unForgiven (The Birthright Series Book 2)

by Bridget E. Baker

  Would there really only be two guards tasked to watch me in my cell? What kind of operation does Melina run here? Why would Angel betray Mother for this? I can’t believe I could have punished Angel and instead I released her.

  I let Mother down, but not again. Not today.

  Five cameras are mounted across the back half of the house, rotating back and forth to provide eyes on the entire yard. I watch the pattern for several minutes, aware of time ticking down the drain. The camera on the far left finally clears my position and I vault up on the side of the stone wall. I can barely make out the land spreading out before me, rolling hills gently sloping downward for nearly a mile. But the lights nestled at the bottom of that expanse tell me we’re a little far flung, with more civilization that direction. I could slink over the wall and be free within minutes.

  The possibility tugs at me. Melina has countless people here in her compound, and I have a gun with five hollow point rounds, a purloined knife, and two useless keycards. Technically, this isn’t even my fight anymore. I’m not responsible for revenge, justice, or the pride of the Alamecha name. I’m barely even Chancery’s Heir, soon to be replaced by her first daughter. The thought of her marrying and starting a family with Edam sends my jealousy into flare, but I tamp down on that reaction. I’m not what Melina fears. I won’t tear our family apart. I wrap my left hand around my necklace. I need to be alive to have any chance at making things right.

  As much as I’d like to escape posthaste, that’s not who I am. I don’t run, even when I’m afraid. Maybe especially when I’m afraid.

  I drop back down into Melina’s yard and refocus on the cameras. Once I’ve worked out the pattern I’ll need to follow, I wait for the first camera to track left. Then I sprint for the live oak. I stand as straight as I can behind its large trunk while the middle camera sweeps my area.

  On the proper count, I spin around the trunk and crawl behind the day lilies until I’ve reached the first picture window. I peer through it from behind a hibiscus.

  Miraculously the entire bottom floor looks empty. Where are the armed guards? Where are the snipers, the perimeter guards? What’s going on here?

  I reach for the handle on the sliding door, the chains connecting my cuffs rattling irritatingly, but before I’ve shifted it even a hair, a loud alarm sounds from the corners of the house. ‘Alert, alert,’ it blares obnoxiously.

  I huddle down further, but this time the place springs into the beehive I expected before. I glance back at the shed and notice one of the guards is hobbling out. I swear under my breath. I should have killed them after all, and shattered that dumb camera. I scuttle back toward the perimeter wall, knife in one hand, firearm in the other. A tall woman with half a dozen earrings running up the side of her ear turns the corner and her striking golden eyes widen when she sees me.

  “Judica,” she says, her voice breathy. “It’s really you. I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time.”

  I shoot her in the face and she crumples to the ground. Heal that, Miss Chatty.

  I spring over her body, hoping against hope that my sadistic, insane sister will follow her around the corner. But she doesn’t. Six armed guards do instead.

  The first one fires an exploding round that hits six inches away from my leg. Shrapnel from it shreds the skin and muscle covering my outer calf and ankle. One piece lodges painfully in the bottom part of my fibula. I bite my lip and start to fire. I hit the first shooter in his throat, the second, a short woman, in her chest, and the third in both his shoulder, which doesn’t slow him, and his thigh.

  Now I’m out of ammunition.

  I fling my knife at the fourth guard before she can hit me, the knife point reaching the barrel of her gun as she fires. The round explodes in front of her and I turn away from the gore, leaping to the top of the wall. Another shot explodes beneath my feet, missing me only because I surprised them.

  I glance up toward the house and meet Melina’s eyes. She’s staring down at me from the central window on the third floor. Her lip is curved into a half smile, almost like she’s proud. I clench my empty hands and strain uselessly against the cuffs. This isn’t a fight I can win, not shackled, starving, and unarmed.

  I’ve failed Mother again. I grab a hunk of rubble from the top of the wall and hurl it at the last guard, knocking his weapon from his hand. Then I leap from the wall. A bullet clips my forearm and blood sprays downward, all over my bare legs. I don’t pause, my feet barely finding purchase in the rubble and mesquite scrub brush. The bottoms of my feet paint the rocks with blood I can’t see clearly in the dark. Hopefully my pursuers will struggle, too.

  I stumble and fall, but the sound of Melina’s people giving chase keeps me moving. I can’t run as quickly as an automobile, but I’m not taking roads, either. My foot comes down hard on a cactus and I bite down on a scream. No reason to alert Melina’s goons to my exact location.

  After what feels like eons, I stumble into the outskirts of the town I saw from the wall. I run past a dozen houses, then two. Finally I see one that looks perfect, because it’s almost exactly like the other thirty I’ve passed, right down to the brick mailbox, rustic brown shutters, and brick and stone façade out front.

  I check the back door and, as if karma has finally decided to reverse course, it’s unlocked. I won’t even need to smash the glass. I creep into the back door and crouch down, listening. Blood pools around my feet and drips down from my forearm onto the white tile floor.

  Splat. Splat. Splattery splat.

  A clock ticks in the next room. Otherwise, all is still.

  I need food, pants, shoes, and to bust out of these dumb restraints. Then I’ll split. I won’t harm these humans, because I don’t want to do anything to alert Melina to my location.

  A light switches on and a deep voice exclaims, “No way.”

  I hold my hands up, blood-streaked palms facing out. “I mean you no harm.”

  “Are you Wonder Woman?” a human around my age asks in a subdued voice behind me.

  I spin around and notice that her pajama pants feature flying squirrels. Am I wonder who? I shake my head.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” the young guy standing by the light switch asks. He’s holding a baseball bat in his right hand, but it’s not raised. “Those aren’t vambraces, they’re cuffs. She’s got to be a nutjob who escaped from that Decatur Inpatient Institute for the Mentally Ill.” His chest puffs up and he flexes his arms. “Don’t try anything, and we won’t report you. Just head back out the way you came.”

  “Your back door was unlocked,” I explain. “I wasn’t breaking in.”

  “The door being unlocked doesn’t mean you’re welcome,” the girl says. “We left it open for Dad, so he won’t wake us up. Again.”

  “Shut up,” the guy hisses.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Don’t tell her we’re alone,” he whispers.

  I’m pretty sure that even a human could have heard him. These two aren’t very coordinated.

  “She’s not going to hurt us,” the girl says. “She’s injured. And if she’s not Wonder Woman, she’s trying to hide from someone herself. We shouldn’t kick her out. We should help her.”

  The boy’s eyebrow cocks on the left side. “Are you? Hiding, I mean?”

  I nod dumbly. “I need food and a change of clothing and I’ll leave right away, I swear. I won’t hurt you.”

  The boy frowns and lifts the bat menacingly. “Anyone who has to say ‘I won’t hurt you’ is bad news.”

  The girl exhales loudly. “Cut it out, Billy, and put that dumb bat down. Obviously we’re helping her. She’s saying she won’t hurt you because you’re threatening her, the poor thing. Nothing interesting ever happens around here. Hazel is never going to believe this really happened.”

  8

  The Past

  I’ve never worked so hard not to show emotion in my entire life.

  My mother is dead.

  I am alone. And with her last breaths, s
he replaced me. My entire life has been a complete waste of time.

  I watch impassively as Chancery flies away in Alora’s jet. I do not allow tears to well in my eyes. I do not allow my heart rate to increase or my breathing to hitch. I do not frown, or cry, or gnash my teeth. I turn and walk back to my room as though nothing life-altering, heart-shattering, or practically incapacitating has occurred. While Chancery trains, and agonizes, and mourns, I will hold the other families at bay. I’ll manage Alamecha, and reassure our human leaders, and handle internal family disputes.

  But that’s not all that I’ll do.

  Chancery thinks I killed our Mother. Nothing I can say or do will change her mind, but I know that I didn’t. Today, while the evidence is still fresh, I have the best chance of finding the clues that will lead me to whoever did. They must pay for throwing our family into turmoil and stealing the last years of guidance and support she would have provided. I won’t simply kill them. Whoever did this will suffer, but first I have to find him or her or them.

  I close my eyes and evaluate the facts.

  Mother was poisoned.

  It wasn’t Chancery.

  It happened during her birthday celebration so it could have been a human, although that’s unlikely. Mother’s policies have been the most pro-human of any empress ever. But they’re so short lived, they might not even realize that. Humans do things for idiotic reasons all the time.

  More likely, she was taken out by a rival family.

  I wish I had been present earlier and had the peace of mind to watch each family representative present in turn. Not that it would have been conclusive, by any means, but one of them might have given something away. Poison, while not as aggressive as a challenge, is personal. It’s sneaky. It’s cowardly, too.

  What baffles me is that we take precautions against poison. Consistent precautions. Which means someone knew about all of them and found a way around them. First, Mother had a tasting dog. She had servants and guards who tasted her food as well. Her chef Angel had protocols in place too, many of which extended beyond her.

  But of course, Angel would know the ins and outs of every single one. She’s one of Mother’s oldest friends, and Mother trusted her implicitly. But Mother trusted Lyssa too, a woman who lied to her for the better part of twenty years. Clearly Mother’s not immune to deception. Friendship is a liability. It blinds you to the truth. I already knew this, but Mother’s demise is a good reminder. It’s the reason I have no friends.

  Angel surely knows she’s a top suspect, even if she’s almost too obvious. Even so, I’m positive Balthasar locked her up and secured the kitchen. That would have been my second order of business, after shoving all the guests on planes and off the island.

  I was too distraught to think about it, but my tray last night held leftover party food, and this morning’s breakfast consisted of yogurt and granola. All things no one needed to prepare, things that could have been tossed on a tray and dropped off in my room.

  I need to talk to Angel right away, before she’s been interrogated by anyone else. I make a beeline for the kitchen. Balthasar’s already there, reviewing files with Job.

  “What does this mean?” Balthasar asks, pointing at something on a piece of paper.

  “It indicates that all of the food served at the celebration was clear of any toxin, sir,” Job says. “As was every other object both in her rooms and at the celebration.”

  “Were all standard protocols observed?” I interject. I can’t have evidence disappearing at the hands of the one who created it.

  Balthasar and Job both salute me and offer a short bow.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Balthasar says. “We had four guards on the—” He coughs. “Four guards watching over your mother until Job retrieved her. She’s been attended by four men at all times since, even in Job’s lab. Hestus has stepped in to check everything Job did. The two of them did not study together, nor did Job have any say in the person chosen to parallel him.”

  I nod. “Fine. Good. And Job, you’ve tested my mother’s garbage from yesterday?”

  Job nods. “Yes, Your Highness. It was disposed of in a separate area, per standard operating procedure. Everything was clear, but there wasn’t a lot of waste. Angel knows how much they eat, and frequently they consume all that she makes.”

  “They?” I know who he means, but I’m going to make him say it. I can’t have people tiptoeing around me.

  “Chancery.” Job clears his throat. “Her Royal Highness.”

  I do not frown. I do not scowl. I do not growl at him referring to my sister as the Empress. “Of course.”

  “Your mother regularly eats deviled eggs.” Job closes his eyes as if he’s in pain. “Ate. She regularly ate deviled eggs.” He clears his throat. “She regularly ate deviled eggs, and that’s a fairly simple dish to. . .” He trails off.

  “It’s an easy thing to poison,” I say. “You can say it. I won’t collapse or sob or create an embarrassing display causing everyone around me to feel uncomfortable.”

  Job nods. “Of course not. Unfortunately, your mother liked them enough that she ate everything that was provided.”

  “But you pumped her stomach,” I say. “Obviously.”

  “I did, but we found very, very little inside of it. She had been quite busy and evian stomachs process food efficiently.” Job shifts from foot to foot. “We ran as many tests as we possibly could on the teaspoon of contents, but they yielded nothing.”

  “Her intestines?” Balthasar asks.

  “The same,” Job says.

  “What about Cookie?” I ask. “My sister accused me of killing her, but I didn’t. Since she was poisoned, isn’t it likely the culprit was something both Cookie and Mother consumed? Perhaps something that Duchess wouldn’t eat?” Chancery already said it. She and Duchess didn’t eat eggs, but Cookie and Mother did.

  “I had the same thought,” Job says. “We pumped Cookie’s stomach as well. While it’s not conclusive, we found trace elements of a toxin we haven’t yet identified.”

  “How can you know you’ve found poison, but not know what it is?” I ask.

  “Are you asking for the science behind it?” Job’s eyebrows rise. “If so, it’s that we located portions of the bowel that had become necrotic—”

  I throw up my hands. “Nope. It’s fine. I was merely wondering, if you identified that something is a toxin, how can you not determine the nature of that toxin.”

  “Ah,” Job says. “You can see how the body reacted to it, and you can swab for trace amounts. Until we’ve spent enough time analyzing the sample, we won’t know its exact origin. And beyond that, as we run tests, the sample available to us diminishes.”

  Aggravating. Also, out of my wheelhouse. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from that,” I say, “but I’d like to confirm that Mother’s body is in cryo.”

  “Absolutely it is,” Job says.

  “Thank you. I promised my sister we’d delay the funeral until her return. Please feel free to resume your analysis or study in any area you might need. We really need to know as much as we can about the cause of death.”

  “Agreed.” Job bows and strides from the room with purposeful steps.

  Balthasar falls in next to me as I walk toward the portion of the ballroom where Mother lay yesterday. The tape outline is too macabre for words. “You’ve pulled all security tapes of Mother for the past two weeks?”

  He nods.

  “And you have a team reviewing them for anything, with a focus on any consumption of food, I assume.”

  “I do.” Balthasar’s voice is low and tense. “We’re going to catch whoever did this. They will pay.”

  I widen my eyes. “You don’t think it’s me?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not blinded by sibling rivalry like Chancery. You loved your mother. You’d never have harmed her.”

  A tightness in my chest eases and I fight back the emotion that tries to drown me. “Thank you.”

  Balthas
ar’s eyes are the softest I’ve ever seen them. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I know words can’t help, not really, but you’re not alone in your grief.”

  In that moment, I can only think of three people I know beyond a doubt didn’t harm my mother, and he’s one of them. Balthasar’s sorrow is genuine, and it clearly runs deep. I’m positive Chancery never would have harmed a hair on Mother’s head, and I’m sure Roman wouldn’t have done it. He’s too loyal to me. Everyone else is a suspect as far as I’m concerned.

  “I’m ready to interrogate Angel now,” I say.

  Balthasar’s foot stumbles, but he recovers immediately. “Of course. Let me take you to her.”

  “You haven’t spoken to her yet?”

  He shakes his head. “I assumed you’d want to be the first. She’s had no visitors, and the speaker in her cell is not turned on. There has been no outside communication, no way to prepare a cover or work out details.”

  If she really did this, that all would have been done in advance, but it’s still helpful to know Balth hasn’t slipped. “Perfect.”

  He walks next to me, matching my steps perfectly the entire way down to the holding cells that recently contained Lark. I wonder how Chancery’s holding up right now. Lyssa, Lark, her dog, and now our Mother in the span of a day and a half. I don’t often feel sorry for my twin, but I do right now. I can’t imagine feeling even more pain than I already do.

  Angel is sitting cross legged on the stone floor of her cell, her hands resting on her knees. She’s meditating. Could she be dead enough inside that she might feel complete peace after mother’s death yesterday? Her calm demeanor certainly doesn’t convince me that she’s grieving a close friend. But then again, we all process our feelings in our own ways. I dismiss my guards to wait outside the door, but Balthasar leans against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest.