by Gwynn White
Sadly, she was right.
A fascinating mix of distrust, desperation, and yearning burned on her fine-boned face. “You sold me on this war, Chenayan,” she said, her voice an octave higher. “Convinced me we could win if we followed you. How can we believe you really are on our side if you allow this to continue?”
Axel longed to lash straight back at her, the words dancing on his tongue: The Trevenites were not the only ones making sacrifices here. He’d also risked everything for this conflict. One hint of his treachery, and Lukan would kill him and his sister just as surely as Magridal’s friends had died in battle over the last three weeks. But he didn’t say any of it.
Instead, he took a deep breath. “Are you here in an official capacity as King Chad’s envoy, or is this just Magridal yelling at me?”
“Does it make a difference?”
“Actually, it does. If it’s just Magridal, then I will have an aide send up a bottle of cider from Chad’s cellar, and we can drink our sorrow away together. I’m not feeling too cheerful about things right now, either. But if you come as an emissary, well, then the booze must wait.”
“This is not a joke, Chenayan.” Magridal leaned in close, her furious face pressed right up to Axel. “Do you know who I am?”
Axel shook his head; she would tell him whether he answered or not.
“I thought not.” Magridal waved her hand at him. “How could you? You’re a Chenayan, an Avanov. You see the world in terms of conquest and gain. I—we were not like that. I am a skilled ice crystal blower. I made and sold shrine statues of people’s departed loved ones before the war. My brothers worked the mines. My father and my grandfather grew apples and vegetables. Spirits know, even our poison gas was serendipity. A by-product of the mines.”
Axel frowned as he considered her words. “Chad had a standing army before the war. I know that for a fact because I read all the intelligence reports from before the invasion. He implied when we met that he would use them.”
“They died defending our borders. King Jerawin got wind of the invasion days before you arrived. Even the advance warning didn’t help.” She pulled back and closed her eyes, a crease forming between her drawn eyebrows. Finally, she looked at him. “We are not warriors, Avanov. We’re just regular people forced into battle. We can’t survive like this. Help us. That is my king’s message to you.”
Axel cursed both Chad, for not leveling with him, and his predecessor, for his shocking reporting. In a haze of chenna, Warlord Azan had made little effort to document what had really happened during the opening weeks of the conflict. Azan’s reports back to High Council had been sketchy at best, outright lies at worst. Axel shrugged. His reports to Lukan wouldn’t be much better, but for very different reasons.
Lastly, he cursed the one person ultimately responsible for this debacle—himself. He had acted on assumptions, a fatal error he would not be making again. He stood and paced, considering how best to solve the problem.
“I still answer to the emperor and the High Council. Leaving my post to visit Jerawin was already risky. I justified it in the official report by claiming that he and I were negotiating a truce. Thus far, Lukan seems to have bought it. It will give Jerawin time to make our weapons in peace. But I can’t risk leaving my command again, and I don’t see how I can help you without doing so.” He narrowed his eyes. “Unless you know a way of vanishing from the palace without being spotted.”
“I will show you at least one of my secrets, then.” Magridal held out her hand to him. When he didn’t take it, she dropped her arm and made her way across the room toward the wall opposite the bed.
“A hidden passageway, no doubt,” Axel said following her.
“How else do you think King Chad managed to save eighty thousand people from the capital?” Magridal slipped her fingers into a triangle of crystal shards in the center of the mosaic.
A soft grating filled the room as a portion of the wall pushed back and slid to the right. A torch burned in a holder on the far wall of the secret passage.
She closed the sliding door behind them and picked up the light. “Everyone was commanded to assemble at the palace, and he evacuated us through tunnels like this.”
“I want a map,” Axel said, following her into the steamy passage. Clearly, they were close to a hot spring. A flight of stairs yawned before him.
“I’m sure you do. I want the Chenayans out of my land. Doesn’t mean I’m getting it anytime soon.”
Axel stopped in his tracks.
“What?” Magridal demanded.
“You commit to a map, or I leave, right now.”
She licked her lips. “If the map falls into the wrong hands—”
“It won’t. But if I don’t know where the weaknesses are, don’t blame me if some overly eager soldier stumbles onto one of your passages.” When she frowned, he held up his severed finger. “Magridal, trust works both ways. I accept that it is my fault for not asking, but if Chad had told me he had lost his entire army, I would have tackled this war in a very different way. We wouldn’t now be mourning the death of eight hundred and fifty-seven farmers. I am not making the same mistake again. Openness between us or nothing.”
A long pause, then Magridal nodded. “A map will be delivered to you.”
At last, progress. Axel waved her on.
They walked in silence down the stairs, the only noise the persistent slosh of water. At the bottom, the passage split.
Magridal pointed straight on. “That way will take you to the mountains. Right into the cavern where we maimed your hands.”
She turned left, leading him into a humid cave hung with colorful stalactites. Eons of running water had carved a large pool in the center of the space. It gleamed darkly in the torchlight. Magridal stopped and looked at him expectantly.
Axel scanned the room, getting a sense of the size. It was only big enough for ten or so people; it must have once been a private swimming hole for Chad and his family. It would do as a planning room but was no good as a training venue. The smooth walls and pool didn’t represent the terrain Chad’s troops were fighting in.
He sat on a stone ledge. “Chad sent waves of troops to face my men. You cannot hope to beat us like that.”
“You sent waves of troops into the mines. What else were we supposed to do?” Again that bitterness.
He smiled at her. “What do you do best, Magridal? Other than trying to seduce me?”
Magridal snorted. “Best, or least successfully?”
“Best.”
She shrugged, looking uncertain.
Axel’s heart went out to her. He had to admire that she had survived as long as she had. His voice softened. “Stealth. That’s what you do best. And that’s what I am going to teach you and the rest of Chad’s commanders. How to materialize from nothing, destroy, and vanish like the spirits you worship. It is the only way you will survive.”
She frowned, still looking puzzled.
Axel waved his hand around the room. “I will meet here with Chad to help him strategize. But I also need to work with his commanders in territory that resembles the mines. I assume you can offer something like that close-by?”
“There’s an ancient digging about an hour’s walk from here. It’s similar enough. So, you train us, and we train everyone else?”
“Yes. When we’re done, you’ll be like wraiths. Unstoppable. Deadly. You will wage a bloody war of attrition. My infantrymen will quail at the very thought of entering those mines. But, in the end, my sheer numbers will prevail.”
Magridal slumped down next to him, relief etched in her sagging shoulders as she rested her head on his shoulder—her way, he guessed, of saying thank you.
Chapter 33
Felix dropped his informa. The image of Axel disappearing into a secret passage in King Chad’s old bedchamber snuffed out as it tumbled onto the floor. It didn’t matter.
Gasping for breath, Felix slumped forward until his forehead thunked onto his newly acquired antiqu
e walnut desk in his newly decorated office. The jarring pain didn’t matter, either.
His Axel, the boy he had raised from birth to one day become Emperor of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories was not only fraternizing with the enemy, he was conspiring to aid them in the war for the ice crystal mines.
When Axel had announced he was negotiating a truce with Jerawin, Felix’s suspicions had been roused. His Axel, the man who had risked his life to be posted to Treven, would not negotiate with a sworn enemy.
But that was before Lynx.
Concern had prompted Felix to have a recording device installed in Axel’s chambers. Now Felix almost wished he hadn’t gone to the trouble. A sharp pain shot through his chest, flushing all the air out of him. He didn’t need a physician to tell him his heart was breaking. He closed his eyes and struggled to breathe.
The pain ebbed enough for him to stumble to his feet. Never a big drinker, he still staggered over to his new walnut drinks cabinet and poured a glass of chenna.
He tossed it back. A second glass he carried to his desk, slopping some on the carpet. The blood-red stains on his new cream carpet didn’t matter now. Sipping slowly, he tried to fathom Axel’s motives.
What made Lynx so fascinating that Axel would risk everything, including his sister’s life for the Norin—he paused, remembering Tatiana’s objection to the word bitch.
Then rage engulfed him, and he slammed the glass down onto a coaster on his desk. Lynx and Lukan were to blame for Axel’s treachery. If it hadn’t been for them, Axel would not be consorting with the enemy.
His rage dissipated as quickly as it flared, leaving nothing but deep-seated anguish. Cruel as it was, right now, there was nothing Felix could do about either Lukan or Lynx, other than to hope that Axel quickly came to his senses.
Felix made a decision.
No matter the costs, Lukan was never to know about Axel’s treachery. As undeserving as Axel was right now, Felix would support his boy, cover for him even, until he could get Axel back to the palace to talk some sense into him.
And protecting Axel started right now.
Felix picked up his informa and hacked into Stefan’s so-called secure channel, which he suspected Axel would use for his duplicity. Thus far, Felix didn’t think Lukan had stumbled on that private network, but that could change in a heartbeat. Axel would be exposed.
Felix cracked his knuckles, ready to build another layer of encryption, and then he groaned. If he meddled, Axel would know he was being monitored. It would drive him further underground. Felix needed to know everything, and inspiring Axel to caution would frustrate that purpose. Impotent rage burned as Felix tossed the informa down onto the table. He kneaded his eye sockets.
What had happened to his world?
Wasn’t it bad enough that Stefan Zarot, the man Felix longed for his daughter to marry, led a band of guardsmen impervious to ice crystals? Did his son have to be an outright traitor, too?
By the Dragon, there is no justice in this world.
But no matter, just like Felix supported Axel, while Stefan protected and loved Malika, Felix would cast a cloak of immunity over him, too. In between dealing with Lukan’s cruel discipline, Stefan still somehow managed to stand between her and Morass.
And thanks to Tatiana—she had held Morass at bay with a fire poker—the two of them had even found some private time away from everyone. It was certainly not how Felix would have chosen for his daughter to lose her virginity and hopefully conceive his first, dear grandchild, but these days, he took what he could get.
A long, drawn-out sigh, and Felix sought comfort in the one thing that always calmed him in times of anger, fear, or panic—monitoring his cameras guarding the halls and passages of the palace. Although unlikely at four o’clock in the morning, perhaps he would be lucky enough to find some dissident he could punish.
A grim smile. And I won’t be handing the bastard over to Morass, either.
Yet again, he picked up his informa.
The first thing he saw was Kestrel darting from shadow to shadow, unusual for her. Curious, Felix examined the area. The emperor himself strode down the passage to a side door that opened to the courtyard—one Felix knew led to the stables. Lukan gave no sign to suggest he was aware of his mistress tailing him.
Intrigued, Felix settled down to watch.
Chapter 34
Kestrel’s heart threatened to explode as a patrolling guardsman stepped out in front of her. She slunk back into a curtained alcove in the passage to wait for him to pass. Unfortunately, it slowed her pace, and she feared she’d lose Lukan.
As emperor, he could stroll with impunity down these passages. She, on the other hand, was nothing more than Tao’s discarded wife and Lukan’s current mistress. Neither offered her the status to pass unchallenged through the palace in the small hours of the morning.
She followed Lukan today partly in hope of changing her circumstances. Her hand drifted to her belly, but it was too soon to feel what she knew grew there. If he knew her wonderful news, surely he would want to give her the rank and status befitting a woman who carried his child. She refused to even consider that Tao could be responsible for her lack of menstruation, ever-present nausea, and general tiredness.
The guardsman plodded past, and she hurried after Lukan. As she moved, pain spiked through her thighs and pelvis. Gently, she rubbed the bruises hidden by her nightdress. Lukan had been especially rough last evening in bed. But the discomfort was worth it if she gave him pleasure.
Confusion and sorrow crumpled her face. Inexplicably, that pleasure hadn’t been enough to keep him from slipping from her side this morning. After his first mysterious vanishing act, she had cajoled him to find out where he had gone, but he had rebuffed all her efforts. This morning when he’d crept out of bed, clearly trying not to wake her, she had guessed he planned another excursion.
It left Kestrel with just one conclusion.
Lukan had another woman, another mistress, someone else he shared his bed with, someone else he could marry, someone else who could become Empress of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories. Someone who would give him a son and heir.
That was not a prospect Kestrel could endure. Not for herself or her unborn child.
Just as stealthily, she had crept out of bed to follow him.
Lukan stopped to pull a fur hat and gloves from his pocket. After slipping them on, he opened a heavy wooden door and stepped out into the night.
Clouds of steam billowing from his mouth made Kestrel hesitate. Unlike his clothing, her nightgown, slippers, and the pretty mink stole Lukan had given her tossed over her shoulders were inappropriate for an outdoor excursion. It was cold, bitterly cold, colder than she could ever have believed possible.
When the first snow had arrived, she had reveled in it. That flurry had turned into weeks of blizzards, and snow and ice lay in huge drifts, making life so depressing it was almost unbearable. It also made travel outside almost impossible unless one dressed for the freezing conditions. She tugged her stole tighter around her shoulders, missing her matching gloves and hat. Not to mention her thick fur-lined boots. But who knew Lukan planned to go out into the cold?
Lukan closed the door behind him.
Kestrel darted to the closest window to see him walking toward the stables. A frown puckered her nose. Why would he need his horse? And if he had another woman, surely she would be housed somewhere in the palace? But perhaps—
Lukan entered the stable.
Needing to be sure, Kestrel creaked open the door and slipped out onto the path. Grimacing against the bite of ice through the thin soles of her slippers, she sneaked into the stable after him. Relieved at the warmth coming from the straw-strewn floor, she hid behind a stack of hay bales to watch.
Lukan’s beautiful black horse stomped impatiently in the hands of a groom. The animal was already saddled.
“My saddlebags?” Lukan snapped to the groom. “Where are they?”
A young low-
born boy, buckling under the weight of two bulging leather bags, stumbled toward the horse. Kestrel leaned forward to see what they contained, but the tops were laced closed. The groom dropped the reins and leaped over to help the urchin. Together they tossed the bags across the horse’s back. The stallion whinnied, and Lukan patted its neck with a gentle hand.
To follow Lukan, she would need a mount. But if she slipped to her horse’s stall, next to Lukan’s, he would see her. And her tack was stored in a room on the opposite end of the stable. She patted her chin with a finger, thinking on her problem.
Before a solution presented itself, Lukan mounted his horse and urged it out the stable door into the yard.
Without thinking, Kestrel scuttled after him, keeping low. Her hands and feet ached from the cold, and her breath froze on her nose and mouth. Still, it was worth any pain to know in whose arms Lukan planned to spend the day.
Deep in thought, Lukan walked his horse across the yard. Although to her the sounds of her feet crunching on the snow were deafening, Lukan gave no sign of noticing.
He surprised her by taking a little-used path toward the forest. So obscure, she had never noted the narrow run before. Lukan and his horse soon outstripped her. She was left alone on an icy path in the dark.
Fear nipped at her.
In the distance, she swore a wolf called from the forest. It sent her heart racing. Unarmed, she had nothing to defend herself against it if it came looking for food on the palace grounds.
It called again, and then she remembered the moat around the palace served as a wolf pen. Silently berating herself for her silliness, she stumbled after Lukan on icy feet. Even if she couldn’t catch up with him, she still wanted to see where he went.
At last, she reached a drawbridge manned by three guardsmen. There was no sign of Lukan. But that told her all she needed to know. He had an assignation with someone in the forest.
Another woman.
But with no hope of following him, how would she find out the woman’s identity? She remembered the boy who had carried the saddlebags. She had seen him around the stable before and suspected he slept in the hay loft. If she hurried, she could catch him before anyone else arrived on duty.
