by Gwynn White
Her hand went instinctively to her belly. “No, thank you.”
“You never drink with me. Why not? Even sour Tatiana drank with my father.”
It was now or never. Kestrel crossed the room and laid her hand on his chest. A spike of longing mixed with need shot through her as her fingers touched his silky skin. She wished he would look at her, but he didn’t.
A quick swallow, and she said, “I have good news for you.”
His dark eyes flitted to her, and he cocked his head.
“I’m pregnant.”
Instead of smiling or congratulating her, he snapped, “Not another one!”
Kestrel blinked hard. “Another one?”
Lukan brushed her question aside, expression hard, unrelenting. “Whose is it? Mine or my brother’s?”
Fighting to keep the disappointment off her face, she stuttered, “Yours, I’m sure. I—I only ever lay with T-tao once. T-twice.”
“When was your last bleed?”
“I have not bled since before I got here, and I have never missed a bleed in my life.”
Lukan swore. “Then it could be mine or Tao’s.” He poured another glass of chenna, knocking it back in one gulp.
Tears clouded Kestrel’s eyes. “I’m sure it’s yours,” she whispered. “Hopefully a crown prince, if you . . .” Her voice trailed off, not daring to suggest that Lukan annul his marriage to Lynx and wed her.
“If I what? Marry you?” Lukan scoffed. “Too late. I already have a crown prince on order. Bastard.”
Lukan kicked the wall, dislodging a piece of plaster. It left a gaping hole in the pastoral scene painted there. Then he turned to her, his eyes speculative, calculating, but she didn’t know him well enough to fathom what it meant.
“You know very well I did not go hunting. Not even you are so stupid. But it serves me to let you and your child live. But speak to anyone about my visits to the forest, and you will be sent to join Lynx and your husband. Am I clear?”
Kestrel barely heard him. “Lynx is pregnant?” Anger and disappointment brought bile gushing into Kestrel’s throat.
Lukan’s fist crashed down onto the table. “Am I clear?”
“O-of course, sire. I will never do anything to upset what we have.”
Another long, indecipherable look, and then Lukan added, “Say a word to anyone that you slept with Tao, and I will have no more use for you or your child. You won’t even make it as far as the forest. In fact, you will end up in the same grave as the stable hand you bribed this morning.” Lukan’s hand shot out, jabbing her stomach. “Whatever you’re carrying in there is mine. You got that?”
“Of course.” Kestrel’s whole body trembled, and her voice quavered. “Only the maid who fixed my bed knows Tao was my first.”
Glittering eyes flashed at her. “Her name?”
Kestrel’s mouth opened and closed as she dredged her memory for the almost forgotten woman’s name. “Galia, I think.”
Lukan pulled his informa out of his pocket, something she was still very unfamiliar with.
“What are you doing?” she asked, suddenly terrified for the woman whose name she had unwittingly revealed. If Lukan had killed that poor boy, then what would happen with Galia?
He flicked his thumb over it and said, “Morass. When you get this message, find a servant named Galia who waited on my brother. Round up her and her family and execute them.” Another flick of his thumb, and he tossed the informa onto the table next to the chenna. To Kestrel, he said, “No one will ever suspect that I’m not the father of what could be Tao’s bastard.”
The bile in Kestrel’s throat threatened to drown her. Not in her worst nightmares had she envisaged that her wonderful news would be greeted so badly.
Lukan filled another glass of chenna. A gulp, and it was gone. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Take off that insipid dress.” Lust burning in his eyes, he stalked toward her.
Heart aching, she fumbled with her corset. He wrenched her hands away and tore at the laces. She closed her eyes, praying he would be gentle. How she would face the coming months, she didn’t know, but the last thing in the world she wanted was to be banished with Lynx and Tao.
Chapter 37
For Felix, since learning of Axel’s perfidy, the last three months had been as desolate and bitter as any he could ever recall. Now, fingers steepled, lips pursed, he watched Lukan pace. The emperor paused to rap his fingers on his desk, then stomped over to peer out of the office window at the falling snow. Then back to the desk.
At this rate, Lukan would wear holes in his thick-piled gold silk carpet.
Felix didn’t mind how long it took the cretin to marshal his thoughts. A comforting fire blazed in Lukan’s enormous fireplace, lifting some of Felix’s chill—at least the part caused by the snow and winter gales he detested so much.
“First a truce with Lapis, and now your son has overshot my deadline," Lukan said. “I told him he had three months to secure me a victory. That date expired yesterday.”
Felix couldn’t decide which was more incredulous, the emperor’s face or his voice. He also couldn’t help noticing Lukan’s use of the words your son. Mott had always spread blame around regardless of culpability. He wondered if Lukan was following in his father’s footsteps. That would not bode well. Would Felix’s name be included with Malika’s in the death order Lukan issued today?
Did Axel not care that he threatened his whole family? It was inconceivable, but no matter what his son may choose to do, Felix would remain true to Axel—or the man Axel had once been.
He pulled his olive-green cloak tighter around his shoulders, determined to bring all his manipulative skills to bear to protect them all. “You heard Axel’s latest report as well as I did, sire. The Trevenites are fierce fighters. We should have expected it, based on Chad’s use of poisoned gas alone.”
Lukan slapped his hand on the windowsill. “I knew you would try to justify his negligence.”
“Negligence?” Felix allowed indignation to spike his voice. “You know very well Axel reported that Chad has over twenty thousand people holed up in the mines. As per your command, until they are eradicated, we don’t get our ice crystal.”
A wave of Lukan’s hand. “Axel clearly isn’t doing enough to rout them. I gave him a deadline, and he ignored it.”
“Then how, sire, can you explain the loss of so many of our troops?” Felix flicked a finger at the image of Axel hovering above the informa on the low table between him and Lukan.
Axel’s laconic voice crackled out. “Treven situation report. Month three. Hand-to-hand conflict in the mines continues. Chenayan troops killed: four thousand four hundred and fifty-seven. Injured: two hundred and eighty. Confirmed enemy kills: nine thousand six hundred and seventy. Operations continue.” A pause, followed by a sardonic smile. “Sorry about your deadline, cousin, but I either overestimated my own abilities or underestimated the effectiveness of the enemy. Say hello to my sister. I expect to see her safe when I finally hand you these mines. Which I fully intend to do.” Axel’s face flickered and vanished.
Felix reached for the comfort of his handkerchief. It was badly soiled with green mucus, but he didn’t care. He knew for a fact that Chenayan losses totaled no more than a few hundred grunts. Even the Trevenite figures had been grossly inflated, with Chad also losing at most a thousand men, the majority of them in the first month.
“Sire, as our very short list of wounded attests, the Trevenites fight like cornered tigers. This war is not just a matter of ‘routing’ them. It’s a hunting operation, in which victory must be wrenched daily from the jaws of defeat.”
It burned Felix to defend Axel’s treason, but circumstances left him with no choice.
Lukan sighed and flopped down into a chair. “Axel is not the only one worrying me. Has Artyom spoken to you?”
Felix froze, dreading where this question would lead—to Axel, he suspected with regret. “Not about anything of consequence. We did discuss
having a meal together this evening. But I’m sure that’s not what you have in mind.”
If he and Malika survived the day, Felix planned to use that meal to fish for information. Since Lukan promised to use his, Felix’s, and Axel’s share of the chenna tax to fund the projects promised to the High Council, Felix had taken a deeper interest on the financial affairs of the empire.
Most troubling, the treasury seemed to have sprung a leak.
Felix wanted to know exactly how much money was missing and how it was draining away.
Lukan’s forehead flopped into his hands. “I don’t understand it. Even with the addition of the chenna tax, Artyom is complaining that there is no money for my ice crystal rollout.” A defeated sigh. “Not that I even have the ice crystal, thanks to the blasted Trevenites.”
Lukan had shifted the blame to the Trevenites? Felix eased the fingers clutching his handkerchief.
The emperor swallowed hard, for a moment looking as stressed as Felix felt. “Artyom had the nerve to imply that the Fifteen think I misled them.”
Felix allowed himself to smile. Not even Lukan considered Count Morass a real member of the elite. Still, placating his nephew seemed to be in Axel’s interest.
“Fancy that, sire.” Felix chortled. “An Avanov emperor misleading the High Council!”
Lukan grinned, sharing the inside joke. His smile faded. “Even my father complained about the man’s stinginess. Anyone would think the empire’s wealth was Artyom’s personal wallet.”
“No. That would be the Avanovs.” Hating what he was about to do—after all, Artyom was a brilliant Lord of the Treasury—Felix patted the air. “Honestly, sire, since when do we have to worry about what the High Council thinks? If Artyom tries to stop us injecting every person in this empire with ice crystal, then I suggest we eradicate him. There are plenty other high-born who would not be so obstructive.”
Or as effective at balancing the books.
Stomach acid bubbled away in Felix’s gut. What the hell had gotten into Axel? He couldn’t help thinking that life had been less complicated when Mott was alive. The only way to sort his son’s head out was to get him back to Cian. A trip Lukan prohibited until Axel had conquered the ice crystal mines.
That didn’t mean Felix couldn’t try to wrangle a meeting.
Lukan gnawed on his lip while Felix waited.
“I supposed I could remove Artyom?” the emperor asked with resignation.
“Of course you could. It will cause some dissatisfaction amongst the Fifteen, which we will have to manage. They trust him implicitly with their pay packets.”
Lukan nodded, looking uncertain.
Keeping his voice neutral, Felix said, “We could perhaps distract them, sire. That always worked when your father wanted to do something unpopular.”
Lukan perked up. “What do you have in mind?”
“Let’s get Axel back here for a few days. He can report to them on the war. That always fuels debate. Our losses there will serve as a useful smoke screen.”
Lukan’s hand striking the table made Felix jump. “Never! Your son isn’t returning to this palace until he declares a victory in Treven. You can tell him that from me.” Lukan’s eyes bored into Felix. “And if your daughter doesn’t stop trying to evade Morass’s men, she won’t survive to see her brother return. I have warned Stefan, too. Perhaps I have been too lenient on him. Some more of that discipline Axel ordered might be in order.”
The air almost oomphed out of Felix, but he caught it in time. He had no idea why Lukan had given Malika a reprieve, but he wasn’t going to question it.
And this was one instance where aiding Stefan wouldn’t work. The man would just have to cope, although how many more lashes his back could take was a moot point.
“I will make sure she is well aware of that, sire.” He rubbed his hands together. “You are the emperor. Your will is law. If Artyom doesn’t like it, then he should die.”
The light in Lukan’s eyes blossomed as it always did when Felix acknowledged his status. “Agreed.”
He jumped up and rang one of his confounded bells to call Morass.
Felix pursed his lips at this bittersweet victory. Malika had been spared. And he may not have won an opportunity to talk some sense into Axel, but a new Lord of the Treasury would take time to discover the hemorrhaging artery in his department. And, most important of all, his murdering nephew had unwittingly given Axel more time to continue his double game in Treven. These days, Felix took his blessings where he could find them.
* * *
Lukan waited until Felix had closed the door behind him and then punched the cushion on his sofa with both fists.
It did nothing to relieve his rage.
The trouble was, he was impotent. His unborn son grew daily—Lynx was even beginning to bulge—but he was as far away from conquering the Treven ice crystal mines as he had ever been.
He picked up his informa and pulled up a message from Fedor, Axel’s second-in-command. A promise of a promotion from colonel to general had been all it took to open Fedor’s mouth on the war in Treven. Before his meeting with Felix, Lukan had asked Fedor for confirmation of Axel’s kill statistics. He listened to the message again.
“Sire, in the last three months, four thousand four hundred and seventy-five Chenayan troops have perished. Trevenite losses: nine thousand six hundred and seventy.”
Exactly what Axel had reported.
Lukan flung his informa against the wall.
At this rate, it would be months before he could get his hands on the ice crystal. And then years to do a mass rollout of the trackers.
How old did Nicholas have to be to rally an army? Was it enough that he existed? Could his name alone be a clarion call for all low-born to rise against him? Lukan didn’t know for sure. The only certainty was that the clock was ticking. Not for the first time since seeing the swelling around Lynx’s stomach did he regret creating that son.
He rubbed his hand across his face. “His conception was inevitable. Decreed. I would have to have been castrated at birth not to have given in to her wiles.”
As it was, he burned for Lynx every time he saw her. It took all his self-control to limit his visits to the cottage to once a month. And then Tao barely left him and Lynx alone for more than a couple of minutes. He could take Lynx if Tao just gave him some breathing space.
“And that’s how Tao repays me for my gifts.” Still, he knew he would continue to lavish treats on his brother and his wife when he visited. It would earn him some goodwill with them and make his refusal to give Nicholas presents all the more blatant.
Nicholas.
Jaw hard, he rose and strode to the window, but he barely saw the snow-covered scene before him.
His hands itched to give the order to kill Malika, just to wipe the smirk off Axel and Felix’s faces, but he couldn’t risk it. He still needed Felix too much. He had seen that with the ice crystals embedded into Lynx and Tao. Felix was the ice crystal master and probably always would be. He needed Felix if he was to win the war against Nicholas.
And that grated, too.
But while Axel lived, he could never trust his uncle.
“And I can’t kill Axel.” Lukan pounded the widow frame. Then he rested his fevered head against the window. “If only there were a way to be rid of him. A way that would leave me free to work with Felix without threat.”
He sighed.
“Given the year I’m having, that is never going to happen.”
Chapter 38
Kestrel, helped by Tatiana, eased her aching frame into her wicker chair. A nest of chairs and a table were positioned in a sunny spot in a new rose garden Lukan had gifted her at the beginning of spring. A crystal-blue sky stretched from one horizon to the other. A benign breeze, one that mocked the battering gales of winter, fluttered the Chenayan flag on the pole above her head.
Even here, in a private rose garden, the Dragon flew. It was no small sacrifice if her child, if a boy, was
to be deemed heir, as Lukan had already announced to the court. Unfortunately, that decree hadn’t been accompanied by an offer of marriage. It seemed Lukan still clung tenaciously to Lynx.
Tatiana placed a foot rest before Kestrel and lifted her bloated, aching legs to rest on it. Her tongue clicked. “Seven months pregnant, and apart from these swollen legs, you are no bigger than a bird. No wonder Mother Saskia despairs for you.”
Mother Saskia was Kestrel’s midwife.
“Yes, a pelican,” Kestrel joked, trying to make light of her pain. When Tatiana smiled, she added, “At least it has Lukan worried, too.”
His worry showed in his gentle treatment of her in bed of late, but she didn’t explain that to Tatiana. Kestrel still adored him and wished he were here with her now. Sometimes he came into the garden with her to admire her roses.
He seemed to love the scented blooms best. She had instructed the gardeners to replace all the bushes with fragrant varieties. But today was a Lynx day, as Kestrel called them, and she wouldn’t see Lukan until long after dark.
Thankfully, there had been no more threats to banish—or worse—kill her. But then, she had not whispered a word to anyone else but Tatiana about Tao and Lynx. Of course, Lukan never mentioned them either. Neither did he talk much on her pregnancy, other than to say that he hoped it was a boy.
Before she sat, Tatiana handed Kestrel a porcelain bowl she carried everywhere with her. The morning sickness had never left her, and she never knew when the nausea and vomiting would hit.
“I suggested some names to Lukan last night. I like Alexander or Konstantin.” Kestrel frowned. “Lukan said we’re calling him Grigor.”
“That’s a good name, too,” Tatiana said, digging her needle into her tapestry netting. But she still managed to look at Kestrel with a sharp eye.
Kestrel sighed. “I suppose so.” But she knew better than to argue with Lukan.
