Not only did the gutsy girl bring them into port at the dock in Sardis, but Stasi even managed to tie the boat securely, and help him keep his feet as he struggled to disembark without dislocating his cracked rib.
“Steady?” She buttressed his left side firmly.
“I am now. Thank you.” He’d already warned her about the possibility of encountering soldiers—he didn’t want a repeat of what had happened two nights before. So he took care to be certain there was no one around. “I don’t see anyone. Let’s hurry.”
He felt stiff as he focused on keeping his torso as still as possible, while at the same time, practically running down the dock. He’d arranged for his father to meet them with a car, and was pleased to see yellow running lights illumine, fade, and then illumine again—his father’s signal that the coast was clear.
A small hand took his, and Staci tugged him in the direction of the car. She knew the signal, but her sudden touch still surprised him, not only with the trust it communicated, but by the thrill he felt holding her hand.
Stasi practically dived into the backseat, and Kirk managed to clamber in after her without upsetting his injury. Stasi had done a wonderful job binding his ribs.
As he gingerly eased back to grab the door and pull it shut, Stasi reached across him and closed it for him. She gave him an understanding smile as she settled back into her seat.
His heart gave a funny leap, which he realized had nothing to do with the tight bands that compressed his chest and everything to do with the woman who’d tied them. He needed to keep a clear head.
“Your mother has something to show you.” Albert Covington spoke from the front seat as he pointed the car up the familiar roads toward the palace.
“Is it good or bad?” Kirk couldn’t tell from his father’s tone.
“We’re not sure. Hopefully Her Highness will be able to answer that question.”
Kirk wasn’t sure what his father meant being so mysterious, but he figured he wouldn’t have long to wait. Already the car approached the side gates of the palace grounds, which his father opened via remote control.
“Are you sure we’ll be safe this close to the palace?” Kirk clarified.
His father pointed the car through the open gates without flinching. “As you said yourself, most Lydians are loyal to the crown. The insurgents can’t go after all of them. If we keep our heads down, there’s no safer place than right here inside the palace walls.”
Between the Covingtons’ small garage and their cottage, a row of pine trees shielded the walkway from view. Between that and the midnight darkness, Kirk and Stasi made it into his parents’ kitchen without any difficulty.
“Kirk!” Theresa Covington jumped up from the kitchen table and reached for him.
Raising his hands to ward her off, Kirk managed to avoid an embrace that would only bring pain to his injured ribs.
His mother turned her attention instead to Stasi, wrapping the petite princess in her motherly embrace while shaking her head disapprovingly at Kirk. “You look awful. What have they done to you?”
Though his shirt covered the worst of his injuries, Kirk believed his mother’s assessment of his appearance. “It’s a long story. I’m more interested in hearing if there’s any news. Where’s Isabelle?”
“As far as anyone knows she’s still in town, but there’s been no news since her brief appearance at Parliament this morning.” His mother gave Stasi an apologetic look, obviously finding the whole situation regrettable. “Word is, she was taken to the American ambassador’s residence.”
“Ambassador Valli?” Stasi looked indignant. “Isabelle can’t stand Valli. He arranged her engagement to that awful Greek billionaire, and then maligned her when she broke it off. What is she doing staying at his residence?”
Albert and Theresa Covington exchanged worried looks. Theresa shook her head. “We don’t know. Your sister may be in an awful fix.”
“And we still don’t know who’s behind the attacks?” Kirk clarified.
“Dozens of rumors and theories, but nothing that’s been substantiated.” Albert turned to his wife. “Should we show them?”
“Yes!” Theresa practically leaped through the doorway to the dining room to the locked drawer of the china cabinet. She pulled a key from her pocket, opened the drawer and gingerly removed a paper-bound package, presenting it to Stasi with a solemn expression.
“This arrived earlier today, express from Milan. See the date?”
Kirk squinted over Stasi’s shoulder at the code that revealed the date and time the package was mailed. “The evening of the attacks?”
His mother nodded. “And see who it’s addressed to?”
“Genevieve Watkins?” Stasi read aloud, the name obviously unfamiliar to her.
His mother gave them a knowing look. “Watkins was Queen Elaine’s maiden name.”
“And Genevieve?” Kirk asked.
“Philip wanted to name their fourth child Genevieve. Elaine wanted to name her Anastasia, but she was going to go along with what Philip wanted. Then, when she almost died giving birth, Philip decided to follow his wife’s wishes and call her Anastasia after all.”
Kirk wasn’t completely certain he followed his mother’s explanation, though it sent a creeping fear up the back of his neck. “I don’t understand. Who sent the package?”
“Who could have sent it? I believe it came from the queen.”
SIX
“My mother?” Stasi tried to ignore the sudden hammering of her heart. “You think she may have survived the attack?”
Theresa pointed to the name on the package. “What else could this mean?”
Stasi shook her head. “You think I’m Genevieve Watkins?” She’d heard the woman’s explanation, but it was all too far-fetched for her to believe—especially after all the disappointments she’d suffered of late.
But Kirk’s mother nodded solemnly. “Elaine knows I handle the royal mail, so she no doubt knew I would be the one to sign for the package. Albert and I may be the only people besides the king and queen themselves who were aware Philip had intended to name you Genevieve.”
“Why don’t you open it?” Kirk suggested.
Nodding, Stasi carefully undid the tape, trying her best not to tear anything. She was almost afraid to see what was inside. After several layers of thick brown paper, she came to several more layers of tissue paper. Once she peeled them back, she nearly screamed.
“What is it?” Kirk asked.
It took Stasi a moment to answer. Could it be? It didn’t seem possible. Yet the diamonds and teardrop amethysts twinkled up at her with the utmost sincerity. She held the package open for everyone to see. “The crown jewels. My mother was planning to wear them to the state dinner.”
The sky lurched above her and her vision blurred.
“Sit down.” Kirk’s voice cut through the rushing sound in her ears, and he pulled out a kitchen chair behind her. “Breathe. Slowly.” He took the package from her and placed it open on the table.
Stasi did as she was told, realizing only as the world began to right itself that she’d very nearly fainted. “No. No. No.” It took a moment longer before she recognized the stammering voice as her own. Her eyes focused on ceiling above them. She couldn’t look at the crown jewels. Not yet.
“Your mother was wearing them,” Theresa assured her. “I helped her clasp the necklace myself.”
“No. It can’t be.” Stasi managed to look at the jewels again. “They don’t show any sign of trauma. There’s no damage.” She picked up the necklace her mother had supposedly been wearing at the time of the attack two days before and turned over the central jewel to reveal the hidden locket on the back plate, which she snapped open with her thumbnail, revealing the key that always hung t
here, undisturbed in its hiding place. If anyone had tried to create a replica of the royal jewels from a photograph, they wouldn’t have known about the hidden locket or the secret key concealed inside. Yet it didn’t seem possible that the necklace could have survived. “There’s not even a scratch on them.”
Kirk looked at her patiently. “Your mother had to have sent them.”
Stasi struggled to wrap her head around the idea. Her mother. Alive. In Milan? “But you saw the blasts. You saw them hit the motorcade. It’s possible someone may have survived, but for their jewelry to look like it was just pulled from its case?” She shook her head. “Don’t forget—I studied gemology. I took an entire course on the indicators of wear and use. These are in perfect condition.”
“Well then.” Theresa’s voice sounded far too cheerful. “Your mother must be in perfect condition, too.”
“In Milan?” Granted, her mother loved the town, and Stasi visited there often. “Why there, when all of us are struggling to sort out this mess over here? What’s she doing in Milan?”
“Apparently trying to contact you.” Albert picked up the brown wrapper the jewelry had arrived in, and smoothed out the label that bore the palace address. “And going to great lengths not to be found out.”
“There’s got to be a note.” Stasi sifted through the tissue paper. “She’s got to have sent some form of instruction.” Her search became more frantic as she turned over every bit of paper in the package and found nothing.
Theresa let out a labored sigh over her shoulder. “She can’t have risked it. Don’t you see? She couldn’t be certain these would reach you. If a message fell into the wrong hands…”
“You’re right,” Albert agreed with his wife. “There won’t be a message. The jewels are the message.”
“Oh!” Theresa gasped. “Stasi, you studied jewels in college. Your mother must have known you’d understand.”
Stasi blinked down at the teardrop gems. “Teardrops.” She touched the shapes reverently, “For tears. For mourning. I asked my mother once why the crown jewels of our nation are in the shape of teardrops.”
“Why?” Theresa urged.
Exhaling a slow breath, Stasi struggled to keep her voice steady. “On Easter morning, Mary Magdalene wept at the tomb of Jesus. Jesus appeared to her himself, alive, and her tears of mourning were turned to tears of joy. That is why the crown jewels of Lydia bear the teardrop form. Our people live in the joy of the risen Lord.”
Kirk cleared his throat. “Your mother is telling you she’s alive, then? And not to weep or mourn or lose hope?”
Stasi shook her head. “But why would she send them to me? How did she know I survived the attack? How could she risk letting the most valuable jewels in the kingdom fall into the wrong hands?”
“Perhaps she didn’t know you’d survived the attack,” Albert suggested. “Perhaps she simply hoped you had.”
“She may have had no other choice.” Kirk rose to standing and began to pace. “She must have felt the risk of mailing them was less dangerous than keeping them with her.”
“But why?” Stasi couldn’t sort it out.
“What else do the crown jewels signify?” Theresa asked.
“The monarchy.” Stasi pointed out the most obvious thing. “When my father was crowned king and my mother queen, she was crowned with this tiara.” Stasi lifted it from the nest of tissue paper and stiff cardboard that had protected it in transit.
“You don’t think?” Kirk looked back and forth between his parents.
It took Stasi a moment to guess what he was thinking. “You don’t think, by sending these, she’s telling us she’s abdicating?”
“I pray not.” Kirk spun around and found his mother’s laptop at the workstation in the corner of the kitchen. He quickly searched for news on the situation in Lydia, while explaining to Stasi, “Your mother doesn’t have ruling power anyway. Hers is a token title because she married your father. For her to abdicate means little.”
He found the latest headlines on the Lydian events and clicked on one that covered Isabelle’s meeting with Parliament that morning. He scanned the first few paragraphs and let out a frustrated breath.
“What?” Stasi rested her gentle hands on his shoulders as she peered past him at the screen. “Is it about the crown?”
“Yes. Parliament cannot meet or conduct official business without the authority of the crown. With your father gone, they’re pressing to crown someone else.”
“Someone else? But there are rules of succession. It has to be a direct descendent of Lydia—the founder of the church of Lydia from chapter sixteen of the Book of Acts in the Bible. It has to be one of us. Thad was next in line after my father. With him gone, my brother Alexander would be next, and Isabelle after him, and lastly me. Why didn’t Parliament just crown Isabelle when she was there earlier today?”
“That’s just it.” Kirk highlighted a relevant paragraph for Stasi to read. “Your great-grandfather, Alexander the Third, had an older half-brother, Basil. Basil’s mother died when he was born, but their father was the prince and heir to the throne, so both sons are legitimate descendants of Lydia.”
“Basil abdicated.” Stasi’s long curls brushed the side of Kirk’s face as she shook her head adamantly. “He ran off to America and married a Greek actress, and died a few years later. Once a ruler abdicates, their claim to the throne is dissolved, and the line of the new ruler is followed. There’s no jumping back and forth.”
Kirk highlighted the next paragraph and waited for Stasi to catch up.
“No,” she protested. “They’re calling Basil’s abdication into question? His descendants claim theirs is the rightful line?” Her fingers gripped Kirk’s shoulder tightly.
“Basil had a daughter who had three sons.” Kirk spun his chair around to face her. “If their claim is correct, Basil’s grandsons would be next in line to the throne.”
Stasi shook her head. “With my father gone…”
“But he’s not gone.” Albert dangled a teardrop amethyst earring in front of both of them. “Don’t you remember the teardrops? Mary Magdalene wept because she thought Jesus was dead. But he wasn’t dead. That’s the message. They’re not dead.”
Stasi looked from the twinkling gem to Kirk and back to the laptop screen. “What is Parliament going to do?”
Kirk clicked back to the page of headlines. Already a new headline screamed at them from the top of the list.
Lydian Coronation Scheduled
With a sinking heart he opened the article and read aloud, “‘In the absence of King Philip, Parliament has scheduled the coronation of the new Lydian King, Stephanos Valli, for ten o’clock tomorrow morning, Lydian time.’” Kirk glanced at the clock. “That’s in ten hours.”
“Stephanos Valli?” Stasi protested. “The American ambassador? Why him?”
Kirk swallowed. “He’s Basil’s grandson.”
Stasi met his eyes. “What? Why has he been serving as ambassador all this time if he thought he was in line with the throne? Why come out with all this now? He’s got to be in league with the insurgents.”
“I don’t doubt that he is. If his claim was legitimate, he should have brought it up with your whole family here. If he’s waited until your family was out of the picture to come forward, I can’t help but think his claim lacks legitimacy. We can’t let the coronation move forward.”
“But what can you do?” Theresa wailed from behind them. “You can’t change the mind of Parliament. Your sister already tried. She met with Parliament, and they’re still planning to crown Valli.”
“But he’s got to be behind this mess.” Albert still had the earring, and waved it about for emphasis. “He’s been plotting things for years, with those engagements, and knowing all this time that he was descende
d from the reigning line. He knew Philip was the only one standing between him and the crown. Don’t think he’s not the one who tried to knock him off.”
Stasi plucked the earring from Albert’s waving hand. “There’s only one person who can challenge Valli’s right to rule. My father.” She clutched the little earring and stared at it. “If he’s not dead, we’ve got to get him and bring him back.”
“But where are you going to find him?” Theresa asked.
“Milan.” Stasi pointed to the postmark on the brown paper packaging.
“But it’s a city of over a million people,” Albert objected. “And you don’t even have a return address. All you’ve got is a postmark.”
Stasi gave them all a desperate look, and for a moment, Kirk was afraid she might cry.
He stood and cupped her shoulders in his hands. “You know the city. You know their haunts. Can you find them?”
She met his eyes and the trust in their dazzling blue depths took his breath away. “I think I can.”
“But how are you going to get there?” Theresa asked. “It’s over a thousand kilometers across the Adriatic Sea, and then over a hundred more kilometers by land. Even if you could sail there, you’d never make it before the coronation.”
A familiar thrumming sound stole Kirk’s attention, and he crossed the room to the back door, opening it and looking outside.
“What is it?” Stasi poked her head out next to his arm.
“It’s a helicopter. It must be beyond those trees—somewhere in the vicinity of Idyllia Park, I’d guess.”
“Wait!” Stasi grabbed his arm. “A helicopter.”
Distracted as he was by the closeness of the princess and the emotions she stirred up every time she touched him, Kirk could only ask, “What about it?”
“A helicopter would get us to Milan quickly.”
“If it had the fuel capacity. Milan is a long way for a helicopter to fly. Even straight as the crow flies it’s a thousand kilometers.”
“The royal helicopters can make it. Mother and I regularly made the trip without stopping to refuel. Father special ordered the helicopters with that very trip in mind.”
Protecting the Princess Page 8