Latvala Royals: Darkest Hours

by Danielle Bourdon

  Bullets whipped through the air, proving several members of the caravan were on their feet shooting despite Elias and Eliana’s barrage of gunfire.

  The helicopter lifted off and veered away from the landing point.

  Elias ran toward the men on the ground, shoulders hunched. Two of the guards behind him had taken up the job of returning fire, giving him and Eliana a break.

  Moments later, the helicopter zoomed over the wreckage, guns blazing.

  Good thing, Elias thought. The men in black who were pinned down had literally nothing in front of them for cover. No trees, rocks, or bushes.

  Closer now, Elias caught a glimpse of blond among the black.

  He knew that color.

  “Dad!” He closed in on the group, sliding to his knees when he was within reach. The state of the survivors was appalling. Cuts, bruises, blood, burns, swelling—even a patch of missing scalp. Elias took it all in with one brief glance.

  “Elias!” Sander wrenched a look back and up.

  In a flash, Elias took note of his father’s injuries: burns on his clothing that had gone through to the skin, a gouge out of his hamstring, severe swelling of his right cheek, bloodstained hair matted to his head.

  Damaged, but alive.

  Elias knew there were probably more injuries he’d missed or couldn’t see.

  “Help get us behind those rocks over there,” Sander said with a gesture to the boulders.

  “Next strafing run from the helicopter,” Elias said. He brought his rifle up to return fire toward the caravan.

  They were far too exposed out here.

  “Pop!” Eliana reached down to grip his shoulder and squeeze, a brief greeting before she went to a knee and opened fire toward the caravan.

  “We’re almost out of ammunition. They’ll kill us before we can take cover,” Sander said.

  Elias slung the strap to his gun over his head and grabbed his father beneath both arms. While the guards continued to shoot, he dragged Sander backward toward the boulders.

  “I can walk,” Sander said, protesting being dragged.

  “More of a target that way.” Elias grunted with the effort. His father weighed more than he’d expected.

  One of the guards cried out and went down.

  “Eliana, you’re too high!” Sander called. He struggled at the hold on his arms.

  Eliana flattened herself out over the ground.

  The helicopter zoomed in for another pass.

  “Get up and run! All of you. Hurry up!” Elias called.

  The helicopter fired on the caravan. Not with bullets this time, but a rocket. An explosion blew one of the vehicles onto its side and several screams ripped through the air. A fireball spewed sky high, sending the enemy running in all directions.

  Elias released his father’s arms and brought up his weapon. He picked off five men with well-aimed shots. More men went down as Mattias and the other guards had time to bring bodies into the line of fire.

  The helicopter swooped around and landed forty yards behind the pile of boulders.

  “Let’s go!” Elias shouted. “Everyone on your feet!”

  He ran back to help Jeremiah off the ground. Elias knew a broken arm when he saw one. He looped an arm under Jeremiah’s shoulder and all but dragged him toward the waiting chopper.

  It was now or never. This was the best shot they would have of getting out of there alive. He glimpsed Eliana and one guard aiding Leander and Mattias. The injured guard was still capable of moving, and move he did. They ran en masse toward the chopper as the copilot stood next to the aircraft and fired at the caravan, giving them cover.

  Elias opened the door to the chopper and waited for everyone to pile in. It took some longer than others to embark, but Elias was impressed with the speed nevertheless.

  Several minutes later, the pilot lifted off and swerved away from the scene.

  Elias looked away from the pieces of fuselage to his father, who was in the seat next to him. Burns and wounds or not, Elias threw an arm around him and hugged him tight.

  “Mission complete.”

  Chapter 21

  Chey spent two hours overseeing the interrogation of the councilmen, advisors, and guards. Langtry proved to be a fount of information: he gave up everyone. His fear of jail was greater than his fear of retribution by Henricksson, which infuriated Henricksson no end.

  By the time they finished rounding up men, Kirkley had a collection of fourteen traitors, Risto and Alvar among them.

  Apparently Alvar hadn’t been arranging a meeting with his mistress after all.

  The remaining councilmen and advisors expressed shock at the duplicity and treason of their counterparts, having never been the wiser to the larger plot. Henricksson, who seemed to be the ringleader, refused to say who he worked for or how long prior the coup had been planned, leaving Chey with no choice but to continue their vigilant watch. Kirkley’s men and the other security members spread out through the castle while others attempted to reinstate power and communications.

  At the three-hour mark, the lights came on.

  A cheer lifted from the castle staff.

  “What about communications?” Chey asked Kirkley as they gathered in the foyer. The foyer tended to be the communal meeting place during times of celebration or duress.

  “Not yet, Your Majesty. We’re working on it, though. I expect it to be back soon,” Kirkley said.

  Chey left Kirkley in Emily’s capable hands and exited the foyer. She navigated the stairs and halls until she reached the master suite she shared with Sander. Every inch of the space reminded her of him. She smelled him on the very air. Although she hadn’t slept a wink all night, she knew that the sheets would carry a hint of his masculine aftershave.

  She leaned back against the door and closed her eyes.

  The struggle to maintain a professional appearance in front of the castle staff had worn her thin. She had internalized her concern about Sander, Elias, and the others to the point she felt physically sick. It didn’t help that she still didn’t know whether Latvala was under attack or whether the troops had gotten the upper hand in the hinterlands.

  What she wanted most was word about Sander.

  She needed to know what happened to the plane.

  Thoughts of life without him were overwhelming and heartbreaking.

  For a few minutes, she allowed all her fears and worries to consume her. She allowed herself tears. Existing on optimism had taken a toll.

  Her gaze landed on one of Sander’s buckskin jackets draped over the back of a chair. On his nightstand sat a pair of titanium cuff links.

  He was everywhere.

  She lifted her hand to stare at the exquisite anniversary band he’d given her such a short time ago. How she wanted to renew their vows. To stand with him at the head of an old church and smile while they promised each other the rest of forever. It seemed impossible to her that she would never again kiss him or laugh at his suggestive jokes.

  Struck by impulse, she crossed the suite to the closet. There among his elegant suits and stacks of rugged outdoor wear, she chose one of his thin gray sweaters to change into. The material was soft with a hint of Sander in the weave. She didn’t care that it hung halfway down her thighs or that the sleeves swallowed her hands whole. All she wanted was to feel closer to him, and in his sweater, she did.

  Ten minutes after the emotional riptide began, it receded. She navigated the waters of solemnity until optimism had her in its grip once more. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Chey understood that the optimism in this case was born of sheer desperation.

  Sander had to be alive. That was it and that was all.

  After gathering her hair up into a messy knot, she secured the strands with bobby pins and followed up with a cold splash of water on her cheeks. The chill revived her determination and helped bolster her courage.

  By the time she reached the foyer, she was once more stoic and in control.

  Although the skies were stil
l gloomy and there was no sun to permeate the windows at the front of the castle, Chey refused to allow the somber colors to affect her mood. She sought Kirkley, who stood with two other guards in the foyer.

  “Commander, are there any updates?” she asked.

  Kirkley dismissed the men in his company and faced her. “I wish I had news from the hinterlands, Your Majesty. There has been no communication yet.”

  “What about the bodies in the dungeon?”

  “They have been taken care of. The staff have all been brought up to speed as well. I wouldn’t say things are running smoothly quite yet, Your Majesty, but we’re making good progress. Kallaster is locked down tight, just in case.”

  Chey smiled to show Kirkley she appreciated his efforts. “Thank you, Commander. I’ll be in—”

  A noise beyond the castle walls drew her up short. She tried to focus and identify the sound. Since she’d been talking, she hadn’t heard as well as she might have in total silence.

  Kirkley seemed to have no problem putting a name to the sound. “The helicopter is returning.”

  The helicopter.

  Chey didn’t think twice. She darted for the castle doors.

  Sander. Elias. Eliana. Mattias. Leander. Jeremiah. The guards.

  Who had made it back alive?

  Everyone. They’re all on board.

  Fear ate at her insides as she fled down the front steps and into the bailey. Kirkley gathered a few extra guards and jogged in her wake; the team flanked her on the left and right.

  She shouted to the guards as she approached the front gate. The heavy slabs of wood slowly opened. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, adrenaline bringing up the hair on the back of her neck.

  Please, please, please.

  As if the hounds of hell were on her heels, she bolted out of the bailey. She chose to follow the drive until she reached a patch of flat ground. Kirkley and his men kept up with ease, their boots thudding out a metronome beat over the stone.

  Chey veered off the asphalt path and over rougher terrain on the outside of the bailey walls. The helipad sat on a small rise next to the castle, and though the drive wound its way around to the large cement slab, Chey preferred a shortcut.

  The sound of rotor blades grew louder. A moment later, the helicopter topped the trees and flew into view.

  Chey’s boot slipped on a slick patch of ground and she dropped to a knee, one hand shooting out to steady her balance. Kirkley swooped in with a smooth catch beneath her elbow and helped her upright, as unobtrusive as he could possibly be.

  “Thank you.” She found her footing and shot a glance at the incoming bird. The dark chopper looked intimidating with its exterior weapons and sleek design, but it was what the aircraft carried inside that concerned her most.

  As the helicopter slowed on approach and began a slow descent toward the helipad, Chey picked her way across the damp, somewhat treacherous ground. Air disruption from the blades caused volatile thrashing of tree limbs and blew strands of her hair out of the messy knot. Even at this distance, there was enough downdraft to suck her clothing against her body and force her to shield her eyes with a hand.

  The chopper touched down and the side door opened. Men poured out from within, some physically helping others to walk. She could not at first tell who was who, and her anxiety increased.

  From the back of the pack, a man in black broke through bodies, jogging in her direction. He held an assault rifle in both hands at an angle across his front, the strap secured around his neck and shoulders.

  The streak of muddied—or bloodied—blond hair threw Chey into motion. Combined with the tall, muscular physique, it could be none other than Sander. She ran across the concrete, calling his name. Chey glimpsed Leander and Mattias on her way, as well as Elias and Jeremiah. Eliana came last.

  She wanted to faint with relief.

  The closer to her husband she got, the more damage Chey saw. That was definitely blood in his hair, on his face, his hands. He was soot streaked, bruised, cut. Burned. He looked every inch a man who’d survived a plane crash.

  “Sander!” She threw her arms wide to receive him just as he slid the rifle around to hang behind his back. He caught her in strong arms and swung her in a circle, burying his face in her neck. Despite the charred scent of death and the wrecked state of his clothes, she held tight.

  “Shh. It’s all right. I’m here,” he rumbled near her ear.

  She didn’t realize she was sobbing until he soothed her. In this instance, she didn’t care that she’d lost control of her carefully maintained stoicism. He was alive. Mattias was alive. Leander. Jeremiah. Elias. Eliana.

  The distinct lack of guards that had accompanied Sander’s crew did not escape her, but she focused for now on the living.

  “I was more scared than I’ve ever been,” she admitted.

  “We’re all lucky to be alive, honestly,” Sander said. His voice was raspier than usual, as if he’d been shouting or had a sore throat.

  Chey lifted her head and kissed his mouth, injuries or no injuries. When she met his eyes, she could see the reflection of pain and loss and anger lurking amid the obvious affection.

  “Let’s get you inside. We have power back, but no communication yet.” Chey reached out to touch Elias on the shoulder, and Eliana, as they passed. A mother acknowledging her children.

  “Is everything secure?” Sander asked as he drew her toward an SUV that had pulled up after the helicopter touched down.

  It wasn’t a long drive to Kallaster’s gates, but Chey understood the men didn’t want to exert themselves more than they had to. Mattias, Leander, and Jeremiah looked to be in worse shape than Sander. “It is now. I’ll explain when we’re inside.”

  “Good. I didn’t want to have to kill anyone the second I got home.”

  In less than an hour after his arrival, Sander was up to speed on all that had happened in his absence. He knew the names of every traitor that had committed treason against the crown, knew how many were dead, and where they had set up their command center while on Kallaster’s grounds.

  What he didn’t know was who the men were working for. What larger group they were a part of. Henricksson, Kirkley said, wasn’t talking.

  He would see about that.

  Once the briefing was done, Sander allowed himself to be separated from his family for a visit with the doctor. He’d waited to allow Leander, Mattias, and the others to be seen first, and also because he’d felt the need to put Latvala’s safety before his own injuries. He wasn’t dying therefore, the wounds could wait.

  The doctor found cracked ribs, minor internal injuries, four severe burns, and too many cuts to count. He’d required stitches in his head, a splint for his dislocated finger, tape around his ribs, and salve for his burns. A bandage went around the leg sporting a chunk of missing flesh. The bruises, pulled muscles, and other aches would have to heal on their own.

  Up in the privacy of the master suite, he’d washed the residue of the crash from his body, changed into new attire of the tactical kind, and reloaded his person with weapons.

  The crisis at Kallaster appeared to be over, but he couldn’t say the same for the country as a whole. Even then there could be troops marching on Ahtissari Castle on the mainland. If they didn’t get communications up and running soon, Sander thought he might have to send a new team on an emergency trip deeper into Latvalan territory. They needed intel, and they needed it badly.

  For the moment, he intended to find out exactly what kind of adversary he was up against. A formidable one—he knew that already.

  After downing two shots of whiskey, he departed the suite for the lower floors.

  Henricksson would talk, one way or another.

  “Hey, Pop, how’re you feeling?” Elias joined him on the second set of stairs. He was still dressed in his own set of tactical attire, holsters filled with guns.

  “Rough. The whiskey is helping. How are the others?”

  “The doctor sent Leander str
aight to bed. You can imagine how well that went over.”

  Sander smiled grimly. Imagine indeed.

  “Jeremiah had his arm set and put in a cast, and Uncle Mattias has a fractured leg. The doctor fixed them all up. Thankfully, no one needed surgery. You should all be in bed, though, and stay there until you’re recovered. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Like that’s going to happen.” Sander snorted. He waged Mattias would be back on his feet within the hour and nothing but a visit from the Grim Reaper himself would keep Leander bedbound. There were still too many variables and concerns. Too many unanswered questions.

  Elias surprised him and switched the subject.

  “I’m considering a trip to Somero to check on Inari and her family.”

  Sander knew he should have seen it coming. He stopped halfway down the flight of stairs to face his son. “Do you think that’s wise after our plane got shot down? We didn’t kill all the troops in Somero who attacked us. Some are still out there. For all we know, they’ve taken Thane’s throne and are the majority in the palace right now. Which puts you at a distinct disadvantage.”

  “Yes, I’ve considered it. I’m thinking there might not be as many troops in the palace as there are in the hinterlands and other villages. The ones who found you were probably looking for you. Clearly, they knew you were flying over Somero, and when, and planned to take you down. If Somero Palace was overrun, and the Ascher family taken hostage, then they’ll need help. I know Thane wouldn’t hesitate to help us if the situation was reversed.”

  “I have no doubt Thane would help. My biggest concern is that you’ll get caught before you ever get into the palace itself. And if they get their hands on you, then they’ll have a huge bargaining tool against me.” Sander paused to consider his next words carefully. In the end he chose to be blunt. Elias needed to hear the truth of the matter up front. “There’s a very real possibility that if the Aschers have been taken hostage, the attackers didn’t bother to keep them alive. All of them, including Inari, could be dead.”