Rebel's Honor Read online

  Rebel’s Honor

  A Steampunk Fantasy in the Crown of Blood Series

  Gwynn White

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Cliffhanger

  Sneak Preview of Warlord’s Wager

  Warlord’s Wager

  About the Author

  Torn Trousers

  Sneak Preview of Torn Trousers

  Published by 4xOverland LTD

  Thurlby, Lincolnshire

  England

  www.4xoverland.com

  Publishing enquiries: [email protected]

  First published in 2015

  This book is the intellectual property of the copyright owners. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, including duplication, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Copyright © 2015 Gwynn White

  All rights reserved.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter 1

  Lynx crouched in the tawny grass, her eyes fixed on a nest scraped out of the gray sand. A dozen white eggs gleamed in the weak autumn sunshine. Unguarded now, it would not be long before a parent returned to watch the precious hoard. She grinned at her younger brother, Clay, who squatted next to her. His freckled face beamed back. His blue eyes, so like her own, glistened with excitement.

  Movement on the plain caught her attention. She brushed his arm, clad in a worn leather tunic similar to hers, and nodded toward an ostrich striding in their direction. “It’s the male,” she whispered. “Just as we planned.”

  They had chosen dusk for this egg raid because that was when the males took over nest duty from the hens. More dangerous than females, ostrich cocks increased the risk, making the ultimate prize so much more valuable.

  Clay’s grin broadened, but his throat bobbed.

  Lynx tried but failed to ignore the shimmy of doubt rippling through her. She liked to believe her bravery was tempered by intelligence—most of the time, at least—but people outside of her tribe would call her and Clay insane for what they were planning.

  They’d be right.

  The next few minutes would decide the course of her little brother’s life. And destroy hers, too, if anything went wrong.

  A determined frown settled on her face. After all our planning, nothing will go wrong. She swept her blond hair, braided with black ostrich feathers and eggshell beads, away from her face and focused on the ostrich.

  Black wings flapping, it bayed a warning, a thrilling sound that always reminded her of the distant call of hunting lions. It was appropriate. An angry ostrich was every bit as vicious as any lion. She had seen friends disemboweled by ostrich kicks; as much as she loved the sound, she didn’t take the threat lightly. She reached back and pulled out a machete—one of two stored in leather sheaths strapped across her back. She held it ready in case the bird attacked.

  Clay clenched his own machete. “He’s seen us.”

  “Smelled us, more like it,” Lynx whispered.

  Clay licked his lip nervously. “Of course. The wind’s behind us. I forgot.”

  Uncertainty again assailed Lynx, and her frown deepened. She had told Clay countless times that alerting the ostrich to their presence was part of the challenge of an egg raid. This once-off rite of passage strove to push him to the limit of his courage. Only the very bravest in the Norin tribe stole from a breeding ostrich.

  Despite being only fifteen, if Clay returned home today with an egg, he would pass into adulthood. With that, he’d earn the right to braid ostrich feathers and beads made from the eggshell in his hair. Best of all, he’d join Lynx in the raiders. Revered above all in Norin, raiders rode on the outskirts of the caravan, defending their people and their flock of ostriches from Chenayan soldiers and other predators.

  But if Clay failed—and survived the encounter—he would be nothing more than a server, performing the menial tasks needed to keep the Norin caravan moving.

  Her brother had accepted the risk. Lynx had one last chance to ensure he was truly committed. She leaned closer and stared at him.

  “You don’t have to do this. You’re not yet sixteen. I won’t judge you if you say you’re not ready.”

  Clay scowled at her. “I’ve been ready for months. Only he stopped me.”

  He: their father, King Thorn, leader of the Norin.

  Lynx understood her brother’s resentment; she had been thirteen when she sneaked off to raid her egg. At the time, if anyone had known she planned to raid, she would have been chained to a post to stop her risking her life. But, as silent as an owl’s wing, she had slipped away from camp to face her ostrich. Now, at twenty, her father was training her to take over leadership of the raiders when he died and her oldest brother became king.

  Who was she to deprive Clay of his chance to raid?

  She squeezed his leg, encased in black leather trousers. “Then let’s focus on that ostrich. It’s not going to hand you its egg, you know.”

  A smile quirked Clay’s lips, filling Lynx with pleasure.

  The ostrich gave them the full treatment, trying to lure them away from the nest with a display of piteous limping. His one wing drooped at his side, skimming the dusty ground as he lumbered away from them. The invitation was clear: I’m wounded, easy prey. Come and get me rather than my eggs.

  But Lynx understood ostriches too well to be conned. The bird would stagger away, leading them on if they fell for the trick. Then, a safe distance from the clutch, he would rear up, slashing out his lethal talons. Surviving the attack would tax Clay’s fighting skills.

  Clay leaned forward, ready to sprint to the nest.

  Lynx gripped his thigh, whispering, “Not yet. Remember, an ostrich can outrun you. Let it move farther away, or it will be on you in seconds.”

  Clay swallowed hard and then brushed away the sweat dripping in his eyes. “Don’t forget your promise, Lynx.”

  “I won’t. Today is all about you. Live, die—I won’t interfere.”

  The ostrich hobbled as far away as she’d anticipated. Soon, it would guess its mock dance had failed, and it would bound toward them to attack.

  “Go! May the Winds be with you.” Lynx pushed Clay as he darted to his feet. When he sprinted forward, Lynx stood, too. Although bound by both her promise and Norin law not to interfere, she pulled her second machete from its sheath.

  Speed was everything. Lynx had drummed into Clay that he must forget the ostrich, grab an egg, and secure it in his satchel before the bird reached him. Then his hands—and his mind�
��would be free for the fight of his life.

  As she expected, the ostrich stopped. Its limping play forgotten, it spun to peer at Clay through sharp, beady eyes. Then it pulled itself up to its full height—nine majestic feet of muscle, bone, and feathers—and let out a booming cry. Wings like giant shields, it sprinted toward Clay, kicking up great clouds of dust behind it.

  Lynx’s heart sank as Clay looked back at it. Clay, no! Run!

  Clay’s eyes widened, and his pace slowed. His foot caught in an uneven patch of ground, and he stumbled. By the time he found his feet, the bird was bearing down on him, beating at him with its powerful wings.

  Winds, please help him, Lynx pleaded. She tightened her grip on her weapons, her body rigid with tension. She didn’t need the Winds to whisper that Clay’s only hope was to forget the eggs and tackle the ostrich.

  Contrary to Norin wisdom, Clay stood in front of the bird. She guessed in his panic, he forgot his training. She longed to scream to him to get beside the ostrich, out of reach of its legs, and to go for its head.

  Instead, she bit her lip until it bled. The other Norin might not know they were raiding today, but she, Clay, and the Winds did. Neither of them would cheat.

  She expected to see fear in Clay’s eyes, but determination blazed on his face, and his machete remained rock steady in his hands. Then, as graceful as a dancer, he veered to the side, avoiding a kicking leg, and darted behind the giant bird.

  Lynx heart clenched; she understood his strange tactics.

  He had ignored her sensible training, learning instead from the stories she had told him about her egg raid. This was how she had defeated her ostrich, attacking it from behind as a lion would. It was the most dangerous thing Clay could do. Her brother was making a point today that he was man enough to win against the toughest odds.

  With a screech, Clay leaped up onto the ostrich’s back. The ostrich whipped its beak around, jabbing and tearing at Clay hanging off its tail feather. Clay slipped, and again, Lynx longed to scream advice, but it wasn’t necessary. Blood streaming from his face and arms, Clay stabbed his blade into the ostrich’s shoulder. The machete lodged deep into the muscle.

  Eyes wild with rage, the ostrich rolled on the ground, taking Clay down with it. For a moment, all Lynx saw was her brother’s boot sticking out from under a mass of quivering feathers. Baying, the bird clambered back to its feet. Still hanging onto the machete, Clay used the blade as an anchor and heaved himself up until he mounted the ostrich like a horse.

  A joyous smile spread across Lynx’s face as Clay wrenched the machete free and swung it hard at the bird’s neck.

  With a sickening rasp, the blade severed skin and muscle. Beak gaping and eyes wide with surprise, the head tumbled as a spray of blood arched through the air. One of the ostrich’s legs collapsed, and the dying bird fell on its side, trapping Clay beneath its bulk.

  Lynx held her breath.

  Nothing moved but the swirling dust and the ostrich’s blood seeping into the sand.

  The bird’s wing shuddered, then stopped.

  Get up, Clay, Lynx pleaded, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It’s not over yet.

  Clay heaved the massive bird aside, emerging blood-soaked and shaking. Although his grimace betrayed his pain, he gave the air a victory punch.

  Lynx wanted to yell and leap with relief and pride, but Clay had yet to bring her an egg. Hand pressed against a wound slashed open on his thigh, Clay hobbled to the eggs.

  A clatter of hooves came from behind.

  Lynx spun. A horse and rider streaked toward them. She wanted to shout a warning, but that would constitute interference. So, unable to breathe, she prayed the rider would swerve in time.

  Clay had also seen the horse. He screamed, waving his arms, and pointed at the nest. The rider seemed not to hear—or to care—because she aimed for the clutch.

  Lynx knew who she was. Only one Norin girl wore a veil as a fashion statement: their sister, Kestrel. Lynx suspected it was designed to hide the lack of feathers and beads in her blond hair. Unlike the rest of their family, Kestrel had never been brave enough to raid an egg, settling instead for a life as a server. She wore her ostrich-skin apron, the servers’ badge of honor, begrudgingly.

  Swearing, Clay broke into a run, but before he could reach the clutch, the horse cantered to the nest. Kestrel wheeled the horse around and then pranced it over the eggs. Its hooves cracked every shell. Without a perfect egg, Clay had failed. He would never be given another chance to raid. Keening, he fell to his knees, burying his head in his hands.

  Lynx sheathed her machetes, dove forward, and grabbed the horse’s harness. “Kestrel, by all the Winds! What’s the matter with you? Couldn’t you see the dead ostrich? Didn’t you see Clay going for the clutch?”

  “You know I don’t care about wind or ostrich eggs!” Kestrel yelled as her horse reared.

  Lynx tumbled to the ground. Kestrel rewarded her with a contemptuous flick of her veils.

  Screaming at the top of his lungs, Clay snatched up his bloodied machete and raced toward his sister and her prancing horse. “I’ll kill you, Kestrel!”

  Kestrel shrieked and spurred her horse, sending it shooting forward. Safely out of reach, she called out, “Lynx, maybe I didn’t want my little brother copying you. Not every member of this family has to be a raider, you know.”

  “I never said they did!” Lynx screamed, scrambling to her feet. “But those wanting to should get a fair chance. Just like no one stopped you choosing not to raid.”

  “A fair chance? Try not raiding and see how it feels! Everyone treats me like dirt because I chose not to have feathers and beads in my hair!”

  “That’s in your head. And even if it were true, it’s not Clay’s fault. Why punish him?” Lynx shouted straight back at her sister.

  Kestrel scorned the code of honor, bravery, and fealty to the Norin king that set their tribe apart from the rest of the Chenayan empire. Her sister believed they should embrace Chenayan culture, not something any Norin in their right mind would ever consider doing. And as for Lynx, street sweeper or emperor, she despised all Chenayans equally.

  “Oh, what does it matter?” Kestrel asked. “Father sent me to find you both. Lynx, you’re to come home, now. The imperial steam carriage brought a letter from the emperor.”

  The blood drained from Lynx’s face, and she sucked in a panicked breath.

  “Yes, that letter,” Kestrel yelled over her shoulder as her horse bolted away. “You’re to marry Prince Lukan! I hope you enjoy becoming a Chenayan!”

  Chapter 2

  Lynx watched her sister until the horse veered around a craggy butte and vanished from view. But no matter how long Lynx stood staring after her, Kestrel’s words refused to connect in her mind.

  How was it possible she had been chosen to marry Lukan? Kestrel was, by far, the better candidate to marry the crown prince. Her sister would have known that, too. Lynx guessed Kestrel had secretly anticipated the marriage—looked forward to it, even.

  As for Lynx, the idea of marrying Lukan made her skin crawl. He was a Chenayan. She, a Norin. He was her conqueror. She, his conquered. He had been born and raised to lord over her. She had been born and raised to hate him. They might as well have been different species.

  There was no winning here.

  But fighting the summons was impossible. Emperor Mott, Lukan’s father, was too powerful to be denied. Emperor Mott and his Chenayan empire ruled two-thirds of the world, and no one could do a damn thing about it. He even had the Unity behind him, the ancient marriage treaty between their two nations, which stipulated that a Norin princess would marry the Chenayan crown prince. The marriage was unavoidable.

  Still, the chances of her father sharing the letter’s content with Kestrel first, if Lynx had been the one chosen, were nil. It was possible her sister had been mistaken. Or had lied. Lynx wouldn’t put it past Kestrel.

  Sighing, Lynx reached for the satchel hanging from her should
er, containing her medical supplies. Then, a thought struck. She frowned, considering the idea from all angles.

  Risky and manipulative, it would make her as unpopular with her family as Kestrel was right now. But it was too good an opportunity to pass up. If she had to marry Lukan, then she could use that marriage to manipulate her father into agreeing to let Clay raid again.

  She grimaced. If her trade-off worked, she would be honor-bound to marry Lukan. To sleep with him. To bear his children. Could she? Her hand found her braided hair and feathers. She twirled them, deep in thought.

  Marriage to Lukan would bring the title of Chenayan crown princess, followed by empress when Lukan came to power. He would expect her to relinquish her loyalty to Norin—and to her king, to whom she’d sworn fealty.

  Lynx’s stomach contracted at the very notion, sending shafts of pain and nausea through her. The day she had come home with an egg, she had gone on bended knee, swearing fealty to her father, King Thorn. The wind, which had moaned softly around her as she knelt, picked up as she had uttered her oath. Without doubt, the Winds had delivered her pledge to the skies.

  Since then, she had walked a tight line between defying her father and obeying her king. Now, thanks to Kestrel, she was trapped between filial responsibility and her oath of allegiance. It would take some careful crafting to traverse this potential snake pit. For a Norin, breaking an oath was a grievous sin, equal to murder, with a punishment equally harsh. At worst, the oathbreaker could be condemned to death, if the person wronged chose to inflict the ultimate penalty. At best, every Norin would know of the perfidy and would shun the culprit. In Lynx’s mind, death would be better than banishment from her home and the people she loved.

  Clay’s voice broke into thoughts. “I’ll never wear the feathers and beads now.” He slumped in the dust next to the dead ostrich and the broken eggs, his head resting on his knees.

  Lynx swallowed hard. With his infectious laughter and determined bravery, Clay was one of the most important people in her world.

  Mindful of his wounds, she knelt down and gently embraced him. “It’s okay. The Winds will bring us a plan.”