Rebel's Honor: Book One in Crown of Blood Series

by Gwynn White

  He nodded. “True. What about Kestrel? Won’t she cover for you?”

  “No,” Lynx mouthed. “I don’t trust my sister enough.”

  Tao’s face fell, and Lynx could only guess at what Kestrel’s lack of trustworthiness meant for him. But the hard, cold fact was that Kestrel would never support destroying the empire while she could benefit from it.

  “Look,” Tao said, “there is nothing we can do. Just bundle the axe up in my surcoat and store it somewhere in your dressing room.”

  Keeping the weapon hidden, she quickly wrapped it in the fabric.

  “Good.” Tao smiled mournfully. “Now, I better go and find Kestrel. She was already angry with me for leaving her to come and look for you. I think she wanted to moan to me about missing out on the egg.”

  Lynx grimaced. “Go. I don’t want you getting into trouble.” She rubbed her temples, fighting a headache. “I’m really tired. Do you know what is planned for tonight’s prenuptial festivities?”

  “A dinner in the great hall. The chances of Lukan showing up are probably remote.”

  Lynx sighed. “Just because he can skip meals with impunity, it doesn’t mean I can. I’ll get cleaned up and join you.”

  Tao squeezed her hand, and Lynx stepped quickly into her apartment. Without stopping, she made for a heavy trunk, with a lock and key, in her dressing room. She casually put the surcoat and axe down on the lid and moved toward her clothes. Making a display of it, she removed a couple of dresses and carried them to the trunk. As she opened it, she scooped up the axe into an armful of clothes and shoved them into the trunk. She had just hung the key around her neck when she heard movement behind her. Alert for trouble, she spun into fighting stance.

  Four priestesses stood in her room, with gloveless hands extended to her. Lynx exhaled sharply, her fists in readiness for a fight if they attacked her.

  The eldest of the women, perhaps in her thirties, spoke, “Your Highness, we are commanded to invite you to join us for an evening meal.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Lynx said, eyeing each of them in turn. With these odds, she would not survive long in a fight. Should she even be trying? Her eyes trailed to the curtain tieback, her closest weapon. Heavily corded gold braid, it had a large crystal bauble hanging from one end, making it an ideal whip. She edged toward it. “Who sent the invitation?”

  “I am not at liberty to divulge that information,” the spokeswoman said. “Now, Your Highness, please, the food is getting cold.”

  “Don’t you have braziers in the palace for keeping food warm?”

  Was this Mott’s retaliation for hitting Lukan? Sending priestesses here to lure her to some awful fate? Her mind flitted to her unfinished letter, but she rejected that as a cause—she hadn’t started writing the section on the Chenayan technology yet.

  The spokeswoman gestured to one of her companions. The girl, no older than a teen, lunged. In the same instant, Lynx wrenched the tieback off the curtain and swung the cord before her. It seemed no deterrent to the priestess, who thrust her hand at Lynx. Swirling the cord, Lynx struck the girl on the temple with the crystal ornament. She dropped.

  In a whirl of white, the other three women swarmed Lynx, shockers grasping for her bare flesh. Lynx flailed the tieback from left to right, hitting her targets. Grunts and moans resounded, but even as she fought, the odds were against her. It was only a matter of time before one of them got in close enough to fry her.

  When the shock came, it was nowhere near as painful as when the she-witch had attacked her. Still, it was enough to stun. She crumpled back against the dressing room wall.

  When she came to, her hands were bound in front of her with strong cords, and a priestess flanked her on either side, bare fingers pressed into her arms.

  Face strained with anger, the spokeswoman said, “That was not how we hoped this would go, Your Highness, but you left us no choice.”

  “No,” Lynx snarled, tugging at her constraints. “You left me with no choice.” She looked down at the girl she had struck on the temple.

  The spokeswoman glanced at her, too. “I’ll fix the curtains,” she said to the other priestesses. “Silvana, help Alina, and then everyone back to the cloisters.”

  With just enough pain blasting her arms to disorient, but not to debilitate, Lynx had no choice but to follow the priestesses. It was a long walk through deserted passages and hallways to the cloisters, located on the farthest reaches of the palace. Mother Saskia waited at the first colonnade. Refusing to show pain or fear, Lynx fixed a haughty expression on her face.

  “Dragon’s curses! What happened? Why are the princess’s hands bound?” the she-witch demanded.

  “She did not wish to join us,” the spokeswoman replied at the exact moment Lynx said, “Chenayan hospitality! I suppose you now plan to poison me?”

  Mother Saskia tsked. “What happened to Alina?”

  The spokeswoman glared at Lynx. “She hit her with a crystal bauble.”

  “I warned you all to be careful of Princess Lynx. Now go to your cells.”

  Without protest, the priestesses slunk away. Mother Saskia clearly ruled her cloister with absolute control. The priestess moved purposefully toward her. Lynx stiffened, but Saskia gently took Lynx’s arm.

  “Dinner is served.”

  “Am I supposed to eat with my hands tied together?” Lynx demanded.

  “That will be taken care of when I am convinced you are no longer a threat.”

  “Winds, you’ll wait a long time for that.”

  The she-witch smiled. She led Lynx into a tiny cell with space for a single bed and a narrow closet. A fresh candle, the only lighting, waited on a crude wooden table, illuminating a steaming clay bowl of soup and a few chunks of coarse bread. A chamber pot stood in the opposite corner.

  Mother Saskia gestured to the food. “Priestess rations. I make it a rule that no one in this cloister eats better than the average low-born living in any hovel in Cian.”

  Lynx was impressed, but she wouldn’t let it show.

  Mother Saskia closed the wooden door, locking it with a chunky key. “Sit, Princess Lynx. We have a long night before us.”

  It seemed childish to argue, so Lynx obeyed, sitting on the edge of the hard, narrow mattress.

  “Your wrists, please.” Mother Saskia drew a stumpy dagger from her pocket, the same one she’d use to slash through Lynx’s braid, and sliced through the bindings.

  “Why are you holding me prisoner?”

  The wooden bed creaked as Mother Saskia sat next to her. “I told you, Princess Lynx, there is no place in Chenaya for powerful women. We all need allies if we are to survive. Today, an unlikely ally came to my rescue moments before I was flung onto a train bound for Galec Prison Camp. That ally informed me that I was to keep you isolated until the wedding tomorrow.” She looked down at her hands. “I am in no position to disobey.”

  Lynx’s pulse raced. “And who would that ally be?”

  “The Lord of the Household.”

  Count Felix? Why would he save Mother Saskia? Lynx wished she understood the politics better. She was about to question when the priestess spoke.

  “You will find your allies, too, Princess, and when you do, the powers that rule us will all scurry for cover.”

  It was the bitterness in Mother Saskia’s voice, even more than her words, that left Lynx speechless. Finally, she gasped, “And which side will you be on?”

  Without looking at her, the priestess said, so softly Lynx could barely hear her, “My brother died in Treven. His life wasted, for what? Today, after a lifetime of loyal service, I was almost sent to my death at Galec Prison Camp. One failure, one miserable failure that I wasn’t even accountable for, that’s all it took, and the emperor was ready to cast me off.” Mother Saskia stood and opened the door, stopping on the threshold. “I think you’re smart enough to figure out your own answers, Princess.”

  Lynx sat in stunned silence as the priestess closed and locked the door behind her
. How much of Mother Saskia’s commentary on the train had been for the benefit of the cameras? Lynx had no idea, but that wasn’t her highest priority.

  She had told Axel she would marry him.

  She shook her head in disbelief. Axel: a Chenayan, an Avanov, the man who had commanded his troops to kill Hare and so many of her people. It was inconceivable.

  But it was true.

  Despite everything, she wanted Axel with a longing so painful she could barely breathe. In the short time she’d known him, he’d conquered her heart as surely as Thurban had conquered Norin. And there was nothing she could do about it.

  Her pulse sped up. He wanted her, too. Enough to kill for her. Was what they had love? It had to be. Nothing else could simultaneously feel so good and so bad.

  A troubling thought niggled at her conscience. Should she even be thinking about marrying Axel when Cricket had made it so clear that choosing him would lead to the failure of the Dmitri Curse? Then again, could she trust Cricket? The meeting had been so cryptic, so garbled.

  And what about her oath?

  Her chest locked as if the Winds themselves had sucked all the air from her lungs. How could she have said yes to Axel when she had sworn a vow to her father?

  Lynx sprang to her feet and paced the tiny cell, her quick steps as frenzied as her thoughts. Would her father understand? If she could explain it all to him . . .

  How she wished to be back home, where everything was so simple, so clear. Tomorrow would be such a special day in Norin, with four youths, her own brother included, raiding eggs. She would have taken her turn, playing her fiddle at the celebration party when Clay took his rightful place amongst the raiders. Then, she and Heron would have danced—the wild, exuberant dances she loved.

  But instead, she was locked in a cloister, facing an uncertain future, torn between love and honor.

  Cricket’s words, emblazoned on her brain, rang back at her. The only way you, Lynx of Norin, will ever help fulfill the Dmitri Curse is to relinquish Axel and to marry Lukan. But if you do, Nicholas’s conception will bring you nothing but pain.

  To survive, you will need the strength, not of a soldier going into battle with sword and axe, but of a warrior armed with nothing but honor and a determination to win.

  Knowing this, who will you choose, Axel or Lukan?

  After the pain Lynx had experienced with the shattering mirrors, she wanted to scream that the choice was logical: Axel.

  But logic had no place here.

  She grabbed the spoon and began ladling the watery vegetable soup into her mouth. But her stomached roiled, refusing to accept the food. She slid down onto the floor and buried her face in her hands, unable to stop the sobs that wracked her body.

  At length, her breathing calmed.

  It did not matter which god Cricket and Dmitri served, but Winds knew, her course had been charted the moment Kestrel had crushed Clay’s egg, along with his hopes. Little had Lynx known how big the canvas onto which she stepped was when she had made a simple promise to fight for her brother’s right to happiness.

  “Father,” she whispered as if he could hear her, “you were right. It is so easy to get lost in the gray.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Lukan made no protest as his uncle pulled him along. His mind in a whirl, he barely noticed where Felix was taking him until they reached the heavy steel door guarding the lair. Lukan lifted his thumb to the scanner, but Felix brushed his hand away.

  “That will do you no good.” Knees creaking, his uncle crouched down until he was eye level with the tiny red glow emanating from the reader.

  Lukan frowned, wondering what he was doing, just as the door slid open.

  “New security measures. I still have to adjust the height of the scanner,” Felix grunted. “This way, Highness.”

  Felix grabbed Lukan’s arm and marched him down the concourse that dissected the lair. The echo of their boots on the concrete floor bounced off the stark white walls. Their shadows, cast by harsh neon lights, passed door after door that hid Felix’s secrets.

  Finally, his uncle stopped at a portcullis. A relic from ancient times, it looked out of place in this utilitarian passageway. But like all the doors inside the lair, the grate guarding the palace dungeons had been coated in titanium, making it virtually indestructible. Once incarcerated behind that portcullis, there would be no escape.

  Lukan’s breath caught. His uncle wouldn’t dare imprison him, would he? He stopped several steps from the opening.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “There is someone inside awaiting our pleasure.”

  “Who?”

  “Patience, my crown prince, and all will be revealed.” His uncle creaked down again and eyed the scanner. Silently, the portcullis rose. By the time it disappeared into the brickwork, Felix had straightened his back. He waved Lukan into the narrow, dim passageway on the other side of the arch.

  Nose scrunched at the putrid smell, Lukan folded his arms across his chest. “I think I have been more than patient, Uncle. I now expect an explanation before I go anywhere with you.”

  His uncle had the temerity to sigh. “The person whom I wish you to meet holds the key to solving both of our problems.”

  “Your problems?” Lukan said incredulously. “What could possibly be troubling you?”

  Another sigh. “My dear nephew, it should comfort you to know that you do not hold the entire world’s burdens on your shoulders. Others have troubles, too, you know.”

  Lukan leaned against the wall. Only one thing—or person—could worry Felix. “Axel. You don’t like his role in this any—”

  “Any more than you do.” Felix scowled. “I will not see my son used in this way. Together, you and I have the power to change Mad Mott’s mind—and the course of history.”

  Lukan snorted. Yet another person offering him a chance to change the world.

  Somehow, Lukan doubted his uncle’s offer would be any more appealing than Dmitri’s suggestion to tell the high-born their gemstones were ice crystals programmed with tracking devices. But with a contract on his head, he was clean out of options. He reluctantly waved at the open maw leading to the dungeons. “After you.”

  A line of grasping hands, protruding through narrow bars guarding each cell, greeted him as he stepped into the passageway. Temporary accommodation, these cubicles—so small, not even a child could stand upright—were used to house hapless palace dwellers caught between death or deportation to the prison camps. Most of them were here because Felix’s cameras had caught them disparaging the crown.

  The minute Lukan shifted into view, the prisoner closest to the portcullis broke into a plaintive wail. “Your Highness, Crown Prince Lukan, have mercy. Spare me.”

  The cry was taken up by other prisoners, building into a wave as he strode the length of the passageway between the lines of cells. Arms tightly to his side, Lukan stopped at the end of the passage. Silently, he cursed his father, Axel, his uncle, even Lynx, for forcing him into a clandestine meeting in this horrible place. Working to blot out the wails, he turned to Felix. “This had better be quick.”

  “I assure you, it will be both quick and effective—for both of us.” Felix opened yet another titanium door. “Our prize is in here.”

  A spotlight illuminated a man hunched in a tiny cell. His arms covered his face in a futile attempt to protect his eyes from the harsh glare.

  Lukan’s stomach knotted, and bile filled his throat. “And who is this unfortunate creature?”

  At the sound of his voice, the man looked up, squinting into the light. “Your Highness? Is it possible?”

  Lukan sucked in a breath. It was Morass. He was about to step forward to speak to him when Felix gripped his arm, whispering, “Thanks to my light, he cannot see us. It would be better for our discussion if it stayed that way.”

  Lukan licked his lips, then nodded. At Lukan’s silence, all hope died on Morass’s face. His head dropped back into his hands.


  A thousand ants seemed to crawl over Lukan’s skin. Desperate to be away from here, he turned to Felix. “Talk.”

  Felix stepped around a wall, out of Morass’s hearing. “That cretin betrayed us both.”

  “Not so fast.” Lukan threw up his hands. “He was loyal to me. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have known about Axel and Lynx.”

  “Yes,” his uncle spat, “and neither would your father. It’s all due to Morass’s eager tattling that you find yourself with an axe dangling over your head.”

  The imagery made Lukan shiver. “You can thank your ice crystals for that. You are the one who programmed loyalty to the crown.” He turned to look into the room housing Morass’s cell. “Now let him go.”

  Lukan didn’t expect his uncle to obey, so it surprised him when Felix pushed a button on the wall and the grate to Morass’s cell slid open. As pleased as Lukan was with the deference, it unsettled him. What was his uncle after? Every sense alert, he watched Morass crawl out.

  Uniform filthy and smelling of death—presumably from the last victim who had occupied the cell—Morass hunched on his knees. He raised his arms to cover his eyes from the light. “My lord,” he stammered. “I—I felt a compulsion . . .” A thick tongue flicked across dry lips. “One I could not deny. That is why I spoke to the emperor and the crown prince.”

  Lukan looked at his uncle in triumph. “See? I was right. Your ice crystals did this.” He had the satisfaction of hearing his uncle grunt. “Now turn off the light,” he commanded, taking full advantage of Felix’s discomposure.

  Without moving from the shadows, his uncle obeyed. Lukan stepped forward to face Morass.

  The soldier staggered to his feet, seemed to remember himself, and bowed low, sinking again to his knees. “Your Highness, I am your loyal guardsman. I will do anything you ask.”

  Lukan grimaced, unnerved by the quiet fervor in Morass’s voice. Even faced with torture and death, the jasper controlled the man’s emotions, turning him into little more than a machine with no regard for his own life. Lukan had never seen an ice crystal operate this effectively. His mind reeled with possibilities. “Stay here, on your knees, until I return.”