Warlord's Wager Page 3

  “He knowingly took that poisoned quarrel for me. That says everything, surely? And the colonel, he is my friend, too. He did all he could to protect me after the shooting.” Lynx hesitated, wondering if Felix was listening in on this discussion. She had said nothing he could object to—until now. “Ask Axel about the Dmitri Curse when he is healed. He knows what I experienced with it. What he says will explain everything.”

  That tidbit of information might persuade her father to heal Axel rather than harm him.

  “The Dmitri Curse?”

  Lynx opened her mouth to reply just as the image flickered and failed.

  Her father was gone. It felt as if the air had been ripped straight out of her lungs.

  Someone didn't want her talking about the Dmitri Curse.

  Chapter 4

  When Lynx declared to her father that she loved Axel, Lukan’s face contorted with pain. It was even worse that she still refused to accept that he had no part in her assassination attempt. He morphed his sorrow into a smile and threw his informa, shaped like one of his trademark silver buttons, into the air and caught it expertly.

  “So, Tao thinks the only person in the palace who can jam a signal is Felix.” He widened his fake grin. “Shows what my brother—what everyone—knows about my skills.” His smile faded as his voice echoed through the book-lined halls of a cavernous labyrinth beneath the palace, his silent archives. Tucked away in a tiny pool of light in the farthest corner, he sat in his usual wing-backed leather chair. “Pity there’s no one here to share my little triumph.”

  He threw a leg over the armrest. His boot, its high-gloss polish long since lost, knocked over a box of cookies. The tin clattered, spreading crumbs on the hardwood floor. They were all that remained of the walnut and date balls he’d lived on since locking himself in here. His jaw, bristling with unfamiliar growth, itched. He scratched it with a grimy finger. So unkempt, clothes stinking of sweat, shoulder-length hair greasy, no one would recognize him as Lukan Avanov.

  He pulled himself straight. The time for wallowing in pity for his cursed life was over. Knowledge and an iron will would save him now.

  The knowledge part was the easiest sum in the equation. He had not just spent his life hiding in here, contrary to the thoughts of his family, the only people who knew about the archives. He had read, and understood, every manuscript, every technical treaty, and every blueprint hidden in its walls. He knew more about science than anyone on the planet.

  Except for Felix, of course.

  His conniving uncle was the true master of all the technology Lukan needed to secure his life and his reign. But not even all the optimism in the world could negate the tragedy that Felix was untrustworthy. As long as Axel lived, Felix would be scheming to murder Lukan to place his son on the emperor’s throne.

  Lukan jumped to his feet and hit the wooden stack closest to him, shifting a line of books. One tumbled to the floor. He hissed and swooped down to rescue it, cursing at himself when he noticed a few buckled pages. Carefully, he straightened them and then, with gentle hands, stroked the book’s spine—The Three Laws of Thermodynamics—one he remembered well. He placed it back on the shelf, perfectly lining it up between two other textbooks on the subject.

  Nurturing books may have been a happy diversion, but it didn’t alter the fact that Axel was just as threatening as his father. A real challenge to Lukan’s iron will.

  Lukan scowled. Thanks to Axel’s infuriating love for Lynx, he couldn’t stop Axel and Stefan from telling King Thorn about the curse and Lynx’s role in it.

  “Just one more thing that moves me away from claiming the destiny Dmitri offered me as Chenaya’s savior. And now Lynx has reconfirmed that she will never trust me again, let alone become my friend.”

  Lukan sighed, still devastated that his plan to expose the secret monitoring of the high-born had been thwarted by the attempt on Lynx’s life and Axel’s shooting. With the loss of their support, the brief opportunity to be the prophesied son who changed the world had blinked out almost before it had started. All that remained was for Lukan to prevent his own demise by dividing and subduing his three enemies.

  He paced up and down between the stacks.

  “Dragon’s curses! I might not be able to stop Axel and Stefan from blabbing about Dmitri, but I’ll be damned if Lynx ever speaks to anyone outside this palace again. For as long as she lives.” He paused. “Pity her life can’t end today.”

  Even as he said that, he didn’t mean it. He still writhed with horror when he thought of his father’s execution. His face puckered with distaste. “All that blood. I’m not a killer. Not deep inside.”

  And anyway, how could he kill something he craved so much? Cold, aloof, and deadly, Lynx was his drug. He was as unable to survive with her as without her.

  In between hacking through Felix’s private records—how else was he to control his conniving uncle?—he had spent the last three days watching her on his informa. Stalking, if he were honest. She was beautiful and alluring. Both with clothes on and without. And that remained a problem. As lethal as she and her son would be, he still wanted her with an ache that refused to be appeased.

  Lukan glared at the closest shelf of books as if they were responsible for his lust. “Not your fault,” he muttered to the dusty tomes. “Lynx is to blame.” He began to pace. “And Dmitri.”

  The seer had made it clear that Lynx would conceive her traitorous son on the consummation of their marriage.

  A shudder of fear rumbled through him. “If I harm Lynx—or her son—Axel will flay me.”

  He didn’t doubt for a second that Dmitri was right. If Axel survived his poisoning, he would become an evil presence, ever leering over Lukan’s shoulder, looking for a reason to cut him down.

  Lukan addressed his books again, “And you all know how much Axel would relish that.”

  Head bent, hands behind his back, he resumed his pacing. “It’s all posturing,” he told his books. “My three nemeses—I can never harm them, but they don’t need to know that. The best way to ensure their compliance is to come down hard”—he thumped his fist against the wall for emphasis—“laying down the rules with threats if necessary. Then I can look at a more human approach to my reign, something Dmitri would still be proud of.”

  As to be expected, his books added nothing to the discussion. He sighed, knowing he was prevaricating. With a frown, he straightened his back.

  It was time to reckon with his uncle.

  He turned sharply toward the archive doors. “Iron will—that’s what I need if am to win against Felix today. And win I must, because only once Felix is controlled on a short leash can I deal with Lynx and Axel.”

  But first, a bath and a meal.

  * * *

  People scurried to bow as Lukan, pristine in his signature black-and-silver shirt, waistcoat, trousers, and boots, strode through the palace toward his father’s old office—Lukan’s office now.

  He threw open the door and stopped to survey the familiar room with new, more appreciative eyes. A leaded glass window illuminated a huge ebony desk, still cluttered with his father’s junk. Two brown leather armchairs and a bulbous leather sofa faced a massive fireplace on the opposite wall. With the cooling of autumn, a servant had piled logs in the center, waiting for a match. A huge black, gold, and red Dragon, mounted on the wall above the fireplace, glared out across the office.

  He had no belief in the Chenayan religion, but he recognized the power of the icon in governing his subjects, to whom religion was the grist that made sense of their pointless lives.

  Perfect.

  Fingers trailing along the golden silk decking the wall, Lukan studied the other artworks as he walked across the deep-pile carpet to the desk. A floor-to-ceiling oil painting of Mott in full military uniform dominated the wall behind the desk. That would be the first thing to go.

  Second, he thought with pleasure as he swept all his father’s bric-a-brac into a wooden trash can. He smiled up at the oil p
ainting. He’d commission one of himself in his coronation robes to replace it.

  A scuffle at the door turned his head. Felix bobbed a bow, making the ruby next to his eye glint in the lamplight. “You summoned me, Highness.” Felix brushed his wispy graying hair away from his gaunt face.

  Joining the honorific snub, a bland expression shuttered his uncle’s thoughts. It seemed his uncle would not be calling him sire until after the coronation. A flurry of fear whirled through him.

  Iron will! he snapped at himself. Do you want Felix to win? Lukan drew himself up to his full height, just shy of six feet.

  “So my messages are getting through to your informa.” He waved Felix to a chair next to the fireplace.

  Felix sat, his fingers steepled, his agate-colored eyes fixed on Lukan. Lukan’s heart raced as it always did under his uncle’s scrutiny. Refusing to show his discomfort, he shuttered his thoughts, too.

  After his comprehensive hack into Felix’s private files, Lukan knew how to handle this meeting. He pulled out his informa, pulled up the beam of light as if it were a silk scarf, and scrolled through lines of text. He passed it over to Felix, saying as casually as he could muster, “My required delivery dates are noted next to each of your items.” He suppressed a delighted smile when Felix hissed in a breath, and every muscle in his body coiled. “And I've added a few items of my own.”

  “You read my files?” Felix quivered, his face as pale as milk.

  So Felix had been unaware of Lukan’s electronic fingers riffling through his records. Thrilling. Maybe it was possible he could control his uncle with simple threats.

  “How? They were protected with the highest levels of security.”

  Lukan hadn’t expected his uncle’s shock. Outrage and fury, yes, but shock? No. It made him wonder what else Felix had to hide.

  He chose not to answer. Leave Felix doubting. Nothing was more disconcerting than not knowing. It would drive Felix crazy, keeping him vulnerable. A vulnerable Felix meant a strong Lukan.

  “As you are aware, I have a pre-coronation meeting with the Fifteen tomorrow. Imagine what they’d say if they knew you had mind reading capabilities in your arsenal,” Lukan said, while his uncle pulled his disgusting snotty rag from his pocket.

  “What!” Felix fumbled his handkerchief, and it fluttered to the floor. He didn’t bother stooping to pick it up. “You-you know that technology is in its infancy, right? Never been tried.”

  “Yes. I am aware of that,” Lukan said coolly.

  Did his uncle think him a complete idiot? If so, he would pay the price for that complacency. After devouring Felix’s notes, he knew exactly how far Felix had gotten with the prototype of the technology called The Final Word in Human Surveillance. Lukan thought it a fitting name for an ice crystal that would allow him to not only snoop into a person’s thoughts but also to influence the subject’s actions by introducing new ideas into his head. Very useful for controlling traitorous sons.

  Not that he had any intentions of conceiving that son with Lynx. That way, he would never have to employ the foul technology.

  In his musings, he barely registered the small sigh that escaped Felix’s chest or the relieved sag of his shoulders.

  “I assume you got the idea from the voices of the dead who torment us all?” Lukan was emperor now, so it didn’t trouble him to mention Thurban’s voice in his head. Anyone who laughed at him would be punished. He would only have to make a couple of examples for his entire court to know that he would no longer brook that kind of disrespect.

  Felix’s lids virtually hooded his eyes. “As you say, Highness.” He cleared his throat. “Still, it is premature to mention any of these ideas to the Fifteen, for they are, after all, just dreams on my wish list.” He jabbed the informa with a finger. “As are some of the things on your list.” A throaty laugh followed. “Firearms—rifles and suchlike—have not been manufactured on this planet since before the Burning. There has been no need. Not with the advantage our ice crystals give us over the low-born. And reintroducing rifles could kick off another arms race like the one that resulted in the devastation of the planet.”

  Lukan knew that, but it was a risk he was willing to take if it made him independent of Felix’s knowledge of ice crystals. He had no intention of ever deploying those weapons, but the threat would add to his power.

  “Ice crystal supplies are scarce. The outcome of the war in Treven is uncertain. There is no guarantee that we will ever control their mines. We need to be prepared. That is my duty as emperor. To defend this empire from all possible threats.” Lukan glared at Felix. “Both internal and external.”

  Felix brushed Lukan’s concerns away with a wave of his hand, as he would a small, dull child. “Highness, of course we will conquer Treven. Axel will bring us a swift victory when he returns. There is no need to look to archaic technology for the empire’s security.”

  Lukan didn’t bother hiding his annoyance at Felix’s patronizing tone and the mention of Axel’s name. He had plans for Axel once his hated cousin arrived back at the palace. When Lukan considered them, a twist of pleasure curled through him. Axel would be on the first available airship headed for Treven and would only return to Cian when he had proved unquestionable loyalty to Lukan. But Felix didn’t need to know that.

  “I will have my rifles, and nothing you can say will stop me.”

  Felix pursed his thin lips. “As you wish, Highness, but I strongly advise against—”

  “Tomorrow morning I present myself to the Fifteen for allegiance swearing,” Lukan interrupted, letting Felix know his advice wasn’t germane to the discussion.

  That didn’t stop Felix. “Will you be telling the Fifteen about your technological plans?”

  “Of course not,” Lukan snapped. “They do not need to know our secret treasures. I have another way of controlling them. I will be introducing a new count at that meeting.”

  Felix leaned forward in his seat. “A new count? That would surely mean we then have sixteen men, not fifteen, at our meeting.”

  “Oh, I am so glad to see that you can do basic arithmetic.” Lukan grinned. Being emperor really was quite entertaining.

  “And who would that sixteenth count be, Highness?” Felix asked stiffly. “And what would his duties be?”

  Lukan took a deep breath, then willed his voice to be steady. “Morass.”

  Felix’s eyes bulged, and his bloodless face turned puce.

  The only order Lukan had given after fleeing from Lynx in the infirmary had been to the captain of the guard to find and detain Morass, alive. Lukan had watched the search on his informa. Morass had been apprehended in a tavern in Cian. He now awaited Lukan’s pleasure in the dungeons.

  “He will be responsible for administering palace justice. I was thinking that Lord of the Rack may be an appropriate title.” The presence of an unstoppable guardsman bearing such a terrifying title and administering punishment would chill his high-born to the core. Lukan hoped the threat would limit the call upon his new count’s services.

  Felix’s sinuses rattled; palace justice had been an important part of his portfolio. Lukan had just robbed him of half his power. It fit perfectly into Lukan’s new mantra: Divide and subdue. He rushed on before Felix could object. “You will deliver him from the dungeons, inform him of his new title and rank, and provide him all he needs to carry out his duties.”

  Fingers clutching for his handkerchief, Felix hissed, “Morass? The low-born assassin who shot my son?”

  “At your command,” Lukan said. “If you had not interfered with my plans at the wedding, Axel would never have been shot. He and Stefan would not be in Norin now, ready to spill everything they know about the Dmitri Curse to that rebel, King Thorn.”

  Felix ground his lips together. “Pray, explain to me, Highness, this change of heart you have experienced. Before your wedding you seemed determined to tell the high-born about the archives, and all our other ‘private treasures,’ as you so aptly call them. But now you
need a Lord of the Rack?”

  Lukan flushed at the implied criticism. “Morass will remain at my side, a constant reminder to you of what happens when you interfere with my plans.” He stood. “I, and no one else, am Emperor of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories. You will obey me in everything, or I will hand you over to my new count. You will not survive the encounter.” Fighting to control his trembling hand, Lukan scooped up his informa and shook it at Felix to reinforce his bluff. “Remember, I am watching. Always watching.”

  Felix sat still and taut in his chair, giving away no sign of his feelings to Lukan’s threat, and then he rose, too. “By the Dragon, the Fifteen will not like this, Highness. If you choose to use Morass’s services, well and good. As emperor, that is your prerogative. But to inflict a low-born on the leaders of the noblest families in the world is not to be endured. As your uncle and advisor, I strongly suggest you reconsider this course.”

  Ignoring Felix, Lukan moved on to the next item on his agenda. “Count Felix, this might be a good time to pledge your allegiance. A practice run for my coronation tomorrow.”

  Lukan held his breath. Everything now hung on this moment. Would his uncle acquiesce, or would he refuse to obey?

  Hatred and contempt leached into Felix’s eyes. After a short hesitation, he creaked onto one knee, sending Lukan’s heart soaring. Steadying himself against a low table with one hand, Felix raised the other in a salute. “I, Count Felix Avanov, Chenayan Lord of the Household, pledge my allegiance and my all to you, Emperor Lukan Avanov. My life is yours to own, your will my command.”

  Lukan had won.

  At least the opening salvo. The war for his uncle’s loyalty was by no means over. But Lukan had a few other tricks up his sleeve to control Felix, most notably Malika. She was the perfect tool for keeping Felix on a short leash.

  Beads of sweat broke out on Felix’s face. It had probably been decades since he had been required to bend for anything, let alone take his whole weight on his knee. His fingers clenching the table whitened and trembled as he struggled to hold himself upright. He was about to tumble when Lukan reached over and touched his shoulder.