The Eye
of
the Wolf
Sadie Vanderveen
2011
The Eye of the Wolf
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2011 by Sadie Vanderveen
Dedicated to my sister, Carrie, who dared me to rediscover my dream,
and to my husband, Bill, for encouraging me to follow my dream.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 1
Mikayla Knight looked up from the book she had been reading and out the plane’s window at the island that was rapidly getting closer. The green hills rose through the air and pierced the sky. Rocky cliffs jutted out, crashing waves carving out stone millennia old. Tiny fishing villages peaked out from the coast. The interior of the island was green and covered with tall, leafy trees of the Mediterranean. White sandy beaches glimmered like diamonds, blinding in the sunlight.
She felt the change in air speed and saw the flaps change direction as they began their descent to her new home, for the next 3 months, the island nation of Amor, the longest running monarchy in the history of the world. China may have been the longest running continuous civilization and Great Britain may have the most famous of all monarchies, but they couldn’t hold a candle to the continuity of the monarchy of Amor, 900 years and still, the same family. She stowed the book on the medieval history of the Mediterranean in her on -flight bag and snatched out her camera. She attached the telephoto lens and hoped to snap a few quick pictures from the air before touching down.
She impatiently shoved a few stray hairs out of her eyes and slid off her glasses. She wanted to get these photos perfect. Even as she focused the camera and sweated about the angle, Mikayla couldn’t help but wonder about the change her life had taken in the last two months. Just two months ago she had been planning her wedding to Alex and moving to Baltimore, Maryland to be “more supportive of her husband.” Her world was about to become monotonous, focused solely on country clubs and children. Then, one afternoon, as she completed a lecture at Georgetown University, she received a book on the history of the Mediterranean and a mysterious message about a meeting with the historical director of Amor. Rene Dejeune, the historical director of Amor had arrived in her office in a flurry of mystery and chaos. He had handed her an envelope with plane tickets and a handwritten letter from the King of Amor. She was invited to spend three months researching the history of Amor and writing a book about the island and its history, most specifically, its monarchy. It was a dream come trye. To have the king of Amor request her had fulfilled a goal of being the only historian to gain access to the isolated monarchy. Without hesitation, she had accepted. Amor had called to her; she felt it had literally spoken her name. Its mystery. Romance. Past, present, and future. She had been obsessed with its obscure and unique history since her childhood. Amor was dark and glamorous. It was the chance of a lifetime, even if it had cost her her fiancé and her future life as a suburban housewife.
Alex had been very specific that he didn’t want her running off to complete yet another research project in another country. He had given her an ultimatum. She either was to move to Baltimore and finally get her wedding dress altered or there would never be a wedding. Despite the fact that her friends and family thought she was insane, Mikayla had accepted the job in Amor and closed up her townhouse in Georgetown. The only person who had understood had been her friend and mentor, Carolyn Shuler. Carolyn had laughed and welcomed the change, encouraging her to explore the world around her at the same time as Alex had wrenched the three carat diamond off of her ring finger, called her several names, shoved her through the door of the house that would have been theirs, and slammed the door in her face. He had called her crazy, obsessive, selfish, all of which might have been true therefore had not hurt nearly as much as he intended them to. She had refused to marry him many times over during their two- year relationship, not ready to make that commitment to him. He thought her selfish. It irritated and hurt just to think of the image that portrayed. She preferred to see herself as driven to prove herself in the academic world, but never self-involved. She wanted recognition. She wanted success. Alex hadn’t fit into that image.
She wasn’t hurt by the idea that Alex didn’t support her life’s work. She had come to expect that because she had known all along that he didn’t understand her passion for the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. No one really understood except, maybe Carolyn, whose own obsession with Ancient Greece was paralleled. Carolyn had known all along that Mikayla couldn’t settle for being a lawyer’s wife who lounged around the pool at the country club all day. It had finally occurred to Mikayla as she stood in front of Alex telling him her plan. Never once did she ask Alex to accompany her; she had simply told him she was going. She had never been in love with him. She had been in love with the idea of finally being in love, having waited 27 years to fall in love. She hadn’t been in love with Alex anymore than he, apparently, had been in love with her. It was a chilling thought to have, and at first, a difficult one to accept. Now, it just didn’t seem to matter as her goal came one step closer. She was the only historian to do hands-on research on Amor.
Now, the beautiful ivory, satin gown hung on a rack in a consignment shop and a plane carried her on a new adventure. Alex had, in the end, been just another man a string of friends and companions who had disappeared into oblivion when her career moved forward.
Now, here she was, peering through clouds at Amor, an isolationist island nation that had had a hand in the history of Europe since it was first discovered by fishermen during the ancient Greek times. It had been a resting point for Crusaders and a thorn in the side of conquerors throughout history. It was also the wealthiest country in the world.
The spires of the Secluded City poked through the clouds and thrilled the other passengers on the tiny plane with her. Oohs and ahhs resounded through the tiny charter plane as heads craned to get a good look at the city itself. The spires and turrets of the castle reflected gold in the bright Mediterranean sun while the red tiled roof looked like a sunset blending into the bright blue of the sky. The granite walls overlooked the ocean and gave it a forbidding appearance. The castle with its spires and turrets sat in the middle of the city itself, a remnant of the Middle Ages and the gothic architectural style. The ramparts were built of matching heavy stone as the walls of the city itself. A moat swam around the castle in the interior of the Secluded City. The water was green against the gray background of the castle and the interior buildings of the city. The stables, blacksmith shop, and the homes of the servants lined the walls, separated from the royal family by the deep, green moat and the heavy wooden draw-bridge that traversed the moat itself.
Mikayla glanced at the tourists on the plane who were snapping photos from the windows of the plane. Most of these tourists would never even see
the inside of the Secluded City or the medieval castle that stood tall against time within its walls. The Secluded City was a fortress designed to protect the king and his family against invaders. It was also designed to ensure that the king and his family would remain separate from the people who chose to live on the island as part of the culture. It spoke volumes of the relationship between the king and his subjects.
Mikayla snapped a few more pictures just for good measure through her tiny window before stowing the camera as the flight attendant took her drink from the arm rest and reminded her to put her seatbelt back on for the landing. She was excited, she couldn’t deny it. She had left everything in Washington, her entire life, in order to do this research project. She was unable to give up travel and adventure, even if it came in the form of dusty old books. She enjoyed her teaching position at Georgetown and had for the past three years. She enjoyed the academic freedom the university allowed her and the support she received when she was asked to help with the research of some artifact in Europe. She enjoyed the excitement in the eyes of her students when they saw proof of the existence of legends and folk lore from around the world. She enjoyed the excitement she still felt when she found some odd piece of history that had been overlooked or translated some mysterious scroll from the Middle Ages and added a piece of information to an already huge history around the world. Giving that up for a life not dictated by her wasn’t part of the by age 30 plan. Alex was gone, and unfortunately, she didn’t seem to even miss him. There was no gaping hole, just an excitement for the world that was peeking through the clouds beneath her.
Mikayla sighed. Alex just hadn’t seemed to understand that need to discover new things, not oversee the old. He also hadn’t understood why she just couldn’t be happy with the credit card he provided her and the brand new car he parked in her garage. She had liked her addiction to paying with only cash and the beat-up ’88 Volvo that she had inherited from an older sister. He also hadn’t understood why she hated sitting underneath an umbrella next to the country club pool schmoozing with the other wives of the attorneys in his firm. He hadn’t seen it as trying to buy her love or change her instead of just loving her for who she was and what she was. He just hadn’t understood her.
She could still see him on the day they had been introduced. He was tall, with black hair the color of a raven’s wing. His green eyes had reminded her of a cat, a cat on the prowl. They both attended a party for the faculty and important alumni at Georgetown University. She had just been hired, right after finishing her Ph.D. at the University of Michigan. She hadn’t been in Washington for more than a week. He was a recent graduate of Georgetown Law who had just landed a huge job in the Attorney General’s Office of Maryland in Baltimore. He had sought out an introduction, which at the time she had thought was charming. Instead of trying to attract her with some goofy line, he had sought someone to introduce them formally. He had worn a tailored tux and carried two glasses of champagne. They had danced and talked. She had enjoyed discussing world events with him and other topics other men veered away from in conversation. He had escorted her home in his limo. The very next day, he had sent her lilies. She was swept away. Within six months, they were engaged and planning the wedding of the century that all of Washington society would attend. Mikayla grimaced at the list of invitations that should have been sent out that very day, 500 of them in all. The bridesmaids’ dresses were returned and the photographer’s contract cancalled. They hadn’t known one another at all, Mikayla mused. If they had, she would have never gone out on a date with him much less accepted his proposal for marriage.
The plane touched down with a light bump throwing Mikayla back into the present and rolled to a stop on the tarmac. Mikayla knew there would be no gate here. Amor was too small and too independent to allow any large airline to build a proper airport. In fact, the tarmac they had landed on was so old, left over from World War II, if her research was correct, than there was very little pavement left and mostly grasses and weeds that grew naturally in that region of the Mediterranean.
She climbed down the stairs onto the old runway beneath her feet and snapped a few photos of the one building about 100 yards away that looked like the next strong tropical storm wind might blow it away. Its once white walls were wind blown brown like the houses on Torch Lake where she had spent summers as a child. A mossy shingle hung crooked on a single nail and its mate had long disappeared. A sign on the building welcomed the visitors to the island in French, English, Greek, and Italian, the four main languages of Amor, though she knew that the king spoke only French while most others spoke English. She looked at the grasses that were cropped short but still grasses nonetheless that grew through the cracks in the pavement.
Amor had never been one to get involved in the modern world or the concerns of the rest of the world. It had avoided most of the wars in Europe, including World War I. Only volunteers had participated in The Great War. Those volunteers had joined other countries in the effort to stop the conflict that arose out of an assassination in a still turbulent area of the world. It had only been out of necessity to prevent Hitler from dominating all of Europe that Amor had joined the war effort and provided a landing base for Allied planes during the early 1940s. Once the war had ended, Amor had reverted back to its isolationist beliefs and pushed the allies out. The only Americans and mainland Europeans on Amor were tourists with more money than they knew what to do with. Tourism and fishing were the two largest economic enterprises for Amor. It kept them from slipping back into the sea and disappearing. It also kept them from coming under Greek, British, Italian, and French control, countries interested in control of the wealthy empire.
Mikayla picked up her bags from the tarmac and headed towards the building following the glittering mini-dresses, Hawaiian shirts, and Panama hats of the tourists. Their excited voices filled the salty air with a festive music. The vans from the ocean-side hotels waited in the shade, away from the hot March sun. Even though it was still winter in Washington, spring had definitely arrived here. She slipped on her sunglasses to cut the bright glare from the sun. As she neared the building, a long, black limousine parked in front of the welcome sign. The driver stepped from the car in his crisp black uniform with his hat pulled low over his black sunglasses. He held open the door to the rear seat. Mikayla drew closer as a gentlemen wearing a severe navy pin-striped suit with a brilliant red tie stepped from the car. His patent leather shoes winked. His black hair was streaked with silver as was his goatee. He straightened his suit-coat and strode for Mikayla with purpose. He moved as if he always did so with purpose. There were no wasted movements. He also seemed to be the type to always be impatient.
He paused in front of her. “Bonjour, Doctor Knight.” He held out his right hand. Mikayla dropped her suitcase and gripped it with a practiced, professional shake. “Welcome to Amor. If you remember, I am Monsieur Rene Dejeune, the primary preservationist at the Museum of History here on the island.”
Mikayla nodded and picked up her suitcase. “Of course, Monsieur Dejeune. Thank you for meeting me.”
He signaled the driver who hustled over and took Mikayla’s bags. Monsieur Dejeune escorted her to the limousine. Once they were settled, he rapped on the privacy protector between the driver and the rear seating area. “Henri, we are ready.” He cleared his throat and looked Mikayla up and down. Her auburn hair was loose and hanging about her shoulders. She wore practical khaki pants and a white t-shirt. She also wore tennis shoes. She did not look the role of a professional historian and professor of European History at Georgetown University. She looked like a, well, a kid to begin with, not more than 17, though he knew her to be 28; and, she looked like a tourist, a poor American tourist, not one of the most acclaimed historians in the academic world. “Henri will drive us to the house where you will be staying. It is just outside the walls of the Secluded City.” He handed her a pass with her photo and name printed clearly in French. “You will have unrestricted access to the major parts of t
he Secluded City; however, you will not be allowed to enter the royal family’s quarters without permission from the Royal Minister.”
Mikayla narrowed her eyes. “I was under the impression that I was to have unrestricted access to all parts of Amor in order to make the history complete.” She tapped a practical, glossy nail against the pass.
“I apologize; however, the king is quite ill, and the family has asked that he not be disturbed. You will be able to meet with the Dauphin of Amor and of course, his son, the Crown Prince. Plus the Princess Royale and the Crown Princess are both eager to meet with you.” Dejeune watched her fingers tap against her khaki leg and noted her obvious agitation.
“I see.” Mikayla shifted in her seat and looked out the window at the cobbled streets rolling past. The buildings were so close together, it was amazing that the limousine was capable of getting through. She couldn’t imagine how two cars ever passed one another. Of course, it was just like many other cities in northern Europe that maintained their old world charm while still accepting modern conveniences.
Monsieur Dejeune cleared his throat. “Your house has an office with a computer and modem connection. You also have a telephone with a line that connects to the mainland. Feel free to call home as often as you like. All of your bills are being paid by the royal family so charge whatever you like. All you need to do is show that identification tag. The restauranteurs and store owners will recognize it as a Royal pass.” He gestured to the tag she gripped in her hand. The car pulled to a stop and her door opened. “I must return to the museum to complete some work. I shall stop by tomorrow morning at 8 to take you on a tour of the Museum of History.” He gestured out the door. “Enjoy your first evening in Amor.”
Mikayla stepped from the car and looked up at the two-story house in front of her. Its teal siding and bright blue trim seemed to smile on her. Red, purple, and pink flowers dripped from the flower boxes that decorated the front of the house. Light curtains billowed in the breeze that blew off the ocean. Behind the house, Mikayla could see the shimmer of the blue of the Mediterranean Sea close enough that she could smell the salt in the air. To the right of the house stood a steep hill with a cobbled path winding up it and disappearing in the rock wall that surrounded the fabled medieval Secluded City. She turned around and faced the street. Just a few paces away were more houses similar to the one that would be hers for the next three months. Each was as cheerful as the next. The cobbled streets wound through the houses. She knew she had stepped back in time. The spirit of adventure bubbled in her blood and sent her pulse skipping.
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