Rebel Prince Read online

  “Who could deny him?” Califa asked.

  “He does know how to move them,” Dax muttered.

  Dare spotted them and changed direction. This man who was a brother to him looked every inch the king, Dax thought. Califa was right, who could deny him?

  No one, apparently, because he came to a halt before them and said simply, “Go. We will follow.”

  Chapter 25

  “WE SHOULD go back.”

  Lyon looked at her, although he didn’t meet her gaze, as she had been avoiding his for some time now. It was not like her to want to retreat. At least, not from any physical threat or danger. But this was different. Very different.

  Everything was different, now.

  And he realized that her words could easily apply to something other than this expedition they were on.

  “We are chasing a legend that likely has no basis in reality. A treasure that probably doesn’t even exist.”

  Again he felt the subtext but wasn’t ready to face that conversation, so he let her finish her point.

  “If they’re after you, if they somehow know you are the prince and mean you harm, it would be easier to hide in the crowds.”

  “From whom? The thuggers? Sir Pompous in the fancy cloak? Some new, unknown adversary?” Hiding from a threat had never been in her nature. Was she already taking on the mien of the flashbow warrior, suppressing her own instincts for the protection of a royal? He shifted uneasily before countering, “Any of those threats is easier to defend against here, where we have the high ground.”

  She didn’t respond. And the other unspoken matter lay between them, as potent and present as if it were a living, physical thing. Did she think returning to the city would solve that problem? They would eventually have this out—city or mountain. He’d see to that now that he realized she wasn’t hiding from a threat. She was running from him. From the promise that lay between them.

  He resorted to her own tactic of diversion, trying to put her off balance. “Do you think your father does not know what he has done?”

  “He does now.”

  “Can you truly hate him for it?” he asked. “Who would know better what you are facing? The rest of us know only the glory, he knows the danger, the blood, the pain, the weariness. What father would not want to protect his child from that as long as possible?”

  “If you’re going to defend him, I’ll find my own way down.”

  Her voice was sharp. He’d gotten to her, but not enough.

  “Is that really why you want to run?” he finally said.

  Finally, he’d stiffened her. “I don’t run.” But she still did not look at him.

  “What would you call it?”

  “I would call it ending a fool’s trek. I would call it seeing sense. I would call it not chasing an Arellian dragon.”

  “Shaina Silverbrake, urging sense. This day may go down in the annals.”

  That earned him a sideways glance. And he saw there, in her face, in even that brief glimpse, the truth of what he had suspected.

  The memory of what had happened between them, of the fire that had flared even as the sun was setting, was even still hot enough to scorch. His body fired to the memory almost as fiercely as it had to the feel of her lips beneath his.

  “It wouldn’t change anything,” he said, his voice as rough as he was feeling inside. “Even if we were to turn around and go back.”

  “Because,” she said, “everything has already been changed. It seems that I’ve lied to myself as much as my father ever has.”

  She sounded so lost, so forlorn, it tore at him. “Shay—”

  She didn’t react to the revived nickname. “We’re well and truly lost now, Cub. We must choose and either choice may cost us what we have.”

  “Are you angry at me?”

  She sighed. It had the same sad quality as her voice, and caused that same tightening in his gut.

  “No,” she said at last. “I’m angry that it was so . . . much.”

  He couldn’t help the flood of relief that welled up in him. “Yes. Yes, it was.”

  He hadn’t thought he was alone in that rush of sensation, the fierceness of it, the near-overpowering urgency. Had it been anyone else, and since they were not on Trios, it might have gone beyond a few searing, soaring kisses and caresses. But the strictures of Triotian culture were strong in both of them. Between them they had somehow found the power to stop, even if it had felt oddly wrong, as if stopping were the mistake.

  To him, it was the mistake. But if she didn’t feel that way, it meant nothing. He struggled to find words to make her see, make her realize. But then remembered this was Shaina, and she did best when allowed to reach the conclusion on her own. So he could only guide her, not tell her.

  “Do you remember when Fleuren left us?” he asked after a moment.

  She looked at him then, clearly puzzled. “Of course.”

  “Do you remember how devastated we both were?” It was nothing less than true; the elder woman Dax had rescued and brought home had been their stern yet benevolent guardian and teacher from birth. She had, Shaina’s mother had told them, appointed herself from the moment Califa found herself pregnant, delighted to have at last found a way to pay Dax back some small amount of the debt she felt she owed him. But when her own family, nearly destroyed by the Coalition, had begun to increase itself, she had withdrawn to tend to her own.

  “And then Ansul came,” he said.

  Shaina smiled. The crusty old tutor who had taught both their fathers had annoyed them at first. He’d been strict, demanding, and they’d spent many fruitless hours trying to best him in one way or another. They had never succeeded. “If you really think you two can come up with any scheme, any mischief Dax or Dare didn’t try before you, you’re mistaken,” he’d told them.

  And yet he’d continued, almost encouraging them, and it wasn’t until much later they had finally realized he’d been teaching them all along. Tactics, preparation, execution, they learned all of it in those efforts to outsmart him.

  “And it was extraordinary, was it not?” he asked, looking steadily at her.

  “Yes. It was . . . wonderful.”

  He stayed silent then, just watching her. Watching her face, that expressive, beautiful face. He saw when she got there. Her eyes widened.

  “You’re saying this is like that?”

  “I’m saying that when we thought we’d lost everything, it was only a passage to something even better. We didn’t have to forget one way of life to experience something new. To make something new.”

  For a long, silent moment she looked at him. In her face, her eyes, those jade green eyes that were a direct gift from her father, he saw the same sort of turmoil he himself was feeling.

  “Think about this, Shaina. Who is your father’s best friend?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Your father.”

  He shook his head. “His very best friend, confidant, the one person he could not survive without.”

  She got it then. “My mother.”

  “Yes. As my mother is my father’s.”

  “Your point?”

  He smiled at her, and for an instant he let it show, the longing, the need, the possibilities. “They didn’t lose their friendship.”

  She drew back slightly. Something in her expression changed. He saw the same tangle of conflicting emotions, of fear and anticipation, of resistance, but now also eagerness. It was the eagerness that nearly undid him. When he realized that as reluctant as she was she still felt an eagerness to explore what had sparked between them, he knew it was time.

  “We’re not children anymore, Shay. And I can’t go on pretending we are. We have to decide where we are going, and if we are going together.”

  “What are you saying?”

&
nbsp; “That my lifetime friend and companion, my cohort, my accomplice, my abettor, is no longer the impish child who was my partner in all things, but a woman. A beautiful, intelligent, compelling woman. I’m saying I want more than this, I want—”

  “Good eventide, children!”

  Shaina was on her feet, dagger drawn, in a split second. He barely managed to stay his own hand when the old man stepped out of the shadows.

  “You risk much, old man,” Shaina said. “We’re a bit on edge.”

  “These paths are more traveled than usual these past days,” the old man agreed.

  “We don’t care for being surprised.” Shaina was frowning at the man, but Lyon noticed she’d sheathed her dagger.

  “You’ve made that effectively clear,” Theon said, sounding almost proud of them.

  “And yet here you are,” Lyon observed, earning a grin and a hearty laugh from the old man.

  “Indeed. I find myself drawn to an unexpected and pleasant link to my past. Something I think you may be feeling yourself?”

  “A bit, yes,” Lyon said.

  “’Tis natural,” Theon said. “Our futures rise out of our heritage. And a large portion of yours is here, Lyon of Trios, son of Graymist. And if the legends hold true, it will determine your future, and the future of far more than walk this world now.”

  “And what has this treasure of yours to do with all that grandiosity?” Shaina asked. “Gold is gold, is it not? Worth killing for to those who have nothing else, worth less than nothing to those who prize other things.”

  The old man’s gaze fastened on her then. He studied her for a long moment. “One of the things I prize,” the old man said at last, “is perspicacity. For one so young, you have a great deal.”

  To Lyon’s surprise Shaina colored slightly. She was pleased, he could see that. Theon’s eyes flicked from her to him and then back again. A smile curved his mouth, and when he glanced back once more, Lyon saw a sparkle in the depths of dark eyes.

  “I see things have changed with you,” he said, including both of them with a wave of his hand.

  He had overheard them, Lyon thought uncomfortably. He glanced at Shaina, whose color had deepened.

  “People,” Theon said, very gently, “are vastly resistant to change. It requires effort, moving on and through. Given their way, they would live in a never-changing world. You two must have faith that while some changes are for the worse, and some for the better, some few changes are for glory.”

  “Will you stop speaking in riddles, Theon?”

  Shaina sounded tense, and Lyon guessed she was embarrassed, but Theon merely smiled. “Riddles. You remind me. My brain is not as quick as it once was, so forgive me for taking time to remember the prophecy correctly.”

  “Prophecy?” Cub asked.

  “About the treasure.” His voice changed, took on a deeper timbre. “For Graymist of pure heart and mind, the cavern of the waterfall shall open when the two halves are joined, when what is destined is completed.”

  “Well, that’s nonsensical enough,” Shaina said.

  “Prophecies are by nature, are they not?” Theon said, smiling. “I heard the tales many times, while I worked in your mother’s house,” he said to Lyon. “They say the real treasure hidden in that cave is not the gold, but the Graymist Orb.”

  This was a new addition to the tale, Lyon thought. “The what?”

  “The Orb, a rounded crystal of no good whatsoever except to one of Graymist blood. For a true child of Graymist, the Orb has the power to warn that rightful possessor of the presence of enemies, to tell truth from lie, and it has the power to heal.”

  “And would it be warning of lies right now?” Shaina asked, in that sweet tone that Lyon knew too well was a warning of its own. She didn’t care for being embarrassed, and she was already in an internal uproar.

  Theon merely laughed delightedly. “If you find the Orb, the tales say it will change history.”

  “How? What are we to do with your magical rock?” Shaina asked, her tone more amused now.

  “A little respect, please. It does not do to laugh at destiny.”

  Shaina laughed in turn at the last word.

  “Off with you then,” Theon said.

  “Continue on tonight?” Shaina asked, clearly startled now.

  “You have the moon to light your way.”

  Lyon saw Shaina glance at the night sky. He shifted restlessly himself. The old man’s words of destiny seemed to have infused him with a sense of urgency, a sense of having to do just that, move on, now, not waste any more time.

  The pull, he realized. The pull old Theon had spoken of. He’d been right, he’d been feeling it for some time now, he just hadn’t recognized it. Or it had been swamped by that other pull, toward Shaina.

  It made no sense, given he’d never even thought of this supposed treasure for years, but there it was, growing more undeniable with every breath.

  He looked at Shaina. Her arched brows were furrowed as she looked at him.

  “Cub?”

  “I feel it,” he admitted. “Just as he said. I feel I have to go on. Now.”

  She held his gaze for a moment. Then she lifted a shoulder in a half shrug.

  “Let’s go then,” she said. Just that easily, she was with him. As always.

  He turned to Theon. “Are you going on?”

  “Perhaps, after some rest. I may see you yet again.”

  “Do. I would like to hear more of my mother as child.”

  Theon smiled. “And I would like to hear of her as queen.”

  Lyon nodded. He didn’t quite understand what this sensation was, only that it was growing stronger. He was still trying to analyze it as they started up the moonlit trail.

  Chapter 26

  “DO YOU ALWAYS answer a knock with a dagger in your hand?”

  Rina had reached the hidden cave late. Too late to be polite, since the crescent moon had already risen, but she’d gone nevertheless. And in the moment before her eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness of his doorway, all she could see was the glint of Clarion steel in his hand.

  “Few know of this place. And there are those who would be happier if I vanished.”

  For a moment pleasure at being one of the few who knew mattered more. But she didn’t doubt what he’d said. Resistance was high to the very hint that war might be starting all over again. And the delusional among the populace transferred that feeling to the messenger.

  He stepped aside and let her in through the hidden door. The large room was in darkness.

  “If I woke you, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t sleep much.”

  She supposed it was a negation, but she felt even worse if he didn’t sleep well and she’d disturbed him. In the darkness she heard, rather than saw, him move toward the back, and then the huntlight flooded the room.

  She’d awakened him, all right. His hair was a dark tangle, as if already his night had been restless. He wore sleep leggings and a light shirt open at the throat. She realized abruptly that he had changed, physically, more than she’d realized, aside from his injury. He was still lean, rangy, but his shoulders and chest had broadened from the younger man she’d known, his arms grown more muscled. And he—

  Her thoughts stopped short as her wandering—and admittedly appreciative—gaze stopped at his face.

  No eye patch.

  His head snapped around, away. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  He turned, took a step toward the sleeping alcove, no doubt where the concealing patch was.

  “No. Don’t.”

  He froze. “My face,” he said tightly, “is not something you want to look upon in the light.”

  “And who are you to decide that for me?”

  His head snapped back aroun
d. She took advantage, studied the scar that twisted its way from his cheekbone to his hairline.

  It was both better and worse than she’d expected. Better, because there was no glimpse of a damaged, blind eye, the scar had sealed his lids shut. Worse because it was a thick, jagged thing, a ridge of tissue that twisted and pulled even as it spoke of a grievous injury healed.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” he said.

  She couldn’t speak. When he did again, his tone was sour, and oddly disappointed.

  “I would never have thought you one of those.”

  “Those?”

  “Those with the peculiar fascination with the gruesome.”

  She smothered a gasp at the harshness of both voice and accusation. She drew herself up and faced him head on.

  “Bright Tarkson, you are a fool.” She bit the words out, sharp and nearly as harsh as his own.

  His good eye blinked. “I’ve been told that before.”

  “You are a fool if you think I feel anything but pain at what happened to you, if you think I do nothing less than ache inside at the thought of what you had to endure.”

  “I—”

  “Did I wish to see? Yes. But only because I was hopeful it could be helped, if seen to properly. Battlefield wounds never heal as they could, especially when no help is at hand. Nelcar, our medical officer from the old days on the Star, could always work wonders if someone was hurt, even in the field. And now, with full equipment and time to work slowly, he does even more.”

  “It would take more than a wonder.” The words were as sour, but the heat was gone from his tone.

  “Nelcar is very good. But even if he can do nothing, that scar is still a mark of honor, of courage.”

  “More of ineffectiveness.”

  She scoffed. “Oh, yes, that too, because the vaunted Captain Tarkson must of course be able to deal with one hundred to one odds, must he not? There were five of you against an entire troop of Coalition forces, but nevertheless, you were ineffective to not have walked away without a mark.”