Cassadie uncrossed his legs, leaning forward with hands on the arms of his chair, his face contorted into a mask of revulsion. “It’s hardly a whim! Bertrada’s actions will destroy us whether or not she’s successful. Can’t you see that?”
“Our destruction is equally as imminent if she does nothing,” Rosenberg calmly stated.
“You really think that?” Cassadie demanded.
“I do.”
Before they could fall to squabbling, Bentoncourt asked, “What evidence do you have, Ernst?”
Rosenberg stood and walked away, putting some distance between he and his companions. Turning, he regarded them with his typical passionless stare. “Neither Bertrada nor Samuel will vote to accept a treaty with The Davis Group. There are no caveats or negotiation points that will alter their positions. Therefore, our presence here is nothing but an indulgence, taking us away from our nation and our people when we must remain vigilant.”
Bentoncourt ignored Nijmege’s triumphant expression. Rosenberg spoke the truth. Their nation had dwindled over the centuries since the Sweet Butcher’s assassination. Dangers lurked at every border these days. “You truly believe we cannot come to agreement with The Davis Group.”
“Samuel will vote as Bertrada does in this matter. We all know that Bertrada is irrationally obsessed with her goal. Until she achieves it or dies trying, she remains useless to us.”
Nijmege sank back down, giving her thick braid a tug of annoyance at Rosenberg’s choice of words but remained silent. Bentoncourt almost found humor at her reaction.
Cassadie swore under his breath. “Then this is the final act. We turn down the treaty now and return home.”
Though prescience wasn’t one of his gifts, Bentoncourt could see the future of that choice before the ever-logical Rosenberg spoke.
“Which will not deter Bertrada from continuing her path toward that goal. Additionally, the nations around us will grow stronger as they each, in turn, forge alliances with The Davis Group. Eventually, our inaction will put us into the position of having to dissolve our government in favor of allowing our people to make individual choices.” Rosenberg looked like a professor lecturing a class of very slow students. “And should Bertrada succeed in her goal during this stage, we will be vilified by the nation-states belonging to their organization. The European Sanguire will be destroyed.”
Cassadie cursed aloud, the words sounding foreign. It had been so long since he’d been sincerely incensed about anything that the reappearance of his temper was startling.
Bentoncourt hated to admit it, but Rosenberg’s statement felt right. As much as he wanted to curse their initial decision to carry on governing the European Sanguire without a corresponding monarch, he knew that past was past. They’d ridden the broken wagon of their government into stagnation, and he only had himself to blame. Rosenberg remained ever rational, ever stoic—Bentoncourt had to trust his fellow sañar’s position in the matter. Despite their recent friction over the question of Davis, Rosenberg had always been a stalwart and level-headed man. “Are we doomed to fail then? Fated to lead our people into destruction?”
Rosenberg regarded him. “It is possible to ‘arise from the ashes,’ so to speak.”
McCall frowned. “How? You’ve said Bertrada’s success will destroy our standing on the world stage, whether we support her or not.”
As if you hadn’t supported her from the beginning. Bentoncourt pushed aside the thought, knowing his indignation had no place in council meetings.
“We remain. We attempt to move past our differences during negotiations—”
“Playact, you mean,” Cassadie said, a sneer on his face.
Nijmege scoffed. “Like you’ve never done the same. That’s the nature of your position as ambassador, Aiden. You cannot take the high road now.”
Cassadie opened his mouth for a rejoinder, but Bentoncourt spoke sharply. “Silence! Let Ernst finish.”
Rosenberg gave a slight nod of thanks. “We continue our negotiations with The Davis Group and allow Bertrada to do what she must.” Cassadie harrumphed. “You need not support her, publicly or privately, Aiden. Simply stand aside for the moment.”
“How will that ensure our survival?” McCall asked.
“If Bertrada fails, she will die for her cause. We will suffer some consequences but will be able to forge a treaty with The Davis Group regardless. If she succeeds, it will be obvious that she didn’t have the Agrun Nam’s approval for her actions. We may suffer the wrath of our hosts for her decision, but I doubt we’ll receive serious repercussions over it. Those will fall upon Bertrada’s shoulders.”
Cassadie snorted in sardonic humor. “What’s the American phrase? ‘Throwing her under the bus’?” He winked at Nijmege. “Your supporter has such faith in you.”
Bentoncourt carefully considered the ramifications. It was true that Valmont and Margaurethe would become incensed should Nijmege survive a duel with Davis. He studied Nijmege, seeing that Cassadie’s barb had done nothing. She’d already made the connections that Rosenberg illustrated now, had already come to the conclusion that she wouldn’t live through the encounter. That knowledge hadn’t deterred her. The hatred that had burned within her for centuries had used the fuel of her heart and soul. There was nothing left but a husk. Why haven’t I seen that before? How could I have been so blind?
“Maybe we should wait.”
Everyone stared at McCall. He set his coffee down and reached out to pat Nijmege’s knee. “Perhaps we can find another way for you to achieve your goal, one that doesn’t put you in immediate danger.”
With a stern glare and swift movement, she pulled out of reach. “I’m not leaving, Samuel.”
“And neither am I,” Bentoncourt stated. “If what you say is true, Ernst, I need to remain here to deal with the political backlash, whichever way it goes.” He turned to Cassadie. “You need to return home, my friend, in case things don’t go well with me.”
Cassadie’s expression was a mixture of acceptance and rebellion. By seniority, he was next in line as Nam Lugal. Should Bentoncourt be killed in the coming folly, he’d need to take control of the council and assign new members. He bared his neck in capitulation.
Bentoncourt mentally sighed. “Ernst, since I doubt Samuel will return, I’d like you to join Aiden.”
“Of course.”
He succeeded in not growling at Rosenberg. If he hadn’t resolved to side with Nijmege in this matter the situation wouldn’t have become so dire. Maybe it was the recent accident, the pall of death hanging over everyone’s heads that colored everything with despair. “Unless you’ve something to add, we’re done here.”
No one seemed inclined to talk, at least not in conference. From the look on McCall’s face, he had much to say to Nijmege whose austere glower hinted at a serious argument brewing between them. Rosenberg gave a slight bow and departed, closely followed by McCall and Nijmege.
Cassadie lingered. “This is wrong, Lionel.”
“I know. I can’t see a way out of it. Can you?”
“Ernst paints a rather dire picture.”
“He does.” Bentoncourt placed a hand on Cassadie’s shoulder. “Whatever comes, know that I’ve always counted you as a friend and ally.”
“And I you.” He dredged up a smile, appearing more like the good-natured man he’d always been. “Looks like Samuel may have changed his mind, though. I didn’t expect him to try holding Bertrada back.”
Bentoncourt smiled, puzzling over McCall’s suggestion that Nijmege return home. “Yes, that was odd, wasn’t it?”
“I doubt he’ll get far. Bertrada has always been overzealous once her teeth finds her prey.”
“Indeed.” They said their goodbyes.
Bentoncourt stood alone, turning back to the view of eastern Portland. McCall’s desire to save Nijmege from certain death could have been rooted in preservation. They’d become tight friends since Davis’s appearance on the scene. It was only right to worry for some
one you cared about. The problem was that Bentoncourt knew McCall wasn’t stupid. The younger man had to have considered long ago that his ally had as much a chance of dying as surviving her indulgent behavior. Why would he backtrack now?
“Baltje told me the meeting has concluded?”
He turned to his wife who had emerged from another room. “Yes.”
She saw his distress and closed the distance between them. Draping an arm about his waist she held him close, letting him draw comfort from their embrace. “It didn’t go well, I suspect.”
Tightening his grip, he hugged her. “Not really, no.”
“Can you speak of it?”
He searched for the words. “I hate to say it, but I believe Ernst convinced me that Bertrada must do this.”
“Really?” She pulled back to read his expression, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “He must have been quite persuasive.”
“He always is.” They chuckled in agreement, and she snuggled close once more. “After the funeral tomorrow, I want you to return home with Aiden. Take most of the guards and staff.”
“I’m not leaving you, Lionel.”
“Francesca—”
“No.” She pulled back again, this time reaching up to cover his lips with her index finger. “We’re husband and wife. We both swore the same vows, dear heart. I’ll not run off to be kept safe and sound while you face danger here. We’re united.”
He smiled, kissing the finger at his lips. “I had to make the attempt.”
“I know. I won’t hold it against you.”
Bentoncourt held his wife, his happiness vying with the trepidation growing in his heart over what the future would hold for him and his people.
* * *
How many setbacks would he have to endure before he achieved his goal? McCall followed Nijmege down the hall to her apartment, frowning at the back of her head. Rosenberg said a polite farewell and continued on. Cassadie had remained behind, no doubt having his tears wiped by Bentoncourt as he wailed over the unfairness of it all. “May I come in?”
Nijmege’s glare pierced him. “Why?”
Exasperation in his expression and voice, he said, “Because we’re friends, Bertrada. Allies. You do remember?”
She debated a moment before agreeing with a crisp nod.
Her apartment was similar to Bentoncourt’s, similar to McCall’s own. Apparently The Davis Group had gone to some lengths to provide quality suites for visiting dignitaries yet had chosen color scheme rather than architectural layout as a means of differentiation. Typical lazy Americans. McCall had become used to the earth tones of his quarters. Nijmege’s rooms were predominantly blue and gray but otherwise an exact duplicate of his own. He trailed her into the living room.
She shooed away guards and servants alike until they were alone. “What do you want?”
“I want to know that you’re all right.” The lie fell easily from his lips. “If you continue on this course, you can’t let your anger get the better of you.”
Her gaze softened but not by much. “I’m fine, Samuel. Better than fine. This is what I’m meant to do.” She sat on a chair, inviting him to do the same.
Instead, he perched on the coffee table across from her, taking her hands in his. “Perhaps it would be best if we took Lionel’s suggestion, leave now and—”
“No!” Nijmege shot up and marched away, expression severe.
He studied her stiffness, mind racing. One thing he could count on was Rosenberg’s astute summation of a situation. The man was a literal savant in seeing the big picture. If McCall could convince Nijmege to return to Europe, drag this situation out a bit longer, the Agrun Nam could fall on its own with no help from him. It would be easier to pick up the pieces and gain total control when surrounded by his countrymen and network of supporters. Staying here, should Nijmege lose her battle with Davis, the others might be able to win through and remain in power. Somehow, he had to get Nijmege to stand aside long enough for the inevitable cascade effect to occur. “I’m not saying give up! You know I support you in this completely. But Ernst may be right. Should you survive a duel with Davis, you’ll still suffer the wrath of her protectors. You’ll not live through the day, Bertrada.”
A grim smile grew on her lips, one that didn’t soothe the ferocity in her eyes or his inner concerns. “I never expected to live, Samuel.” Turning to fully face him, she cocked her head. “And to be honest, I don’t much care to. Once I’ve achieved my goal of the Sweet Butcher’s demise, I’ll gladly accept my fate.”
McCall smothered an urge to roll his eyes. Good gods, who knew that a shrewd and cunning political animal such as herself suffered the burden of romantic delusion? “And what? Open your arms, accept death and be reunited with Nahib? What claptrap!”
His scorn drove away her smile. She tucked her chin, glaring at him. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“Oh, I understand, all right.” He stood, flinging his hands up in the air. “Your childhood was spent daydreaming about princes and castles and magical swords, the knowledge burning in your heart that love would remedy everything wrong in your life. Then you grew up to discover the world was shite, through and through, and that nobody gave a rat’s ass other than your own family.”
“Be silent!”
“No!” He walked toward her, forcing her back to avoid him. “Then you found a man who treated you well, and you convinced yourself that he was the love of your life. Bollocks! Love doesn’t exist.” Nijmege’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t interrupt, standing toe-to-toe with him. “After he died, you swore revenge. And. Got. It. Ninsumgal Elisibet Vasillas is dead, and you had a hand in her assassination. But that wasn’t enough for you, was it?”
She snorted. “How could it be if she didn’t stay dead?”
He fought the urge to lay hands on her, whirling away to resist the temptation. If he touched her, he might do more than simply attempt to shake sense into her. “I’m not asking you to stop this. If you were born to end her life with your own hands, so be it.” He swung back around. “I’m asking you, as a friend, to back off until a later date, to survive, damn it!”
The indignation faded from her hard-planed countenance. She thought he spoke from his heart, as a friend not wanting his companion to commit suicide. He saw the realization on her face and wondered whether or not fostering the belief would get him what he wanted.
“Samuel, you’ve been a magnificent supporter throughout our time together, a tremendous asset and a dear friend.” She came to him, one hand out to grasp his upper arm. “But this is what I’m destined to do, live or die.”
The light in her eye was one of fanaticism, a familiar sight to anyone willing to bolster her lust for revenge. He’d seen it often enough through the long nights of scheming in her drawing room. Over the decades, it had banked and smoldered, but upon news of Davis’s existence it had flared to a brightness too strong to be extinguished. He’d fanned that flame for months, hoping it would burn their government down so he could rise from the ashes, a proverbial phoenix leading the European Sanguire to the Golden Age.
He needed to come up with another plan. And quickly.
McCall took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he relaxed his body. Best to let her think she’d gotten through for the time being, at least until he’d had time to throw together an alternative. “I don’t have to like it, lamma.”
She smiled, patting his arm. “If I die in the aftermath, at least I’ll have succeeded in my goal.”
He refrained from registering his disgust with her beatific expression. “And I can’t talk you out of it?”
“No.” Her chin dropped, ever so slightly.
With a resigned sigh, he nodded. “I’d best get back to my quarters. I’m sure there are messages to wade through before our next meeting.” After carefully extricating himself from her clutches, he saw himself out. In the hall, he glanced back at Bentoncourt’s door, wondering if he was still salving Cassadie’s wounded ego, and fo
llowed Rosenberg’s path to the elevators.
This late in the game, he had few alternatives that would remove his fellow sanari from power. The Agrun Nam seemed to believe it was a foregone conclusion that Nijmege would die in her attempt, win or lose, but what if she survived the altercation? He had no doubt that Davis’s supporters would stop at nothing to avenge her. Perhaps it remained necessary to destroy Davis. If he could guarantee Nijmege’s win, get her out of the arena and to safety before The Davis Group could retaliate, it might be enough to destabilize their organization, at least until he could come up with an alternative to dealing with the remaining Agrun Nam.
It was too bad that luck hadn’t put one of their vehicles on the street at just the right time to be smashed. He frowned at his reflection in the elevator door. A prearranged accident would lack in finesse but get the job done. He’d have to put himself in danger, as well, to sell the idea to the masses. He made his way to his apartment as he pondered the possibilities.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Castillo exuded a calm he didn’t feel, glad for his many hours of prayer and monastic training that gifted him with such talent. He stood in the tiny vestibule of Bentoncourt’s apartment, hands clasped before him. There by invitation, he knew to his ecclesiastic bones that this conversation wouldn’t be a positive one. A guard hovered at his back, having stepped inside with him, not overtly threatening but making his presence known.
Down the short hall to his left, he heard the aide that had let him inside knock on a door and open it. “Nam Lugal, Father Castillo is here.”
“Send him in.”
“The Nam Lugal will see you now.”
Castillo smiled appreciation and allowed himself to be escorted by both aide and guard to the office. As he stepped inside, he saw that Bentoncourt had come round the side of his desk and stepped forward to greet him.
“Good morning, Father. Thank you for coming.”
“It’s an honor, sir.” After the pleasantries, Bentoncourt sent the guard away, offering his guest a chair before the desk. Castillo smothered a sense of surprise as Bentoncourt sat beside him rather than at the desk. Apparently, this was to be an informal meeting. What had changed since yesterday to cause Bentoncourt to request Castillo’s visit?
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