“All right. How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Actually, I have somewhere I need to be. I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to go. But as for your question, I’m feeling about the same as before.” No return of his memory, wounds healing well. He stepped past after a brief nod and headed for the staircase.
Time to get his game face on and prepare for war.
Chapter 26
The bullet missed his leg by no less than four inches.
Sander stared at Chippy with little humor and a lot of fury. More for the fright he’d given Mattias and his family rather than the purposefully missed shot. He hadn’t been able to say anything else during the follow-up phone call either, thanks to the gun being pointed directly at his face.
Chippy had meant to miss the first time. He wouldn’t miss again.
“Really? Macor?” Sander said the moment the call was over. Already he was guessing how Mattias and Leander would handle the situation; he knew they would not risk his life by disobeying the captor’s order to have Elias delivered to Macor, which probably meant they would plot some sort of ambush or use Elias as a lure. Sander wasn’t keen on serving his injured son up as bait, yet he felt certain Mattias and Leander would do something, and that made the most sense. He also knew they were probably still trying to find his current location, which would negate any confrontation at Macor if they were successful.
“You didn’t mind using Macor when it suited you,” Chippy said, obviously referring to Paavo.
“For a much better purpose than you’re using it now. But I’ll leave your mistakes up to you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though, when you find yourself on the wrong end of a gun.”
“And just how is using Macor a mistake?”
Sander declined to answer. He could have told the men that the clearing directly around the ruin was not to their advantage, or that it would make for easy picking should Mattias and Leander set up snipers. It’s what he would do under those circumstances, and he and Mattias had gone on enough missions together for Sander to know how his brother would react.
Either way, his captors would not be coming out on top of that situation.
The real question was whether the men planned to kill him before going to retrieve Elias, or after. Death was inevitable, a foregone conclusion. Latvala could not be successfully overtaken without every heir falling prey to assassination.
Not that he planned to make it easy for the men to take his life. He was even then attempting to loosen the bindings on his wrists and watching for an opening.
“Humor me,” the man said. He gestured with his gun as if that might encourage Sander to speak.
“Figure it out for yourself,” Sander replied. It was all he was willing to say.
“Would you rather I force it from you? You don’t really need a kneecap, you know.”
“But then you’d risk me bleeding out, and I don’t think you’re ready to kill me just yet.”
“What makes you think so?”
“You would have done it already. You need me for leverage and you know it. Even if you manage to get your hands on Elias—which won’t happen, but let’s be hypothetical for a moment—you still have to take out Emily, Erick, and Eliana. And what about Mattias and his children? The line of succession does not end with me and mine.”
Chippy threw his head back and laughed.
Sander waited the bastard out.
“Do you really think that Latvala will withstand even one heir removed from the throne, much less three? Let me answer for you: no, it will not,” the man said when he’d recovered from his fit. “Your death alone will rock the country to its core. You know it, you just won’t admit it. The people have loved you for years, Prince Dare, but they will abandon Emily, Erick, Eliana, Mattias, and anyone else who comes behind faster than you can blink. They’ll look for someone stable, a larger, more powerful nation to take over and absorb Latvala into the fold.”
“And I suppose you have the same plans for Imatra and Somero, among others,” Sander said.
“We do not. We are not of those countries. However, I have no doubt that a few good citizens have taken up the cause and are waiting for the right time to strike. Which will be soon, after the news of your death hits the media. You and Elias first, then the rest as we can get them.”
A muscle pulsed in Sander’s jaw. Direct threats to his children had never gone over well, especially when he was sitting across from the bastard issuing the threats. He thought he had more insight into what was going on, however, and he allowed that to distract him from the need to bash Chippy’s face in.
A coup attempt was happening in Latvala, with other countries to follow, all of which would apparently be swept under Russia’s wings should the traitors have their way. The men involved in such a ruse had already thrown their lot in with Russia, had decided that for the coming global war their only means of survival was with the larger nation. These men were not Russian citizens, not infiltrators to the country. They were Latvalan born and raised, ready to throw their lot in with a new head of state.
“Good luck with that,” Sander said.
“Put him under while we’re gone,” the man said to one of his compatriots, and turned to depart the barn.
Sander bristled. He did not want to be unconscious and struggled harder against the ropes on his wrists.
One member of the group, apparently the one staying behind, approached a small table and removed a syringe from a tray on the top.
Despite his struggles, he could do nothing as the man approached and stuck him high in the arm, sending him reeling into blackness once more.
“Did you give him enough?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he’s supposed to groan like that if he’s totally out.”
“Maybe we should stick him again.”
“That was the last syringe.”
“There are more in the house, aren’t there?”
“Look. Did you see him move?”
Silence.
“No. He’s out. You’re seeing things.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It was the shadows. I’m staring right at him and I see nothing.”
“I’m telling you, he moved.”
“You said that fifteen minutes ago and he hasn’t budged since then. Settle down.”
“Check his wrists. I don’t trust him.”
Silence.
A shuffle of feet.
“His wrists are bound.”
“You’re ten feet away. How can you be sure?”
“Are you always this paranoid? He’s not awake, the ropes are secure. Go monitor the grounds if you can’t shut up.”
Yes, shut up, Sander thought. He was groggy. Barely able to remain conscious. The argument floated in and out of his head, as if he was moving closer and farther away at the same time.
“We’re supposed to remain, both of us.”
“I can handle him if he wakes up.”
“It’s against orders.”
Silence again.
Sander did not open his eyes, did not move a muscle. His head had lolled to the side at some point and his body was lax in the chair. A metal chair this time, rather than a rickety wooden one. He had no idea how much time had passed or whether the meeting at Macor had taken place. He only knew his wrists and feet were bound again and that there were two guards inside the barn with him.
Not an insurmountable hurdle if he could just get free and rise above the effects of the drugs.
A phone chimed.
“Yes?”
Silence.
Sander strained to hear.
“Understood.”
A shuffle of feet preceded the creak of a door. Sander couldn’t tell if one or both men had stepped outside. He worked at the rope, relieved to find it loose from his earlier attempts to get free before he’d been stabbed with a needle.
Wood clattered against wood from the outside of the barn.
At first Sander couldn’t
understand what he’d heard. He tried harder to clear the drugged haze from his mind. Something about the sound was vaguely familiar. It set off inner alarm bells, but he wasn’t sure why.
More clattering and a splash.
What was that?
The rope at his wrists, while loose, was still bound too tight for him to squeeze a hand out.
Another splash, this time from a different angle.
He frowned, frustrated at his inability to think straight.
A moment later he smelled smoke.
As fast as a strike of lightning, everything fell into place: they meant to burn him alive.
An orange glow began to penetrate the barn wall to his left. Cracks and snaps filled the air, an indication the wood was catching like kindling. The decaying barn wouldn’t last an hour. Not with all the bales of hay scattered around that would act as accelerants.
Another spot of red appeared on the opposite wall. The men were circling the structure and lighting fires as they went.
Smoke began to snake its way through the interior, a sinister killer in its own right. If he had a choice in the matter, he’d rather go down by smoke inhalation than to burn to death in a chair. He wasn’t ready to succumb to death, however, and breathed what little fresh air was left while he sawed his wrists harder against the ropes.
Come on, come on.
With a sudden whoosh of flames and a roar of fire, the entire left wall of the barn went up. Sander coughed as the smoke thickened and spread. It was impossible to breathe without filling his lungs.
The right wall caught.
Flames raced from the ground to the ceiling.
Heat radiated inward in waves like a lava flow. Sweat broke out on his brow.
He fought harder with the ropes, pinching his eyes closed against the sting of smoke.
The ropes held.
He couldn’t get loose.
A sizzling hiss joined the fray of cracks, snaps, and creaks.
The hay in the loft above had caught fire.
He coughed harder.
It was getting difficult to breathe.
Stay calm. Work the problem. Shed the ropes. There’s still time.
The fire raced closer.
Snap, crack, hiss.
Chapter 27
Elias exited the cover of the trees and began his trek across the open clearing between the forest and the ruins. The black sky had given way to pewter as the hour inched toward twilight, allowing him to see the outline of the fortress. Macor stood tall and square, a once mighty monument to war. To be fair, the ruins were in decent shape despite their age, with just a few places where the stone had crumbled away from the façade.
As he walked, he was plagued with another round of déjà vu. Something about the walk seemed familiar, as if he’d done it before. He almost felt as if an overwhelming sense of fury and nostalgia were about to overcome him, and he wasn’t sure why.
It was a strange time for the I’ve done this before to return.
Any moment, a bullet might zing from the tree line and end him. Or from Macor tower itself, if the enemy had gotten there before them. Elias somehow doubted it; they’d departed the Ahtissari stronghold quickly hours before and had set up a perimeter around the ruins. Military snipers were in the trees, had been there before everyone else.
What no one knew was whether the enemy had gotten there first. Thus far there had been no sign of other shooters or movement anywhere around Macor.
The knowledge did not ease the tension gripping his spine.
Although he wore a bulletproof vest, there was no protection on his head or below the waist. His arms were also exposed. A barrage of bullets sprayed in his general direction would undoubtedly hit flesh.
He drew in a breath and slowly exhaled.
One foot after another.
Rather than think about bullets, he thought about Sander. About his family. He thought about Inari and her sweet face and how patient she’d been during the entire ordeal. Even when he’d been much less forthcoming and somewhat dismissive. He experienced pangs of regret, still, over his inability to connect with anyone but Sander.
For the king, he’d developed a small but important bond. He cared whether Sander lived or died. The man had been there, altering plans as needed according to Elias’s whim. If he was honest with himself, it pained him to think of anything bad happening to Chey as well. Or his siblings. He’d spent much less time with them than with Chey and Sander, but there was a pull he could not deny.
The changes made him hopeful. He tried to grasp tighter to the weak thread of familiarity, willed his memory to return completely.
Halfway to Macor.
No bullets yet. No sign of the enemy.
Elias scanned the tree line to each side but saw no signs of life. Not even from his own team. The forest appeared empty of people, of animals.
He walked on.
A flicker near one of the uppermost windows of the ruins drew Elias’s gaze. His attention snapped there of its own accord, his body acting on instinct.
Had it just been a bird? A shadow?
His shoulders tightened with unease. He had a sudden, crazy desire to make himself smaller and run the remaining distance to the fortress.
The déjà vu struck again. He could almost picture himself doing exactly as he’d thought, creeping up on the ruins but with intent, rather than as a decoy.
He imagined himself in other places: palaces, castles, manors. Skulking through darkened hallways with a gun in his hand, on a mission of unknown origin.
Sweat broke out on Elias’s brow.
He felt close to a breakthrough.
The imagined scenario almost felt like a memory. It was just there, a hair’s breadth beyond his grasp.
“You okay, Elias?” Mattias asked through the bud in his ear.
Elias realized that, at some point, he’d stopped walking. Mattias had said they would only break radio silence if absolutely necessary.
He resisted the urge to reach up and touch the earbud, and started walking again.
“Fine,” Elias said. He spoke the single word quietly, although no one was close enough to hear.
Again, movement in a window drew Elias’s gaze.
A bird erupted from the stone ledge and took flight toward the trees.
Just birds, he told himself. Nothing more nefarious than that.
Ten yards to go.
There had been no shootouts, no sign of the enemy leaving the trees to approach Macor as the others had hoped. Elias mentally shifted from plan A to plan B, since the enemy had not been coaxed from hiding.
He aimed for the right side of the fortress, intending to circle around to the front where a door would allow him access inside. The structure wasn’t small by any means, and the closer he got, the more imposing it seemed. He followed the exterior until he rounded the final corner.
From his vest, he withdrew a small device. Mattias had given him a crash course on its use before they’d departed Ahtissari Castle. He used his teeth to pull the pin and tossed the flash-bang through a lower window.
When he hit the ground, he did so with care for his injured arm.
A concussive blast lit up the interior, more light and sound than actual shrapnel. The device was meant to stun and disorient the enemy. Elias remained on the ground against the thick stone wall and withdrew the gun Mattias had tucked into a hip holster.
Any second he expected men to stagger out the door, coughing and shielding their eyes. He knew Mattias and their team were on the move; some were headed to the ruins, others were hunting the enemy in the forest.
In moments, Mattias, Leander, Jeremiah, and others had crept up to his spot on the ground.
“Haven’t seen anyone or heard anything,” Elias whispered to Mattias. The men were all dressed head to toe in black.
“We haven’t found anything in the forest either,” Mattias said. He gestured for troops at their flank to enter the ruins.
A stream of men, crouch
ed and running, passed everyone and kicked open the heavy wooden door. They had their weapons drawn and held at the ready.
Elias waited through the next few seconds, as tense as he’d ever been.
Shouting or gunshots could erupt any moment.
“Clear!”
That was not what Elias expected to hear.
He glanced back to Mattias, frowning.
Mattias shook his head as if he didn’t understand, and rose from the ground.
“Leander, Jeremiah, wait here with Elias,” Mattias said, and entered the fortress through the open door.
From the inside, Elias heard the troops murmuring among themselves. Mattias’s voice joined the conversation, but he could not decipher what was being said.
“What’s going on?” Elias asked Leander.
“Don’t know yet. It appears no one is here.”
“But they were the ones that set up the meeting place.”
“Unless this is a ruse and they’re attacking someone else, somewhere else,” Leander said. He got on his radio and called in a check for Chey, Emily, Erick, and Eliana.
A knot took shape in Elias’s stomach as he thought about the rest of his family falling prey to the attackers. But no, that was impossible. The others were under heavy guard—unless the guards themselves were the traitors and had waited for everyone else to be distracted with Macor to strike.
Elias felt sick.
Maybe the plan had been total annihilation all along. Instead of just going after Sander and himself, they’d gone after everyone at the same time.
Would he lose his family before ever regaining his memory?
“You’re kidding me,” Leander said.
Elias frowned. Something had happened, and it wasn’t good if Leander’s expression was anything to judge by.
“No, no, wait until we get there.” Leander rang off.
“What is it?” Elias asked. He started to rise. Leander put a hand on his arm.
“Stay low for now,” Leander said. “Something is very wrong with all this. Erick and Eliana managed to find the traitors within the guard ranks before an apparent attack. Two men are dead, and they’re holding two others for questioning.”
Latvala Royals: Sacrifices Page 13