Van Laven Chronicles: Throne of Novoxos

  He couldn’t help feeling naked in her presence as if nothing he had to offer would ever impress a woman like Vaush. Not that impressing her was his intention. Inevitably, his mood darkened.

  “Larrs must be so delighted with you trudging around on backwater worlds, risking life and limb for people your father wouldn’t bother to spit on.” He wondered at her sudden change in disposition, as if he had mentioned something troubling to her.

  “My father and I see eye to eye on very little.”

  “Yet, he allows for your various foundations and charities.”

  “So it would seem.”

  He watched her as she gazed up into the night sky pretending to be fascinated by the glittering stars.

  “Either that or you’ve been rather clever in concealing your operations from him.”

  Her eyes revealed her trepidation at the thought of being exposed.

  “Seems we have another secret to put into the vault.”

  Her hazel eyes glowed with gratitude. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, only hinting at a smile. How many different smiles did this woman have? He wished he were at liberty to find out.

  He shook the thought from his head.

  “With the sniper still out there, we should sleep in shifts,” Comron announced, thinking it best to end their discourse before he betrayed Nethic altogether. “Why don’t you rest now, and I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

  “Very well,” she said agreeably and turned over onto her side with her back to him. “Good night, Comron Van Laven,” she whispered.

  The sound of her voice pleased him immensely, particularly the way she spoke his name. Her tone was deceptively soft, witty at times and, just then, astonishingly … sultry. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about her narrow waist and the luscious curve of her hip, or the perfect roundness of her sweet ass.

  He clenched his jaw and fought the powerful urge to move over and draw close to her, to touch her and feel her body against his ….

  Damn! It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER 14

  The next morning, Comron kept them moving at a fast clip through the dense foliage, making it as difficult as possible for the assassin to get a clean shot at them. The heat from the morning’s sun turned the thick air into an oven as Vaush and Wensel struggled to keep up with Comron’s grueling pace.

  She didn’t dare ask for a break. From the moment she’d awakened, he’d been in a particularly foul mood, barely speaking, and only then to growl orders at them.

  She wanted to be rescued just as badly as he did, but she saw no reason to be so belligerent about it, or act as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  Each time he turned to look at them, his expression was so full of annoyance she wondered why he didn’t abandon them altogether.

  Vaush knew they were slowing Comron down considerably but, despite repairing Wensel’s injuries, he was in no condition to undergo such a physically exhausting endeavor. And, with the heeled boots Vaush was wearing, going any faster was simply out of the question. Her explanation did nothing to improve Comron’s mood.

  Up ahead, she saw him kneeling next to something on the ground. Upon closer examination, she realized it was another one of the investors from the fated flight. It was a female corpse and Comron was removing its shoes.

  “Have you gone completely mad?” she asked aghast, Wensel appeared equally appalled.

  “She doesn’t need them anymore.” He held up one of the shoes, a flat sturdy ankle boot. “Looks about your size too.”

  “I’m not wearing a dead woman’s shoes!”

  “You will wear them, or I’ll leave you behind to fend for yourself.” He removed the other one. “Here, put them on.”

  “You’re really going to make me do this?” she asked in utter disbelief. “This is wrong on so many levels. It’s sacrilegious; it’s stealing.”

  “So, leave her your boots in exchange,” he said exasperated. “I mean it, Vaush. Put the damn shoes on and let’s go.”

  She glared at him, but he met hers with an equally unyielding stare.

  “Put them on now,” he growled.

  “Please, just do as he says,” Wensel said, looking frightened that an even more unpleasant confrontation would arise.

  She snatched the shoes from Comron. “Fine, but this is unforgivably profane,” she muttered as she flopped to the ground and began pulling her heeled boots off.

  “Hurry unless you want the sniper to paint the forest with your brains.”

  “Oh,” Wensel groaned in memory of Halyn.

  “For Frithe’s sake, man,” Comron exclaimed as he began helping Vaush lace her ankle boots. “You just met the woman twenty-four hours ago. What could she possibly have meant to you?”

  “Comron,” Vaush said in alarm.

  “What?” he replied impatiently. “I want him to stop moping around and you to move faster so we can get the hell out of this place.” He stood and hauled Vaush to her feet. “Now let’s go, double time.”

  Despite the macabre aurora, Vaush had to admit that the shoes felt far more comfortable. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying as much as she fell in behind him. Wensel pulled up the rear.

  Comron gave her a knowing look nonetheless. “You’re welcome,” he said over his shoulder.

  After two more hours of traversing the forest, there was still no sign of the sniper as they proceeded alongside a widening stream. By now, Vaush was soaked clean through in the sweltering heat. The cool crispness of the shimmering water beckoned to her as the sunlight danced across the surface. What she wouldn’t give to take a quick dip in the coolness of it.

  Further ahead, Comron stood at the bank waiting for them.

  “What is it now?” Her eyes scanned the forest for the shooter.

  He turned his empty canister upside down. “Water break.”

  “Thank heavens,” Wensel said, all bent over and panting.

  Vaush reached for his water canister. “Wait here. I’ll bring you some water.”

  “Heaven bless you,” Wensel said and collapsed onto the ground, looking pale and clammy.

  Vaush followed Comron down to the water’s edge where they both knelt to fill their containers. Comron remained vigilant, surveying the area. “He has to be somewhere close.”

  Vaush cupped the cool water and splashed it onto her face, letting it run down her neck. It was so refreshing.

  “Stop.” Comron latched onto her wrist as his eyes scanned the area.

  “What’s wrong?” She followed his gaze into the brush.

  “Listen, do you hear anything?”

  She strained, but could hear nothing, not even the ever-present sounds of the woodland creatures. “Other than the gurgling of the stream, nothing.”

  Comron drew his silver sidearm. “That’s what I was afraid of. Where’s Wensel?”

  She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “Probably passed out back there. You’re driving him too hard. Maybe you could—”

  “It shouldn’t be this quiet,” he said, cutting her off. “Get down.” Crouching low, they made their way back toward the large trees hunkering down next to one.

  “The vibration of the shooter’s hover cycle must have disturbed the forest,” he said.

  Vaush pressed in closer to Comron and was surprised at how her heart raced at their close proximity. He peered over his shoulder at her, sending a rush of exhilaration through her, making her feel like a lovesick schoolgirl.

  He continued scanning the forest for the assassin. She forced herself to do likewise, but saw nothing to betray his location.

  “We need a better vantage point.” He pointed at the tree branches above them. “I’m going up. Wait here.”

  “No, it’s too dangerous. What if he sees you?” she asked with a little more feeling than she had intended.

  “We can’t remain here like sitting ducks; it’s time we went on the offensive.” With that, he tucked his gun into the back of hi
s waistband then leapt up to the lowest branch and deftly climbed the tree.

  Vaush sat below, watching him ascend to the highest branches that would support his weight. She looked out into the forest—still no movement, no sign of the shooter.

  A moment later, the screech of a bird pierced the air. She glanced up at Comron who was stretched out across a branch with his blast gun drawn. His eyes locked with hers, he placed his finger against his lips, and then shifted his body out of sight. Her mouth clamped shut even as she began to tremble in panic.

  First, she saw the black barrel of the high-powered blast rifle slicing through the brush. Then a heavily armored, camouflaged man stepped into the clearing with her. It was all Vaush could do to keep from looking up at Comron, which was the absolute worst thing that she could do. And where was Wensel? Not that he’d be of much help.

  With her back against the tree trunk, Vaush slowly rose to her feet, directing her eyes to gaze out into the brush as if searching for Comron.

  The man approached tentatively, eyes vigilant, glancing up occasionally in search of his primary target.

  “Where is the Van Laven?” he barked in a heavy Nethicaen accent.

  Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. “I-I was slowing him down. He abandoned me. I am Ti-Larosian of House Bastionli.”

  He spat on the ground. “Your stench gave you away.”

  “My father, the Duke of Ti-Laros will be searching for me. If you harm me in any way, he will hunt you down like the miserable dog you are.”

  His lip curled into a sneer, white teeth shown against a face painted in green and brown camouflage.

  “You don’t need that kind of trouble, do you, Nethicaen?”

  His dark eyes continued scanning the area but the rifle remained trained on her.

  “Do as you wish with the Van Laven, Ti-Laros will never whisper a word of it,” she said, seeking to allay his fears about leaving a witness.

  “Which way did he go?”

  She pointed behind her. “That way, he moves quickly but if you leave now you could catch him.”

  “Do you really expect me to trust a dirty Ti-Larosian not to squeal?” His finger rested upon the trigger.

  “Whatever Nethic is paying you, I will triple it.” She inclined her head at him. “Face it, you’ll never be able to return to Nethic. You’re too much of a liability to your backers. But we could set you up off-world in the lap of luxury.”

  Something landed with a thud a few yards behind the assailant. The sniper wheeled around and Comron dropped from above right on top of the man. The sniper’s rifle flew out of his hands and Vaush was quick to grab it.

  Comron threw two quick punches, breaking the assailant’s nose. The man produced a jagged knife and slashed Comron’s arm. As the prince recoiled, the sniper lunged at him again with the blade, but Comron twisted away and scrambled to his feet. The two men were of equal height and stature but the shooter wore combat armor while Comron remained vulnerable with his arm bleeding.

  The sniper growled and charged the prince. Comron shifted at the last moment, grabbing the man’s wrist, using his momentum to flip him over onto his back. Still holding his arm, Comron twisted it.

  “Arrg!” The man struggled to get free, but Comron planted his knee in his chest, applying his full weight.

  He wrenched the serrated blade from the assassin’s hand. “Who sent you?” Comron demanded.

  The man glared up at him with eyes dark as coal. “Your father!” he laughed.

  Comron swung the blade down impaling the man’s free hand to the ground.

  Vaush winced as the man howled in pain. Just then, Wensel darted into the clearing with eyes wide and frantic. “Dear gods!” he exclaimed before Vaush pulled him aside. They both watched as Comron continued his assault.

  “Who sent you?” Comron’s voice was low and deadly. He twisted the blade, shoving it deeper into the shooter’s hand. “Now, I’m going to break every bone in your body starting with this arm.” He began applying pressure to the limb while twisting it.

  When Vaush heard the bone snap, a cold chill ran down her spine at the realization that Comron fully intended to make good on his threat. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but his cries of agony told her everything. Wensel turned away in horror.

  “Branson, his name was Jules Branson,” the assassin cried.

  “Who does Branson work for?” Comron pulled the blade from the man’s hand eliciting another shriek of pain. He placed the tip of the blade at the corner of the man’s eye.

  “I-I don’t know, but he carried the Undersoll sigil.”

  “You’re lying, dog!” Comron said, nicking the man’s eye with the blade.

  Vaush backed away at his cries, frightened at how far Comron might go to extract the truth from this man. Wensel covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “I swear. I saw the red hawk on the fool’s kerchief when he held it to his brow.”

  Comron appeared stunned by the revelation and Vaush felt relieved that the crisis had been averted. The shooter was no threat to them injured and weaponless.

  Nonetheless, Comron persisted. “Where did you meet Branson?”

  Vaush couldn’t see what Comron was doing, but the man’s garbled cries bore witness to the continued torture.

  “At the Black Crown in the northern province of Ruboris!” he howled.

  “When?”

  “Arggt!” The shooter’s legs kicked and bucked.

  “For Zelo’s sake,” Wensel cried. “Just answer him, please.”

  “A fortnight ago! No more, please!”

  “What was your mission?” Comron said, not letting up. “Am I your only target?”

  “Yes, arrhg!” His heels dug deep grooves in the dirt. “I was sent to finish you if the crash did not.”

  “Mother of bitches! Did they provide a reason?”

  “None, just the money,” the shooter groaned.

  “How much was your sovereign’s life worth, traitorous dog?” Comron flung the jagged knife aside.

  The man’s body trembled with agony. Comron’s armed cocked back, slamming down twice. “How much?”

  The shooter spat out blood and his legs convulsed.

  “Five hundred … thousand ….”

  Comron grabbed the man’s head. “Receive your payment in full.” He twisted it sharply. Vaush heard the clean snap.

  “Comron!” Vaush cried. Wensel fainted.

  Comron shot her a feral look, his tone was filled with venom, “You heard his confession. That was justice.”

  As he loomed before her with traces of the shooter’s blood on his doublet, Vaush stepped back, but she would not be silenced. “You have laws and courts to deal with these matters. Or is vigilantism the rule of law in Nethic?”

  “Do you see any laws or courts out here?” The vitriolic sarcasm dripped from his voice. “I am the Crown Prince of Nethic, which makes me judge, jury, and executioner. Furthermore, this is none of your affair.” He moved past her down to the water’s edge to clean himself up and tend to his arm.

  Such arrogance! Vaush fumed as she checked Wensel’s pulse. How could Comron be capable of such vicious brutality and surprising tenderness? He terrified her and drew her in, all at once.

  She watched him kneeling upon the bank, struggling with the flesh mender to get the proper angle to heal the gash.

  Vaush went to him, knelt next to him, and held out her hand. “Let me have it.”

  He hesitated a moment before surrendering the mender.

  The cut reached around to the back of his arm, he lifted it slightly at her urging, his taut muscles flexing with the movement. Vaush steadied herself and focused on the task.

  “There, now you just need a bandage.” She pulled one from the medical kit. He was staring at her when she placed it upon his arm and smoothed it against his flesh. She saw the emotion welling in his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “I’m … sorry that you had to witness that back there
. I allowed my anger to get the better of me.”

  She found her voice. “Well … he did try to kill us. I’m not sure I can blame you for being so angry.”

  “It wasn’t just that.” He looked away from her. “House Undersoll … it is my maternal house.”

  “Your mother’s house?” she said, suddenly understanding his sense of betrayal. “Surely, you don’t think she—”

  “No, the queen herself is completely loyal to us,” he stated confidently. “But I cannot say the same for her relations.” He raked his fingers through his raven hair. “I must get word to my father. We’ll push hard and hopefully reach the coast by nightfall.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Duke Crausin Van Laven stood in the center of the room staring at the hologram of Vice Chancellor Dorian. The man had the classic Van Laven look, the fair skin, raven black hair, and the brilliant green eyes. Though he was nearly ten years Crausin’s senior, the duke would always remember him some thirty years ago standing in the corridor of Northridge Castle with Edred on their way to go riding. For it had been cousin Dorian who’d accompanied his father on the day of the horrific visitation by Champion’s ghost. Only now, Crausin knew it was merely a sadistic prank orchestrated by his father, but he always wondered if cousin Dorian had played a part in it.

  “Sire, per your wishes, I haven’t breathed a word concerning Prince Comron’s situation to the rest of the council,” Dorian said. “But they are demanding to know whether you will attend the Sector Banking Conference.”

  Since the last report, Crausin had learned that Larrs’ daughter had been attacked by a panther and that the same panther had slugs in it fired by Comron’s weapon. Likely, Larrs’ daughter was the one who had administered aid to him and now they traveled together toward the shore. Though the idea galled him beyond measure, he could forgive Comron this under the extreme circumstances. Still news of his collaboration with a Ti-Larosian could never leave Patheis, not if Comron ever hoped to rule Nethic.