I pull one of the papers in the bundle loose and realize it's a letter. I recognize Aunt Anne's handwriting. I look around the room for something to carry the journal and letters with. A tan messenger bag hangs on a hook near the door. I stuff the journal and the bundle of letters into the bag and slide it over my shoulder before walking back out the door. Here's where my pseudo plan loses its momentum. I have the ball in hand, but how do I get it across the finish line without being tackled?
I walk quietly to the back of the home, and rap on the back doorframe three times. The hope is that, even with all the chaos in the front over my mom, Sam will hear me. He and Wesley are supposed to sneak back so we can escape in the truck parked out back.
Sam may have heard my knocking. He may be on his way right now, but unfortunately he's not the only one who heard me.
A pissed off Edward, with a giant bump on the side of his head, turns a corner and locks eyes with me.
“Well, well, what are you doing back here?” He grabs my arm and yanks me down the hall after him. “Let's see what exactly you're trying to take when you disappear this time.”
He wrenches my shoulder, and I whimper.
“You're hurting me,” I say.
He stops. “I'd say you deserve it, given your poor behavior, Your Majesty.”
I lift my chin. “Is it your place to decide that?”
He frowns. “No it's not, but I imagine your father doesn't know you're wandering the halls. He said he had some lessons to teach you tonight. I heard him bragging about the lesson he’d teach you, after I woke up and had to report you'd escaped.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Was he pleased with you, when he discovered you let me escape?”
He shakes his head. “How'd you get out? We can't figure it out.”
I smile. The longer I stand here talking, the more likely Sam or Wesley will head down this hallway. “I used the p-trap from the sink to smash the window.”
“How'd you get to the window in the first place?”
I shrug. “Stacked the cots.”
He looks at me dubiously. “Stacked them? Those flimsy cots? They're made to collapse when weight isn’t evenly placed on top. We tried for two hours to stack them before deciding they were safe in that room.”
I smile even bigger. Without Sam, Wesley and I would never have both gotten out, but I’m not telling this guy that.
“Stop smiling like that. Even if you figured out how to climb those cots, what about me? I didn't hear glass or anything. Something just clocked me in the head, and everything went black.”
I cycle my arm, trying to get him to loosen his grip. “I have a pretty good throwing arm.”
“You threw something at me?” he asks. “What was it?”
“Soup crockery.” I grin again at my fiction. “Pretty good, huh?”
He shakes his head. “I can't get over the fact I didn't even hear the glass break.”
“Well, I'm sorry about the bump on your head, but I’m not escaping this time, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m at home, in my own palace.” I raise one eyebrow in what I hope is an imperious fashion.
Edward frowns. “You shouldn't apologize to me. I'm a guard. You're the princess.”
I sigh. “Where were you just dragging me, again?”
He lets go of my arm, and bows. “My apologies, Your Highness, but your mother is unwell in the front entryway. May I escort you to her side?”
Crap. I guess I can't really say I don't care to be there for that. “Uh, sure, yes.”
Every step I take away from the back door feels like a step toward the executioner. These zealots are not going to take the news that their king was shot very well, and with my mom in shock, we look guilty. Really guilty.
“Not so hasty,” a familiar, shrill voice says. “He's my patient. He and his sister's boyfriend brought her into this house, or so I've been told. Why are you acting like he's a suspect for some crime?”
I turn the corner and see a guard with gold stripes on his grey uniform facing off with Dr. Flores.
“Here's the daughter,” says a gruff-voiced man with grey hair. “Let's see what she knows.”
A dozen people turn to face me when I enter the absurdly large front entryway, Wesley and Sam among them. I glance around. My mom's lying on a settee with Dr. Flores standing at the foot of it. The men in uniform and the two women bow and murmur, “Your Highness.”
The guard with gold stripes bows, and then bellows. “What happened to your mother, Your Highness? There seems to be some confusion. We can't locate your father, either.”
“Who are you speaking to?” Dr. Flores asks. “That girl isn't the princess. She’s Samuel Roth's sister, Rhonda.”
The gold striped guard chuckles. “I don't know who you've been talking to, young lady, but this most certainly is Ruby Solomon, and we need some answers.”
Dr. Flores shakes her head and opens her mouth, but Edward opens his mouth and speaks over her. “I escorted the Princess with those two an hour past.” He points at Wesley and Sam. “King Solomon was with them. He dismissed us at the prison, but he was questioning the three of them when we left.”
An older man with streaks of grey in his hair purses his lips. He smacks when he opens them again to talk to me. “Princess Ruby, my name is General Kovar. I'm your father's right hand man for all military operations. I assure you, we'll do whatever we can to help. Please tell us, what happened to your mother, and where is your father now?”
I glance at Sam, who wraps one hand around his back where I know he's got at least one gun tucked, silently asking whether he should go on the offensive. I do some mental math. Sam has at least three guns he took from guards at the prison, probably all stored behind his back. There are eight armed men in the room. He can likely take them out before they could react, but they'd all die. The two maids, and the doctor would be at risk, too.
I shake my head.
I open my mouth to tell them where they'll find Solomon and confess that he was killed at my hand, but before I can say a word, the front doors burst open.
“Seize them, all of them.” One of the guards Sam knocked out stands at the front of the room. He and a cadre of other grey uniformed men stride into the entry hall, filling every available space.
General Kovar raises his voice. “I command the entire military, including the palace guard. You'll all heed my orders, or you’ll face a court martial. Now Arnold, what are you talking about? Why should we lay hands on the Princess and her companions? Did His Royal Highness order it?”
Arnold stutters. “H-h-he's dead!”
The room erupts in fifteen different conversations, and two guards seize me, one on each side taking my forearm roughly. Sam disarms three guards and makes it across the room to stand just behind me. I can barely hear his whisper. “This doesn't look good, Ruby. It'll be easier to take them out and leave now, than after a trial. Say the word.” I want to get out of here, but I cringe when I contemplate the death toll.
Even if Sam kills a thousand people to get me out, it might be worth it. After all, if I die, a hundred thousand Marked kids are doomed.
I glance at my mom, stupidly hoping she'll come to, and do something. Anything. She stares off into space as though she hasn’t a care in the world.
I exhale painfully. “Fine,” I say. “Get us out.”
Sam’s body tenses and his arms reach for guns, ready to eliminate my captors first, I assume.
Before he’s fired off a shot, Josephine shifts on the silk covered settee. She glances around, dazed, and I shout at Sam. “Wait.”
Josephine raises her voice louder than I've ever heard it. “Release my daughter, right this second. Stand down, every last one of you.”
General Kovar, Edward and every other soldier in the room salutes and drops to a knee.
General Kovar looks up at Josephine and barks his question, “What's going on, Your Royal Highness?” His voice quivers, but he pushes ahead anyway. “Is King Solomon really dead?”
Josephine stands near the silk settee, having finally roused herself to action, but unable to move due to the crowd of people cluttering up the entryway.
“My husband was infected with Tercera as part of a conspiracy orchestrated by one of his enemies. We're still investigating who, but all of you have heard about the failure of the hormone suppressants. Right alongside that disturbing news, we've discovered that Tercera is mutating, and it manifests with erratic neurological symptoms in the first year.”
Dr. Flores gasps. “Why were we not informed?”
Josephine turns a frosty glare on her, and the doctor shrinks. “I don't answer to you. We used medical care we trust, care we're certain isn't influenced by my late husband's enemies. You transferred from Miami, if I recall.”
Dr. Flores frowns, her brow furrowed.
“Then it's true,” the General asks. “King Solomon is dead?”
Josephine hangs her head. “The symptoms resulted in paranoia and erratic behavior. He threatened his daughter and it terrified her. She tried to escape him, and he hauled his own daughter, her boyfriend, and her best friend into restraints. I couldn't reason with him. When he came to himself, and he realized he had almost shot his only child, along with both of her companions, he turned the gun on himself. Before I could stop him, before any of us could, he ended his own life.” She brings one hand to her mouth, and the tears that leak from her eyes in that moment are real. No one could doubt this woman is grieving a devastating loss.
Her entire performance is brilliant, moving even. She stole Solomon's own lie to cover up her murder. I see my mother in an entirely new light, and I'm not sure quite what to make of her. Perhaps in this, Solomon was the perfect tutor.
“Go now,” she orders the guards who burst into the room moments before. “Retrieve my husband's body, but take care. You'll see sores on his arms and legs, and other indications of his sickness. In light of that, he would want cremation immediately, no time to spare. I can't bear the thought of anyone seeing his body ravaged by the Mark, or the sores that appeared only days after infection.”
“Your Majesty,” the guard who called for my arrest says, “he was shot in the chest.”
Josephine nods. “He was trying, even in his death, through the Tercera induced fog that clouded his mind, to kill himself quickly, to end the reign of terror of the disease that drove him mad.” She shakes her head, and closes her eyes, clearly gutted. “He won't want to be remembered this way. We tell the people, his people and his devoted disciples, that he became gravely ill, and was called home by God. Honor his memory, even as I will seek vengeance from his enemies.”
I can't keep myself from smiling. Without her tyrannical husband shoving her down, my mom's kinda magnificent. She's going to be a much better ruler than Solomon ever was. I'll need to make sure she's not moving ahead with the Cleansing before we leave, but she's so much more reasonable, I'm sure we can work something out.
Sam slides his hand into mine, and I lean my head on his shoulder. He kisses my forehead and I close my eyes in relief.
“You aren't Samuel's sister.” Dr. Flores' voice is flat, her eyes flinty.
I smile at her. “What in the world makes you think that?”
She glances at our interlocked fingers, purses her lips and lifts one eyebrow.
“Why are you talking to my daughter in that fashion?” my mom asks. “You have no right to interrogate her. In fact, you have no right to speak to her at all, unless she's sought your professional opinion. You'll show her the proper respect. Immediately.”
Dr. Flores' eyes widen and she inclines her head. “Yes, Your Royal Highness, as you say.”
“Your services are no longer necessary here. You may leave.”
Dr. Flores splutters, but bows and turns awkwardly to leave. I suppress a smile of smug satisfaction. It wouldn't be very royal. I may only be a princess for another day or so until we leave, but I ought to enjoy it while I can.
Josephine turns to address a small man wearing a black suit and spectacles. He combs his thinning hair with his fingers obsessively, as though it might have been blown out of place by a gusty wind.
“Robert, I'd like the coronation to take place immediately. We'll hold a memorial for my husband the morning after next. The coronation should follow the evening after. Send word to the Heads of Port, and let them know their presence will be required in two days, at sunrise. Tribute for my husband's widow, oaths to their new queen, and a coronation pledge will be expected. Let me know when you receive responses.”
The small man bows and turns to leave, presumably to send word immediately. He stops and turns back before exiting. “Your Majesty, I only ask because I know they'll ask. What evidence do we offer to support the new queen's claim?”
Josephine's eyes flash. “Other than my word, and that of my late husband?”
He lowers his eyes, and I can barely make out his reply. “Your Majesty, while that is enough for nearly everyone, the Heads of Port may require. . . more. Nevertheless, I will do as you command.”
Josephine seethes. “Very well. I have evidence, as it happens. A paternity test is in my husband's desk, clearly naming Ruby Solomon as his only blood heir. Don't offer the evidence unless the Head of Port requests it, and I'd like a list of everyone who demands proof.”
Robert nods and departs.
Something doesn't add up for me. “Mom.”
Josephine turns and takes my hand in hers, smiling at me. “What a trying night, darling. Dear, sweet Marisol can lead you to a room. And of course, you can share with your friends.” She smiles at Wesley and Sam in turn. “Or you can each have your own lodgings, whichever you prefer. I swear you'll be safe here from now on. I won't sleep until things are in order for the coronation.”
“Thanks. We'll all share one room, I think.” I glance at Sam, who frowns at Wesley. I roll my eyes. “Yes, the blue room we had last time will be fine.”
“Wonderful.” Josephine kisses my cheek and pulls me tightly against her. “I'm sorry I checked out on you there for a moment. I think I may have been a little dazed, or perhaps overwhelmed by it all. I didn't know I had that in me, but I'm glad now. It’s like I shoved an anvil off my chest, and I'm rising up toward air for the first time in two decades.”
I smile at her. “Oh Mom,” I say, “I'm proud of you.”
She hugs me tightly against her, and the smell of peppermint surrounds me, just like I remember. When she releases me, her eyes still stare into mine intently.
“I am exhausted,” I confess. “But I have a question first, if you don't mind. If I don't ask, it'll bother me all night and I won't sleep a wink.”
“Of course darling, what?” Mom pulls me down onto the settee next to her and takes my hand in hers.
“Why would the Heads of Port, or whoever, ask for 'proof'? Why does a paternity test for me have to do with anything?”
She squeezes my hand and speaks in a low voice. “Darling, don't fret. I know your father’s raving about other heirs, and my talk of enemies was distressing, but really, though your father had rivals, no one was unhappy. No one will threaten you, and no one knows a thing about any other children, nor will they.”
“I still don't understand,” I say.
Josephine glances from me to Sam and then to Wesley, clearly confused herself.
Wesley clears his throat. “I think Ruby's asking, who exactly is being crowned queen in three and a half days?”
Josephine's eyes widen. “Well you are, of course.” She giggles. “I'm certainly not Solomon's heir.”
I look from Sam, whose eyebrows almost meet his hairline, to Wesley, who drops into a deep bow.
“Well,” he says, “let me be the first to wish you well, Your soon to be Royal Highness. May your reign be long and fruitful.”
I wish I'd shredded that infernal paper when I had the chance.
18
I collapse on the four poster bed after eating dinner and taking a shower, finally clean and weari
ng clothes Josephine brought me from her own closet. Somehow she procured appropriately sized clothing for Sam and Wesley, too. When I flop backward, the fluffy duvet rises on either side of me, partially blocking my view of the room.
“Are you sure you don't want your own room?” Wesley asks.
“Actually,” Sam says.
“Ewww,” Wesley says. “I didn't mean the two of you. I meant, Rubes, would you like some space? It's been a long day. Or actually, it’s been a long few weeks.”
I sit up. “No, I don't. I want you both close. Josephine's assurances aside, I don't know who we can trust.”
Sam sits in a chair next to the bed, making no move to be nearer to me. I feel the space like a tangible object between us, and I hate it. I think about what he heard just before Solomon's men captured us. About Wesley and I kissing, before the lip lock he had to watch to reassure stupid Dr. Flores.
We might need some private time, after all. Maybe that’s why I was so quick to agree to the shared space. I’m not ready to deal with this conversation.
“We have time,” I say.
A muscle in Sam’s jaw works, and I realize that may not be true.
“Actually, maybe you should sleep in the anteroom Wesley, so Sam and I can talk. Do you mind?”
Wesley sighs. “Does that make me the canary?”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
Sam snorts. “Miners used to bring canaries in cages into coal mines. They sing almost constantly, which is apropos.”
“Shaddup,” Wesley says.
Sam shrugs. “You said it.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Because the canaries were so small, any toxic gases that existed in pockets in the mines killed the canary first. When it stopped singing. . .” Sam draws a finger across his throat.
I roll my eyes. “You aren't the canary, Wesley. No one's coming to kill us.”
Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set Page 46