Ice Baron (Ice Chronicles, Book One (science fiction romance))

by Green, Jennette

  “In two hours. After lunch. Richert insists I sleep for an hour.”

  “I’m going with you. My brothers and sisters…”

  “No.”

  That flat, inflexible command infuriated her. “You can’t win this war alone.”

  “You will stay here, where you’ll be safe.”

  “I failed my people. You have to let me make this right.”

  His brown eyes appeared to be swallowed up by darkness. “Obey me.”

  “You’re not infallible. You don’t know what’s right.”

  “I want what’s best for you.”

  “Do you?” Her voice rose sharply. “Is that why you sold me to Onred? Because you wanted what was best for me?”

  His solid shoulders flinched.

  “I wish I had obeyed now.” Her voice trembled. “Maybe thousands of our people would still be alive.”

  “A…”

  “I was so angry and hurt. That you could do that to me, when I…”

  “Anya.”

  “You sold me. I asked you to stop the deal, but you wouldn’t.” Unwanted, angry tears slipped down her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to bring this up now, but couldn’t seem to stop the storm of words.

  He opened his mouth again.

  “You sold me. Against my will. Two cities are gone because I couldn’t take it. I wasn’t strong or brave enough to sacrifice my life for you…or for our territory. And now they’re all dead!”

  “Damn it, I’m sorry!” The words erupted with startling force.

  She stared at him.

  “I was wrong. I convinced myself that you marrying Onred was for the best.”

  “Then…” she faltered, “…then you didn’t think it was?”

  “No. I needed…”

  “Peace?” she supplied when he didn’t finish.

  “I was a gutless bastard, and I’m sorry.”

  She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that statement.

  “I was wrong. Please forgive me, Anya.” The entreaty in those velvet brown eyes almost melted her heart into a puddle of forgiveness. Almost.

  “Would you ever again force me, or my sisters…”

  “No!” More gently, he said, “Never again. Never.”

  “Good.” Finally, one terrible weight rolled off of her shoulders. Relief overwhelmed her. Heart feeling a little lighter, she impulsively hugged him. Although he stiffened, his arms closed around her, too.

  Awash in a moment of peace, Anya held him tighter, and murmured into his neck, “I forgive you.” She closed her eyes, drinking in the comfort of his strong, solid body. He smelled nice. Warm, spicy, and male. The urge to kiss him overwhelmed her, and so Anya turned her lips into the warm skin of his neck. He wouldn’t know it was a kiss. Not really. But the texture of his skin against her mouth shot warm, shaky emotions through her. Longing for more swamped her. It took every ounce of her will to step back.

  Joshua’s eyes appeared a bit glazed. Abruptly, he turned. “I’ve got to go.”

  Bewildered, she watched him stride from the room. Had he realized she had kissed him?

  He must have. It must have shocked and offended him, too, the way he’d shot out of the room. Embarrassment heated her skin. All the same, she knew that when Joshua returned, all would go on as normal—as if the incident had never happened.

  But she had kissed him. What did he think of it? Was he truly disgusted? Contemptuous? Horrified?

  Anya pressed her hand to her lips, deeply regretting her impulsive action.

  CHAPTER TEN

  By accident, Joshua came upon the solarium. It was deserted. Thank God, for he needed to be alone. He crossed the sunny room to gaze out at the desolate snow pack stretching south. Sunlight glinted off the snow and the sky gleamed a brilliant, winter blue. Beautiful, but not as beautiful as the color of Anya’s eyes.

  For the first time since leaving Anya, Joshua allowed his stiff control to relax. A shudder slipped through him. When her lips had pressed into his skin, his heart had about stopped. It had felt like a caress. It had felt like heaven.

  He’d wanted to take her and…

  Joshua drew a harsh breath, and then another, willing the images and emotions to leave him. His fists clenched. “You can’t have her, damn it. Stop.”

  “Why not?”

  The raspy voice of the baron made him turn on his heel. Richert had caught him unawares. A bad sign. His preoccupation with Anya had dulled his instincts.

  “Why not?” The old man repeated, lifting a heavy, silvered black brow. “If you want her, take her.”

  Joshua disliked anyone suspecting his deepest, most dishonorable weakness. Especially his lifelong enemy. “Never. I’m her protector.”

  “Most damn fool law in creation.”

  Joshua’s fists tightened. “She trusts me. I won’t betray her.” He turned to the window. “Not again.”

  “You mean like when you sold her to that bastard, Onred?”

  Joshua’s fists briefly clenched again.

  “You are a damn fool.”

  “Thanks,” Joshua said tersely.

  “Settle up with her.” The old man cackled. “You’ll feel a whole lot better. And it’ll clear your mind for the mission. Think of it this way: if you fail the mission, you lose everything, including her.”

  “And if I win…”

  “You gain power as a true baron. You won’t feel like a mistake anymore. No one will see you as a stand-in for the real thing. That’s how you feel, isn’t it?”

  Joshua didn’t answer. He would not bare his soul to Richert. But the baron was right. He had always felt that he’d come into power by accident. Anya’s father had never chosen him to be baron. As a result, Joshua felt he needed to exceed by double what others expected of him. It was the only way he felt deserving of the role of baron.

  Richert said, “If you defeat Onred, you’ll gain the power to make your own laws. You can begin your own dynasty. Anya’s father’s rule will finally die. As it should!” This ended with a snap. “It’s part of the reason I’m willing to help you, boy.”

  Joshua glanced at him, one brow barely raised.

  The old baron chucked. “Yes. I thought you’d see the advantage for both of us. If you defeat Onred, you earn the right to the territory. You’ll pull it back together from nothing. An impossible task, maybe. Probably. But it will be a new territory. A new start. A new dynasty. You could abolish the Old Barons’ Law if you want.”

  Joshua had never considered this possibility. However, he wouldn’t allow himself to hope. Not yet.

  “But,” the baron finished, “if you fail, you’re dead.”

  “Protect Anya for me, if I don’t return.”

  The old man did not answer.

  * * * * *

  Anya set the alarm to ring in an hour and curled up on the soft, pink bed. One hour should leave her enough time, shouldn’t it? With a sigh of exhausted bliss, she closed her eyes.

  It seemed only a moment before irritating beeps awoke her. She swung out of bed, brushed her hair and left the room, still yawning. Hopefully, Joshua was still sleeping. She wanted to speak to Richert alone, before lunch.

  A servant in the hall directed her to the dining room, where Richert brooded near the window.

  “Hello,” she said brightly.

  The old man sent her a startled glance. A flash of something indecipherable gleamed in his eyes, then disappeared. “What do you want, girl?”

  “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  He grunted. “Get on with it. No one speaks to me without a reason.”

  “I need your help.”

  For the first time, she noticed the cane in his hand. Noticing the direction of her gaze, he prodded it into the floor. “I can walk, you know.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  A coarse chuckle erupted. “I’m afraid I’ll fall.”

  She hadn’t expected honesty, nor the vulnerability he had allowed her to see. After a moment elapsed, she dared to ask a pe
rsonal question. “What happened to you? You’re not that old.”

  “Doctors don’t know. Maybe I have a parasite.” Richert levered himself to his feet. Slowly, he shuffled forward, a few centimeters at a time. It was painful to watch. Anya tensed, ready to run to his aid, should he need it. He now rested his weight on the dining chair back. A feeble plucking, and he dragged it back enough so he could plop down on the cushioned seat. Harsh breaths rattled in his chest.

  Richert propped his cane against the table, and with a wheeze took up the conversation again. “A viral one, they’re guessing. Or maybe someone’s poisoning me.”

  Anya was surprised he’d speak so matter-of-factly of possible assassination. “Who’s next in line for power?”

  “My son. He’s sixteen. Two years until he reaches his majority. Or it could be my first-in-command. But I think it’s Lisa. She hates me.”

  “Probably.”

  He chuckled loudly.

  “Maybe you should get a new cook.”

  The black eyes glittered. “What do you want, Anya?”

  It was the first time he had ever referred to her by her Christian name. “I want to go with Joshua. I need to fight Onred and protect my people.”

  “He asked if I’d watch over you when he dies.”

  Alarm rushed. “He won’t die.”

  “He probably will. He’s a brave buck, but he’s going against impossible odds.”

  “I want to go with him.”

  “You’ll die, too.”

  “So be it. If Joshua dies, I die. It’s the way it has to be. It’s the way I want it to be. Let me choose my death.”

  “You love him that much?”

  Anya swallowed, and then said, “Yes.” It was the first time she had ever admitted that to anyone.

  His eyes glittered. “Against my better judgment, I’ll help you. Listen carefully.”

  Anya wasn’t fooled by her uncle’s sudden generosity. Richert didn’t suddenly like her. For one thing, she still physically reminded him of her dead mother, whom he despised. For another, if she and Joshua died, it would give Richert the perfect opportunity to conquer her territory. With two of Donetsk’s cities gone, he would likely succeed with ease.

  Richert had just finished outlining his plan when Joshua entered the room. “We were just talking about you,” her uncle said.

  Anya cast Richert an uneasy glance. Would the unpredictable baron let a clue slip about their plans?

  But Richert only told Joshua to pull up a chair, and then rang for lunch to be served. “Eat up,” he advised. Ghoulishly, he added, “It may be your last meal.”

  Lunch consisted of hot rolls, slabs of ham, and cheesy potatoes. Joshua ate silently. He also looked tired.

  “You’re boring guests,” Richert growled.

  “How did you come to power?” Anya asked. She didn’t really want to talk. Worry about her family, Onred’s threats, and, in a short while, mutinying against Joshua’s orders again, all coalesced into an uncomfortable lump in the pit of her stomach. Getting Richert to ramble on about himself seemed the best plan. Most people loved to talk about themselves, and she felt certain Richert was no different.

  His heavy brows lifted. “You want a story? Fine. My father was Baron. He passed the title on to me when I turned thirty-six. It was about the time your mother married my brother.” His lips twisted, as if tasting something sour.

  “Your father didn’t die before you took power?”

  “No. He tested me first. I was a protector for eight years. I started at twenty-five. Most protectors are older. But my father ordered it, because he thought it would mature me for the job of baron. He wanted to test my mettle—for me to prove I could control myself.” His lips twisted into a faint smile. “I was quite the lady’s man in my day. But I did a fair job as protector. I watched over two teenaged girls and their brother. Their father died in the old wars. The mother needed help.” Richert lapsed into silence.

  “What happened?” Anya asked, assuming he had a point to his story.

  “The oldest girl was your mother.”

  Anya stared at him in complete silence.

  Richert’s fiery, obsidian gaze bored into Joshua. “So you see. We have much in common.”

  Joshua’s gaze flicked to Anya, and then back to the baron. Quietly, he said, “What happened between you and Anya’s mother?”

  “I loved her. Rachel loved me, but refused to admit it, because of the scandal.” Richert huffed a laugh. “My father saw, of course. He warned me to stay away from her. If I broke the protector’s sacred trust, he’d disown me. The title of baron would go to my brother.”

  Anya squelched a disbelieving snort. Her mother had never loved Richert. But better to let Richert talk. Then she could better understand what made him tick now.

  “Then my uncle died in an attack, and the northern territory—your territory—” this to Joshua, “—needed a baron. My brother was nominated. Jason asked Rachel to go with him. Not because he loved her. But because I did. He’d always been jealous of me, and all I would become. He wanted to be Baron of Tarim Territory, but he didn’t have the guts to kill me for it. So he took my Rachel.”

  Anya bit her tongue. Rachel had hardly been Richert’s.

  “The night before she was to leave, Rachel came to me in tears. She said her mother and Jason had come to an agreement. She had to marry Jason, but it wasn’t by her choice.” Richert’s face gentled. “She said she loved me, and didn’t want to leave me. But she also didn’t want me to lose my future, either, as I would if I married her. All the same, I asked her to marry me, and she said, ‘Yes.’”

  Richert’s voice grew quieter, and he looked into the distance, as if into the past. The true past? Or one he had reengineered for his own comfort? “I was ecstatic. I figured I could get my father to overlook my transgression, eventually. After all, he didn’t have any more sons to become baron. It seemed like all of my dreams were about to come true. I should have known.”

  “Known what?” Anya said, beginning to feel impatient with the story that Richert clearly wove from figments of his imagination. She had to bite her tongue to keep from asserting that her mother had loved her father, not Richert.

  “I should have known when she gave herself to me that night, that something wasn’t right. Waiting until marriage was ingrained into Rachel’s character. But I was a fool, and took her for my own. When I woke up, she was gone. So was my brother.”

  Richert sat silently for a long time. “She married him. I waited like a fool, hoping she’d be miserable and leave him. Finally, I wrote to her, begging her to return to me. My brother wrote back. He said he’d kill me if I wrote another letter like that to his wife. Rachel was his, forever. Rachel wrote a note, too, saying that she’d never loved me. Later, I believed it. But not then. And then you were born.” Richert spared a brief glance for Anya.

  The full implication hit, and she gasped.

  “Don’t worry,” Richert snapped. “DNA proved you were his. Plus, you were born too late, in May.”

  Anya had been born in March. Joshua met her gaze and held it, but Anya said nothing to put the delusional old man straight. As Richert had said, DNA had proven that she was her father’s child. And her mother had loved her father. Anya had seen it in the way she had kissed him goodbye in the morning, or smoothed his collar. The way she’d given him five children. Bitterness had bent this old man’s mind and warped his body. Anya would provide no more fuel for his twisted fantasies. It was time for peace. Time to put the past to rest.

  “So you started a bloody war, all in the name of love,” she summed up.

  Color rushed to Richert’s face. “I started the bloody war because Jason stole her. Then he held her prisoner. The first skirmishes were to try to steal her back.” He waved a bony hand. “Matters escalated from there.”

  Anya gasped. “Thousands of people died! Your jealousy has caused heartbreak for…”

  “Anya,” Joshua said.

  Joshua
was right, of course. What did she hope to accomplish? Richert would never see the truth. He had given his entire life to pursuing “justice.” What were the chances that he’d admit to being wrong all this time? That he’d wasted his entire life, as well as the lives of thousands of young men, on a war spawned by his crushed pride and jealousy?

  The old baron glowered at her, his black brows beetling over burning black eyes. Did she want to start another war right now, when Joshua had just negotiated peace? When Richert had just “magnanimously” agreed to help her?

  “I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn,” she managed.

  “You’re damn well not sorry,” Richert snapped. “Don’t lie to me, like your mother did.”

  In a flash of understanding, Anya guessed that this was what had hurt Richert most of all. Rightly or wrongly, he had given his heart to her mother. She had betrayed his trust, and so had her father.

  Drawing a deep breath, Anya touched his cool, papery hand. To her surprise, he didn’t snatch it free. “I’m sorry,” she repeated in a low voice. “I’m sorry for the way my mother hurt you. And I’m sorry that both of my parents betrayed you.”

  Richert looked away. A deeper scowl knit his brows. He fumbled in his shirt pocket. As if summoned by an invisible command, his wheelchair noiselessly rolled up to his chair.

  “I’m glad for a chance at a new beginning,” she pressed on. “For you, me, Joshua, and my family.”

  The black eyes glittered. “I don’t trust you, you know. I don’t trust anyone.”

  “I know. But we’ve taken the first step toward peace, haven’t we?”

  Now he jerked his hand free. “We’ll see.” With shaking arms, he levered himself up and plopped into his wheelchair. With an impatient poke at a button, he whirred away.

  “Good job.” Amusement lurked in Joshua’s eyes. “Ready to sweet-talk Onred next?”

  “You’d let me come?”

  “Not a chance.”

  Lowering her gaze, Anya spooned up soup and blew on it. Joshua could read her too well. She was afraid her eyes would give away her true intentions. He would be livid when he found out what they were.