They filed through to a living room where colorful knitted afghans covered aging furniture. “Have a seat.” Darrel lowered himself into a desk chair in front of a sleek computer, which looked out of place amid the homey clutter. “Now, what brings you halfway across the globe?”
“I’ve come for mother’s journal. She told me she left it here on her last visit.”
“Ah.” Her grandfather shuffled under a stack of magazines and papers, then held out a silver notebook-size hard case. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
“Yes, that’s it. Thank you.” Stasi reached for the locked case. “I’m surprised she left it behind here. She’s very protective of it.”
“Funny thing about that.” Her gramma bustled about, fluffing pillows and clearing away books to make space for everyone to sit. “We didn’t even know it was here until Grampa found it under a pile of books. She must have hid it under there.”
“You’re sure things didn’t get placed on top of it by accident?”
“Not possible.” Her grandfather shook his head solemnly. “This may look like a room in disarray to you, but I know when I’ve touched each of these piles. These are strata of research. Her journal was among things I haven’t moved in six months. No one had touched that pile.”
Stasi felt the hairs rise on the back on her neck. She knew her grandfather was quite particular about his peculiar organization methods. The man was quirky, but brilliant. Thad had inherited his knack for inventions from him.
Stasi turned the metal case over in her hands. “Do you think she left it for you to find?”
“Yes.” Her grandfather met her eyes. “The question is why?”
The lock on the back of the case held a tiny keyhole. Stasi squinted at the miniscule engraving under the lock: Mt 16:19.
“Do you have a Bible?” she asked her grandparents.
“Of course.” Her grandmother laughed. “Which version would you like?” Lois Watkins climbed onto a stool to reach a high shelf and handed down a leather-clad volume to Kirk.
“Matthew chapter sixteen, verse nineteen,” she requested.
He flipped through the pages and read. “‘I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.’” He looked up and met her eyes. “What does it mean?”
Stasi had toted her carry-on bag in over her shoulder, and now rummaged around in the small duffel until she found the securely wrapped package that held the crown jewels. She’d left her sapphire set with Giovanni, but thankfully, hadn’t wanted to leave the crown jewels in the same city her mother had gone to so much trouble to mail them from, so they’d been safely stowed away in her bag the whole time.
She turned over the central stone of the necklace and clicked open the hidden locket on the back plate. When she lifted out the tiny key, engraved letters stared back at her: Mt 16:19.
Stasi fumbled with the key and nearly dropped it.
Kirk’s steady hand covered hers. “Are you okay?”
“It’s the same verse.” She showed him, and pinched her eyes shut. Though she knew the key would open the journal, the echoing verses touched a vulnerable spot on her heart. If her mother had left the book behind on her last trip months before, she must have known even then that something was afoot. Stasi pressed the key into Kirk’s hand. “Can you do it?” Her fingers shook so much, she was afraid she might drop the key and lose it amid the clutter of her grandparents’ house.
With a solemn look, Kirk took the key and undid the lock, opening the hard-bound book to reveal pages and pages of her mother’s handwriting.
Stasi bit her lip and looked up.
“I’d best tend to the jam,” her grandmother said, shuffling off toward the kitchen. “And don’t you worry about helping me with the pancakes. Looks like you’ve got reading to do.”
Her grandfather stood as well, and addressed Kirk. “How about I give you the nickel tour?”
“Sure.” Kirk followed him through the room, but paused as he passed by Stasi’s chair. His gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?”
Stasi tried to give him her most reassuring smile. “I hope so. Don’t go too far, okay?”
The pancakes and strawberry syrup tasted delicious, but Kirk couldn’t get over the haunted look in Stasi’s eyes. She’d told her grandparents bits and pieces of their adventures, but no one asked about the contents of the journal, and Stasi didn’t bring it up. He could tell from the bookmark partway into the volume that she hadn’t finished reading yet.
Kirk helped the Watkinses with the dinner dishes and a few chores around their small farm. The place made him chuckle—stubbornly unchanged from the way it had been when they’d raised their seven children, except for a few outstanding expensive items that Queen Elaine had given them as gifts—including the computer in their living room, and an Aston Martin convertible they kept parked in one of the barns.
“I prefer to drive my truck.” Darrel Watkins pointed to a rusty Chevy parked near the house. “But I take this little buggy around the pasture every week or two, just to keep her running good.”
The high-performance vehicle looked as though it had been neatly polished recently, save for a trail of dusty paw prints that scampered across the hood. Kirk tried not to cringe.
After his tour of the farm, Kirk returned to find Stasi hugging her knees in a corner of the sofa, her mother’s journal inches from her nose. “How’s it going?”
“Awful.” She put the book down and motioned for him to sit beside her.
“Have you finished reading it?”
“Not quite, but I’m not sure I want to.” Tired lines under her eyes made her look older. She leaned toward him and rested her chin on his shoulder. “I don’t want to know the things I know. When Thaddeus said our father made a deal with the devil, he wasn’t kidding.”
“Who’s the devil?”
Stasi shrugged. “Mom only refers to him with a number, 8.”
“So what’s the deal?”
“I don’t think Dad ever explained it all to Mom, but I get the impression Dad was selling the crown.”
“Auctioning the royal jewels?”
“If only. His royal authority, all his power—it’s not clear whether he sold them straight out, or if they were held in lien against a debt.”
“And the debt?”
“I don’t know. If it’s a monetary amount, it’s got to be a big one. Maybe the whole national debt.”
“I didn’t realize Lydia had a national debt.”
“Neither did I.” Stasi lifted her head from his shoulder, and Kirk immediately missed her. But she picked up his hands instead. A tear slipped from her cheek.
Kirk instinctively reached up and wiped it away. “Hey, now,” he soothed, “don’t lose hope. I don’t think your mom left that book here just to depress you. She gave you the key for a reason.”
“What reason?”
“Because she thought you could help?” Kirk wasn’t sure of his answer, but it seemed to be the only thing that fit.
“So, my dad spent the last six or more years selling the country to the devil, and now I’m supposed to fix it all by myself?”
“Not by yourself.”
“It’s too big.” Stasi shook her head. “I don’t want to be a princess anymore, Kirk. If our parents had never gone to Lydia, you and I would just be two regular folks. Can’t we just hide out here? Can’t we just be normal people?”
A strange, swirling hope began in the pit of Kirk’s stomach. If Stasi wasn’t a princess anymore, then she wouldn’t be off-limits to him. “But we can’t just leave your family in the lurch. What would happen to your parents and siblings? What would become of Lydia?”
Stasi had inched herself closer as they’d talked, and now she perched on the couch, leaning so close to him they were nearly nose to nose. “If we can get this sorted, will you help me run away?”
She was too close, her strawberry-scented breath too sweet. His heart thumped out a deafening plea in his ears. “What do you mean?”
“You helped Thad run away. Can’t you take me somewhere?”
“Take you and leave you?”
“Come with me.”
“Run away with you?”
“Your parents ran away together.”
Her offer hung in the air between them, like temptation dangled on a hook. Kirk thought of a million protests. His parents’ decision to run away and get married had torn their families apart. And he’d gone on trial for murder for helping her brother leave. “Stasi, you’re not suggesting—”
The look in her eyes changed to one of longing. It took him less than a second to guess what she was about to do, leaving him another three seconds to try to stop her.
He didn’t try to stop her.
Her lips brushed against his tentatively, then pulled closer in a heady swirl of emotion. He’d dreamed of kissing her, but no dream could match the reality of what he felt in that moment. All the feelings he’d tried to deny for so long could no longer be ignored, and everything he’d tried to convince himself she couldn’t possibly feel, she convinced him she most certainly felt.
“Stasi.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, warring between drawing her closer and pushing her away. He could have kissed her forever, but he knew it wouldn’t stay just a kiss.
He pulled back. “Stasi, we can’t. I can’t. You’re a princess.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think running away from a problem makes it go away. It only makes it worse.”
Stasi deflated back, away from him, her expression sorrowful. “I suppose you’re right.”
As the cool air passed between them, Kirk found himself immediately missing her. Was he right? He wasn’t entirely convinced he was.
After the last page, Stasi closed the journal with a sigh and went to find Kirk. He’d slunk off after their kiss, but she’d heard him go out the back door, and never heard him return.
She found him sitting at the picnic table, watching the sunset color the sky in a palate of pink, purple and orange.
“Where are Gramma and Grampa?”
“They headed to the grocery store. I think we drank up the last of their milk at supper.”
“Oh.” Stasi felt a twinge of guilt, but in the scope of everything else she was dealing with, running out of milk was nothing. “I finished the journal.”
“Learn anything?”
“I think I know why my room was broken into.”
Kirk sat up straight. “Why?”
“The same reason my mother sent me the crown jewels. Someone was looking for something. A piece is missing from the crown jewels—has been for years. Eight wants it.”
“What is it?”
“Have you ever heard of the scepter of Charlemagne?”
A strange look crossed over Kirk’s face. “Why?”
“Ever since the days of Charlemagne, every ruler of Lydia has, as a part of his or her coronation, signed their name to the charter that is stored inside the scepter. If they don’t possess the scepter, their rule isn’t valid.”
“So, whoever has the scepter…”
“Whoever has the scepter could conceivably determine who becomes the next rightful ruler. And this whole mess in Parliament, trying to sort out which is the rightful reigning line, could be determined by looking at the charter. If my father or his father didn’t sign it, for any reason, their reigns could be deemed invalid. That would strengthen the case for Basil’s line, and Valli or one of his brothers could be crowned.”
“So, no one knows where the scepter is?”
“No. The kings have always kept it hidden. But, according to mother’s journal, my father doesn’t have it anymore.”
Kirk let out a long, slow sigh. “Do you know what it looks like?”
“I saw it at my father’s coronation, after my grandfather died.”
“Is it about this long?” He held out his hands half a meter apart.
“Yes.”
“All inlaid with gold and silver and amethysts, with a small replica of your father’s crown on top, topped with a cross?”
Stasi’s heart hammered inside her as Kirk described the item perfectly. “Yes.”
With his elbows planted on his knees and his back bent low, Kirk hung his head, for a long time avoiding looking at her.
“How do you know what it looks like?” she asked him finally.
“Your brother showed it to me.”
“Where? When?”
“Six years ago. Thad took it with him when he ran away.”
“So where is it now?”
“I’m not sure. He might still have it with him. Or it might be hidden somewhere on Dorsi.”
Stasi fairly panted. “Can we call him and ask where—”
“We can’t risk it,” Kirk cut her off with finality. “We cannot mention it aloud, certainly not over the phone. Wherever he hid it, you can be certain it’s safe. If we go messing around, we could give away the hiding place. No, it’s only safe as long as we never speak of it again.”
“Then what can we do?”
“Did your mother’s journal tell you anything else?”
“At the very end, after the regular entries, she jotted a phone number. Judging by the area code it’s in New York City.”
“Just the number—nothing to identify it?”
“It was accompanied by one word. Sanctuary.”
For a long time, Kirk mulled her revelation in silence. “What do you suppose it’s for?”
“I don’t know. Mother left the journal here six months ago. The phone number may be years old. It could be anything.” She yawned, deep exhaustion catching up with her in spite of the rapid beating of her heart. “For now, I need my sleep. We both do.”
Her grandparents had plenty of guest rooms, and had shown Stasi and Kirk where they would be staying on opposite ends of the house. Wishing Kirk a good night, Stasi headed for bed, and hoped the new day would bring new answers.
Stasi slept hard, and awoke early the next morning to the sound of the ringing phone. She could hear her grandmother answer the call.
There was a pause, and then her grandmother shouted, “Elaine! Elaine!”
Leaping from the bed, Stasi grabbed the robe that hung from the hook on the back of the bedroom door, threw it on, and ran to where her grandmother stood by the phone, a frantic expression on her face.
“Gramma? What was it?”
“That was your mother on the phone,” Lois Watkins explained as Kirk ran out from his room in a too-small robe. “She didn’t introduce herself, but I recognized her voice.”
“What did she say?”
“They traced Kirk’s credit card to the rental car. You’ve got less than a half an hour. Run. They’re on their way.”
“Who? They’re coming here?”
“I don’t know. That’s all she said. I would guess they’d be coming here.”
“We have less than half an hour?” Stasi looked around frantically. She’d showered the night before. But she needed to dress, and they needed to plan. “What are we going to do?”
ELEVEN
“You can drive the Aston,” Darrel Watkins offered, shoving a set of keys at Kirk.
“That’s a generous offer—” Kirk began, hesitant to borrow the expensive vehicle.
“It’s not an offer. You’re taking it and you’re leaving in the
next five minutes. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll take that rental car of yours into Covington. The rental company has an office there.”
“No, Grampa, it’s too dangerous,” Stasi objected.
Darrel dismissed his granddaughter’s concerns with a wave. “Bah! Nothing to it. Your gramma can follow in the truck and pick me up. And if anyone does try to follow us, I’ll lead them on a wild-goose chase.”
Kirk wanted to object, as well, and insist that Darrel and Lois would be safer hiding out at home, but he wasn’t convinced they would be, not if their pursuers were on their way to the farm.
Stasi must have reached the same conclusion. “I can’t believe I’ve sucked you into this. It’s all my fault—I should never have come.”
“Don’t be silly!” Lois Watkins squeezed Stasi in a hug. “I’m so glad you came here, even if it was for a short visit. Your grandfather and I were worried sick, but now we know that God kept you safe. I believe He’ll continue to keep you safe. But you’ve got to get going.”
“But I—” Stasi shook her head, continuing to protest.
“We’ll be all right,” her grandmother assured them both. “God is still in charge. What’s the worst that can happen?” She lifted her gaze heavenward.
“Gramma, do be careful.”
“We will.” Her grandmother gave her another hug. “But bear in mind—there’s nothing more important than our faith. If we keep tight hold of that, no enemy can touch us. Not really.”
Kirk took Stasi’s grandmother’s words to heart as he carried their bags toward the Aston Martin. He understood what Lois was getting at—that even if they died, they went to be with God. It was a promise he looked forward to—in sixty or seventy years. Unfortunately, the enemies who were after them seemed intent on accelerating the process.
Stasi clicked the trunk release button, and a flurry of leaves swirled around the open bay of the barn.
“Oh, Darrel.” Lois clucked her tongue disapprovingly at the sight of the trunk packed full of dry brown leaves. “You never did anything with those leaves.”
Protecting the Princess Page 13