Scraping all her dignity together, Lynx faced the priestess. "My clothes and weapons. Where are they?"
"You dare ask about your weapons after attacking Lord Axel!"
"I was provoked."
"Nonsense, and as for those leather rags," Mother Saskia's gloved hands tugged and straightened the pink ruffled corset of Lynx's dress, "this is what a lady wears. Thankfully, I packed a few trunks of gowns for you."
Lynx knocked her hands away. "My weapons? Where are they, you evil witch?"
"A witch?" Mother Saskia pulled herself straight. "I am the Great High Priestess of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories. My power comes directly from the Dragon."
Lynx opened her mouth to tell Mother Saskia to shove her Dragon, preferably somewhere painful, when the priestess's lips curled into a scowl.
"What is this?" She thrust Lynx aside and pounced on Kestrel's book. She held it up as if it were a rat. "I searched your luggage before we left Tanamre. This was not in it."
Kestrel lunged for the book. "It's mine. You can't destroy it like you destroyed everything else."
"Not anymore. We do not tolerate Free Nation propaganda here in the Heartland."
"But I am marrying Tao, and I know he can read."
Her words had no effect on the priestess. Mother Saskia pulled a hand from its glove and flicked her finger at the edge of the pages. The smell of burnt ozone after a lightning strike filled the cabin. The parchment blackened, curled, and then ignited. Kestrel gaped as the novel burst into flames. The she-witch dropped it into the aisle outside the compartment's door.
Lynx watched it burn until nothing remained but the smoldering leather cover. Even as she clenched her fists, she knew how impotent she was against a woman who could shoot lightning from her fingers.
It was a truth not lost on Mother Saskia, either. A triumphant glint gleamed in her eye. "Princess Lynx, now you know what happened to your disgusting feathers, tatty wristwatch, hideous rags, and puny weapons."
Icy water seemed to flush through Lynx's veins. "My watch? You destroyed it? It belonged to Heron. He gave it me to remember him."
"How many times must I tell you, Princess? There is no room for other men in your life." The she-witch scooped up Lynx's pink slippers and thrust them into her hand. "We will arrive at Final Gate in half an hour. There, we will collect your father's brother. Unlike the rest of you Norin, he seems to know how to behave. Don't embarrass him with your wild behavior." Mother Saskia picked up her skirt and sailed from the compartment.
Kestrel slumped onto her seat, fighting her bustle, which insisted on shooting up behind her. "Did you see what she did to my book?"
Lynx figured it was a rhetorical question, but she was still proud of her sister for trying to put one past the priestess. "Good for you."
A strategy was needed for dealing with the she-witch, but first Lynx's bustle had to go. She raised her dress high enough to expose the fastenings tying it to her corset. "Help me loosen this stupid thing, and then I'll do yours. We can toss them out the window."
Kestrel didn't move as Lynx wriggled into position in front of her. "Do you think we should risk it?"
Lynx looked at Kestrel over her shoulder. "If you think I'm going to wear a bustle, then you're as crazy as she is. Come, we don't have much time before we pick up Uncle Bear." She waggled her hips, making the bustle sway. "The last thing in the world I want is for him to see me dressed in this."
"I don't intend on getting fried." Kestrel shoved Lynx away. "And I like my dress. Uncle Bear has lived in the palace for years. I bet he also dresses like they do."
Lynx stumbled forward, gripping the wall for support. Kestrel's uncharacteristic burst of bravery had fizzled out with her book. And of course she liked Chenayan clothing-it wasn't Norin. That made discussing a strategy of rebellion with her moot.
"As Father's emissary in Cian, Uncle Bear has to. That doesn't mean he likes it." Lynx fumbled with the ties, wishing she had her knife. It would have made short work of the lacings.
"Lynx, Wolf said I was to support you, so I'm telling you right now that this is a bad idea."
"Submitting to their dress code is the first step in becoming like them. I am a Norin, and I'll remain one until I die."
"Then your life probably won't be very long, given what that woman can do."
"Oh, stop being so negative. She's just the priestess. Lukan is the one whose opinion counts, and his mother was a Norin. He knows how we dress. This is a compromise he can make toward our marriage. It's not as if he's put himself out in any other way."
Kestrel grabbed Lynx's hands, pulling them away from her bustle. "Stop! I won't let you put us both at risk like this. It's stupid and reckless."
Lynx's instinctive reaction was to argue, but her father's face, pleading for her to take care, flashed before her. It flushed her rebellion. She slumped down onto the bench. To hide her embarrassment, she poked her head out the window and looked up at the terrain ahead. "We've reached the land bridge."
Kestrel shot to the window. But, Lynx noted with sadness, despite all that had happened, her sister's eyes were not fixed on the south where Norin lay. It was to the Chenayan Heartland in the north that she looked with bright expectation.
Eager to escape from her, Lynx tugged open the door and stepped into the aisle. To her right, the passageway ended in a padlocked steel door. She turned left toward a door with an image of the Dragon etched into its glass panel. The hideous creature was clearly going to become a permanent fixture in her life.
Through the glass, she could see another car with an elegant sitting area. She took a couple of steps toward the door, but her unfamiliar dress knotted around her ankles. She grabbed an armful, pushed the door open, and stepped barefoot onto a highly polished hardwood floor.
Axel Avanov slouched in a plush armchair, one long, booted leg sprawled over the armrest. Although he had changed out of his torn, bloody trousers, she noted with some satisfaction that it was the leg she had sliced. She wondered if he would say anything about her attack. If he didn't, she figured it would be better if she didn't say anything, either.
A colonel-the one Kestrel had mentioned?-relaxed in a chair opposite him. They were playing dice. Three piles of mycek lay on the low table between them. From the size of the pile of notes in front of Axel Avanov, she guessed he was winning. He laughed at something the colonel said.
Across the expansive compartment, the she-witch's white robes contrasted sharply against the opulent red, black, and gold furnishings. She knelt in apparent prayer at the foot of a black dragon effigy. The Dragon's red eyes glared across the compartment, chilling the atmosphere, making Lynx feel as welcome as the she-witch's shock treatment had.
She shivered and considered returning to Kestrel, but this sitting area was probably where she'd be spending most of her time until reaching Cian. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. No one would intimidate her.
Lynx dropped her dress so she could use her hands to defend herself, if necessary, and stepped purposefully into the room-only to trip over her skirt. She stumbled forward, bashing her knee on a table, rattling a candlestick.
"Winds!"
Every eye turned to her. Face as pink as her dress, Lynx found her balance and tried to glide gracefully to the closest chair. It happened to be at Avanov's table. Her feet tangled again in the hated taffeta.
"Having some trouble, Princess?" Avanov asked.
Mother Saskia stood to face her. Unsurprisingly, she didn't look amused-or sympathetic.
"No trouble at all, General." She'd rot in hell before she'd call a Chenayan "my lord." Quickly, she picked up the skirt, found a seam, and ripped it open to her thigh; Mother Saskia started to move, so she tugged the dress and petticoats to her side and tied them into a knot. "Now that I've solved the problem of the ridiculous clothing you all wear."
Heart racing, feigning nonchalance, Lynx sauntered to Avanov's table and dropped into a chair. As her bustle connected, the chair jerked out behind her, skittering across the wooden floor. She collapsed in a heap. Both Avanov and the colonel burst into laughter.
Avanov started to stand-to help her?-but she leaped up, grabbed the chair and pulled it back to the table before he was on his feet. He held the back of the confounded thing as she sat, this time with more care.