Hearts & Minds: Book Six in the Crown of Blood series

by White, Gwynn

  “Yes,” she said enigmatically. “It would probably be wise to brace.” He heard the smile in her voice.

  “Did my father set you up to this?”

  “I’ll answer your question with one of my own. Do you remember the book Nicholas had with him that day in the forest?”

  He frowned at the blatant snub. But even as he did so, he cringed. This unknown woman and her crap-chute had saved his life. The chances of either Natalia or Lukan finding him in this one-way trip to the sewers had to be nil. Not even Felix would put cameras in the crapper. “What about it?”

  “What did it say about you, Prince Grigor?”

  He recalled the intriguing little book with its beautiful if brutal illustrations. They helped explain the text, written largely in cryptic poetry. “It wasn’t easy to understand, but I took it to mean that I’m supposed to open the palace gates to Axel and Nicholas. My father agreed with that.”

  “Good enough. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

  He threw up his hands. “Lead them in through this tunnel? You have got to be kidding.”

  His feet plowed into a narrow, sloped ledge before shooting off down another, more gradual incline. The rest of him jarred, then flopped after them. It wasn’t as if his body wasn’t already bleeding and broken. Not to mention that there was no way in hell that he wasn’t going to pick up some kind of infection from this.

  She laughed openly now. “Grigor, I do love Meka. He’s wild and determined and intensely loyal—when he doesn’t have an ice crystal in him. But you…you’re the thinker of the family and, perhaps I cherish that even more.” Her voice dried. “Try using those brains. You’re going to need them.”

  He managed a smile. “Who are you?”

  “Cricket. And yes, I do know your father. And yes, he did send me to save you. And right now, infections are the least of your troubles. The rest of this adventure is up to you. Do your best to survive.”

  His feet slewed out of the chute and hit water. His knees shot out next. They buckled as his torso, and then his head followed. He fell face first into icy murk.

  Fourteen

  Traitors!

  Lukan looked out over the high-born milling around his great hall. He had commanded them to stay until Natalia returned with Grigor’s heart. Eyes dull, mouths gaping, they had obeyed. Some had righted overturned chairs. Others stood where they had been when Morass had thrown them off their seats. A few shot furtive looks at Morass. The cretin was dead. As was the traitor who had helped Grigor escape.

  Lukan fiddled with his silver buttons.

  Was it possible that the traitor had been immune to his ice crystal? To counter his commands, he must have been. How many more of them lurked in the palace, unseen and unheard, waiting for a moment to…

  “To slit your throat.”

  “To catch you unaware.”

  “To cut you down.”

  He shivered.

  No, he told the voices. My high-born will protect me. I’ve programmed their ice crystals. I know they work.

  “Ha,” the voices laughed. “You think that they’ll protect you? Look at them. See how dull they are. How wasted. How stupid. And where’s Natalia? Why has she not returned with Grigor’s heart?”

  He banged his fist on the balustrade.

  She will be back. I commanded her. She can do nothing but obey.

  He looked down upon her family.

  Pytor Pavel was one of his high councilmen. He was also a traitor who had supported Grigor before Lukan had quite rightly destroyed his mind with an ice crystal. He was with his wife, Countess Rosina, and their two imbecilic sons. They knew that if Natalia failed to kill Grigor, she would cut their hearts out. Yet they sat together in silence like sheep led to the slaughter.

  Footsteps echoed into the great hall. Natalia stood at the door. Her eyes whitened at Morass lying across the threshold with his ravaged face and eyeless sockets. The traitor who had cut him down with the whip, and was then in turn cut down, lay next to him. His body was a mangled wreck.

  He called out, “Lady Natalia, I see you have nothing in your hands.” She’d even lost the dagger he had instructed her to use to cut Grigor’s heart out.

  Witless and dull, she looked up at him. Saliva caked with flecks of blood collected at her mouth. It had dribbled down her chin. She must have bitten her lip.

  “Why have you failed?”

  She took a step closer, stopped, and then stepped gingerly over the two bodies. She curtsied. “Sire, I searched, but I could not find him.” Her eyes flickered to her family.

  The scar on his cheek pulsed. “You failed. You had but one job—to bring me Grigor’s heart, and you failed.”

  The girl bowed her head, “I’m sorry sire, I tried, but… he vanished. I looked, and I…”

  “Shut up!” Lukan closed his eyes and threw his head back.

  The voices slithered around him. “This is what you trust to protect with your life? Yet you give this girl a simple command to cut her darling’s heart out, and she failed! They’re all going to fail. And you will fail too.”

  Lukan slammed his fists down onto the balustrade. “Someone give her a dagger.”

  The closest guardsman pulled a dagger out and thrust it into her hand.

  Lukan pointed at her family. “Bring me their hearts.”

  Tears pricked Natalia’s eyes.

  Lukan’s jaw gaped that she should feel emotion. He looked again more carefully. But there it was. Her eyes glittered. He sucked in a sharp breath. The girl hadn’t moved, either. What could this mean?

  “It means you’re a fool.”

  He looked from left to right to find the voices. But, of course, they were too cowardly to ever show themselves.

  He yelled at Natalia, “Come here, stand before me.”

  This time she obeyed. She shuffled with that same somnolent zombie-like gait all of the high-born now had. Finally, she stopped below the royal dais. She looked up at him. All traces of tears had gone.

  Had he imagined it? Was he now seeing things as well as hearing things? To ask would show the greatest of weakness. He wrung his hands. But not to know…

  “That’s the risk, now isn’t it? Never to know if she has moments when she’s lucid. Is it all an act? Are you, indeed, seeing things? Are you going… mad?”

  Lukan clutched his silver buttons. He worked one so furiously that it popped off in his hands. He threw it down at Natalia. It hit her arm. “Go, take that dagger. Bring me your family’s hearts. Now. And let there be no error.” He watched her closely.

  There was no emotion. No reaction. Nothing to indicate that she had some control over her mind.

  Still, doubt lingered.

  Could he trust the high-born to protect him? Or, on the day when Nicholas attacked him, would they also turn on him?

  Not knowing was agony.

  Almost as much agony as watching Natalia stumble across the great hall. At last, she reached her youngest brother. Lukan leaned forward to watch their reaction to his command. Annoyingly, the girl stood in front of the boy with her back to him. He was about to command her to move when Countess Rosina shifted in her chair. Her eyes were stricken.

  Countess Rosina knew exactly what was about to happen to her son.

  She looked away; she must have sensed him watching her. Eyes dull, she looked down at her feet as if nothing untoward was happening.

  Except that her hands clutched at her dress.

  He shouted, “Lady Natalia, your mother first, bring me her heart.”

  Slowly, carefully, Natalia turned to her mother.

  He saw her side-on, and her face was as dead as any of the other zombies watching on.

  Moving slowly, ponderously, Natalia raised the dagger and thrust it straight down into her mother’s chest. Without the strength to break the rib cage, the dagger penetrated, spurted some blood, and then glanced off.

  Lukan sighed. Was everything to be so difficult?

  He shouted to the g
uardsmen who had handed her the dagger, “Do the job. Bring me the hearts.”

  The man snapped to attention.

  Lukan turned away. He didn’t need to see the blood. It was enough that he heard the cries. Not just from Natalia’s family, but from other parts of the room. From people who should have been totally unaware of any horror in this act. The ice crystals weren’t working.

  He staggered back against the balustrade.

  But did this mean that everyone’s ice crystals weren’t working? Was it an intermittent problem? How as he ever to find out?

  Someone cleared his throat. “Sire, as you… requested.”

  He turned.

  Bloody hands outstretched, the guardsman offered him four still pulsing hearts.

  It took all of Lukan’s self-control not to vomit as he took them. But this was too good an opportunity to miss. He said, “Cut the girl’s throat. Hang her and her family’s bodies above the great hall door. Kestrel, too. Let it be a warning to anyone who thinks they can betray me, or defy me, or in any way act against me.”

  The guardsman yanked Natalia’s hair and pulled her head back. His other hand held the bloody dagger.

  Natalia screamed, “For Nicholas the Light-bearer. For the Pathfinder Alliance. For the freedom of Chenaya.

  The dagger flashed. Blood sprayed from a clean cut from one side of her neck to the other.

  Lukan didn’t wait to see any of the bodies suspended. He dropped the hearts, wiped his hands on the tablecloth on the table behind him and left the dais. The high-born parted as he glided out of the hall.

  Fifteen

  Turf Wars

  Based on the shuffle of feet, Meka guessed that four or five people gathered around a cooking fire in the adjacent tunnel. Although no one talked, they weren’t bothering to hide their presence, either.

  He flicked off his informa, dropped it in his pocket and patted his rifle. Hopefully, its shower under the pipe had not effected its ability to intimidate them into offering Father’s promised help.

  “You and me both,” Shale whispered in the darkness. “I heard the emphasis on ‘unlikely.’”

  “No unnecessary killing or maiming,” Meka whispered back.

  “Aw! No unnecessary killin’ or maimin’?” a cocky voice called from around the corner. “How sad. I was jus’ getting’ ready to stick you with my spear.” A ragged boy in his early teens strode around the corner. True to his word, he held a homemade spear in one hand, and, in the other, a gnawed drumstick. His swagger march halted and his eyes widened. “Them flying ships be damned!” His spear shot up and almost hit Meka’s eye. “That there is a diamond!”

  Meka jumped back and bashed into Shale.

  “That makes you an Avanov.” The boy’s voice dropped menacingly. “Which one? That’s the question.”

  Meka considered yanking the spear right out of the lad’s hands and stabbing him with it just for good measure, but he decided to wait. According to Father, the boy was supposed to be his ally. Better to play along. “I’ll tell you who I am if you get that bit of rust out of my face.”

  Spear tip still pressed against Meka’s cheek, the boy yelled, “String! Get your sagging ass over here and tell me if this was the one that got jabbed by the guardsman.” He shot Meka a predatory grin. “So much happened that night, my memory’s hazy on some details.”

  This boy had to be referring to the night he and Nicholas had tried to escape Cian with Axel.

  “If you want to keep that diamond in your face, you’d better hope String says you’re the right Avanov,” the boy continued ominously,

  Shale nudged Meka’s back. The message was clear: Do you want me to take him down?

  Meka waved the suggestion away. He and Shale were older and much bigger than the lad. If it came to a fight, Spear Boy didn’t stand a chance. Not that he wanted it to come to that.

  He eased the spear away from his eye. “I don’t respond well to threats. Like I said, if you want to know who I am, all you have to do is ask. Politely.”

  The boy didn’t seem to notice. He licked his lips and pointed at Meka’s rifle. “Yours looks a bit different from the one I saw that night.” He poked a puckered scar on his grimy face. “Got this beauty when he used it to blast one of them gargoyles.” He broke off, turned and yelled, “String! Do I have to come and get you?”

  “Comin’, Dip. Keep your skin on.” A rake-thin boy with a mat of filthy hair loped around the corner. He skidded to a stop and peered owlishly at Meka. “That’s him. He was with the blue-eyed boy Axel wanted. For sure. I watched from the roof. He put up a good fight, but that guardsman still clobbered him.” String’s eyes glowed with admiration.

  Meka rolled his eyes at Father. They know about Axel and Nicholas? And shotguns? You couldn’t have just said that?

  “And spoil the fun? I think not.”

  Meka couldn’t help smiling. Gee. Thanks. For very little.

  Father chuckled. “I’m enjoying watching my son handle people.

  Following Father’s example, Meka bowed, “Dip. String. I’m Meka Avanov. People call me a prince, but I’m happy with plain Meka. But from your roof-spying, you already seem to know that.”

  Dip and String grinned. Dip lowered his spear.

  Meka pulled Shale into the light. “And this is my friend, Shale.”

  “Another one of them Norin.” Dip’s eyes sparkled. “Do you know our friends Axel, Clay, and Lynx?”

  Grinning like a cat, Shale said, “We sure do. Axel leads the Pathfinder Alliance. Clay is his assassin.”

  “And Lynx is his partner,” Meka added. “And Nicholas’s mother. The boy with the blue eyes. He was with me the night I got clobbered by that guardsman.”

  Dip bowed even deeper and with more of a flourish than Meka had. “Then you had better come and eat before the other lads get it all.”

  Neither Meka nor Shale argued as Dip led them to three youngsters huddled around a bed of glowing coals in the middle of the adjacent tunnel. Clanging an astonishing array of homemade weapons, the boys shifted to make space for Meka and Shale around the fire. A dark-haired urchin turned half a dozen sizzling pheasants on a pole.

  Meka’s stomach screamed with hunger.

  Dip grinned at the food. “Straight from the palace.” His face dropped. “Was a time when it was impossible getting in and out of them Avanovs' kitchen. But now with the craziness—” A dirty finger circled his ear. Before Meka could ask for an explanation, Dip poked his spear into the closest bird on the spit. He hoicked it off the pole and tossed it down at Meka and Shale’s feet. “Eat up.”

  They fell on the food like wolves. Only when the last bone had been gnawed clean did Meka wipe his mouth on his sleeve. He sat on the floor and slouched against the wall with his rifle at his side.

  Shale slid down next to him. “What craziness?”

  Dip shrugged. “Dunno. But since Axel was here, everyone has gone… well, dead… kind of.” He waved at his crew. “Use to be that there was more of us. A lot more. But they all went—” Again that finger twirl. “Now all they want is to fight for the emperor.”

  Dip’s boys groaned their agreement.

  It could only mean one thing—ice crystals. Meka and Shale exchanged troubled looks.

  “Weird that,” Dip added, “‘cause they used to hate them bastard Avanovs same as the rest of us.” He poked Meka’s shoe with his spear. “Present company excluded.”

  “Thanks.” Meka pushed the spear away. “My brother, Grigor. What about him? Is he okay?”

  “The so-called crown prince?” Dip spat at the fire. “Dragon’s curses on him.”

  String also lobbed a spitball at the fading coals.

  One of the other boys murmured. “May he rot in hell.”

  The pheasant sat heavy in Meka’s now queasy stomach. “Why?”

  “He set them guardsmen on the city. Didn’t he? And look what happened. Most of Cian has gone.” Dip’s eyes fixed on Meka’s rifle.

  From what Meka k
new of urchins, they didn’t help strangers without the promise of some reward. He was happy to pay them for the food and for directions to the palace, but first, he had to clear Grigor’s name. “Grigor would never have done that on his own. Not my brother. He would have been acting on someone’s command. He had no choice.”

  “Nah!” Dip said. “He’s a traitor to the people.” He thumbed his boys. “There isn’t one of us who wouldn’t slit his throat for what he did in Cian. Best he doesn’t cross our paths.”

  “So if I’d been Grigor, you’d have slit my throat?” Meka struggled to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

  Even Shale was stunned, given his dangling jaw.

  Dip grunted. “For sure—until I saw that.” He leaned across and touched Meka’s rifle with exploratory fingers.

  Meka pulled the weapon closer to his leg. “I’m glad you went for caution. I would not have wanted to hurt you. And I promise you, Lukan or Felix made Grigor do it.”

  Dip hissed like a feral cat. “Then he’s a liar and a coward, ‘cause he said the order came in his name. And we don’t have no time for liars and cowards here.”

  There wasn’t an easy answer to that, even though Meka knew Grigor was anything but a cowardly liar. But how did he explain palace politics to street urchins? If he couldn’t sway them to accept Grigor, then he couldn’t trust them as allies. As soon as they reached the palace and, hopefully, Grigor, he and Shale would have to split from them.

  Dip turned to one of his boys. “Mouse, grab two of them cans. One for Meka and one for Shale.”

  A boy with mousey-brown hair, younger and smaller than the rest, skittered down the tunnel. Metal clunked. Moments later, he reappeared holding two tin cans. He tossed one at Meka, and the other to Shale.

  Meka caught his can and frowned at it. He’d never seen anything like it. Conscious of Dip watching him, he asked, “Shale, you ever seen something like this before?”

  “No.” Shale held his can up in the dim light coming off the coals. “Label says black cherries.”