Inner Sanctuary

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Dorst refused to reveal specifics about his recent trip except that he had been to Europe. Did he visit the Agrun Nam ? What, if anything, has the snake learned? Dorst’s flippant behavior didn’t do much to ease Valmont’s fears. He constantly glanced in Valmont’s direction, his black eyes as teasing as ever, the expression on his gaunt face declaring, I have a secret.

  Talk was suspended with the arrival of Whiskey and Margaurethe. Chano and Castillo received a request for forgiveness from Margaurethe regarding her lack of self-control. Valmont, dourly noting the lack of apology to him though he had been the victim of the unprovoked assault, found his newly formed empathy for Margaurethe fading. She comported herself as if nothing had occurred, though redness rimmed her eyes. Whiskey’s eyes were also lightly swollen, testament to the tears they had shared. Yet both women seemed calm, closer. Whatever friction he had noted between them over the last few weeks had apparently been put to rest. It gave him grudging pleasure. Though Margaurethe hated him, he did wish her happiness. His favorable feelings passed as he recalled his true purpose here, the real threat to Whiskey’s safety.

  Margaurethe’s joy would not last long.

  Before he could return to his wallow of self-pity, Whiskey spoke. “Well, I’m sure Reynhard has made some smart-ass comment about where he’s been.”

  “Most definitely, my Gasan.” Dorst’s current visage magnified the maniacal aspect of his grin. He made eye contact with everyone. “Though I’ve refrained from the horridly boring details.”

  Valmont didn’t return the wide smile bestowed upon him.

  Dorst was a wild card, his abilities to ferret out information legendary. Perhaps Margaurethe wouldn’t have to wait too long for Valmont’s death after all. “You didn’t tell us Reynhard was on a mission.”

  Whiskey shrugged. “I didn’t think to, sorry. I had other things on my mind.” Her smile was a secret one, meant to remind him of their recent discussions and outing.

  It didn’t appease his concern. He raised his chin to her. “Of course.”

  “It’s hardly a matter for you, Valmont.” While Margaurethe’s immediate desire to eviscerate him had dissipated, she still held on to her enmity. “What Whiskey has her advisors do is for her alone to decide.”

  He grinned at Margaurethe, knowing how much she also detested the spy in their midst. Her skin reddened, and he knew he scored a point.

  Chano harrumphed. “It is still polite to keep everyone aware of each other’s tasks.”

  “Very true, wicakte.” Whiskey used a Lakota word to indicate honor for the elder. She glanced warningly at Valmont and Margaurethe. “I’m sorry for not telling anyone else. I asked Reynhard to do a little investigating of the Agrun Nam. Someone there has attempted to kill me. Now that I’m an official adult in the eyes of the European Sanguire, I thought it was time to investigate the threat more thoroughly.”

  Her apology accepted, Chano murmured a response.

  Eyes alight with eagerness, Castillo turned toward Dorst.

  “Really? Were you able to discover anything?”

  “It’s not so much what I discovered as what I didn’t.” Looking at Whiskey, Dorst lifted his chin. “With your permission?” She waved for him to continue.

  He rose with poise, his leather trench coat swirling about his ankles. He bowed low before Whiskey. “My utmost apologies, Ninsumgal, for I have failed in the task you sent me to do. I was unable to locate the mastermind behind the plot against your life.”Whiskey faltered at the obeisance, though it was slight.

  Valmont swelled with pride as she smoothed over her surprise.

  Even last month, she would have stumbled far more. She’s getting better at this. Dorst stood erect at a slight gesture from her.

  “Do you know why?” Margaurethe asked.

  Dorst peered at Margaurethe. “Ki’an Gasan, I can only surmise that this traitor is working entirely alone, even against his companions on the Agrun Nam. He is a shadow, a wraith; he connects with no one who can be...impressed with the need to confess.”

  “In other words, you couldn’t use your gifts to emulate someone in whom he would confide.” Valmont’s mouth drew into a frown.

  Dorst raised a shaven eyebrow. “Of course. That’s what I said.”

  Castillo gave a strangled cough, and Chano smiled. Valmont glared at both of them.

  “You say ‘he,’ Reynhard,” Whiskey said. “Does that mean you’ve eliminated Aga Maskim Sañar Nijmege as a suspect?”

  “Oh, yes. That dear woman has far more ambitious plans than to have you murdered so far away.”

  Valmont paled as Dorst pointedly glanced at him with a smug wink.

  “And what plans are those?” Margaurethe leaned forward in her chair.

  Heart pounding in his chest, Valmont watched as Dorst turned back to Whiskey. He knows! He knows of my involvement.

  Blood rushed loudly in his ears, all but drowning out Dorst’s response.

  “Why, she wishes to slay Elisibet the Sweet Butcher all by herself, of course. Since that’s hardly possible, due in great part to Valmont’s role in our history, she will happily settle for Ninsumgal Jenna Davis instead.”

  Margaurethe swore colorfully.

  “All by herself?” Castillo echoed.

  Chano grunted. “You mean she wishes to kill Whiskey personally?”

  “By her very hand.”

  Valmont felt weak, and finally sat down. How long would it take before Dorst dropped the next bomb? How long before Whiskey knew just how traitorous Valmont’s soul truly was? He swallowed. He knew any moment now Dorst would announce his duplicity in Nijmege’s campaign.

  “How is she supposed to pull this off?” Whiskey asked.

  “Initially, she insisted on bringing you before the Agrun Nam. What with the threat against you being so recent, however, they have been unable to gain consensus in the matter.”

  “I’m surprised they’ve argued the point.” Margaurethe snorted.

  “As am I,” Dorst agreed. “But Nam Lugal Bentoncourt was quite persuasive at the time. He’s always insisted Whiskey remain here.”

  “And now?”

  Dorst cocked his head, staring at the ceiling in thought.

  “Now, my dear Ninsumgal, they are indecisive. Months have passed with no sign of threat to you. Bentoncourt continues to expound on your need to stay away. At the same time, Nijmege demands your return to your ‘rightful’ place.”

  Castillo cleared his throat. “Have they put it to a vote?”

  “Ah, yes! The democratic principle.” Dorst’s tone was jovial.

  “It’s a wonder anything gets done, honestly. In answer to your question, yes it was. Two for my Gasan’s return, two against and one abstention.”

  As the topic steered away from Nijmege, Valmont stared hard at Dorst. Why does he say nothing? He must know the truth.

  Why else would he look at me with that covert expression, if not to tell me he has the upper hand?

  Margaurethe’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Given the information you’ve acquired, who can you eliminate from our list of potential threats?”

  “The only one who I can suggest—cautiously, of course—is Samuel McCall. He and Aga Maskim Sañar Nijmege are deep in each other’s pockets over the issue of her perceived revenge. He has voted with her for your return, Ninsumgal.”

  McCall. Valmont’s hazel eyes narrowed. So that was Nijmege’s silent partner. He knew nothing of McCall save his family had quite a bit of clout. It was their political connections that had gotten him his position at such a young age. He wasn’t much older than Castillo.

  “So, that leaves three.” Castillo looked around the table. “For the record, I don’t believe that Nam Lugal Bentoncourt is the one regardless of the evidence against him.”

  Whiskey cocked her head as she regarded the priest, a vivid intensity in her eyes. Valmont felt a stab of déjà vu as he remembered the same mannerisms from Elisibet. He had seen it any number of times when Elisibet interro
gated people for information. “Why?”

  Castillo searched carefully for his words. “As you are aware, he was the one to first introduce your existence to the Agrun Nam when my...friend acted with indiscretion.”

  Valmont snorted at the delicate phrase. They were all aware of Castillo’s knee-jerk response when first confronted with Elisibet’s doppelganger the previous year. Six months after their first meeting, he’d been able to coax Whiskey’s true name out of her and had asked a compatriot to do some research. “When your friend blithered far and wide that he was searching for the reborn Elisibet’s parents in the records, you mean.” At Whiskey’s displeasure, he held up a yielding hand.

  For a wonder Castillo didn’t blush, though he frowned at the reminder of his naiveté. He waited until she gestured for him to continue. “He, of all them, has what would be considered inside information. He hasn’t used it to his advantage in any way. In fact, he’s still quite adamant about you staying away.”

  “Quite adamant,” Dorst echoed. “Though I believe he’s fighting a losing battle.”

  “What happened to that phrase your people taught mine? ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer’?” Chano placed his hands on his thighs, staring at the others. “Why not have Whiskey under his immediate supervision?”

  Margaurethe grimaced. “He doesn’t want Whiskey to return.

  He’s led the Agrun Nam since Elisibet’s murder to the present; he’ll lose that standing upon Whiskey’s official ascension to the European throne.”

  “Providing there’s proof of her right to ascend.” Castillo shrugged apologetically at Margaurethe’s frown.

  Dorst bowed to her, ignoring the deepening scowl. “Of course. But I believe his heart is a bit more pragmatic. He truly believes our people will be better off with a High Ninsumgal than an Agrun Nam.”

  “Even if that High Ninsumgal is me?”

  “Yes.” Castillo leaned his elbows on the table. “Your level of power as well as your skills, your ongoing education, and how you rule the few people here has to have been reported to him through various means. It’s no secret, and a full half of your Sanguire staff are European with families back home. You haven’t locked down communications, so they’ve written or e-mailed or called home over the months. He has heard nothing of the Sweet Butcher’s return, and everything about a young orphan with a good heart learning how to rule wisely.”

  “That leaves two sanari remaining—Cassadie and Rosenberg.” Dorst ran his fingertips over the bare skin of his skull above his ears. It was a startlingly odd gesture, as if he were tucking back nonexistent hair. “I’ve yet to find sufficient evidence against either of them.”

  “Which puts us right back where we started,” Chano stated.

  Whiskey’s expression became disgruntled. “Though we can now eliminate three of the five with some accuracy.”

  “There is one other thing.”

  Valmont glared at Dorst, knowing what he would say. He wondered if he could get away alive. Gauging his proximity to the door, he thought it a distinct possibility. Castillo was the only person between him and the exit, and he doubted the priest would put up much of a fight. The danger would be getting past security stationed outside and throughout the building. I can drop over the banister, be out the front door before anyone can react. It wasn’t the thought of mortal peril that stopped his heart cold, however.

  It was the look he imagined in Whiskey’s eyes as she realized he had bartered her life away for nothing. Again. Memory of the flash of betrayal in Elisibet’s eyes had flayed him to the bone for centuries after his deed; now he would get a fresh glimpse to fuel his damnation. He had almost decided not to run when Dorst spoke again.

  “Another assassin has been hired. A professional.”

  Valmont’s blood began pumping anew, and he slumped in his seat.

  “A professional? Who?” Margaurethe rose from her chair.

  “I do not know. I only know that a certain stranger met with a certain individual who has been known to take on the occasional assassination for entertainment. I’m still trying to locate who this person is, and how they intend to fulfill their contract.”

  “Understood.” Whiskey rubbed her temples. “Keep at it, Reynhard. Any information is better than none.”

  Dorst bowed deeply. “It’s my one priority, Ninsumgal.”

  “Does anyone else have anything to add?” No one answered and Whiskey looked at Valmont. “You’ve been quiet, Valmont.

  Have any ideas?”

  He scanned the others. Castillo was ever curious, and Chano calculating under his bushy eyebrows. Margaurethe didn’t even glare coldly at him, simply examined him as if she saw his flea-bitten soul without a microscope. Dorst’s lips curled with a hint of humor, indicating he knew too much and was inclined to keep silent for the moment. Whiskey’s eyes were warm, concerned, and friendly. She still worried for him after Margaurethe’s unexpected attack. They remained a little haunted, an echo from last night’s hunting expedition, yet despite whatever had bothered her it did not reflect upon him. He realized he didn’t ever want to disappoint her.

  “Valmont?”

  “Sorry.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “I don’t have anything, no.”

  She seemed to want to say something, but held back with the others present. “Then I guess everyone is dismissed. We’ll get back together when Reynhard has more information.”

  “Um, there is the matter of your education,” Castillo said.

  Whiskey laughed. “Well, everyone but the padre. Seems I’m wanted in class.”

  The others chuckled politely, and the meeting broke.

  Valmont half wanted to corner Dorst and demand answers.

  If he was wrong, however, it would tip his hand. The question became moot as Dorst pleaded a need to continue his task, and bowed out of the room. Previous experience held that even when closely followed, Dorst would disappear into thin air at a moment’s notice. It was rumored he was a Ghost Walker, a Gidimam Kissane Lá, though Valmont knew Dorst was a shape shifter. He didn’t attempt to tail Dorst.

  Margaurethe didn’t deign to look at him as she warmly bid Castillo and Chano farewell. She swept from the room without a glance. Valmont felt a twinge of something missing, and he wondered how their antagonistic relationship had changed.

  Soon, he stood alone in the dining room. With a sigh, he went downstairs to get his car.

  He had some serious thinking to do.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Whiskey felt better for the shower as she entered her home office. Margaurethe had suggested taking lessons here rather than the executive office downstairs, indicating it was easier to lead when a firm line between professional and personal delineated the two aspects. Elisibet’s memories supported the idea, and Whiskey had to admit it made sense. Over the months, she had noticed a distinct need to act professional downstairs. “Thanks, Padre. Pacal gave me quite the workout before I had to leave.”

  Castillo smiled, turning from his view of the river. “Not a problem. Shall we get started?” He gestured toward the seating area where they normally conducted their lessons, collecting his teaching materials from the corner of her desk.

  “Actually, no.” Despite the denial, she took her seat on the couch. She had never refused a lesson before, and wondered if she would need to push the issue with him. Sithathor had brought refreshments, and Whiskey poured lemonade from a pitcher for both of them. Offering a glass to Castillo, she smiled at his questioning expression. “I’ve scheduled time for double lessons tomorrow, if you want.”

  “All right.” He sat in the armchair, slightly puzzled, setting the stack of books and paper on the nearby incidental table.

  Taking the glass, he raised it to her. “What can I do for you?”

  Whiskey took a sip of her lemonade, then leaned back as she considered how to broach the subject on her mind. “I want to talk about Reynhard’s report.”

  He nodded, though his eyes widened at
the unexpected topic.

  “I’m hardly the one with whom to discuss it. Your have other advisors with much more experience and political acumen than I.”

  She laughed. “You’re a Catholic priest! You know politics better than I do. Besides, I need a fresh eye that understands the ins and outs, unlike Chano who’s even more in the dark than me.”

  He conceded with a grin, and she crossed her legs and cocked her head. “You’re sure that Lionel Bentoncourt has nothing to do with this new contract out on me?”

  That sobered him. He pursed his lips and studied his glass.

  “As sure as I can be without speaking to him myself.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed, looking at her. “Had he wanted to block the prophecy, he could have done so from the very beginning. He had all the time he needed to have you killed before you began the Ñíri Kurám. He didn’t.”

  As he spoke, Whiskey studied Castillo’s being and mannerisms.

  He believed what he said. Not that she expected him to lie, but since Rufus it had become ingrained to check out everyone she came in contact with on a daily basis for prevarication. Her gifts had steered her wrong only when they sat idle, or she asked the wrong questions. “Are we positive he was the first on the Agrun Nam to be told of my existence?”

  “Oh, yes.” Castillo gave an emphatic nod. “When I spoke with Hollis, the friend who researched your name, I told him the reason so that he’d use discretion.” He rolled his eyes. “Not that it worked. In any case, once our situation settled, I took him to task. He told me that Bentoncourt himself had shown up to interrogate him.”