Rebel Prince (The Coalition Rebellion Novels Book 3)

by Justine Davis

  Rina saw Tark suck in a breath. Califa’s limp was most times barely noticeable, but it was there, and she knew a man as observant as Tark would not have missed it.

  He also would not have missed the sheer joy of Dax’s reunion with his mate, making it clear the scars she bore had nothing to do with them.

  “It means less than nothing to her,” Califa said. “I know this, for I know her.”

  He held her gaze then, and Rina sensed it took as much, if not more, courage than facing down row upon row of armored Coalition men.

  “I cannot say it would restore your vision, but if you wish the scar repaired, we have a physician who could do it.”

  Rina didn’t care for the idea. If it would indeed restore his vision, perhaps, but she found nothing repellant in his appearance, or in the scars he carried. Tark glanced at her, saw her reaction in her expression. He turned back to Califa.

  “Have you done so?” he asked quietly.

  Califa smiled, a slow, warm smile. With a glance at Dax, she said, “No.”

  Tark gave a nod that included both she and her mate. “Then I must accept that Triotians are indeed different.”

  Califa laughed then. “Indeed they are.” And then, abruptly, “You love her?”

  Rina almost wished she had not asked, not in so public a place. Almost.

  “I do,” the man who had first sent those words through a boy in battle said, in front of all and without hesitation. “I would die for her.”

  “I think,” Califa said with a laugh, “she would much prefer you live for her.”

  Rina crossed to him then, heedless of the onlookers, or the cheerful clamor that arose when she put her arms around him.

  “Indeed I would,” she said. “I, and all of us, have spent more than enough time thinking you dead.”

  Califa smiled, stepped back, and Dax slipped his arm around her. She looked up at him.

  “I told you,” he whispered.

  “You were right, my love. He is perfect for her.” She gave Rina another smile. “Now, where is my daughter?”

  Rina, Tark beside her, led the way quietly to the room where Lyon slept, weary but miraculously alive, his grievous injury already healing. Shaina, who had never left his side, was now lying asleep beside him on his uninjured side, her arm and one leg crossed over him protectively. The orb that, if the incredible story were to be believed, had saved him sat on the small table at the head of the bed where the two were sleeping.

  They had been through so much, these two she loved as if they were her blood.

  Outside in the square, they were being celebrated as heroes, he for trapping the main Coalition force with that second landslide, risking and nearly losing his life to do it, she for helping carve them up from the rear, and that family stunt with the mother ship.

  The acclaim was rightfully theirs, but Rina knew what was most important to them was right here, in each other’s arms. Just as what was most important to she herself was beside her now.

  “He’s resting well,” Tark said quietly as Dax and Califa slipped through the door behind them.

  “And she would likely slaughter anyone who tries to disturb him,” Rina said.

  “That’s my girl,” Dax said, grinning.

  “And yours,” Rina said to Califa. “I think she’s proven that.”

  “As he has proven he is the king’s son,” Tark said with a nod toward Lyon.

  “When you get to know Shaylah, I think you’ll find he’s got a bit of her in him as well,” Dax said.

  And Rina nearly laughed again at Tark’s nonplussed expression as they casually assumed he would, of course, get to know the queen personally.

  “They will want to take him home as soon as possible,” Califa said.

  “Of course,” Rina agreed. “Nothing will do him more good than being home.” She felt Tark go still. “And I cannot wait for you to see Trios,” she said to him.

  “I—”

  “You are as much a hero on Trios as this rascal,” Califa said, teasing her mate.

  Rina could have kissed her. She had told Tark this, but sensed hearing it like this made it more real to him.

  “Hero,” Tark muttered with a shake of his head.

  “Indeed,” Rina said, “so get used to it.”

  There was a stir outside, so loud she feared it would wake Shaina, if not Lyon. She consulted her internal clock. Yes, about right, she thought.

  “They’re here,” she said softly.

  The four of them moved to flank the door just as it opened. And the King and Queen of Trios walked into the room.

  SHAINA WOKE TO the stir. Her parents were beside them as the royal couple paused to give Rina a hug. Rina’s Tark looked uneasy, and rather stiffly made the traditional bow of the head to them.

  “No, Bright Tarkson,” Dare said firmly. “I will have no bow from you. Besides, I’m told you will soon be family.”

  Tark’s gaze shot to Rina.

  “Well?” she said, an impish grin on her face.

  Tark’s expression softened in a way Shaina wouldn’t have thought possible. “Yes. If you are fool enough to want me, yes.”

  Lyon shifted restlessly, and Shaina sensed he was close to waking up. The royal couple turned to cross the room, the queen pausing to kiss Tark on the cheek—his scarred cheek, Shaina noticed, no shrinking away for this queen—making the hardened warrior flush.

  She didn’t move from Lyon’s side as his mother sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. The woman who was as a second mother to her gave her a smile as she smoothed the hair back from his forehead tenderly. King Dare stood beside her, looking down at his son, his jaw tight with emotion.

  “You told them?” Shaina asked her father, who along with her mother, had come to stand on the other side of the bed.

  “As best I could,” he said.

  “It was . . . a bit of an odd recounting,” the king said.

  “It was odder in reality,” she said.

  Lyon moved again, as if he’d sensed his parents’ presence. After a moment his eyes fluttered open. When he saw them there, he smiled. But when Shaina moved as if to rise, his arm came around her to hold her close.

  “Quite an adventure you’ve had,” Dare said to him.

  “More than you know,” Lyon said. His voice was much stronger, almost normal, Shaina thought in relief. “I don’t know if I’ll ever fully understand.”

  “No matter, it was well done,” Dare said. “By both of you.”

  Lyon started to sit up. Everyone leaned forward to help him. He waved them off. But he allowed Shaina to pull cushions behind him.

  “It was Tark. He and Rina,” he said with a smile at them, “they masterminded the plan.”

  Tark ducked his head, but Rina grinned.

  “Only you, sir,” Lyon said, looking at the scarred warrior, “could conceive and fight a four-front battle with such a small army, and win.”

  Tark’s head came up. “I had help.”

  “You and your help left nothing for my force to do but chase the stragglers,” Dare said. “Who, by the way, are still at a dead run for the far reaches.”

  Lyon smiled as his mother agreed.

  “We are so very, very proud of you all. And,” she added with a glance at the ring Shaina now wore, “glad you two have found your way to each other.”

  “It was difficult for her,” Lyon said. “You know how she hates being told what to do.”

  She nearly elbowed him, would have had she been more recovered from his near death.

  “I had not noticed that,” her father said dryly.

  Even Shaina laughed at that, although part of her reaction was sheer joy from hearing Lyon laugh. He was sounding stronger by the minute.

  �
�I’m afraid she got that from both of us,” her mother said.

  “You must admit,” Shaina said, “all that old talk about destiny was rather the epitome of being told what you will do.”

  “No,” her father said quietly. “Learning—far too late—you are the next flashbow warrior is that.”

  Her gaze shot to her father’s face. In his eyes she saw the love that had always been there, more than a little pain, and a fierce regret. Lyon urged her, with a nudge at the small of her back, and slowly she got to her feet. She faced the man she had come here hating, but now loved even more because she understood so much more.

  “I understand, now. I still wish I had known, but I understand. And I realize that you have been teaching me, giving me the tools I will need, all my life. That it was only the final knowledge you withheld. And that you did it out of love.”

  Her father stared at her. She saw moisture glistening in his eyes. “Ah, Shaina,” he whispered, and she had never heard such a broken sound from this man who had guided her life, who had been ever strong, tough, and sardonic. And then she was hugging him, and he her, so tightly she doubted either of them could breathe.

  Her mother hugged them both, and Shaina felt the dampness of tears that had spilled over on her cheeks, mingling with her mothers. After a long, jubilant moment, her father drew back. Only then did Shaina see that Lyon’s mother was crying too, and Dare’s eyes were damp as well. Rina was simply beaming at them.

  Tark looked a bit stunned, as if he’d never seen such family love and forgiveness before. For a moment she locked gazes with him.

  Welcome, she thought, and put as much of the word as she could into her smile. After a moment he smiled back at her, a smile so full of awe she knew he’d realized this was his now.

  Her father had crossed the room and taken up something Rina had had behind her. Now he brought it back and stood before her.

  “There will be a formal ceremony when we return to Trios,” he said, “but I’ve already waited too long. This is yours now.”

  Shaina stared. In his hand was not the traditional apprentice weapon, but his own flashbow, gleaming silver as he held it out to her.

  “But this is yours,” she said.

  “And now it is yours.”

  “But you—”

  “I think I can make do with my secondary bow.”

  She had no doubt of that, he was, after all, the greatest flashbow warrior Trios had ever known. But this?

  “But—”

  “You saved my life with this, Shaina. And put an end to the man who helped guide the near destruction of Trios. You’ve more than earned it.”

  “For what it may be worth, your king agrees,” Dare said when she still hesitated. It was part of the form—the warrior chose, the king approved, but it still took a moment before she could move. And then Lyon got to his feet. With amazing steadiness, considering, he stood beside her.

  “As do I,” he said softly. “And I am the one who shall have to deal, am I not?”

  At last she put a hand on the elegant, lethal weapon. Unarmed now it lay quiet, yet she thought she could feel a slight tingle along her fingers.

  “Were it not your right,” her father said, his voice low and husky, “it would not respond to you.”

  She took it then, felt an electric sort of snap as a current seemed to run through her. Then it settled, and it was merely a tool in her hand. A very special, very powerful tool. Waiting to come to life at her command.

  “A queen and a flashbow warrior,” Dare said with a wondering shake of his head.

  Shaina’s breath caught. She hadn’t thought of that. Bonding with Lyon meant she would one day be queen. Her gaze shot to his face.

  “I think Trios can withstand it,” he said with a grin.

  Her mouth quirked. “I’m not queen material,” she said ruefully.

  “I think you and I need to have a talk, my dear,” Shaylah said dryly.

  “You are precisely queen material, my love,” Lyon whispered into her ear, making her color as his breath tickling her ear made her wish he was well enough to think of other pursuits.

  The door to the room swung open. Eight heads snapped around, eight hands streaked to weapons. Instinctively, Shaina glanced at the orb, as did Lyon. It sat quietly. No enemy warning here.

  An old man stepped out of the shadows.

  “How in Hades did he get in here?” Tark growled, his weapon aimed at the old man’s head.

  “You!” Shaina exclaimed.

  “You know this man?” Dare asked, his disrupter aimed squarely at the newcomer’s chest. The king of Trios had lost none of his reflexes.

  “Yes,” Lyon said. He looked at his mother. “And so, I believe, do you.”

  Shaylah frowned. “I do?”

  The old man smiled at her. “I’m not surprised you do not recognize me, little sunbird. It has been a very long time.”

  The queen’s brow furrowed. Then cleared as her eyes widened. “Theon? Theon, is it truly you?”

  At the delight in her voice all weapons came down. She ran forward and threw her arms around the old man. After a moment, he drew back and looked at her.

  “It has been too long, little Shaylah. But your blood is strong, and you have passed the essence on to your son. I am glad he is recovering.”

  “He almost didn’t,” Shaina said starkly. “When I first laid that orb upon him it did nothing.”

  The old man turned. “They say to heal it must be held by a still-living Graymist.”

  Shaina opened her mouth, but could not say the words, as if speaking them would make it all too real, all over again. Lyon spoke them for her.

  “And I was not.”

  Shaina felt the spike of pain in the very air of the room as those who loved him reacted.

  “So I had heard,” the old man agreed easily.

  “I still do not understand why it worked, then,” Shaina said, fighting off the painful images of Lyon lying bloody and broken on a field of battle. “I am only thankful that it did.”

  Theon walked over to the orb, glanced back at Shaylah. “If I may?”

  “Why ask?” she said with a smile. “You seem to know more of it than anyone.”

  “What I know was told to me by your grandmother, who had a great fondness for the tales.”

  “I remember,” Shaylah said softly.

  “You have not held it?”

  “No. I’ve been . . . distracted.”

  “Of course.” He smiled at her. “Your grandmother told me the orb spoke to all Graymists, but to the head of the family most of all. And you are, now, the oldest of the Graymist clan.”

  “Well, I’m feeling much older than I did a few days ago,” Shaylah agreed wryly with a glance at Lyon.

  “Then take it,” Theon said, holding it out.

  The queen took the orb. The crystal leapt to life with a fierce, steady glow. And held, longer than either Shaina or Lyon had seen before. Shaylah looked startled, and for a long moment stared down at the orb in her hands. Then her head came up, and the smile on her face lit the room. She gave her mate a swift hug, and then went to Shaina and Lyon. She took her son’s hand.

  “Oh, my dear Lyon, it did not work for you.” She turned to Shaina. “It worked for you.”

  “But I am not Graymist.”

  “No.” Her queen, the woman she loved second only to her own mother, put a hand to Shaina’s cheek. Her smile was radiant. “But your son is.”

  “My—”

  Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. Shock numbed her. Lyon’s arm steadied her. And then she felt a flood of heat rising from deep within her, coloring her chest, her neck, her face as the others reacted, the men with a blankness she thought was probably typical, the women with gasps followed by
slowly growing smiles.

  Rina was the first to recover. “Well. That’s a fine way to find out.”

  “But . . . already?” Lyon said, sounding a little shaky. “And after only—”

  He broke off before he would have truly earned that elbow, Shaina thought, still feeling a little numb. It was enough that it had been announced to all and sundry, without the details of how it had come about. She stole a glance at her father, who looked shell-shocked. The king looked nearly so.

  And then her mother was there, hugging her, then Lyon, then Shaylah. Rina joined them, her teasing laugh a joyous thing.

  A child. She was carrying a child. Lyon’s son.

  She had to believe it. The orb had done everything promised, had been right about everything. Dear God. The very thought made her shiver. Lyon’s arm tightened. She leaned into him, feeling suddenly weak.

  Ridiculously, the first thing that occurred to her was that this explained why she had not been able to see through the screen, but had been able to see the treasure. She was already pregnant, even then.

  “I think,” old Theon said, “that soon I may have to take up my brush again.”

  “I would count it an unmatched favor if you would, my dear old friend,” Shaylah said, still smiling so widely Shaina couldn’t help but feel the warmth of it. “We need a portrait of our king at last. We have sadly missed having an artist of your talent.”

  “And in time,” Theon said, “a portrait of this entire family, for the thought of this combination of Graymist and Trios royalty, of Claxton and Silverbrake, will give an entire galaxy hope for a final and lasting peace. And perhaps one day this child will assure it.”

  “That’s a lot to lay on a baby who’s not even here yet,” Rina said, bringing them all back to practicality.

  “I think,” the queen said briskly, “there are two people here who need some time alone.”

  “I think,” Rina said with a grin, “there are four sets of two people here who need some time alone.”