Her fingers reached instinctively for her missing braids and feathers.
She sighed in frustration. "What I look like doesn't change who I am."
She turned on the tap perched over the tiny metal basin, splashed water on her face, and brushed her teeth. After yanking a comb through her hair, she wriggled her toes into her shoes and stepped out into the aisle.
The car swayed precariously. She looked out the window as the train rumbled around a switchback. Another loomed, no more than two hundred yards ahead of them. Grateful she'd never suffered from motion sickness, she lurched toward the dining car.
She was the only one who had slept in.
Uncle Bear sat in front of an empty place setting at the table. His sweat-glazed face was green in the sunshine streaking through the window. Kestrel held a sick bag to her mouth. Even the she-witch looked wan. Only Avanov and Zarot indulged in the roast duck and array of roasted vegetables spread on the table. It looked more like lunch than breakfast.
Lynx's stomach betrayed her by rumbling, and her mouth watered at the orangey aroma coming from the duck.
Avanov kicked out a chair next to him for her. "Glad to see you aren't looking as green as the rest of this lot, Princess. Come eat before we hit the tunnel."
"Tunnel?" Kestrel moaned into her sick bag.
"'Fraid so, Princess." Avanov waved his fork at the jagged rock face flying past the window. "Fifty miles of track carved out under thousands of feet of rock. An engineering feat second to none. It'll lead us right to the hub under the palace."
Kestrel promptly threw up into her bag.
"What?" Avanov asked. "You could hardly expect a train carrying current and future members of the royal family to pull up at the bug-infested station in downtown Cian. We're not that popular, you know. Someone might get it into their head to take potshots at us."
"Ever wondered why that is, General?" Lynx picked her way across the yawing car.
"Oh, I'm under no illusions, Princess. We're about as popular as a," he cracked his mocking smile, "quarrel through the skull."
Lynx grabbed the chair, but before she could sit, the world outside the train plunged into darkness.
Kestrel screamed.
A rush of claustrophobia hit Lynx at the tons of rock above her head. She dug her nails into the chair back, praying to the Winds to protect them from the Chenayan insanity that had people traveling like moles under the ground.
Avanov suddenly gripped her hand, dragging her down to sit next to him. "I guess someone should have lit the candles," he drawled. His casual tone made her wonder if he'd planned for the darkness in the car. The way his thumb caressed her palm certainly confirmed it.
Why was another matter altogether.
The tingles of desire his callused thumb sent up her arm and into her stomach were reminiscent of the she-witch's lightning bolt.
Lynx gasped, then pulled her hand away.
He released her.
"Is that another one for the scoreboard?" she asked, trying to fathom his motives and cover up her shock at her outrageous reaction to his touch. "Because if it was, I'm still winning."
"That all depends on what I got from my . . . maneuver, doesn't it?" he answered, way too smugly.
Lynx noted that he hadn't announced to everyone in the dining car that he'd held her hand. She narrowed her eyes with confusion. What was his game?
In a casual tone, she said, "Maneuvers are something officers do when planning war strategies. Does that mean you and I are at war, General?"
"You tell me, Princess. After all, I'm not the one who attacked you."
Lynx hesitated and then couldn't resist asking, "So are you claiming that you didn't send those guardsmen to my front gate? I assume you're aware that their bones are now littering the desert beyond my tent flaps." Lynx stared in his general direction, wishing she could see his face in the darkness.
She heard him suck in a breath and knew she'd scored a hit.
It gave her no satisfaction. In fact, instead of filling her with anger, all she felt was heart-wringing sorrow.
"It seems I have my answer, General. It really doesn't matter what benefit your . . . maneuver and your attack gave you, I will always outrank you on the scoreboard."
A guardsman holding a lighted taper barreled into the room. "Apologies, General." In the pale light cast by his candle, Lynx saw him bow low to a laughing Axel Avanov. He headed to the nearest sconce to light the candle.
Taking advantage of the light, Axel dished Lynx up a plate of food. "Eat, Princess. I may not be at the head of the scoreboard, but I do know that it'll be hours before you see your next meal. I'd hate for you to starve. Who would I have to banter with, then?"
Chapter 14
As the train shunted through the tunnel, Axel sat back in his chair at the dining table, watching Lynx stab the vegetables on her dinner plate. Despite her bravado about scoreboards, he read sorrow in her eyes at the death of her people, some of whom must have been her family or friends.
Part of him wanted to apologize for her loss-that was his heart talking, as he well knew. His head, which he kept firmly in charge of his heart, understood that nothing could get in the way of battle objectives. Soldiers went to war when objectives required it. People died. His job was to ensure that those objectives were met cleanly and with minimal waste. If Mad Mott had listened to his counsel to send in more guardsmen, he would have achieved that objective in Norin. Lynx would still probably be heartbroken over the deaths of fifteen raiders, but she wouldn't be mourning the loss of children and servers, too.
But, she wasn't the only one suffering due to the wasteful loss of her people. He, too, had lost a great deal of sleep this week, fretting about the families and friends of the thousands of soldiers being slaughtered in the carnage in Treven. Part of that lost sleep had been devoted to devising a plan with Stefan to solve the crisis. They called it Operation Treven.
It involved Lynx.
Mouthy, aggressive, and beautiful, Lynx was the perfect candidate for him to use to blackmail his father and his uncle. Maybe then they'd see reason about how badly they were conducting the war in Treven. A little flirting with Lynx, a few kisses perhaps, would be enough to get him sent to Treven without further argument. It was a low, sneaky plan to poach his cousin's betrothed to meet a battle objective, he freely admitted, but all other reason had failed with his father.
Lukan may have been his cousin, but Axel had no regard for him. Mad Mott had been brutal when Axel, Lukan, and Tao were growing up. Coward that Lukan was, he had hidden behind Axel and Tao whenever Mott went on a rampage. Axel had willingly protected Lukan from Mott's fists-until the day he realized his cousin was letting him take his beatings. And not because he was scared and defenceless, but because Axel was his future subject, a mere tool to be used to save Lukan's skin. That's when all respect-and liking-died. So Lukan's feelings in this matter were irrelevant.
It was time to blackmail his way to victory.
Axel lifted up a fork and picked his teeth, lost in thought. When the idea of involving her first surfaced, he had rejected it. It was too dangerous-for Lynx. Unlike her, he had no doubt that he would not only survive but would benefit from the plan.
For her it would be different. In the short time he had known her, he had developed a fondness for the feisty princess. He would hate to see her harmed.
But with the passing of the week, his doubts faded. If anyone could handle being used to achieve a higher goal, she could.
Her twice daily visits to the guard car-undoubtedly searching for weapons-won over every guardsman on the train. That included crusty officers like Lieutenant Olec, not known for a sense of humor. None of those guardsmen were idiots; Axel didn't use fools in his personal command. Stefan had handpicked soldiers who had proved strangely immune to the brain-numbing effects of the jasper ice crystals for this trip. They knew exactly what she meant by her red-faced flaunting of her wares. Yet, they warmed to her, playing along with her game. Lynx knew how to make allies from enemies. That impressed him. Even more than her legs had.
Still not convinced she would survive being embroiled in Chenayan politics, Axel devised a couple of tests for her. One involved giving her his hand axe, something he knew she had sought. Her slender hand had gripped it as though it had been made for her. Then she had tried to steal it from him. The woman had nerve.
She'd need that nerve for what he envisaged over the next few days.