by C. J. Miller
The baron nodded. “That’s good to hear. What about you, Iliana? What are your plans?”
She felt as if she were on a job interview and had none of the correct answers. “I don’t have plans at the moment.”
“Would you like some advice?”
“Of course.” She sat forward in her chair and waited.
“It has been over a hundred years since someone had held the title of marchioness of Agot. When the last one passed away with no heirs, the reigning king decided those powers were too great for a nonmonarch to wield. I am surprised the late king decided to pass those powers to you. My understanding is that he did not know you well.”
She and the king, aside from the biological connection, had been strangers. “What powers are you concerned about?” Was that the heart of the matter and the reason she’d been invited here tonight?
“They are numerous. The land you inherit has worth. You will have influence in politics. Your vote in state matters is important. Many who are inexperienced choose not to vote, concerned their immaturity will lead them astray.”
“I will not vote on matters I do not understand, but I will make it my responsibility to understand matters of importance,” she said.
He nodded and smiled slightly. “I asked my steward to describe you. He said you were beautiful, and I have no doubt that is true. You have confidence and strength I would not have expected from someone in your position.”
Was that a criticism? “What position is that?” She kept her voice calm and tried to edge out the sweetness that bordered on sarcasm.
“You are the queen of Acacia’s distant relative and former assistant. You had no position or authority. Within a matter of days, you were married to a powerful warlord of one country and the heiress to a great fortune in another.”
“Demetrius is not a warlord.” She felt herself growing defensive over Demetrius. Was the baron needling her to see where her weaknesses lay? She gathered herself and tried to remain calm.
“My apologies. He is president, of course.”
“You are forgiven this time. Please do not insult me or my country again.”
“Then, Icarus is your country? What about Valencia? Acacia?”
He was digging around into matters she had not yet come to terms with. “I have loyalty to all three.”
He scoffed. “That is not possible. In a war, who will you side with?”
“Why would there be war? I would use my influence in all three countries to avoid it,” she said.
He smirked at her. “You should decide, when the time comes, who will have your loyalty. I am antagonizing you to see how much fight you have. I like your spirit. Not everyone speaks as honestly to me.”
“I have no reason to lie to you,” Iliana said. “I have questions of my own. Do you know my husband? You seem more interested in him and Icarus than in me.”
The baron paused for a long moment. “I do not know him, but I have known men like him. He is not to be underestimated.”
His words led her to believe the baron had some beef with Demetrius. She would ferret out what it was.
“As the marchioness, you will find many knocking down your door, asking for favors, for pardons and similar. Every criminal will swear he is innocent. Every beggar will be a man down on his luck that needs a helping hand. You must have a firm heart about these matters.”
“I had not considered that,” she said. “I am a fair and honest woman, and I am not easily fooled.” Except as she spoke the words, she wondered if the baron was laughing at them. She had been fooled by Demetrius and her parents. Was she blind to the truth when it might hurt her?
“Let me tell you how I make decisions about convicts. I am fair and ethical and follow strict standards. Every prisoner must work for their food. I don’t grant luxuries like access to medical care or time to be outside. It’s every man for himself.”
Iliana’s stomach turned. She made a noise of noncommitment, but his words nagged at her. Why was he so angry at prisoners? And what did he mean by working for their food? This was the twenty-first century, not medieval times. “It sounds as if that’s a personal cause for you.”
His eyebrows twitched together. That was his emotional tell. He was hiding something or outright lying.
“I take it personally when someone breaks the law. People should pay for their crimes and be held accountable for their actions.”
“You don’t believe in second chances?” she asked.
He made a face of disgust. He had to be aware of his facial expression, even if he could not see hers. “I believe that some people are beyond redemption.”
“No one is beyond redemption,” she said.
“Then, you’ve lived a sheltered life. There is a prison three miles from here filled with men not worth saving.” He sounded angry.
“I’d like to meet some of these men. I’d like to talk to them.”
“Why?” he asked. Hostility was plain in his voice.
This conversation was becoming adversarial, and she hadn’t intended it to turn this way. “Let’s say I’m open to what you’re suggesting, but I’d like to see for myself.” Clearly they didn’t see eye to eye on the subject, but his calling this meeting and then steering the conversation in this direction had her curious.
“I’d be happy to arrange a tour for you. After dinner?”
Was he calling her bluff? Seeing if she was serious about visiting? Demetrius would be furious with her, but this was her new world to explore. “That would be very educational.”
The rest of the meal, the baron of Aetos lectured her. It took everything Iliana had not to be rude to him. He treated her like a simpleminded child incapable of understanding complexities.
She had to wonder what she was missing in the baron’s intentions. He wasn’t spending the evening with her for enjoyment. He wanted something from her, and Iliana wasn’t sure what it was.
* * *
Arrangements had been made for Iliana and her guards to visit Blackstone Prison. As they drove the winding country road that would take them there, she wondered what she would be allowed to see when they arrived. When she was marchioness, she could make demands. However, now she was subject to whatever rules the baron had communicated to the warden.
“Mrs. DeSante, I have informed the president of this visit and he forbids it,” one of her servicemen said.
Iliana didn’t heed him. Demetrius was angry she had come to Valencia to meet with the baron when he had asked her not to. “I won’t get you into trouble with the president. You may drop me off if you wish, and I will make arrangements to return home.”
The guards exchanged looks. “We have instructions not to leave you alone.”
“I’m going into this prison with or without you,” Iliana said.
The prison beckoned her, and yet she couldn’t explain why. Perhaps it was such a place of sadness, she wanted to know if she could do anything to make it better.
Past the gate, inside the prison grounds, they drove through two security checkpoints. Their car was searched and they were scanned for metal objects. Once cleared, she and her guards entered the building. It was a depressing place. Cinderblock walls, barbed wire and metal, the smell of sweat and grime. Her stomach quivered with nerves and her heart slammed against her ribs. She hadn’t been inside a prison before.
Was this a test? She wouldn’t be allowed inside the prison unless it was safe. If the baron was trying to rattle her to see what she was made of, he would find she was strong and capable.
The warden met her in a small room that smelled of urine and sweat. He didn’t smile. He stoically extended his hand. “It is not common for a woman to be inside the prison.”
“I am sure the baron explained the purpose of my visit over the phone. I would like to see the facilities and talk to a few prisoner
s.”
The warden shook his head. “You may observe prisoners at a safe distance. I can’t allow you to come into contact with the general population. I can’t ensure your safety.”
Iliana frowned and lifted her chin, hoping she conveyed confidence. “My security will not allow anyone to harm me. Show me what you can.”
Reluctantly, the warden introduced her to the five prison guards who would be escorting her and her security through the building. They were armed to the teeth. As they walked, the floor alternated between slick and slippery and sticky. She gagged at the putrid smells. It seemed every surface was covered in slime, refuse or bodily fluids.
When they reached the inmates’ cells, she noticed it was darker. “Are the lights broken?”
“No, ma’am. We find the dark is more calming,” said one of the prison guards.
More calming? “Where are the inmates?”
“In their cells.”
No one was moving around the area. “Do they spend every moment in their cells?”
“With good behavior, some are permitted twenty minutes in the yard per week.”
Her stomach tightened. She felt silly speaking when she knew almost nothing about how to care for prisoners, but it seemed these men were housed like animals, poorly treated ones at that. “How many inmates earn that privilege?” She braced for the answer, knowing the figure would be low.
“Three percent.”
She shivered. The men spent their days in dark cells. How did they not go crazy? “Let me closer.”
“That’s not safe,” the prison guard said.
“I will be fine. Let me inside.”
The prison guard stepped back, muttering about it being her funeral and allowed her inside the area. On TV and in movies, she often saw inmates swarm to their cell doors, reaching out, calling and banging at visitors. Nothing like that happened here. It was silent. She walked to the first cell, then the second. The situation was the same for each prisoner.
The inmates seemed broken and frail. They didn’t acknowledge her. They said nothing to her or the guards. They wore filthy clothes and stared at the floor or their bare cell walls.
Her nerves were rattled, and she wished she had been better prepared to see this.
How many men incarcerated were mentally disturbed and in need of health services, not jail? How many had gone insane from being locked away, starved and beaten?
She could change it. She didn’t care if the baron of Aetos was angry at her for interfering. Her husband was Demetrius DeSante and he would kill anyone who crossed her. She wouldn’t give away how she felt now, though her anger at the injustice around her shook her to her soul.
She was wise enough to know that being critical and mouthing off now, when she had seen only a few minutes of the routine here, would not be well received. Waiting and planning and then making her move when no one expected it would be smarter.
As she walked past several doors with only small windows, she pointed to them. “Who lives there?” She wanted to be told they were maintenance closets, but she knew better.
The prison guards exchanged looks. Her servicemen moved closer to her.
As she peered inside, her core shook and slammed around inside her. Had the king of Valencia known about this? Did her siblings?
At the end of the row, she rose on tiptoes to look through the tiny window into a gloomy cell.
What she saw struck terror into her. “Open this door!” The words escaped her mouth as a shriek. Though she had been working to maintain some outward appearance of calm, hysteria overtook her.
Inside the cell, Demetrius was slumped on the ground against the wall.
She banged her fist on the door. “Open the door now!” How had this happened? Was the baron’s invitation a ruse to get her away from Demetrius so he could be captured and brought here?
“We cannot. He is our most dangerous prisoner.”
“Open it or I will see you thrown inside this cell.”
After a brief conversation between the prison guards, the door was opened and Iliana entered. The man looked up from his position on the floor. He was half starved, dirty and lethargic. He looked so much like Demetrius, a thinner, bruised Demetrius. It was not her husband, but the eyes were hauntingly similar. His face was covered with a beard, unkempt and gnarled.
She knelt on the floor. Her guards moved closer, and she held up her hand to stop them. This man wouldn’t hurt her. How could he hurt anyone? He was barely moving.
“What is your name?” she asked. If he was the most dangerous prisoner, what had been done to him to make him this still and vacant?
The man said nothing.
“Please, what is your name?” she asked again.
His head lolled to the side, turning away from her. “Eight three two four one.”
It took her a minute to understand him. “Not your prisoner number. Your name.”
He looked at her with Demetrius’s eyes, and she saw flashes of a spirit, wounded but strong. A strange sensation crept over her and took hold. She lowered her voice so no one could hear her. “My name is Iliana. I am married to Demetrius DeSante.”
At the mention of her husband, the man’s eyes flickered with recognition. She didn’t understand why or how, but this man was the reason Demetrius wanted her to be marchioness. He was the reason Demetrius hadn’t wanted her to see the baron. She didn’t have all the information, but as she struggled to piece things together, she felt sad and sick.
The man closed his eyes. For a moment, she thought he was dead. His rib cage extended from under his shirt, and the slight up and down of his stomach indicated he was breathing.
“I will come back for you. I will rescue you. Do you hear me? I won’t allow you to live this way.”
Scared her overinterest in this man would alarm the guards or subject him to more brutal treatment, she allowed them to escort her from the cell. She struggled to provide a plausible reason for her reaction. “That man is dying. I thought he was dead.”
If her guards had recognized him and his similarities to Demetrius, they said nothing. She would reward them for their loyalty.
“He will be dead soon,” the prison guard said with such indifference, it lit her fury hotter.
Soon? Such callousness over a man’s life was unspeakable. “Where I come from, prisoners are not treated this way.”
The prison guard sniffed. “We have rules. I follow them. I don’t always agree with them.”
Iliana wanted to weep, but she held it together until she was alone on the plane to Icarus.
She felt as if she were a ship smashing against the rocks, pieces splintering in all directions and slowly sinking beneath the water. She needed to speak with Demetrius immediately, but in person, not over the phone. The words were coming together in her head, but they were a jumble of questions and fears.
For the safety of the man in prison, she would speak to no one about what she had witnessed until she had discussed it with Demetrius. He would know what to do.
When she arrived at the house, she swept inside and raced to their bedroom. She turned on the lights, and Demetrius sat up in bed and stared at her. He looked angry.
Before he could launch an accusation at her, she lobbed the most critical one at him. “How could you not tell me about your brother?”
* * *
Fury and alarm mixed inside Demetrius, forming a volatile cocktail.
Iliana was screaming about his brother. She had gone to see the baron of Aetos. Had he told her about him and Alexei? Did the baron know that his son was the president of Icarus?
“What have you done?” Demetrius asked. As he considered a way to fix this, ways to protect Alexei, he needed every detail from her.
If the baron of Aetos had told her about Alexei, was Al
exei dead?
“What have I done? I’ve done nothing. I went to Blackstone Prison and saw your brother or someone who looks like your twin rotting in a prison cell.”
“Alexei is alive?”
“Barely. Who is Alexei? Are you admitting he’s your brother?”
“My twin. My identical twin.” If she had recognized him, could others? Alexei had been beaten and starved and it had been years since they were together.
Iliana stared at him, openmouthed. “You didn’t think you needed to tell me about this?”
Timing was everything. He hadn’t anticipated this latest twist in his plans. “I need to protect Alexei. Does the baron know that I am Alexei’s brother?”
Iliana touched her temples. “I don’t know what he knows. He’s proud that he’s the psychotic prison ruler or some ridiculous thing. I went to see for myself because the baron is deranged and he seemed to want me to see Blackstone Prison. Maybe he wanted to intimidate me or prove that I couldn’t handle being marchioness and defer to him on all matters.”
“I asked you not to see the baron.” She should have listened to him.
“Is that what’s most important now? You could have given me a reason. You could have brought me on board with your plans. When I saw Alexei, I thought it was you. I demanded they open the door.”
Demetrius wanted to howl in frustration. His brother was alive, but his wife’s actions may have sentenced him to death. “What did he say to you? How is he?”
“He said nothing except reciting his prisoner number.” She sat on the bed and folded her arms around her midsection. “He wasn’t well, Demetrius. He was starving and so lifeless and bruised.”
Demetrius had anticipated this, but hearing it confirmed, rage pummeled him. He wanted to declare war on Valencia and strike, hard and relentlessly, to free his brother from that prison cell. Iliana had been so close. She had inadvertently accomplished what he had been trying to do for years. “I will kill the baron for this.”
“I am sure you will.”
“The baron will want to know why you showed interest in that particular prisoner.”
“I told the prison guards I thought he was dead. Maybe they think I’m some Dorothea Dix on a mission.”