Sister Sable (The Mad Queen Book 1)

by T. Mountebank

  “Let them tear down the government,” Remy had said. “We will move into the absence to restore peace.” A second battalion and the airborne division were readied.

  Girard and Laudin both confirmed Sierra’s President Pavlović was secretly offering alliance if Alena would declare war.

  “We have to remove Sierra from the equation,” Catherine told Sable. Girard had come to her rooms in the morning without the King’s knowledge. Sable had been gracious at first, sitting them in couches across a low table like they were friends, but once Catherine’s purpose for being there became clear, the more openly Sable regretted her hospitality.

  The intelligence chief had spent the first days trying to pin Sable down on what exact outcome she desired but did not know how to achieve without Catherine’s assistance, but Sable had refused to speak further, saying, “We will return to it when this catastrophe is over,” as though she knew from the moment Felix was obliterated, it would lead to war. A war with Alena the kingdom could handle, but the world did not want to see Erentrude go to war with Sierra. It would be devastating, and Girard thought Sable could stop it.

  “You told me the nuns want you to accept the title of Queen Mother,” Girard repeated to Sable’s menacing stare. It had become her silent refusal. “With Cloitare confirmation, you can call upon Sierra’s religious to force President Pavlović to withdraw support for the uprising. We need him to disassociate his administration from Alena.”

  Sable gave the impression she might climb over the table that separated them, and in her expression was the same unhinged mania that had sent her after Mother Vesna. When she moved her body forward, Catherine concentrated on the objective. “If you were to make an appearance as Queen Mother, you could rouse the faithful into action.”

  Sable’s eyes tightened, but Catherine wasn’t done. Days ago, Sable had shown her weakness and Catherine was determined to soften the edge. “Will you not do it for Remy?”

  Then, exactly as it appeared, but still Catherine did not expect it, Sable came across the divider. The speed of her movement made Catherine push back into the couch with a shriek of alarm.

  Sable now sat on the edge of the table, pressing Catherine’s knees together with hers. Grabbing Catherine’s wrist and the back of her neck, Sable pulled her close to the murderous question, “You would send me back in there?”

  “I would send you to hell to save Remy.”

  The honesty stopped her, but the insanity persisted. Sable laughed. “You already tried that, kitty.” She pulled Catherine to her lips and pressed a hard kiss against her mouth, then released the spymaster to confusion.

  Rising from the table, Sable walked away to give a long overdue report. “The scientist was traveling by train. He was in the last cars and I near the front. I had hours to switch the report, but then there was a break in the rails. I believe you know the rest.”

  Catherine did. It was crashing into place. Never mind exchanging lascivious comments with a nun, she had sent the Guard Dog a picture of Sable with the instructions to kill. She’d sent it after the wreck and had no idea if it had ever been read. Catherine did not want the fear hanging over her the rest of her life. She asked the question she most needed answered. “Did you receive the new assignment?”

  “I did.” Sable watched Catherine close her eyes to the treasonous act. Imagining how Sable would use it, the King’s most-clever advisor resembled a hostage with no options for escape. Sable was offended. “Catherine, you forget with whom you deal. If I were so aggrieved by the attempt, I would have killed you. I do not deliver prisoners. I do not blackmail. I was your assassin, but I never helped you enslave.” Then turning the contempt on herself, “If I were braver, or as loyal to Remy as I want to claim, I would have let your men kill me. But I wanted to live. I thought I could evade capture. I have killed far weaker risks to Remy than myself, so do not insult the shreds of my sanity with your guilt, or more properly your fear of exposure.” Sable’s madness was diminishing to calculated reason. “I have been in a unique position to know you have no boundaries when it comes to protecting the King, which makes you entirely too important for me to risk. That final assignment will never be mentioned again.”

  Catherine didn’t like it. Secrets held by people living in such close proximity tended to reveal themselves. Revelations were always worse than admissions, especially where the King was concerned. “The last mission aside, it would be better to tell Remy now you were the Guard Dog than for him to learn it later.”

  Sable scowled.

  And after Remy stopped fuming, this would also allow Catherine to shift blame for the whole disastrous outcome of the Guard Dog’s failing. If Sable had swapped the report, Catherine would not be asking her to go back into the convent.

  Catherine was about to speak when Sable shouted her down, “Do not tell me I am responsible for all that is happening.” She turned her back to accept responsibility, “I am well aware.”

  The spy chief appealed to the agent she knew, “It may already be impossible to turn Sierra aside.”

  Sable was familiar with the game and glared over her shoulder.

  Catherine threw aside tactics to say bluntly, “You know my directive is correct.”

  With some semblance of control, Sable sat again before Catherine. “I know you are right, but I don’t want to do it.” She struggled to keep her attention on Catherine and not let it fall to her wrist. She did not want to submit to any ritual the Cloitare could devise.

  The two women looked at each other: Sable waiting for Catherine to develop another plan and Catherine waiting for Sable to fold.

  Neither moved, and the minutes stretched until Sable furrowed her brows. If she agreed, she would have to put on a robe and go to the double doors. She dropped her head into her hand at thought. She imagined she would spend most of the ritual kneeling, and this made her groan. She would swear vows she didn’t mean to accept a title she loathed, and all this again at the altar where they had been once before, but this time, if they touched her …

  Catherine watched her raise her head and could tell by her eyes she was leaning into violence.

  “We may all come to regret this,” Sable announced, “but, as you said, it will be done for Remy.”

  ~~~~~~

  The King was stalking the length of carpet when Berringer and Laudin entered. Before him, sitting by each other’s side, Sable and Catherine had their attentions fixed steadily in their laps. Berringer didn’t know which between the two could drive a man faster to destroy all four of his senses in a bid to survive, but by appearances, they had joined forces so that Remy was certain to suffer.

  Remy stopped before Catherine and flung his arm out at the new arrivals. “Tell them.”

  “It seems Sable was the Guard Dog.”

  Berringer stopped where he stood, but Laudin had to find a chair.

  Remy waved it away. “Tell them what you would have her do.”

  Sable spoke over Catherine. “It is my decision. I will accept the title of Queen Mother to speak to the people and destabilize Sierra.”

  Laudin was shaking his head yes with vigor but was still wild-eyed from what he had heard upon entering.

  Berringer looked at Remy who indicated This, hand open to Sable, was the source of his frustration. “Well?” he demanded of Lucas.

  It was too much to take at once. Berringer knew how Catherine used the Guard Dog. He reconstructed his image of Sable once again from the beginning and then answered Remy’s waiting temper, “As a friend, I would caution against it, but as your general, I have to beg yes.”

  Laudin spoke with great conviction. “It would neutralize our biggest problem.”

  Indicating Sable, Berringer asked Remy, “May I?”

  Assuming his hand gesture meant proceed, Berringer asked her, “Do you think you can go into the convent without killing anyone?” It was a possibility no one had wanted to acknowledge. Only Sable and the General did not appear shocked by the question.

 
; Sable’s long consideration prevented Remy from stopping her answer. After a time, her short decision was “Yes.”

  It sounded harsh when the General responded, “I don’t believe you.”

  Sable seemed to agree. “I doubt myself as well. But if we can assume the Cloitare have moved beyond wanting to hurt me, and I enter with a peaceful objective, then surely no situation should arise to spark conflict. I will presume if their ritual does not involve my blood, I won’t complicate it with theirs.”

  “You presume,” the General repeated with scorn.

  “Remy, wait,” Sable stopped him from interjecting. She spoke to Berringer with candor, “I wish you could have judged me before the Cloitare sent me under. You would have no more liked me than you do now, but you would never have doubted me. Do not imagine I welcome this obscurity. Presumptions are the best I can offer from where they have left me.” Sable glanced briefly at Girard. “For years I strived to protect Remy’s interests, so I am hardly pleased that I am the undoing of all that was achieved. Before you damn me, remember that I could not stop this.” She offered her wrist to the General.

  It was a punch to his gut, but before he could show sympathy, she hinted at words he had heard before. “The fire does not have to burn down the house.”

  He knew the lines of his father’s master by heart: I gave you fire, but when it blistered your fingers, you tried to hide and it burned down the house. So I gave you the wind, but when it unsettled, you built a wall for it to knock over. Then I gave you water, which you tried to contain and now all your children are drowned. Finally, I give you the soil and hope you have learned how to grow.

  Sable said, “The most destructive forces can be focused if you don’t fight against their nature.” To Remy, she said, “I may be insane and unstable and everything the General will tell you, but I am powerful. If you try to contain me in this house, I will destroy it, so you’d do better to set me loose in another. Let me go to the Cloitare.”

  ~~~~~~

  In the end, Sable stopped asking. She gave no further opposition to the King’s objections, so for that, she appeared to assent, but within an hour of leaving Remy’s rooms in unspoken compliance, she went to the room of her sisters, and then shortly after, one nun left for the double doors.

  When Remy could not find Sable for dinner, Amele was found waiting outside the private halls with an answer.

  The three advisors were called back. Laudin was the first to enter and see the pile of black fabric at Remy’s feet. To Catherine, who entered next, he pointed at Amele with contempt. “It is this that most offends. They give the impression of being respectful, but that is only in posture.” To the General, who could think of only one thing that would account for the scene of fury before him, Remy said, “They are all quite capable of assuming an attitude of obedience, but then they do whatever the hell they please.”

  Neither the three advisors nor Sister Amele could tell Remy how long Sable might be gone. Sister Amele, with her perfect blank face, could not describe the ritual Sable would encounter as there had never before been a Queen Mother, and as she was only a sister, she could not shed any light on the ritual for becoming a mother. When Remy told her to go into the cloister and return with Sable, she said, “I, like my other three sisters, promised …” and here she formed silent words until she found, “Sister Sable that we would never enter the convent without her knowledge. She insisted when she left that we must not follow.”

  Catherine knew Amele struggled to find an appropriate title to use for her protector, referring to her eventually as Sister Sable, but this was not genuine. It was not what they called her. Remy only heard her refusal. The night ended in outrage that nothing had been answered.

  The next morning, the clergy told their public spokesperson that the Queen Mother would speak at the Basilica the following afternoon. As the Master and Mentor had done, she would address her adherents from the balcony overlooking the plaza.

  Lieutenant Fallon pushed his phone with the message into the General’s view, and pressed behind that, he offered a tablet showing it was breaking headline news.

  “Cursing hell.” The General started organizing security while Remy told him to come.

  When Berringer arrived, the King had his elbows on the desk and both hands pressed hard against his forehead. The General had never seen Remy’s hands shake before.

  “She said she would be the death of me, but I do not think she appreciates how.”

  Berringer hated to see it. “This is going to be a hard one to turn around.”

  “Send a message to the Cloitare that if Sable is not returned to me by sunset, I will not permit her to speak.” The King lifted his head and grimly told Berringer, “You will ensure this is enforced.”

  ~~~~~~

  As the sun began to set, Laudin was on the phone with their ambassador in Sierra. The diplomat had spent hours making all shades of promises to President Pavlović’s administration that the emerging Queen Mother would say nothing to provoke turmoil. Laudin was told it was not possible to see the street for the crowds that were gathering outside the embassy, and the ambassador believed they were of two minds: one religious and the other supporting President Pavlović, as though it had already been decided the two could not coexist.

  The Basilica in Erentrude’s capital where the Queen Mother was expected to speak had barred the doors, accepting only the clergy and Berringer’s team of security and sound engineers, but the plaza was already completely impassable, so few of the mothers could get through.

  In Helena, protesters began to fire weapons in the air. And in Ulphia, the King’s Army cut the power.

  Berringer was waiting with the guards at the end of the long corridor looking at the double doors when they opened. Sable emerged alone.

  Before he met her half way, he recognized the Stare. Her pale eyes were empty and haunting, the pupils invisible, making Berringer wonder how she could see. Her face was cold white and emotionless, and the robes seemed to emanate a chill, like she had come from a freezer. Through the Cloitare’s passage and into the main hall, he walked at her side, but he could not guess her state until she set her course away from the private quarters. He thought to guide her correctly back to Remy, but she cringed at the expected touch and hurried her steps, though to where he could not yet imagine.

  “Sable, please,” he tried again to direct her, but she flinched away, still firmly determined to pass unimpeded through seldom-used corridors.

  When he saw they were clearly going to the medical area, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

  But she said nothing, just kept her frozen focus straight ahead. There was something very wrong with her, so he did not stop her going through the first door into the clinic or the second into the treatment room, but when she punched her fist through a glass cabinet to grab the largest bottle of anodyne, he stepped in to take it away.

  She ducked and spun to avoid him, and circled for the drawer with syringes but then reconsidered, knowing she couldn’t shake him. Backing away with the wall coming close, she ripped the lid off with her teeth and poured the anodyne down her throat.

  “Mothers in hell, Sable,” Berringer cursed, and then called the doctor to come.

  ~~~~~~

  Having done what she intended, Sable dropped to the tiles. She was sitting in the first obscuring mist of the drug when Branson entered. He knelt before her while opening a bottle of emetic and said with firm insistence, “Sable, I need you to drink this.” When she did not respond, he reached to brace her head and put the liquid to her mouth.

  Grabbing his wrist, she laid her vacant eyes on him. She was still waiting to be completely lost in the fog, so she was able to speak with piercing clarity, “We are going to see your blood if you don’t get out of my face.”

  The doctor felt himself grabbed by the collar and slid backward across the floor. He’d balanced the container upright without spilling, but still, he was intensely annoyed. “General, that was completely uncalled
for.”

  Helping him to his feet, Berringer prevented the unsuspecting doctor from moving forward again. “Is it going to kill her?”

  “It was probably not enough to be fatal.”

  Berringer said, “I don’t accept probably. I can make her drink it.”

  “You and where’s your army?” Sable sounded bold, but she’d come up standing on the hem of the robe and stumbled where she stood.

  “It’s a good precaution, but may not be necessary.” Branson stepped beside the General to ask Sable, “Have you done this previously?”

  Bent at the waist, she pulled at the headdress while the Stare clouded over. “You know, my mother was a fiend.”

  The doctor watched her fumble with the fabric to free her hair. “The risk would be a reaction, but I think if she came straight here looking for it, she’s done it before.”

  “And with far less trouble,” she assured. “Apologies for the mess.” Still struggling with the length of the robe under her feet, she let Berringer steady her by the arm.

  She was trying to stand to her full height when Remy appeared at the door. In the same moment, Berringer felt her weaken and had to grab her from falling. She was warm. The frozen rigidity was now a fever he could feel radiating through the robes, but she was shivering, or maybe trembling.

  “I’m so sorry,” she pleaded near hysterical to Remy. “You were right. Please, please don’t shun me. I swear I will never do it again.”

  Remy sighed and came forward to take her. He had no idea what she was never going to do again, and there were so many things he could hope for, and though he had walked the halls to the medical rooms with exasperation tightening his jaw, he was so relieved to see her, his only thought was to hold her. He knew he would do whatever was required to make it right again, forgive the defiance, correct whatever damage she had wrought, and he imagined spend the rest of his life trying to conceal her instability from the world.