high-born. You can begin by revealing to them that their precious emeralds and sapphires are monitoring devices. Their anger will be distraction enough for you to breach Felix’s lair. Once you deactivate the guardsmen’s gemstones, the empire will begin to crumble.”

  All Lukan could see was chaos and death—his. “The only distraction will be the high-born impaling me on a stake for being an Avanov. I might as well hand the keys to the armory over to Lynx and the rest of the Norin.”

  Dmitri frowned with disapproval. “Dismantling this empire was never going to be easy, but you do not have to do it alone. Commit yourself to the course, and I will help you. Legions of the dead will rally to your side. Not even your father, with all his armies, will stay our hands.”

  Lukan clicked his tongue, not ready to believe in ghostly armies. As it was, he was struggling to come to terms with a ghostly Dmitri who expected him to throw away his empire. “And what about Felix?”

  “You will find out soon enough, if you have the courage to act.”

  Lukan couldn’t resist a wry smile. “I guess it doesn’t take much imagination to figure it out.”

  His lackluster tone prompted Dmitri to say, “As I’ve already said, I knew you long before you came into mortality. Then, you had the courage to do the right thing for your people. It was why you were chosen for the task.” Dmitri’s voice took on a quiet urgency. “Even now, Nicholas waits in the wings. Unless you follow the course I offer you, his birth is unavoidable. The day you consummate your marriage, he will be conceived, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.” Dmitri pointed to the constellation on Lukan’s map. “It was always intended the empire would end when he appeared.”