Rebel Prince

by Justine Davis

  He pushed the thoughts aside to focus on the immediate threat. They stayed frozen, barely breathing, making no sound that might betray their presence. The cloaked man stayed still as well, and Lyon knew he was listening. After what seemed an eon, he finally moved. Even as a shadow, it was clear he reached out and picked up one of the coins. Then another, and another, following the path Shay had left.

  And then the shadow grew tall again, as he straightened to stand before the tunnel that held the niche where the gold lay. He leaned forward, and for an instant Lyon could see him, just as the man reached up and pushed the cloak’s hood back, and it slipped off his head. Then he moved back, the instant gone far too quickly for a shot. But the lingering image of the face was seared into Lyon’s brain.

  His breath stopped in his throat. He felt Shay stiffen beside him—knew she had seen what he had. The same images, from old cinefilms and captures embedded in history texts, had probably flashed into her mind. She knew that the man before them was the man who had helped the infamous General Corling nearly destroy their world.

  Mordred.

  Rising star of the Coalition, disgraced by his commander’s failure to crush the rebellion begun on Trios that had spread to the entire system and resulted in a humiliating defeat.

  Mordred, who had promised to return.

  Mordred, who had sworn vengeance on Trios and every Triotian left alive.

  Once again, in a single moment, everything had changed.

  Chapter 36

  “TELL ME OF YOUR prince and Dax’s daughter.”

  Rina glanced at Tark. They were pressing hard, moving at a speed that made talking a bit difficult. “Do you truly wish to know, or are you merely looking for distraction from this hike?”

  “Would you shove me down this mountain if I said both?”

  She nearly stopped in her tracks. Had the man actually made a joke? The old Tark had been full of them, using a dry wit and a flair for seeing the ridiculous to defuse many a tense situation. She had thought this Tark scoured of any sense of humor.

  She made herself keep the smile that threatened inside, but it was difficult, for she could not help but feel she had aided him in finding this bit of the man he had once been. That in the indescribable sweetness of the night just past, he had found that not all his hope and joy had been destroyed. And if it were true, if she had given him that, she could live on it the rest of her life if she had to.

  And now who’s full of grim?

  She shook it off, telling herself expecting fate to play one of its nasty tricks was tantamount to inviting it.

  “That is a valid option,” she said lightly, winning a faint smile.

  “It wouldn’t take much,” he said wryly. “My vision sometimes throws off my balance.”

  She had wondered—he seemed so unaffected by the loss. But she should have known he, being Tark, simply refused to give in to it. And she was heartened that he would even admit it to her.

  “But I am curious,” he said in answer to her original question. “About Darian’s son, and even more about Dax’s child. It seems almost retaliation for fate to give him a daughter.”

  Rina laughed. “Oh, indeed. I think he panicked a little when he realized it. When he first found out Califa was pregnant, Dare told him he hoped it was a girl because it would serve him right.”

  He gave her a look that seemed oddly wistful. “I am glad you have such a family.”

  In that moment she renewed her determination to get him to Trios, where she knew he already had the kind of love and respect that abounded for the royals and the Silverbrakes. They would accept him for the hero he was, for what he had done, how hard he had fought. And her family would expand to include him; they would accept him as hers, if she wished.

  She just wasn’t sure he ever would.

  It would just take him time to learn, she told herself. She wanted him for herself, for always, but she wanted him healed even more.

  She turned her mind toward answering him. Perhaps hearing of such normalcy on Trios might help him along the journey he was only beginning.

  “Lyon is intelligent, curious, and kind. But he is also tough of mind and will. He will be a fair ruler, and if need be a brave warrior.”

  “And the girl?”

  Rina grinned. She could not help it. “She is the handful Dare wished upon Dax. Clever as a snowfox, and twice as quick. Adventurous to the point of reckless. And fearless.”

  “In other words, she is Dax all over again.”

  Her grin widened. “Exactly.”

  He smiled back, fully this time, warming her. “There was talk, when they were born . . .”

  She nodded. “Of course Shaina will fight it. She does not take well to the idea it is destined, even though it’s clear she loves him.”

  “Perhaps she thinks of him as a brother.”

  “I think she tells herself so. A way to protect against her true feelings.”

  “It’s been done,” he said, his voice taking on a neutral tone that somehow managed to sound pointed. “Sometimes you must use what defenses you have.”

  Little one. He’d called her that from the first moment, and it had irked her for a very long time, until she had come to care enough to forgive him that and more. Was he saying that had been for the same reason? To defend against his feelings? It seemed so.

  “You truly thought of me as a child, then.”

  “I had to.” He stopped walking. Turned to face her. “Because if I didn’t, what happened last night would have happened then. I would have taken you, and used the threat of war and death to persuade myself it was acceptable. And I had no right.” He lowered his gaze. “I have no right now.”

  She reached up, brushed the back of her fingers over his cheek, his jaw. “You have the right,” she said softly, “because I gave it to you.”

  “And I fear you will regret it.”

  She chose her words carefully. “I see, now that I am older, that had you not had such restraint—”

  “And Dax glaring daggers at me,” he said dryly.

  “That as well,” she said, allowing a smile but continuing intently. “But had you not had such restraint, and then word had come as it did, that you were dead . . . I could not have borne it.”

  “Rina—”

  “I know this,” she said, forging on, “because I could not bear it now. So whatever comes, you had better make bedamned certain you stay alive, Commander Tarkson.”

  His gaze slid back to her face. Slowly, almost tentatively, as if he were still uncertain he had the right, he reached out to cup her cheek. “You humble me, Rina.”

  “I hope not,” she answered. “You’re already far too humble.”

  He smiled. “I believe I have an idea where Dax’s daughter trained her spirit.”

  “I tried,” she said sweetly.

  He laughed, and she reveled in it. Just as she had reveled, more fiercely and intensely than she’d ever thought possible, in his touch, his body, his strength last night. There was, perhaps, nothing like giving tenderness and, yes, love, to a man who had known little of either.

  They walked on, the path becoming ever steeper and the landscape wilder as they went. They reached the inn at a point when Rina was ready for a cool drink.

  “Good placement,” she said as they walked to the door beneath the swinging sign with a weathered carving of the mountaintop above them.

  “Yes. It has been here an age, because of that. This mountain has many a tale told, of secrets and treasure and magic.”

  “I can see where all of that would intrigue my escapees. On Trios we are much more literal.”

  He smiled at her term for them. “Let us see what we can find out,” he said as he pulled the door open.

  “I KNEW IT.”

  Shaina he
ard Mordred’s harsh whisper as she watched the man’s shadow. From the glimpse she’d gotten of the actual man, he had not aged well. Of course, he was not Triotian, but still. . . . His hair was straggly, looked none too clean, and was oddly dark, as if he kept it so artificially. His ears, preternaturally large and protuberant, poked through the lank strands. His skin was still that same sickly white she remembered from her studies; it almost glowed in the dim light of the cave. The contrast was reminiscent of things found hiding under rocks, away from the light, and she suppressed an instinctive shudder.

  The man’s hair had also looked singed on one side. She remembered how merely touching the screen had burned her fingers. Going through that screen wasn’t simple for anyone who was not Graymist.

  Or was not with one.

  She gave an inward, ironic grimace at how quickly she had slid from the world of logic and reason into the mist of magic.

  They watched that shadow as the man moved ever closer to the niche, picking up the rest of the coins as he went. Most were Arellian novals, but she’d noticed a few Carelian ducas and even a couple of Romerian withals, those rarest and most valuable of all coins.

  Shaina held her breath. Once he spotted the niche with the full treasure—minus the orb Lyon had—he should hasten forward. And for one brief moment between the outcropping and the other tunnel opening, they would have a shot.

  They waited. He gathered coins. They watched the distorted shape of the shadow as he moved forward, following the golden trail she had laid. Five more steps, and he would see the niche, she thought. That would be their moment, when he was so distracted by the riches that he would be paying little heed to his surroundings. He would rush forward and into their line of fire.

  Three more. Two. One. And there. He saw it now, he had to.

  He stopped. Her hand tightened on her weapon. Lyon was the best, but a little redundancy never hurt.

  Mordred didn’t react. She frowned. He was standing in front of a pile of gold, silver, and gems, and he didn’t even lean in for a closer look. Instead he stood there as if the niche held nothing more interesting than curlbugs and muckrats.

  The top of the shadow moved, as if he were looking down at his hand and at the coins he had gathered from the main cave. Then he looked around again. He turned his back on the treasure and walked back the way he’d come, fully into the shelter of that outcropping of rock that blocked their line of fire.

  For an instant she forgot to breathe. He had picked up the coins eagerly enough, why had he not gone forward to gather the even more valuable trove right in front of him?

  There was only one answer she could think of. The answer that had been gnawing at her since the moment she’d realized their follower was Mordred. She hadn’t really put it into words, but now here it was, undeniable.

  He wasn’t after treasure. At least not of the gold and jewels kind.

  He was after Lyon.

  The realization sent a shock through her. To Hades with this, she was going to take Mordred out, right now. She’d have surprise on her side if she rushed him—it would be enough. And Lyon would be safe, which was her job. In more ways than one.

  Lyon must have sensed her tension as she readied herself for an attack. He held her back. And just his touch brought back sanity, as quickly as it had robbed her of it in the meadow. Her fury faded, and her tactical mind reemerged.

  They watched that damned shadow as Mordred turned again, and walked into the tunnel next to the one that held the niche. They had not yet explored the others, since Lyon had uncannily known exactly where to go, so they had no idea how deep they went.

  What they did know was that the Coalition was ever thorough. Hadn’t her father pounded that home to her countless times, with the king’s help? Mordred might not be of the Coalition any longer, but some habits were hard to break.

  She silently counted down the seconds as they waited. Every part of her wanted to put an end to this now, but she also knew the value of knowing your enemy.

  It’s not just knowing your enemy’s weaknesses, Shaina. It’s knowing their strengths, and how to use them against him.

  Her father’s words echoed in her head. And she reminded herself again that all her fury at him did not negate the validity of his lessons. And that had been one he had hammered her with.

  If she was right, and Mordred was after a bigger treasure than a mere pile of gold, she had a duty to fulfill. She would have done it anyway, because it was Lyon, and he was the prince.

  Now he was her life, her future, her very heart, and she would die to protect him and do it without hesitation. Of course there was a problem. As sure as she was of that, she was also sure he would do the same for her. And that could not be allowed to happen. If it came down to it, he was more important than her. He, of course, would argue that, but it didn’t change the fact.

  Lyon touched her arm. She saw in his posture he was ready to move at last, and wondered if the orb had somehow told him Mordred was on his way back. Her own sensing told her only he was here, not how close. She saw Lyon make a gesture toward the tunnel the man was in, then another with both hands, moving apart. She nodded.

  They moved. Split up, taking positions, one on each side of the tunnel entrance. Shaina leaned forward slightly, straining to hear any trace of footsteps from the tunnel. She heard nothing but the muted rush of the falls outside.

  “Close,” Lyon whispered.

  “Yes.” The smug voice came from behind them. “I am.”

  They whirled, staring at the man approaching from the tunnel they had just vacated, the man who had somehow turned their own tactic against them and gotten behind them. A full-sized disrupter was trained on them, and a frighteningly well-used laser pistol was tucked into the man’s belt.

  He laughed, no doubt at their expressions. They’d been taken like fools. They’d gotten self-sure with their earlier success. Of course, they hadn’t realized then they were dealing with Mordred himself.

  “Did you really think I didn’t know you were in here?”

  A sick sort of anger bubbled in Shaina, most of it aimed at herself. It was her job to protect the prince, no matter that she hadn’t known it until a few days ago, or that it wasn’t official or known. She clearly had much left to learn.

  And now it appeared she never would.

  But Lyon would, she promised silently. Whatever else, he would survive. He must return to Trios, go home to their people. She would see to that, whatever the cost.

  “Point of curiosity,” Lyon said, as casually as if asking after the weather, “just how did you get from here”—he gestured at the tunnel entrance they had so uselessly surrounded—“to there?”

  “If you had taken the time to do a proper reconnaissance, you would have realized the tunnels intersect.”

  Shaina groaned inwardly. He was right, and that only fired her self-anger further. It had never occurred to her, or to Lyon; they had assumed the tunnels led somewhere or nowhere, to a goal or to distract from the treasure. It had never occurred to them that Mordred would be able to double back from some spot where the tunnels joined. This man had been famous for his efficiency. That much of it had been in the extermination of resistance did not escape her now.

  “Contention valid,” Lyon said, still in that same easy tone.

  Either the words or that tone seemed to irk Mordred. “If you were Coalition trained, you would know better.”

  Shaina thought swiftly. If he merely wanted them dead, he would have killed them on the spot. So he had something else in mind. She could think of only one thing, and that was something that she could not allow to happen.

  Keep his attention on you. Away from Lyon.

  “Coalition,” she said, as if the term was unfamiliar. “Isn’t that that old band of miscreants who were driven out of the entire sector eons ago?”

>   Color flared in the pale skin.

  “No,” Lyon said warningly. She glanced at him, saw in his eyes the knowledge of what she was doing, trying to provoke Mordred into coming after her to save him.

  She shrugged. “Nothing to me if he wants to long for the old days, like all old men do.”

  “You will be speaking differently soon, whore,” Mordred hissed, “when you have a collar around your neck and learn your manners.”

  Shaina didn’t have to look at Lyon to see his reaction—she could feel it, coming off him in waves. He knew too well the depth of that threat. Most people grew up thinking the phrase “worse than death” to be nonsensical, for what could be worse than dying? But Lyon knew what it meant, and so did she. Her mother and his father had taught them well.

  She steadied herself. “In order for there to be Coalition slaves, there has to be a functioning Coalition, does there not?”

  “You will soon learn how well we function.” He looked at Lyon. “You most of all will learn. Triotian scum. You will pay for your father’s crimes.”

  She hadn’t really had any doubts, but this confirmation that Mordred indeed knew exactly who Lyon was still made Shaina’s throat tighten.

  “And I shall watch with enjoyment when the Sovereign separates your head from your body himself.”

  So he meant to take Lyon alive, Shaina thought. She could not let this happen. It would not happen. If she couldn’t provoke him to an attack, perhaps she could convince him she wasn’t worth killing. If he intended to hand Lyon over, he’d have to get him there first, and if she was free, she could see that that never happened. As long as he thought her merely a strumpet from Akasen Court, and no danger to him, she had a chance.

  She just had to hope Lyon would understand.

  “You don’t need me at all, then,” she said, as casually as if she hadn’t just been poking a slimehog with a stick. She shoved her disrupter in her belt, but left it armed.