Bonds

by Susan Copperfield

  Or I could wrap the fish in grape leaves and pretend we were Mediterranean for a while.

  Chuckling, I went to some of the wild grapes, explored until I found the healthiest vines, and picked enough leaves for our dinner. The places I’d visited that used grape leaves in cooking preferred the wild vines for their leaf crop, and I’d never been so glad I’d gone on a few trips to help the locals carry their plunder back home.

  “What are those?” Kevin asked.

  “Grape leaves; we’re lucky they hadn’t turned yet. I’ll gather more for tomorrow and keep an eye out for it. I’ll debone the meat and wrap the fish in the leaves to cook it. Not perfect, but it’s safe to eat and beats just fish.”

  “I’m going to propose that every RPS team hire a search and rescue expert to help with operations in the future. I had no idea you could eat grape leaves.”

  “Really? It’s a delicacy in a lot of places.”

  “I’m a steak and potatoes sort of man,” the agent replied with zero shame.

  “Obviously, I’m going to have to take you to Europe and properly feed you one day, as it seems you’ve missed the better parts of foreign cuisine. Hey, Melody? You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

  “Plane crashes and traitors,” she replied, her tone wry.

  “That’s fair. I meant food allergies, but that’s fair.”

  “I’m not allergic to anything that I know of.”

  That would make some things a little easier. I focused on stripping the meat of bones, pleased the task was easier than I expected, and I wrapped the fillets in grape leaves before adding them to the fry pan and putting it over the fire to cook. Once done, I assigned Melody to the task of gathering more deadfall so we could have it for the night if needed. I ordered her to keep within sight of the camp and to check in with us every few minutes.

  I had no idea how cold it would get in the night, and if push came to shove, we’d have to augment the blankets with a campfire.

  “All right. Now, I have to try to figure out where the hell we are,” I muttered, digging out my phone and hunting for the solar charger. Once plugged in, I had Kevin open his maps so we could get a look at the proposed flight path for the plane.

  I doubted we were anywhere near where we were supposed to be, but the jet could only fly so far in the period of time we’d been in the air. Once the map was open, I prepared myself for an uncomfortable but necessary talk with Melody’s RPS agent.

  “What do you know about the jet’s capabilities?” I asked, hoping to ease the man into the talk of traitors and treachery.

  “With our configuration and custom tank, we have a twelve-hundred mile range. We were planning on fueling up at the halfway point, and we’d charted a route to allow for an extra refueling stop if needed, as Boston to Billings pushes the upper limit of our range.” Kevin paused in sorting through the survival kit to stare at his phone. “We can’t trust our original flight plan. We could be anywhere.”

  “I’d say it’s probable we’re in Canada; I saw a lot of lakes out the window. We can’t be too far north because it hasn’t gotten cold enough to turn the grape leaves yet; they’re ripe for harvest, which is what I expect for the American-Canadian border—if grapes work the same way here as they do in the Mediterranean. I’m making an assumption there. I don’t think we’re in the Royal States; there weren’t enough towns and cities out the window, and the borders are crowded.”

  “You have a habit of checking out the window, don’t you?”

  “Everybody who isn’t flying or prepping gear is spotting when on route,” I replied. “It’s definitely a habit.”

  “In any case, if he was planning on crashing, he would’ve taken steps to make the plane disappear, so he’d be off route from where expected, and he would’ve disabled as many of the trackers as he could. And that fire would have been sufficient to destroy most of our transmitters. Unfortunately, he was a lightningweaver.”

  I grimaced. A spark could destroy whatever electronics he wanted, opting to fry only the transmitters while leaving other controls active. “That’s a bad combination when discussing sabotage of an aircraft.”

  “That thought had crossed my mind, yes. Hindsight is perfect.”

  I kept an eye on Melody, who scoured the nearby forest, debating if it was worth speculating on what had happened—and why. Melody squealed, but before I could panic, she darted out of the woods holding up several bunches of grapes. “I found grapes!”

  Yes, she had, and I wasn’t going to ruin her enthusiasm pointing out I’d already taken leaves from the same vines. “Dessert, then. Don’t take too many of the bunches, and toss the ones we won’t eat on the ground so animals can get it and the seeds can possibly take root. I think they’re growing on the forest edge because they’re getting enough sunlight.”

  Barely. Grapes liked a lot of sunlight, from what I could remember of my lessons about them in the Mediterranean.

  She handed me the bunches and ran back into the woods.

  Kevin chuckled and pointed at a closer cluster of grape vines. “Think we should tell her about those?”

  “If she doesn’t notice them by the morning, I’ll harvest some for the walk tomorrow. What we need to do now is figure out the safest path to take. The plane can reach a maximum of twelve-hundred miles?”

  “That’s right, but the plane gets pissy once we get over a thousand miles; I didn’t hear any of the warning beeps. He could’ve deactivated those, but it’s unlikely. It’s a major pain in the ass to deactivate the warnings. It is a possibility, but considering the circumstances and timing, unlikely. The jet’s maximum speed is around four hundred miles per hour.”

  As we’d been in the air for almost two hours, we really could be almost anywhere; a slight directional change would put us off route just enough to make a search difficult at best. But why would the pilot suicide?

  “The pilot didn’t know I could fly a plane, right?”

  “That’s correct. I never tell the pilots if we have another pilot on board.” Kevin regarded his splinted arm and sling with a scowl. “Ironically, just in case something like this were to happen. It would remove his motivation to eliminate the second pilot in a situation he’d want to deliberately crash the plane.”

  “Any reason why he might?”

  “I can think of a few.”

  “Mind sharing?”

  Kevin’s gaze slipped to Melody, who was hard at work gathering deadfall. When she came over with her first load, I checked on the fish. The RPS agent’s look promised I wouldn’t like what he had to tell me if he decided to speak up.

  Waiting until Melody returned to her task, Kevin said, “I can think of a few reasons. First, if killed in the line of duty, his inheritors would have been given a substantial payout—assuming no one noticed the poison.”

  Considering how energetically the plane had burned, I doubted much of the pilot’s body remained. “Chances of the poison going unnoticed?”

  “Fairly high, but considering the circumstances, His Royal Majesty would have called in His Royal Majesty of Alaska for assistance. He would be able to uncover the truth.”

  “What other motivations do you think he has?”

  “The royal family was unable to save his daughter from leukemia. She died five years ago. Melody was one of the doctors trying to treat her. Revenge is a possibility. His wife died last year, which left him with an estranged older son. He doesn’t have much to lose.”

  Situations where someone had little to lose soured quickly. “But he didn’t appear to be a risk?”

  “That’s what’s bothering me. He’s been a loyal pilot to the royal family for a long time, and he appreciated the effort Melody and her father put in trying to save his daughter. Leukemia like hers is difficult to treat even with magic, and the odds hadn’t been in her favor to begin with. He wasn’t charged for any of the treatments.”

  “Threatened? Coerced?”

  “Also possibilities, but I wouldn’t know what
he’d be threatened over; his son’s estranged.”

  I sighed and shrugged. “Just because the son is estranged doesn’t mean a father’s love for his child would come second to protecting the royal family. If his son was threatened, is it a possibility he did this to protect his child?”

  Kevin was silent for a long time, and the man’s brows furrowed. “It’s possible.”

  “Any way we can find out?”

  “Once we’re back to civilization, I’ll put in the request for Montana to check his call logs and contacts. Kingdoms can request outside help to investigate instances of attempted regicide. You and Melody both classify as royalty in terms of the law for regicide attempts.”

  My brows shot up at that. “I do? Last I checked, I wasn’t really a royal.”

  “If your family had not been slaughtered and driven out of Florida, I would be addressing you as Your Royal Highness right now, Jack. That counts. That also leaves us with the uncomfortable possibility you’re the target and not Melody. Florida has a lot to potentially lose, and you—and your family—disappearing would not be a bad thing for them.”

  “Except they’d be the most likely culprit.” I shook my head at the idiocy of it all. “Outside of her uncle, who would want to kill Melody?”

  “The families of every patient she didn’t save with her magic, as there are a lot of people who believe that the royal family could but chooses not to. Their magic doesn’t work that way. They increase the chance of survival, but they can circumvent death once and only once. The second time, their magic turns on them—and kills their bond in the process.”

  People were stupid. I grunted and tended to the fish. “Realistically, how many people do you think could be responsible?”

  “For the threat to hold any sway with a lightningweaver of Edwardo’s skill, I could think of at least six families who lost a patient with the general wealth or influence required. I could likely discover more with some work.”

  “And among royalty?”

  “After what happened between New York and Montana, I would put that as a solid possibility.”

  “I heard there was some drama, but I didn’t pay much attention to it.”

  “A New York princess hired someone to murder Her Royal Majesty of Montana before she married into the royal family. It turns out Her Royal Majesty of Montana is the first of her line, so it was a double whammy. The princess was nullified and exiled. New York has been trying to clean up its reputation ever since, and it’s just starting to make ground, especially since Her Royal Majesty of Alaska is a New Yorker. Fortunately for New York, Her Royal Majesty of Alaska is a rather popular woman. Add in New York’s assist with North Dakota, and they’ve been doing better on the reputation front. Florida would be mad to test their luck right now.”

  I grimaced at the thought of having my magic completely stripped beyond recovery; I’d toed the line too much as it was with talent exertion. “It just seems so damned obvious her uncle is the most likely culprit.”

  “While I think he’s ultimately responsible, I don’t think he’s the one who would have done the actual work. He’s likely conspiring with another kingdom. I can think of a few. I can also think of a few kingdoms who would conspire with him at the cost of Melody’s life to sink him, as he’s a rather sleazy individual who lacks in general common sense.”

  “Dare I ask?”

  “When His Royal Majesty was younger, before he bonded with Her Royal Majesty, there were negotiations in place to partner him and his brother with princesses from Middle Eastern kingdoms. His Royal Majesty was cordially excused from the negotiations when it was discovered he was likely bonded to Her Royal Majesty and wished to have romantic ties with her; they have a lot of empaths there, so this was celebrated. The princess in question was disappointed, but that is to be expected. They want those sort of bonds with their partner, so that he fully embraced his bond was to his advantage. His Highness had no such excuse, and he’s a rather egotistical man.”

  I grimaced. Egotistical could mean many things. “He offended a lot of people?”

  “Yes, including one of the kingdoms we have an oil arrangement with.”

  My eyes widened. “The same kingdom supplying your oil?”

  “It’s a concern.”

  “Do you think it’s possible her uncle was involved with the oil tanker disaster?”

  “Either involved or the target. Both are possibilities. I’ve learned that things are often complicated when it comes to treachery and politics. While we’re all fairly certain her uncle is behind the frequency of attacks, we can never seem to catch anyone in the act.”

  “Magic?”

  “It’s a possibility. A strong illumination talent could mask such things, and Maine has a lot of illuminators.”

  “It could be anyone, then.”

  Kevin sighed. “That’s right.”

  I considered the forest, and my gaze fell on where Melody rustled through the brush looking for wood. “If you hadn’t broken your arm, I would be asking how you felt about the idea of becoming hermits and just building a nice log cabin out here.”

  “Well, the odds of anyone finding us would be slim, that’s for sure.”

  “Canada can’t be that devoid of civilization.”

  “Unless you’re in a city, yes, it can be—or a remote mining town. Canada is vast, and its population is low. There is a great deal of uninhabited land here. That makes for a lot of ground to search.”

  “And the more ground there is to search, the less likely it is to find what you’re looking for.”

  Having taken part in many such searches, I understood the harsh truth.

  “You can’t fly a plane, right?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Melody can’t, either, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is it wrong of me to insist that perhaps all RPS agents should learn how to land planes in an emergency situation?”

  My question coaxed the agent into laughing. “If Her Highness wasn’t so keen on keeping you, Jack, I’d be suggesting you give us a long list of your suggestions for pursuing, as it seems we have a lot to learn from men like you—including how to crash land a plane.”

  “You realize that whatever she does doesn’t actually influence my ability to give you a list of suggestions, right?”

  Kevin grimaced. “It’s usually considered bad form to involve the principals too much with the inner workings of the RPS.”

  “Bad form is better than bad protection.”

  “Obviously, I need you to teach a class on hard truths, Jack. You’re full of them.”

  “But would it actually accomplish anything?”

  Kevin took his time thinking about that. “It pains me to admit that I’m not sure.”

  “Maybe the first priority would be to fix that.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  Melody ferried enough wood out from the underbrush to get us through the night and into the morning before I gave her the job I wanted: to play with our cats. I spared enough time for Sparrow to make sure my kitten had emerged from the crash unscathed and trusted the princess to tell me if anything was truly the matter.

  She remained silent, but I caught her watching her cat with a worried expression.

  I refused to lie and promise everything would be all right. Hating myself for my silence, I did the only thing I could: I waited for the pair to go to sleep before doing my best to figure out where we were from the little information I had and the RPS agent’s crippled phone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After some poking and prodding with my phone, I was able to make the GPS function sufficiently to give me a rough idea of where we were. Unlike Kevin’s phone, mine lacked installed maps, but I was able to pull out our rough coordinates from the app and plug them into Kevin’s phone, which helpfully pinpointed our location.

  According to my rough estimation, we were at least a hundred miles from civilization in any direction.

  I
really wanted to scream and curse, but instead, I crawled into the tent with Melody and Kevin, picked up my kitten, and petted her so I wouldn’t wake the pair. Mr. Asshole begged for attention, too, which he received in equal quantity.

  Assuming everything went right and nothing went wrong, I could get us to civilization before Mr. Asshole’s medicine ran out.

  In my entire time in search and rescue, I couldn’t think of a single instance where everything went right and nothing went wrong. If I began listing what could go wrong, I’d spend a week writing it all down, which left me with the option of planning to make sure as much would go right as possible. Ten miles a day through untamed forest would likely be our maximum limit, especially with Kevin’s broken arm and the amount of gear we needed to haul. I’d handle the trek better than Melody.

  I was used to testing my limits, and while she was dangerous with a baseball bat, I doubted she had much endurance training if any.

  There was nothing left for me to do except get some sleep and hope for the best, which I did after making certain the cats wouldn’t be able to escape the tent.

  Morning came earlier than I liked, and it brought a bitter chill with it. I woke before Melody and Kevin, and while they rested, I handled the matter of breakfast. I built a fire, gathered grape leaves in bulk, hoping I remembered the right tips and tricks to keep them preserved for a few days, and caught another fish. Melody emerged from the tent as I was wrangling the leviathan I’d captured onto the shore.

  “That’s a sturgeon. Put her back,” she ordered.

  I stared at my fish, which resembled a bony shark from some prehistoric era, and I sighed, hauled it back into the water, and sought out a different fish. “Why not the sturgeon? She’s big. She isn’t edible?”

  “She’s edible, but there are better fish to eat—and fish that aren’t as rare.”

  I could accept not killing a rarer fish. “Endangered?”

  “One species is in decline, and the other is endangered. I don’t know which type she is.”