War of the Princes 03: Monarch by A. R. Ivanovich Read Free Book Online Page B

don't.”
    Ruby plowed past his comment. “I never want anyone to be hurt by this Prince ever again, and whether I'm good at it or not, I want to learn to fight.”
    “ And everyone has that capacity,” Rune told her and Carmine both. “Some might have more natural talent than others, but that doesn't make training impossible. I've seen aggressive students turn to cowards in their first real battle. I've seen passive and uncoordinated students become brave and even heroic when life and death was on the line.”
    “ Agree to disagree,” Carmine said flippantly. “You see, the difference is that as a Dragoon, weak trainees are killed long before they can be tested on any battlefield. The weakest of you is already stronger than most normal people.”
    Rune's silence was somber. She must have struck him with some truth.
    “How do you know that?” Kyle asked her.
    Carmine delivered him a beautiful smile. “I read, love. On long voyages, what else is there to do but skim through those long volumes that the Historians insist on dumping upon all of us?” She swung her long legs down from the day bed, and stretched, standing. “I'm not intending to be contrary, mind, just cautious. Better to leave fighting to the fighters, lest the sweet find themselves in an early grave.”
    As fate would have it, she'd won the final word.
    Professor Block ambled into the antechamber. His brown suit and burgundy vest made him look every bit the part of the history teacher I'd known for most of my life. Thanks to Kyle's impressive Ability, the wounds that had been inflicted on him during Prince Raserion's interrogations were seamlessly healed. He didn't so much as limp.
    But the mind scars more easily than the body, and Block was interrogated and tortured for months … on Prince Raserion's order.
    I was keenly aware of the weight in my pocket , the faceless timepiece resting snug inside. Standing beside Professor Block, I felt guilty for possessing it. Guilty for entertaining the thought of helping the self-proclaimed misunderstood Prince Raserion. Gravity, I was in trouble.
    “ Miss Rush, return the yard stick to its proper place. There's been a change of plans.”

 
    Chapter 9: Calculating Maneuvers
     
     
     
     
     
     
    We crossed the sprawling expanse of Breakwater's Black Harbor, tugging our coats close against the chill morning air. To my astonishment, the dark docks were mostly empty. The tall ebony posts that had once moored in dozens of behemoth ships were like the stumps of a charred forest and insinuated the same vacant desolation. Perhaps the other boats were out on their trade routes. A ship couldn't remain at port forever. I only counted three open ocean vessels, and one of them was clearly in disrepair. Only the Flying Fish mattered to me. She was smaller than the other boats by a hundred feet, but she glistened like an amber gemstone amid her few rusted iron neighbors.
    Carmine stopped short of the gangway that connected our ship to the dock and we all clustered behind her. “What is this?” she demanded.
    A dozen dockworkers, their ranks peppered with a handful of brown-uniformed militia soldiers, were streaming out of the forward cabins and aft cargo hold.
    Carmine stomped aboard first. “Where is Lord Axton?”
    “ Just here.” But it wasn't Brendon who swaggered from the cabins with the last of the men. It was Dylan.
    Clad in raiment of immaculate fashion, he looked more like the dashing young noble I'd met a year ago than the haggard and disgruntled one I'd traveled with so recently. He wore a formfitting trench coat with a folded collar and elegantly patterned cuffs. The front was fastened three inches apart with buttons and chains, displaying a blue-gray brocade waistcoat. Long blond hair brushed his shoulders, and his hazel eyes shone with confidence.
    Fine clothes couldn't change the nature of a person. I was prepared for the worst.
    “Thank you for your fine work, good fellows,” Dylan said to the