“I expect results, Kankaredes. I expect her to be put away, yet the inspector doesn’t seem to believe she is guilty, despite the circumstantial evidence we have so carefully put in place.” The Wolf blew out a stream of smoke and leaned close to the face of the Royal Minister. “Explain to me why she isn’t in jail.”
Kankaredes drew himself to his full height and leaned against the wall. “Your Highness, it isn’t that easy to make one person guilty of murder when she was injured herself. I am doing the best I can.”
“Why does she still have the diary, Antonio?” The Wolf’s breath was rank as he leaned in close. His eyes glittering in the moonlight that had come out after a day of rain. His feet splashed in puddles formed on the ramparts.
Kankaredes swallowed stiffly. “I don’t know, Your Highness, perhaps it wasn’t in a place where we could get our hands on it when we broke into her house.” Nervousness bubbled in him. “I will speak with the inspector again. I will bring him more evidence of her guilt. I will have her before the magistrate before the end of the week.”
“And the translation of the writing on the inside of the crown? You have been working on that for almost a year. Dejeune was supposed to have already achieved that goal.” The Wolf laughed softly, already knowing the answer.
Kankaredes cleared his throat. His powerful voice commanding in the dark as he answered his king. “I am very close, my Liege. I shall have it within a week.” He kept his eyes on the water beyond the walls of the castle. “I will deal with this, My Lord. We shall enjoy your coronation on the night of the nine hundredth anniversary celebration.”
The Wolf turned and moved away, disappearing into the dark. His voice was faint but still reached Kankaredes ears. “Don’t worry, my friend, I have already taken care of that problem.”
Kankaredes sagged against the wall. His heart pounded in his ears as he crushed out the cigarette and flicked the remainders over the wall. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this frightened of the person he had sworn his allegiance to, the person he had killed for. He was afraid, for the first time in his life, he was very much afraid. Afraid that there was no way out and that another life would have to be taken. He didn’t mind ruining the life of the American professor. It didn’t bother him, but he feared that his own life would be next. Once they had the stone, his life would be forfeit. A piece of him wished that they would never find the stone so that he may continue to serve and to rule as he was the voice of the King. King Andrew knew nothing about ruling this island nation, nothing of politics. The power rested in his hands as the Royal Minister. The power was what he relished the most, but he knew that once the Wolf had achieved his objectives, the power would disappear just as the crown would rest on the Wolf’s brow.
As he listened to the waves crash below and lost himself in his own thoughts, believing he was alone on the wall, he never heard the rush of feet until he was tumbling over the wall, rocks rushing to meet him as he met his fate.
Chapter 23
The day dawned bright and clear, a beautiful day with warm breezes blowing flapping flags and waving merry flowers. More tourists arrived in their chartered planes or sailing in from distant destinations, prepared to celebrate with the royal family. Prepared for the largest celebration since the millennium celebration in 2000.
A family of four, small children in tow spread their towels on the sand. The sun was brighter than what they were used to in Maine. This had been the once in a lifetime vacation that the parents knew there would be no money for once the children were older and college was more of a concern. But they were here now, with VIP passes to the royal ball on the final night. The father, his brown hair blowing around in the wind watched his wife jump in the waves with his son and daughter. The water and sun were different here than in their small town in Maine. It truly was a place for romance and fairytales. He couldn’t wait until that night, when the children were safely tucked into their beds, dreams filling their minds. He would steal his wife away to frolic in the surf, just the two of them.
He adjusted the viewfinder of the video camera and aimed it up the wall to the fabled Secluded City. He had read about this place in the travel guides provided by the travel agent. It was said to be haunted by the original king who had been killed. The legends said he was seeking vengeance when he walked the parapets on clear nights. Maybe he would bring his wife back to this section of the beach tonight, if it was fair. She would get a kick out of that kind of ghost story, just as she had on those ghost walks they took in Charleston on their honeymoon.
He tipped his head back. He could just barely make out the spires of the castle that were hidden within the walls. He was excited. He couldn’t deny it. The ball was to be held inside those walls. He would be one of the first tourists to ever be inside the walls of the Secluded City. What an honor!
He followed the wall down to the water, narrating the history that he had read in the travel books as he went. He related the story of King Henry and the Crusaders sailing in and crashing on the rocks so many years ago. He zoomed in on the rocks at the base of the granite fortress, water lapping over the rocks. Black cloth flapped as each wave washed over it.
He took the camera away from his eye and looked to the rocks. From the distance he could see nothing, but when he returned the camera to his eye, he could see black cloth beneath the water, moving with the current. He heard his wife’s voice calling him and his son’s eager voice as he raced after his father, but he paid no attention. He kept his camera running as he neared the rocks. He waved his son back as he stepped onto the rocks, moving carefully as eddies pulled at his feet. He kept the camera trained on the black cloth.
There was a splash and a yell from his wife as his camera slipped from his hand. He gagged into a hand and staggered on the rocks, slipping into the water himself. He swam, frantic, to the shore, tears he wasn’t aware he was crying coursing down his face. His screams echoed off of the granite walls as the image of the man with the broken neck, dark eyes staring up seeing nothing now that death had claimed him.
Mikayla stared in disbelief as the police taped off the beach behind the house. The family of four from Maine sat huddled in the sand, blankets wrapped around their shoulders. The man cried inhuman sounds as Inspector Harrison tried to comfort and question at the same time. The children cried also, innate fear of a father who would cry. The woman seemed shell-shocked, her arms encircling her children but her eyes staring at the crystal blue water, unsure of how paradise had turned into hell.
Will stood in the sand, not far from the police as they dragged the body from the water. He stepped carefully over to the stretcher that now held the pathetic body of someone who had once been powerful not only in rank but also build. Intimidating, now nothing. He looked down at the body for a moment, his face blank before he spoke to the officers and pulled the blanket over the face. When he turned away, his face was creased with grief, his hands fisted at his side. He moved through the sand to the family huddled on the beach. He knelt before the family. He held the woman’s hand gently in his, stroking a hand over the hair of the boy. Words of apology and condolence slipped through his lips but there was no warmth behind them. There was only a deadness that he couldn’t explain to them, nor to himself. He smiled briefly before rising and then moved away from the scene towards the house where Mikayla stood on the deck, her hair flying in the breeze, shorts and t-shirt cheerful despite the death that seemed to surround them.
He stepped up on the deck, his feet heavy with dread. He looked into her eyes, and it was written there in deep gray. She hugged her arms and rubbed the gooseflesh that appeared despite the heat of the day.
“Who was it, Will?” She asked, but deep inside, somehow, she already knew.
“Antonio Kankaredes.” His voice was bland, hiding the emotions that filled him, both fear and celebration. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “They think it was suicide. They think he jumped.”
Mikayla shook her head and let her hand dr
op to her side. “I don’t buy it. Why would he jump? He wasn’t the suicidal type.” She shook her head vehemently, her voice rising to a pitch that teetered on hysteria.
Will took her hand and pulled her through the sliding glass door. He pushed her none-too-gently into a chair. He forced a glass of water into her hand and ordered her to drink. When she seemed calmer, even though her eyes were wide, he patted her knee and sat beside her. “Luv, I don’t know what to say. I can only tell you what the police said. They will investigate it and get back to me.” He took the glass out of her hand and tipped her chin up so they were eye to eye. He pressed a firm kiss to her lips. “I have to go to the police station, Mikayla. I have to go represent the royal family on this one. I can’t stay here with you.”
She nodded dumbly, shock blinding her to his voice and words. She clutched at his hand as he pressed another kiss to her forehead and walked with her to the front door. He pulled her fingers off of his hand and headed out the door before turning back to her, worry in his eyes.
“Mikayla, promise me you won’t go anywhere. Stay here. You can go on the deck, but stay off of the beach.” When she nodded, he smiled brightly. He pulled her against him, a rough kiss igniting her senses and bringing her out of her shock. His voice was harsh as he released her and climbed into the Jeep that waited at the curb. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Until I get back, don’t go anywhere and don’t let anyone in.”
He drove off in a cloud of dust, leaving her on the porch wondering where her life was taking her and how she had ended up on this path that was so far from the one she had set for herself.
Yellow Post-It-Notes lined the counter-top, covering the Amorian family crest. They were a time-line, a time-line of the past and present. A time-line of murder and mayhem that spanned thirty-six generations, 900 years of history.
Mikayla stared down at the sticky-note artwork spread out carefully on the counter-top. Pride, confusion, and frustration filled her as she stared at the organized horrors she had put onto paper, trying to find some sense of the mysteries that surrounded the people who ruled the isolationist nation. She was proud that she had been able to remember so much of what she had read and put it into some sort of order. Confused that there seemed to be pieces missing, pieces that didn’t fit into the overall puzzle and frustrated that she couldn’t find where those pieces went. Instead of a Jig-saw puzzle, it was more of a broken vase or lamp that she was trying to superglue back together. Pieces didn’t fit neatly. Some overlapped. Some were too small. Some were missing. It didn’t fit nicely, and it disturbed her. Lessons from undergraduate classes echoed through her mind, reminding her that history always repeats itself. The sins of the previous generation would become the sins of the next generation. The only problem was, she still didn’t understand clearly the sins of the original generations.
She leaned on the counter, her eyes moving from one piece of paper to the next. Moving from one moment in history to the next. Whenever she reached the end, with the death of Antonio Kankaredes, she returned to the sailing of the Crusaders from Jerusalem. Something was missing, something she couldn’t put her finger on.
She stared at the yellow paper, bolding proclaiming the death of Antonio Kankaredes. It had been one week since his body had been found on the rocks below the Secluded City. The investigation seemed to have stalled at the idea that he had committed suicide, yet Will continued to go to the police station and the courthouse daily, following the investigation carefully, waiting for the announcement that she was to appear before the magistrate. No announcements came and each night he returned, a mixture of anger and joy that the investigation was going no further. Each night he wrapped his arms around her, loved her senseless, then fell into a deep sleep, no more midnight excursions into the darkness where secrets seemed to rule the life of the island’s inhabitants.
Mikayla moved her eyes back to the first note on the counter. The Crusaders set forth from Jerusalem. She moved on to the second note, following the logical train of thought of the crash on the rocks where Antonio Kankaredes had met his untimely end. Her eyes jumped back to the first note and settled there. The voice of King Malachi echoed in her mind, bringing forth more memories than had been recorded previously. That moment didn’t seem to be the beginning. This story went further and she quickly scribbled a new note. She stuck it on the counter and stared at it. King Malachi’s words now part of the time-line: the Crusaders steal the Eye of the Wolf from the Sultan.
She smiled slyly to herself, a feeling of triumph filling her as she scribbled more sticky-notes and added them to the broken image on the counter. She moved notes around until a picture began to take shape. Revolutions. Murder. The construction of a fortress to protect the royal family from an uprising. A mysterious jewel that gleamed in the darkness like a wolf’s eye. It all began to emerge, clearer to her practiced eye.
She held up the note stuck to her hand. “’Look to your mother’s hand.’” She read clearly and looked to the notes on the counter. She wanted to put it with the notes that reported the three markers of the sapphire, but something prevented her. She glanced from the note of the three markers to the note with Queen Elena’s name written clearly. She didn’t know why, but something about Queen Elena wasn’t clear. She hadn’t been referred to in the history’s other than as the mother of King Richard. She was a mystery within a mystery, a powerful woman with the strength to push her grandson to hide the most valuable sapphire in history away forever.
The sound of the front door opening drew her out of her thoughts and away from the counter. She looked down the hall to the guard who was posted at the front door on orders from His Royal Highness, the Dauphin. He nodded to her and then knelt on one knee as the Princess Royale swept past him, a cheerful smile laughing about her face. She tapped him on the head as she moved past, dismissing him. He pulled the door closed behind him, leaving them alone.
Victoria swept down the hall, a trail of Chanel following her. “Good afternoon, Mikayla. I thought I would pop by for a visit since my darling brother is distracted with all of this police business.”
Mikayla stuck her hands in her pocket, leaving the last Post-It-Note behind as she pulled her hands free. She grabbed Victoria’s hands and accepted the quick air kiss that Victoria offered. She twirled Victoria around and led her into the front sitting room, far away from the time-line she had been working on in the kitchen. A little alarm told her to keep everyone, including Will away from her most recent efforts in research. She didn’t know why, but suddenly she felt as if she couldn’t trust anyone.
Mikayla led Victoria to the couch before sitting across the room in the same chair Inspector Harrison had chosen when he had last visited, that rainy day when the museum crime scene had been broken into. She considered the princess sitting across the room from her, the feeling of camaraderie that had once filled her absent. Victoria looked the same as she always did, a cheerful smile and bubbly voice filling the silence. Her blonde hair shimmered in the afternoon sun while feline green eyes danced about, shining with some humor. Mikayla leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, hands folded primly in her lap.
“Well, Mikayla, we haven’t seen much of you, or my brother for that matter, since that awful day when Monsieur Dejeune was found.” She gasped slightly and covered her mouth with a manicured hand. “Oh, darling, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of those unfortunate circumstances.”
Mikayla shrugged an elegant shoulder. She said nothing, merely waited for Victoria to continue, to explain her presence. She wanted to trust this woman; she wanted to be friends but she knew, deep in her heart, that it wasn’t meant to be, just as she knew that what she had with Will was based on lies and wasn’t meant to be regardless of the pain that realization caused.
Victoria leaned across the small space that separated them and laid her hand on Mikayla’s knee. “I am so sorry, darling, for the pain this has caused you. I am also sorry for the role I have played in that pain. I didn’t realize wh
en I spoke to Antonio about your using the secret passageway into Grandfather’s room that he would run to the police and accuse you of murder.” She shook her head, her eyes wide with concern. A small tear trembled on her lashes. Delicately, she wiped it away. “I feel so horrible, Mikayla. I never meant for them to turn and accuse you.” Her tone cooled. “However, you must understand how it looks when you are found covered in the blood of the Royal Historian.”
Mikayla regarded Victoria carefully. She remained silent and tried to keep her face bland. Inside, she was raging. Her voice was calm despite the flare in her blue eyes. “I understand how it must have looked for me to be found, unconscious, in Dejeune’s blood.”
Victoria smiled warmly. She patted Mikayla’s knee and sat back on the couch. She was so glad they understood one another, that there were no hard feelings between them. “The royal ball is in a week. I expect you will be attending as my brother’s guest.” She fluffed the pillow on her arm absently. She raised an eye brow in Mikayla’s direction, innuendo in her look if not her words.
Mikayla licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. Her heart sank at the thought of her tenure on the island so rapidly coming to a close. Three months had seemed like forever when she first arrived. And, now, here she was with one week left to solve the mystery of a lifetime and clear her name. One week left to spend with the love of her life before he would disappear again into a world where she didn’t belong. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.” Her voice was feeble.
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