Second Son

  Second Son

  By Brenna Lyons

  Book Three —Novella — of the Kegin series

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Second Son

  Copyright ã 2003 Brenna Lyons

  ISBN: 1-894942-27-2

  Cover art and design by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2003

  Look for us online at:

  www.zumayapublications.com

  www.Extasybooks.com

  Dedicated to….

  Briana and Ruth, who all agreed that Mik had to have his own book.

  Sean and Lisa for teaching me how much fun it is to revisit old friends in my worlds over and over again.

  Rob and my kids for putting up with my mood swings when my characters are noisy. (And, Mik was very noisy.)

  The lovely ladies at EWR and BASF who are willing to read what I have in the works and keep pushing me to move higher.

  All my readers and my pros for telling me that “those with a gift are bound to serve.” In other words, I am not allowed to give up.

  NOTE: A glossary of Keen terms and a calendar for the world of Kegin are included at the back of the book for your convenience. I hope you enjoy this story and keep coming back to meet and greet old friends from Kegin.

  Brenna Lyons

  PROLOGUE

  Iric 24th, Ri 25-2986

  Mik Hi ducked his head, biting back a smile as he rubbed his wrists against the shackles Pyter put on him before he left the ruins outside Lind. His brother’s chief of security thought this was a punishment, an embarrassment. That was what Mik found most amusing about the situation.

  It was liberating, this freedom that came with not caring if you lived or died. It was ironic that, when hope was handed to him on a golden platter, Mik no longer cared to grasp it. At twenty-three, he’d hit the lowest point a man could hit. He laughed aloud, earning him a worried glance from Rill, his own chief of security.

  “Are you all right, Prince Mik?” he whispered, leaning across the transport’s wide seat to pull Mik’s cloak shut over his chest to keep him warm — or to hide his bound hands. “I can remove those shackles now.”

  “Don’t. I’d prefer my father to see me in chains.”

  Rill’s eyes widened.

  “He will be furious. Won’t he?”

  “I imagine so, Highness.” Rill lowered his eyes.

  “Good.”

  Mik’s days of living to please Kell Ri had come to a crashing halt when he realized what a fool his father was. All those lessons in conquering a mate— Mik barked in laughter again.

  “Highness?” Rill asked, confused by his mad behavior.

  Mik smiled. Yes. He was mad, but happily insane was preferable to desperation. “She’s lucky,” he mused.

  “Princess Susan?” Rill whispered, aghast.

  He sobered, biting back a sob. “No.” Mik hadn’t meant to hurt Susan. He wished he could give her back the last five days of her life, take away the pain he caused her in his bid to make her his, in his attempts to force Susan to accept him. Force was what Kell espoused. It was all Mik was taught, all he knew.

  It should have been obvious to Mik that his father wouldn’t know how to teach him the way to tame a mate. Kell had failed with Mik’s mother, but even his father hadn’t come so close to killing the woman he desired. No, desire wasn’t part of it for Kell. Conquering a mate was a challenge, a battle. No wonder he failed with Jenneane.

  “Then who?” Rill asked.

  “My cross-mate.” Mik didn’t even know the girl’s name. She was dead, raped and murdered before she reached her full maturity at twenty, before she left Earth and came to him. “She’s lucky. She died quickly. It’s probably a kinder fate Fion granted her than being delivered to me.” He did sob at that. When he first learned she was dead, all Mik thought about was his loss. Pitiful!

  “You don’t mean that,” Rill protested.

  Mik hit the door of the transport, not even wincing as the metal edge of the shackles bit into his wrists. “Of course, I mean it,” he growled. Why would anyone in his right mind not see that now? Mik had almost killed Susan in his attempt to control her. What would he have done to his own cross-mate, to one that he knew he wasn’t stealing from another? One that he viewed as his own?

  “You won’t need an Earth-born,” Rill said in a calming voice. “If this new plan works—”

  “What woman would have me now?” Could he trust himself again? Probably not. Mik knew what he was capable of now.

  “Highness?”

  “I’m not stupid, Rill.” He laid his head back on the seat, closing his eyes to the passing miles. “It’s probably better that they won’t want me.”

  Rill humored him. He marched Mik before Kell Ri unwashed and unshaven in shackles. Kell scowled at him.

  Mik bit back a smile. I am a complete fuck-up who has no prospects and no expectations in life. I cannot go downhill from here. There was something life affirming in those thoughts.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Mik,” Kell growled.

  Call the news services. “So am I, Father.” In both of us.

  “Do you know what it took to convince your brother not to kill you?”

  Mik scowled. “You should have let him.” Was that accurate? He didn’t care if he died, but was Mik seeking death? You were. You wanted Jole to kill you. What do you want now, Mik? He shook his head. He couldn’t say what he wanted. Certainly, he didn’t want what he did a week ago — or even two days ago. Did he want anything?

  “What?” Kell snapped.

  Mik pasted on a cocky smile. “What’s it going to be? A prison cell? Execution? An estate in the polar region?” Mik smirked. Did it matter?

  “You can’t be trusted.”

  “I know. I revel in it.”

  “I’m going to keep you here where I can keep an eye on you.”

  “A fate worse than death,” Mik muttered.

  “It might be by the time I’m done with you. One way or the other, you’ll do the duty you were born to. If this mad scheme of Jole’s works—”

  “Susan’s plan,” Mik corrected him.

  Kell shook his head with a scowl. “If this mad scheme works, you will marry a Keen woman.” Even now, Kell couldn’t admit that the humans were their salvation.

  “And, if it fails?”

  “You will have fifteen years to figure out how you failed so miserably.”

  By listening to you. Mik held his tongue.

  Kell motioned to Rill. “Get these damn shackles off of him.”

  Mik smiled. “Too bad. I was starting to enjoy shackles and iron bars.”

  “Good. Then you won’t mind them on your windows,” Kell warned.

  Mik shrugged as Rill removed the shackles.

  “You will not leave the palace without guards. Until Jole’s children are born, you will travel no further than Fint.”

  It hardly mattered. Where would Mik go if he did leav
e? To one of his estates? What was there that was any different than here?

  “You will not be permitted to attend state functions until you are deemed safe.”

  Mik laughed harshly. “Then my schedule will remain quite open. I am not a safe man.”

  He turned and left his father’s office without waiting to be dismissed. After all, what could Kell do but put him in a cell? Or kill him?

  No. Mik wasn’t seeking death. He was seeking an identity of his own. His whole life, Mik had been a vessel Kell had filled with misinformation and hate. Mik wasn’t that man anymore. He couldn’t be.

  But, who could he be? Mik pondered that as he waved the servants away and started drawing a bath. He took oaths once, in his early military training, oaths that he had abandoned in the intervening years. Those vows were the good pieces of him, the honorable man he could become.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Every new beginning had to start somewhere. Mik stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for the vows he broke in his scattered memories.

  His voice was rough. “I vow to aid all who need my help. I vow to protect women and children, with my life if necessary. I vow to serve my people well. I vow to live as an honorable man. I vow to heal, as I possess the gift and it is a sacred pact with the gods that I do. I vow to live in peace while I might and fight when called upon.”

  Yes. That was the man Mik would be, but who was that man? Only time would tell.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Abrin 37th, Ri 25-2988

  Danellan, daughter of General Cro, shivered in the darkness. She wasn’t chilled because of the temperature of the night. It was a mild night for the end of the first month of autumn. It was terror that made her quake. It had taken her two days to escape Tranol. If this Len-be-damned driver would hurry, she might yet be free.

  She bit back tears at what she’d become. Danellan was cowering in the back of a cargo transport, hiding, stealing what she needed to make good her escape. Her father would be shamed. No. Her father taught her to survive and overcome. Sometimes, a judicious retreat was a warrior’s only option. She would lead Tranol on a merry chase worthy of General Tolerin himself.

  Danellan sobered. Unlike the great Tolerin, she wouldn’t stop running until she reached safety. There would be no ambush for Tranol at the end of the chase. This wasn’t a retreat to a better fighting stance. She couldn’t pretend that it was.

  The metal of the transport was cold under her fingers. Danellan sent up a prayer to Fion to deliver her from her brother’s hands. Surely, Fion would not condone this travesty. She’d like to believe that Mag would not either, but Mag was the king of the gods, and kings were not to be trusted.

  No. Kings and officers of the royal guard were at the bottom of her list. Danellan had always trusted those classes and the vows they took to protect those who needed them. Danellan needed them, but there would be no protection for her. At twenty-one, she was barely an adult. Had her father lived, she would be under his care until the day she contracted a marriage, but Cro hadn’t lived. He had died and left her at the mercy of kings and officers who had no honor and no respect for the vows they took. It was up to Danellan to protect herself, because no one else on Kegin would.

  The transport started to move, and Danellan held her breath. She buried herself under the bundles of uniforms as they approached the gate. The guard shined a lantern inside the back to search for stowaways, to search for her. She saw the light filtering through the cracks in the bundles that covered her. Danellan knew her brother ordered this. That was why she hid so well.

  She fisted a hand around the hilt of her father’s dagger, biting back tears. There was no option left for her. She’d fight her way out if she could. If that failed— Mag, forgive me. Fion, convince him to show mercy and keep me from Len’s Underworld.

  Danellan breathed a sigh of relief as the guard waved them on. She was undiscovered.

  The transport bumped along the pitted roads. It would travel all the way to Bure that night. Danellan wasn’t going that far. Though it would put her much closer to her ultimate goal, Tranol would catch her much too easily that way. There might even be soldiers waiting when the transport arrived, waiting to drag her back to her fate.

  She pulled a blanket and some food from the packs around her and loaded her deep pockets with the things she would need to survive the first few weeks. She moved slowly and disturbed as little as possible to minimize the already-remote chance that the driver or his guard would hear her movements. The Garesh Mountains were upon her all too fast. If she was to survive, the mountains were her only hope.

  Danellan dropped out of the back of the transport with the choc blanket wrapped around her form to hide the lighter beige of the travel coat she stole from Tranol. She rolled away into the shadows silently and watched for pursuit. The transport didn’t slow.

  She ran for the foothills, using the moonlight to guide her. She’d sleep late tomorrow. By daybreak, Danellan intended to be deep in the mountains. Once there, it would be nearly impossible for her brother to find her. It would be an easier task with a hottel, but it was impossible for her to escape with one.

  Danellan paused to tie the blanket like a sling around her hip, gathering late berries as she walked. It wouldn’t do to pass up what Fion offered while it was still available to her. Without a hottel or public transport, it would take her months to cross the continent to Stril’s home. Those would be long, cold, hungry months once her food supply gave out.

  When she reached Stril’s home in Caran, Tranol could join Kell Ri on the winds to Len’s Dungeons for all she cared. As long as she was free, the two men meant not a thing to her.

  *

  Veril 15th

  Mik rubbed the ache in the base of his skull. A quarter of an hour. Paste on the smile for the last time. The crowd waited patiently while Kell gave his speech, some casting nervous glances at Mik.

  The celebration was late this year, the alignment of the moon and the Great Star occurring in the last month of autumn. If he waited until next year, he’d have half the season before winter set in. But, Mik couldn’t wait that long, and so his quest would be more difficult.

  Kell gave him an irritated look that let Mik know he had missed his cue again. Oh well. If I were that attentive to my duties, I would raise suspicion, and now is not the time to raise suspicion. Mik offered the crowd a dazzling smile and waved.

  A cheer went up for him, and Mik forced the smile to steady when he wanted to cringe. Cheer for me. Come see the second son, the prime piece of kit on the auction block.

  Mik turned abruptly and left the stage. He had to leave the stage. Mik wasn’t permitted to stay while the heirs were presented. As if I’d harm them. He sighed. No matter what assurances he gave, it was a chance they wouldn’t take. Mik was mad, volatile, unpredictable, not to be trusted.

  His mouth went dry as he came face to face with Susan. Her smile disappeared and she edged closer to Jole, clutching Jenneane to her chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Jole shifted Joseph on his hip to wrap an arm around his bride.

  He stood for a moment, undecided. “Susan,” he whispered, bowing his head reverently. Mik wanted to say more, but what could he say? ‘I’m sorry’ was insufficient. ‘I still have nightmares about those dark times’ would be scoffed at, an insult to her, though it was true. If anyone had a right to be tortured by nightmares, it would be Susan.

  Mik smiled as Joseph reached a pudgy hand toward him. He raised his hand, letting the toddler grasp his finger. How he longed to hold his niece and nephew, but he would likely never be trusted that much. Mik swallowed a bitter lump at that thought.

  “Highness,” Pyter rumbled in warning. The telltale scrape of him testing his blade on its sheath announced his readiness to act.

  Mik nodded, his smile replaced by a stony look that would hide his pain. He dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he turned away. Mik all but bolted away from the stage, leaving his brother and
Jole’s family far behind.

  The crowd erupted in thunderous applause and cheers. Mik clapped his hands over his ears, dropping them with a sharp in-drawn breath as he slipped into the brightly-lit palace. The crowd loved Jole. They had always loved Jole.

  Mik made his way to his room, nodding to soldiers along the way and trying to ignore the ones that shadowed his every move. He was followed. Mik was always followed, especially when Susan was near. In addition to his father’s guards, Pyter would have men watching him. Mik sighed. With any luck, he would give them nothing to watch tonight.

  His uniform jacket was half off before he shut himself in his childhood rooms. Mik didn’t waste time. He peeled off his uniform and boots and headed to the hidden corridor, where he pulled out the clothing piled on top of his travel pack in the darkness. The outfit was that of a common man, a hottel-hair travel coat and pants, a simple woven shirt, and scuffed boots.

  There was no silin, no fur, and nothing in the trademark red and gold of the royal family. He removed his crest ring, tied it on a thong, and hid it deep beneath his clothes. It was the only thing clearly defining who he was he’d keep on his person, the only proof he’d need, the only safe haven he’d accept.

  The brown woven cap pulled low over his eyes, Mik shouldered his pack and shut himself in the forgotten corridor. He moved quickly, following the passage past the walled-off entrance to Kell’s rooms, past Jole’s suite, down the stone staircase, and out into the war room.

  Mik slid out onto the terrace and scaled the two stories down the iri vines to the ground below. The hard part behind him, he rounded the near-deserted courtyard and blended into the crowd pouring out onto the grounds.

  He paused a moment, gazing at Jole and Susan holding their one and a half year-old twins before an adoring crowd. The twins’ stunning blue-green eyes were a sign of hope, a sign of the future Jole won for their world.

  “Story of my life,” Mik whispered through clenched teeth.

  Pyter scanned his eyes over the crowd, and Mik turned away before his brother’s chief of security could spot him and ruin his well-laid plans. The crowd fell away behind him. No one glanced his way. No one had reason to look at him. Without the trappings and guards that announced who he was, there was no reason for anyone to look twice.