by Gwynn White
Lynx picked at the strings of her fiddle. How easy would it be, finding this information? It was unlikely to be lying in the open, waiting for her to stumble upon it. That meant she would have to ask questions, calling attention to her quest. But if she didn’t take risks to learn their secrets and the Chenayans attacked again, how would she forgive herself? The image of Hare’s butchered body floated before her mind’s eye, making her shiver—and steeling her resolve. That would never happen again, not while she drew breath.
She looked up at her father. “I am bound so tight by oaths that I feel like a fly in a spider’s web. All I can do is use every resource I have before the spider strikes.”
Chapter Six
General Axel Avanov strode across the expansive balcony of his command pavilion, gripped the mahogany railing, and glared out across the parade ground.
The carriage carrying the Norin princesses was late.
He kicked the wooden balustrade rhythmically with his knee-high black boot. He’d already wasted a month of his precious time here at Tanamre, preparing a suitable welcoming party for them. Welcoming party—that was one way of describing a regiment of bloodthirsty imperial guardsmen.
He cracked his crooked smile too sardonic to be considered attractive. Not that his looks mattered. He’d never needed his powerful body or striking face to open doors for him. As Emperor Mott’s nephew, birth alone had done that, catapulting him to third in line for the throne.
Third place.
Axel rubbed the gemstone embedded next to his right eye. Rare as the ruby was, it would always be second to the diamonds worn by Mott and his sons. He dropped his hand from his eye to the railing, his fingers tapping out the same rhythm as his boot. Regardless of the gemstone, everyone who mattered knew he’d be the true power behind the throne when Lukan became emperor. He could live with that.
Even his few decriers admitted that it wasn’t just his arrogance talking either. He was only twenty-four, but he’d already proved to be a daring military strategist. Some said, one of the best Chenaya had ever sired. No small achievement, given he was up against four hundred years of stiff competition. In a world where military prowess was worshiped, many considered him a god.
He was more disparaging about both the gods and himself.
The rasp of boots across the polished wooden floor made him turn. “Ah, Colonel Zarot, you have news about our elusive princesses?”
The officer bowed, then saluted. “My outriders report that they’ll reach us in about five minutes, General.” Even in the midday sun, the emerald next to Zarot’s eye looked dull against his olive skin. Still, its message was clear: Stefan Zarot came from a high-born Chenayan family that had supported the Avanovs for generations.
Axel sighed. “You can always rely on the Norin to be late.” He locked eyes onto four soldiers in the center of the pavilion. They were poring over a large wooden table spread with a map used to display troop movements. “Dismissed.”
The guardsmen dropped their plotters and pencils, bowed low, and then saluted him and the colonel. Boots pounding on the wooden floor, they marched to the steps.
Axel turned to Stefan. “You do realize that, thanks to Norin inability to keep to a simple schedule, your replacement will arrive about the same time as they do? Not good, not good at all. King Thorn is undoubtedly hoping to use this opportunity to get his raiders to do some intelligence scouting.”
“The timing is awkward, General,” Stefan replied, face as inscrutable as his voice, “but at least it will give me an opportunity to brief him in person before I leave my regiment to accompany you and the princesses to Cian.”
“You instructed him to break up this camp and to redeploy to Treven as I commanded?”
“Of course, sir. That was in my original brief to him.”
The guardsmen clomped down the stairs.
When the sound of their leaving faded, the colonel slouched against the railing. “Axel, I still don’t feel right about it, though.”
This wasn’t news to Axel. “Stefan, despite the Unity, Thorn made it clear when he and Lynx were in Cian that he wouldn’t easily give up his precious princess to our illustrious crown prince. That’s why Mott insisted we attack the Norin camp. A not-so-subtle warning of what will happen if Lynx and her sister don’t pitch up here today.”
Axel scowled. Emperor Mott’s decision to sacrifice fifteen guardsmen by sending them into the Norin camp infuriated him. It was a waste of human life and did nothing to build confidence in Avanov leadership amongst his men.
Nor did it do much for Chenayan–Norin relationships, always fragile at best.
Axel had argued to send in fifty troops. Fifteen men to precision-kill the equivalent number of Norin raiders—not servers, and certainly not children—as a warning to King Thorn. The remainder of the men would watch their backs. With his troops’ enhanced fighting skills, both Chenayan and Norin casualties would have been minimal.
Mad Mott had overruled him. The result had been a bloodbath for both Chenaya and Norin.
Axel had been tempted to disobey the order, but he was planning another, more important, rebellion and didn’t want to risk the emperor’s ire unless it served his overall battle strategy. Still, squandering troops in ill-planned military adventures went against everything he believed.
In his musings, Axel noticed Stefan’s eyebrow twitch. Axel grunted; he understood the colonel well enough to recognize it as a frown. He and Stefan had been friends for years, having grown up together at the palace in Cian.
“Now what?” Axel demanded. “You do know I’m supposed to be the general here, the one giving the orders?”
“Yes, but you always listen to your men. It’s part of what makes you great.”
Axel didn’t deny it. He’d never believed in throwing his weight around to get things done. His men obeyed him because he was the best, not because he was royalty.
Stefan’s dark eyes flitted across the parade ground to where hundreds of his troops drilled. “What’s to prevent the Norin finding out we redeployed the regiment after the train leaves? With no troops left here to attack them, Thorn and his raiders could sabotage it to rescue the princesses.”
“That would lead to war, the last thing we need now. That is precisely why I don’t want raiders hanging about here.” Axel walked to the map on the table. He picked up a pushing stick and nudged a block representing the regiment stationed at Tanamre west to Treven.
Until a month ago, when Emperor Mott invaded the country, Treven had been one of the Free Nations that skirted the empire. The emperor tolerated the existence of these disjointed nations as long as they didn’t get in the way of Avanov objectives, the way Treven had.
“The sooner this regiment gets to Treven, the better.”
Colonel Zarot’s eyebrows twitched again. “So it’s true?” he whispered. “The invasion hasn’t gone so well?”
“Don’t bother whispering. Why do you think I’m so disgruntled today? I got a message from Mott this morning burning my ear off about the Treven campaign. Like it’s my fault he and my father chose that idiot Azan to lead the invasion.”
“You said yourself, the emperor believes getting the princesses to Cian the more critical task.”
Axel frowned at Stefan. “In Mad Mott’s mind, yes. But since when is babysitting silly girls more important than protecting the lives of thousands of men in Treven?” He took a swipe at the table leg with his boot, making it rock. “If the number of casualties ever leaks out, the whole empire will know a regiment of Chenayan grunts was virtually annihilated by the psychotic King Chad.”
Axel slapped his hand on the map, making the blocks jump. “If I’d been in charge, it never would have happened. Clean precision, that’s how I would have handled it. Chad and his heirs would be dead, and their ice crystal mines ours.”
“But we both know the truth about casualties will never leak out.”
“No, of course it won’t. We’ll just have more pointless deaths.” Ax
el sighed. “And to think, with all this going on, we still have to waste seven days on a train when we could do the trip in three days in an airship.”
A shout from the parade ground caught Axel’s attention. A dilapidated horse cart lumbered down the well-worn road leading to the camp. He snorted. “Just as well the Norin refuse to travel under the Chenayan flag. Can you imagine our Dragon on that scrap heap?”
Stefan glanced sideways at Axel. “Anything to defy the emperor.”
“The Norin happen to be very good at that.” Axel picked up a spyglass from the pavilion railing to get a closer look at the princesses. Light footsteps snaking their way up the wooden stairs distracted him, and he put it back down.
A woman dressed in a floor-length white robe appeared on the platform. Her gem was a moonstone, the stone worn by all Chenayan priestesses.
Axel’s heart sank. His day had just gotten worse.
Chapter Seven
“Welcome, Mother Saskia,” Stefan said to the white-clad woman. “The general and I are delighted to see you.” He gestured to the Norin wagon. “It seems the princesses have arrived.”
Axel folded his arms over his chest, grinning. Stefan welcomed Mother Saskia like the pox.
“About time, too.” Mother Saskia eased an errant lock of black hair streaked with silver back into her bun. She then pulled her white veil into place over her head with white-gloved hands. Finally, she bobbed a knee at Axel. It was the closest he’d ever get to a curtsy from the Great High Priestess, spiritual mother of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories.
He didn’t like her much, either.
Chenayans—Axel excluded—worshiped the Dragon, a being of power and majesty who, it was believed, had kept the Avanovs in power for centuries. Axel knew the Dragon was nothing more than heraldry.
Saskia glided to the balustrade. “They should have been here hours ago. It’s an affront to our dear Crown Prince Lukan, Dragon’s blessing upon him.” She picked up his spyglass and leveled it to her eye. That was presumptuous, even for her.
Axel grabbed it, wiped the eyepieces on the sleeve of his black uniform shirt and placed it back on the railing. “Mother, I wish to leave within the hour. You and the Norin had better be ready.” He turned to leave.
He had only taken a few steps when Mother Saskia spoke. “That all depends on the state of the princesses, my lord. They are reputed to be a wild lot. It’s doubtful they even bathe. Our crown prince and his brother deserve better than that.”
Axel didn’t bother to face her. “As the crown prince and his brother are a week away in Cian, I hardly think that matters. I’m sure that will give you plenty of time to correct any faults the Norin princesses may have.”
“In that case, I think Mother Saskia has her work cut out for her.”
Axel spun at the incredulity in Stefan’s voice.
The wagon had stopped at the stable block, and Axel had a clear view of the occupants as they hopped down onto the cobblestones.
Kestrel, the shorter of the two princesses, wore a corseted, flouncy floor-length dress with a large bustle. The kind Mother Saskia would have stipulated on her list of approved attire for Chenayan women. Her bustle looked about as comfortable, and as out of place, as a barrel strapped to her backside. Still, it did nothing to detract from her beauty—if one considered Norin fair hair, fair skin, and blue eyes attractive. He generally preferred Chenayan brunettes, with their warm bronze skin and dark eyes.
Princess Lynx was anything but compliant to Chenayan dress codes. Leather trousers hugged her long, shapely legs while a hip-length leather tunic accentuated her rangy figure. Two machetes in leather scabbards were strapped to her back. Locks of silvery blond hair braided with black ostrich feathers and white beads ringed her face. The rest of her hair cascaded down her back like an icy waterfall.
Stefan’s meticulous control gave way at the sight of her, dropping his jaw.
Axel smiled at him. “Those leathers certainly set her apart. No wonder Lukan’s drooling for her.” Axel gave a bemused head shake and then glanced over at Mother Saskia, wondering if she’d heard his comments about her precious crown prince.
She hadn’t.
The Great High Priestess staggered forward, clutching her veil. “Dragon’s curses,” she moaned. “You cannot be serious. That . . . that feral thing with the knives is intended for our crown prince? Ugh! Can you imagine the lice crawling on those feathers?” Desperation in her eyes, she turned to Axel as if he could do something to prevent the marriage. “She’s as wild as her name. What were her parents thinking? You cannot call a girl after a ferocious beast and expect her to turn into a kitten.”
“I doubt the crown prince had a kitten in mind when he saw her.” Axel grinned.
Mother Saskia glared at him. “At least the younger one obeyed the dress instructions I sent to Thorn. I can probably make something of her before we get to Cian.” Her glare morphed into a grimace. “But to call a girl after a bird of prey? It’s outrageous.”
Axel had seen—and heard—enough. It was time to get moving.
He gripped Mother Saskia’s arm. “As you are well aware, Mother, the Norin stopped giving their children real names after we invaded them. It’s just another act of rebellion designed to annoy us. Who the hell wants an empress named after a predator? Still, four centuries worth of Great High Priestesses have borne this indignity well. No doubt you will, too.” He made a show of looking at his wristwatch. “One hour, and then I’m leaving, whether the Norin have bathed or not.”
Mother Saskia pulled herself up to her full five feet and four inches. “My lord, as much as I respect your wishes, that savage will never be ready in an hour.” She gestured to Lynx, who stood with her arms folded across her chest, scowling up at the pavilion and clearly questioning her unfriendly welcome. “I cannot travel into the Heartland with a creature who looks like that.”
Axel sighed. Although it annoyed him to admit it, Saskia was right. The emperor would be furious if Lynx crossed into Chenaya dressed in leathers. Mott still frothed at the mouth when anyone mentioned Lynx appearing at court in her Norin gear during her summer visit. Her weapons would have to go, too.
But since hearing the Treven casualty figures that morning, Axel had urgent business in Cian that didn’t include wasting time while Mother Saskia titivated with the princesses. If he didn’t step in to save lives in Treven, who would? No one in Mott’s palace, that was for sure.
Axel scowled at Mother Saskia. “Then I suggest you begin. I’m leaving in one hour.”
Mother Saskia opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.
“Enough. Go greet your charges.” Axel gestured to Stefan. “Come, Colonel. Command the controllers to get that Norin scrap heap out of here.”
Stefan fell into step with him, and they strode across the pavilion.
Axel had just gripped the banister at the stairs when Mother Saskia called out, “Please, my lord, wait. You can see for yourself how ferocious the feathered girl looks. Do you honestly think she’ll submit to me bathing her? This will take time. Tact. She is, after all, our future empress.”
He turned to face her. She hadn’t moved an inch. In fact, with her arms folded across her chest, she reminded him of Lynx.
His patience snapped.
In seconds, Axel crossed the pavilion, stopping an inch from her nose. Mother Saskia staggered back as he towered over her.
“Do I have to remind you, Mother, that you are a priestess of Chenaya? You have enough power in your little finger to bring a seven-foot giant to his knees if you so choose. If Lynx complains about my schedule, then use some of it on her.”
Mother Saskia steadied herself. “I assume, Lord Avanov, that you will take full responsibility if the girl dies at my hands.”
Axel dragged the tattered remains of his patience together. “Mother, how old are you?”
The Great High Priestess’s eyes widened, but she answered, “Old enough to be your grandmother, my lord. I was born
fifty summers ago.”
“Fifty years? Hmm . . . you look good. I’d never have guessed.” Axel cracked his crooked smile and changed his tone. “And you mean to tell me that, in all that time, you haven’t learned to control the power in your fingers enough to blast our future empress without killing her?”
“Of course I can control my power,” Mother Saskia hissed, sloughing off a glove. Her hand stretched out, fingers extended toward him. “Would you like to test my control?”
Acknowledging he’d been out-maneuvered, Axel laughed, jumping back. “That won’t be necessary. Just get the job done so we can get out of this rat hole.”
Mother Saskia bobbed a curtsy. “That, my lord, is why I tolerate your arrogance. You take your defeats relatively well.” She swept past him and Stefan, headed toward Lynx and Kestrel.
Chapter Eight
The sun grilled Lynx’s eyes. She held her hand up to her face, squinting at a pavilion on the other side of the parade ground. The massive canvas and wood structure was grand. She sighed at this irrefutable evidence that she’d left home far behind. No one in Norin would tolerate an over-engineered monstrosity like that. Although similar in size to their council tent, this thing would take an entire battalion to move.
Not that they were short of men.
Her eyes darted across the parade ground to where hundreds of imperial guardsmen drilled. Lynx made no secret of staring at them, but not one soldier broke ranks by glancing back.
It was unnerving.
But then, these guardsmen weren’t here to welcome her. As they had proved just days ago, their purpose was far more sinister. She shivered, dreading the ongoing threat they presented to her people. While this regiment was based at Tanamre, Norin would never be safe. And so, before they’d arrived here, she’d ordered three raiders to reconnoiter the area. If the Chenayans planned any more attacks, her father would be prepared. Heron was to rendezvous with them after leaving her and Kestrel here.
