Rebel Prince (The Coalition Rebellion Novels Book 3) Read online

  Rina frowned. Tark had occasionally been called insanely reckless, but his mind had ever been quick, sharp, and admirable. “Reyks?”

  “Pure troublemaker. She’s usually to be found stirring up the masses with wild tales and predictions. Oh, dear. He has spotted you,” Bratus said, sounding uncomfortable, and looking it even more.

  “Or you?” she asked. His immediate blanching almost made her regret her query.

  Almost.

  And then he was there. She sensed him before she saw him. That, at least, had not changed.

  “Rina.”

  His voice was deeper, rougher, but it still had the same effect. She took a deep breath to steady herself before she turned to look up at him as he came to a halt beside the table.

  It was as well she had, for she forgot to breathe when she saw his face. For an instant it was as if her mind adjusted the image, trying to reconcile what she saw now with the memory she had of a face handsome to the point of beauty. Even warned, she wasn’t prepared for it. A black patch covered his left eye. Had he lost it, in that lopsided battle? A crooked, white scar ran vertically up his cheek and reemerged above the patch, where it twisted his brow slightly before arrowing up into his hairline.

  She saw her reaction register. Sensed he was adding her to what was no doubt a long list of people who found his appearance unpleasant. His tone, stark and flat, was in grim contrast to his flattering words. “Unlike some of us, you look wonderful. It is true, then, that Triotians live forever young?”

  She stood up. Dax had always said if you can’t defend, attack. So she said the first thing she could think of to change that reaction. “You truly are alive. All these years I thought you dead. You could have let me know, damn you.”

  His good eye blinked. “I—”

  “All these years of mourning, for a man still alive,” she spat out.

  Something changed then, softened, in both his stance and his expression.

  “Mourning? You mourned me, little one?”

  Is that how he saw her, still? True, she had been young when they’d met, but he hadn’t been much older. And years had passed, and she was an adult now even by Triotian standards. And he . . . he looked as if he carried the full weight of every one of those years. The fire that had blazed in him was gone now, or banked so low it wasn’t visible anymore. Her anger faded away.

  “We were friends,” she said, her heart aching at the thought of him broken. Of what he had been through. “Or I thought we were.”

  He reached out, cupped her cheek as he had the day he’d left on that ill-fated patrol. The last time she’d seen him alive.

  “We were, little one. We were.”

  Abruptly, as if he’d only this instant realized what he’d done, he yanked his hand back. Rina stared at him, barely able to take it in. But it was true. All these years she’d thought him dust, yet here he stood. She nearly shivered under the impact.

  “Join us,” Bratus said, managing to hide his reluctance better this time.

  Tark began to shake his head.

  “Please,” Rina said.

  For a moment longer he hesitated. He was wearing, she finally noticed, the same battle-scarred leather coat he’d worn those long years ago, and what appeared to be the same battered boots. His clothes looked clean, but worn. And a bit loose, as if he’d lost weight.

  At last he took the chair Bratus had indicated. He moved well enough, she thought. Not stiff or impaired. Perhaps the obvious had been his only injury. She wondered how long it had taken him to adapt to having the use of only one eye.

  “We were just talking of the celebration, and the visit of the contingent from Trios.”

  Again Tark hesitated. Another change, she thought; the Tark of old was so sure of himself Dax had said he was barely on the right side of cocky—which of course had led to her making a pot-and-kettle comparison, which had made Dax grin. And the thought of Dax’s grin reminded her of Shaina, and why she was here in the first place. She should be on about her task, but the shock of seeing Tark alive hadn’t yet worn off.

  And she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

  “Dax is well?” Tark asked finally.

  “He is.” Family problems aside, she added silently. “He would be better had you bothered to tell him you’d been alive these many years.”

  “If that’s what you wish to call it.”

  She noted the bitterness in his voice. And she didn’t begrudge him. It was clear he had reason.

  “You sound like my king once did,” she said.

  The single visible eye blinked again. “What?”

  “Bitter. He was, in the beginning. But he is long past that now that Trios is becoming herself again, and thanks to the unfailing love of his queen.”

  “He is . . . fortunate in that.”

  “Yes. Shaylah is his true mate. Everyone can see it. And of course his son’s birth was the final impetus that completely shifted his view to the future and away from the past.”

  Tark leaned back in his chair. “You have become rather wise, little one.”

  “It has been a long time. I would be quite a sad excuse for a Triotian if I’d learned nothing in all those years.”

  Bratus cleared his throat audibly. Rina guessed he wasn’t happy at being left out of the conversation, especially after he’d unbent enough to ask Tark to join them.

  “I’m glad to see you decided to join us for the celebration,” he said to Tark. “I feared nothing would drag you back to the city.”

  “I would be on the opposite side of the planet, had I the choice,” Tark said dryly, and Rina had the feeling he knew quite well Bratus’s words were false.

  “Will you not stay to see Dax when he arrives?” Rina asked.

  And yet again he hesitated. Bratus took advantage of his silence.

  “It will be a glorious event,” he said directly to Rina, now not even looking at Tark. Perhaps he did find his appearance unpleasant. Bratus always had liked things in order, after all. “And when they arrive, you must tell them all not to believe any of the rumors flying about.”

  “Rumors?”

  He laughed. “You know how it is. Anniversaries like this roll around, people start telling stories about the glorious battles, and then the watchers spring to life with their theories.”

  She smiled at him. “Still insisting it was all fakery, that it occurred only on cinefilm?”

  “There are still those, as there always are,” he said. “But now a new one has arisen. That the Coalition is coming back.”

  Rina’s eyes widened. “Coming back?”

  “Silly, isn’t it, after all this time, that people still fear them so? They’ve given up, they’ll never be back.”

  . . . the Coalition, or people like them, will never, ever give up, not really.

  Califa’s words, the words of the woman who had once been privy to the highest levels of the Coalition High Command, echoed in her head. They unsettled her even as Bratus laughed aloud.

  But she was unsettled even more when she glanced at Tark.

  He was not laughing; he was not even smiling.

  Chapter 8

  HE HURRIED ON through the dim light of dawn, eager now to reach his goal. The men he had hired should have contacted him by now, and he was angry that they had not. But he was almost to the old rundown building that was their lair, where his personal prey should be locked in a room by now, awaiting his doom. Everything he wanted was almost within his grasp. Vengeance and a triumphant return were so close he could almost taste them, even in this overcrowded, infested city.

  They should have welcomed the Coalition, he thought, as he had often since his arrival. They imposed order, control—and this unruly mob certainly needed to be taught that. None of them knew their place. Especially the m
en he was here to see. It was chaos.

  He did not knock. He was paying them, after all. The moment he stepped in and saw the two men sitting with full tankards despite the fact that the sun had not even fully risen, both apparently nursing headaches, he knew something was wrong. And the moment they looked up and met his gaze, he knew his plan had been foiled.

  Fury exploded within him.

  “Incompetents,” he shouted. “Fools! He is but one!”

  “Ease up now, man,” the first man said. “He had help, you didn’t tell us he’d like as have help.”

  “Three or four at least,” the second man whined. “We was outnumbered.”

  He drew his weapon from within the folds of his cloak. The two men scurried backward like the Carelian muckrats they were.

  “Hold, now!” the louder of the two cried. “You don’t need to do that. The boss, the big man, he’s handling this personally.”

  “You told me you were the boss.” He hissed out the last word in his rage.

  “Well, of our little district here,” the man said placatingly. “But the big man, he’s got a reputation to protect. He can’t do business if people don’t think he’ll do what he says. He won’t fail.”

  His hand twitched on the weapon, as if it wanted to fire of its own accord. He wasn’t sure yet he wouldn’t.

  “This ‘big man,’” he said, “where is he now?”

  “He’s already up on the mountain. Took three of his own gang men with him.”

  “What? Why?”

  “He’s got people, you know? They tell him things. And he found out that’s where they headed.”

  His gaze sharpened. “They?”

  The two men exchanged glances, looking almost panicked now. They had not meant to say that, it was clear.

  “Uh . . . he picked up a woman,” the first man said, sounding as he had looked.

  “Yes,” the second one chimed in, sounding oddly relieved. “After he . . . left here. Must have stopped by Akasen Court.”

  He knew the district. He’d found it shortly after his arrival, although it had taken longer to find an establishment that catered to his particular preferences. But the suggestion surprised him. Triotians were notoriously fastidious when it came to mating.

  Not, he thought bitterly, that it had stopped their king and his vaunted flashbow warrior from mating with traitors. Even bonding with them, in that ridiculous ritual of a kind the civilized world had long left behind. All the more reason they needed to be destroyed, spreading such nonsense even beyond Trios.

  He found his fury had ebbed at the thought. He would not kill them yet. This boss of theirs might get some idea of withholding what he needed if he returned to find his men slaughtered and spitted. So until he had his prize, he would restrain himself. He would, with what little patience he had left, wait to see if this big man would deliver. And if he did, then he would let him live.

  In the end, however, these two would not survive breaking their word to him. He, too, had a reputation to protect. And rebuild. And this was only the beginning.

  EVEN IN THE faint light of dawn on the mountain, it was clear all four men were armed, one with a small disrupter that had a singed, blackened barrel, looking as if it had been fired often. Which in itself was enough to make Lyon move cautiously, cataloging the man who held it in the “will definitely shoot” category.

  The other three didn’t look much kinder.

  But the men didn’t rush them. Not that they had to, armed and outnumbering them two to one, and coming up on them by surprise as they had.

  “Well, well, look what we have here,” the largest one said. He was carrying a cudgel that made the one that had left the lump on Lyon’s head look like a child’s rattle, and there was a full-size disrupter tucked into his belt. It didn’t look as used as the other one. Perhaps he didn’t have to shoot as often because he had the other man to do it for him, Lyon thought sourly.

  “Ah, young lovers,” said the man with the small disrupter, and his grin was not pleasant.

  I wish, Lyon thought, but ignored the assumption and the lewd expression. Instead he was calculating possibilities, thinking of tactics, and of how they were going to be on the receiving end of a very large surprise if they assumed Shaina was a helpless female.

  He saw her move on the edge of his vision. Her dagger was still at her feet, but she had moved slightly to mask it from the men in front of her. He kept his gaze fastened on the man who appeared to be the leader. And most of the brawn, judging by his size.

  The man looked at her, rubbing his unshaven chin. “Well, aren’t you a pretty one.” The leer that accompanied the words made his thoughts clear.

  Were this ordinary times, Shaina would have had a snappish comeback. But she was the daughter of Dax; in battle, tactics trumped temper. She put a hand to her throat, a delicate, feminine gesture. Her long, slender fingers moved, tugging at something.

  And then she laughed. But it wasn’t Shaina’s happy, deep-throated laugh, it was a different thing, a light, floating laugh he’d never heard from her. Almost, impossibly, a giggle.

  “My, you are a big one, aren’t you?” she asked, now looking up at the man with a smile Lyon had also never seen before.

  And only then did he realize that while her hand had been at her throat, she had tugged loose the collar of her shirt, and opened the first fastener. Even from here he could see the tops of her breasts, ripely curved. He could only imagine what the man was seeing, from his height above her. Anger shot through him, a possessive sort of blast that took the breath out of him.

  She’s mine, damn it! Get your filthy eyes off her.

  “And who would you be?” asked the man, clearly intrigued and staring at her breasts more than her face. Oblivious to the fact that she was doing something further with the hem of her shirt, Lyon couldn’t see what.

  “Oh, I’m famous on Arellia. Just ask anyone in Akasen Court.”

  Lyon sucked in a breath as she named the district of Galatin that ran mostly to paid companions. He was a little surprised she even knew about it. And just the mention of it had clearly made the man put her in a certain category. Just as she obviously intended. Was she insane, planting such ideas in that brute’s mind? Not that she had to—he wasn’t fool enough to think he was the only man who would look at her and want.

  “Well, now,” the big man said. “What is it you’re famous for?”

  “I like them big,” she said.

  Lyon had to bite his tongue to keep from reacting. He tasted blood, but the pain was almost not enough as Shaina slowly got to her feet. She did it leaning slightly forward, assuring the man’s eyes were fastened on her chest. And her knife was gone from where it had lain on the ground, and as she moved he could see the hilt at the small of her back, where she had tucked it into her leggings.

  He’d told himself she was unaware of her own power, of her effect on him, that she was careless of the effect she had on other men—so he could afford to wait until she came around on her own.

  She’d just blasted that to pieces.

  She was using that power.

  And it was working.

  Belatedly, he glanced at the others. They were all watching her with an intense interest, as if they were anticipating a turn with her as well, and wondering how much would be left of her when their leader was finished. The focus had shifted entirely to Shaina. And he’d damned well better do something, and now, or the risk—the crazy, reckless risk—she was taking would be for nothing.

  Fear for her tamped down his anger at her risky tactic. Making a sound of disgust, as if at the desertion of his companion, he turned away as though he didn’t want to watch. Which was nothing less than true. But he used the motion to cover his true action, which was to pull the disrupter she had thankfully told him about from the side
pocket of her pack. He flicked the control to just this side of lethal, hiding it behind the sleeve of his shirt.

  As if she’d somehow sensed he had the weapon, Shaina began to move. She reached out with one hand, touching the big man’s arm and trailing a finger down it as if measuring.

  “Is it true, what they say?” She was purring again, Lyon thought. And then she was walking around the man, still trailing a finger over him as if she were taking his measure. “That the size of a man’s hands shows the size of . . . other parts?”

  Lyon’s stomach churned as the big man laughed. She’d better be careful, or she’d unleash something she never expected. Then again, he’d never expected to hear such talk from the girl he’d thought of as such an innocent.

  If I’d known, we would have had this out long ago.

  “True indeed,” the big man said. “Why do you think I have these?”

  He held up hands the size of a normal man’s head. Held them up away from his weapons. In the instant Lyon thought it, Shaina moved, swiftly. Lyon knew what she was going to do the moment she leapt—she’d practiced it on him countless times. She was on the man’s back, had wrapped her booted legs around his waist. Her knife was at his throat in an instant.

  The big man bellowed. Leave it to her to take on the big one and leave the others to him. He saw them gaping in shock. Realized he had only a second, maybe two before they recovered. And that Shaina was in his line of fire.

  He dove to his right. Rolled. Came up firing. Two went down before the third spun and fired. Lyon felt a singe along his left shoulder. His own third shot went true, and the last man went down.

  He whirled back to Shaina. The big man still hung onto his weapon, a full sized disrupter that looked as small as a pocket one in the man’s huge hand.

  And that weapon was aimed at Lyon. But Shaina’s knife was at his throat, had already drawn blood. He clawed at her legs with his other hand, but could not dislodge her. Lyon had little doubt the man had been taken off guard by her speed, and startled by her strength.