Monica looked in the direction that doctor had glanced, and saw several more clipboards protruding sideways from a small alcove under the countertop. Since no one else seemed to be paying her any attention, she quickly stepped through the nurses’ station and flipped through the files on the clipboards.
Lydia, Philip.
Tucking the relevant clipboard under her arm, she headed back to find Kirk and Stasi to ask to borrow a phone. She had to get in touch with her father. The fact that both her parents had turned off their phones worried her. Had Octavian gone after them, as well? She prayed they were safe. More than that, she prayed there was some innocent explanation for their lifeless phones, and that she could talk to them after all. Her father might not be familiar with medical practice in Lydia, but he’d spent the past thirty years working as a doctor, mostly in the Intensive Care Unit.
He’d be able to tell if Philip’s medication levels were off.
* * *
Thad raked his hand back through his hair as he made his way back to his father’s hospital room. The doctor had evaded him—he’d swiped a card at a restricted doorway and slipped through before they could catch up to him. The nurse didn’t have access to that area of the hospital, so Thad had to give up the chase.
Nor did the nurse seem to know enough about his father’s medical situation to supply concrete direction.
“I don’t know what it does,” she admitted when he questioned her about his father’s medication, “but we usually do two bags in the IV drip every twenty-four hours. Your father has been getting six bags. I thought it seemed funny, but what do I know? I’m just the nurse.”
Thad thanked her for her help, then spotted his mother, still lingering in the hallway. She reached for him as he approached, and he pulled her into his arms.
“They’re still investigating in there,” she explained. After another moment’s silence, she added, “Monica’s trying to get in touch with her father, but she can’t get ahold of him. She wants to run your father’s medication schedule by him. She checked with another nurse, and the levels were all wrong. We can only assume it was due to Lucca’s influence. But maybe, if we can get the medicine levels fixed...” Her voice drifted off.
“What are you saying?” Thad didn’t want to let his hopes rise too high, but his mother’s words sounded promising.
“If they can cut back the medication levels without shocking your father’s system, and if the high levels haven’t already done too much damage, and if his body is otherwise recovering from being shot—” faint hope filled her features “—there’s a chance he might wake up.”
While Thad absorbed the possible prognosis, one of the officers approached him and took his statement about the events that had led to Lucca’s death. Much as Thad would have liked to stay out of the investigation—to stay out of the spotlight entirely—Lucca had robbed him of that option. Because he’d been closest to the generals the moment the gun had gone off, he was a witness to Lucca’s death. He couldn’t hide any longer.
The officers, at least, absorbed the revelation of his identity with discretion. He’d no more than finished talking with them, however, when Monica darted into the room, grabbing his arm. “Isabelle just called your sister. The paparazzi are headed to the hospital.” She glanced back at Queen Elaine, who had taken up her post at the king’s bedside. “Are there stairs this way?”
“Fire stairs. They lead to the parking garage.” The queen gave them a conspiratorial look. “If the media arrive, I can hold them off,” she promised, rising from her chair and following them into the hall.
Monica guided Thad around the corner, and they followed the fire exit signs.
“How did Isabelle know to warn us?”
“She’s on her way to see your father right now. She recognized some of the members of the media. It’s impossible to say whether someone tipped them off that you’re here, or if they’re just following the scent of blood. But if they see you, that bit of stubble and the belief that you’re dead might not fool them.” They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Thad hesitated, wondering where they should go.
“This way.” Monica waved a set of keys. “Kirk gave me his car keys. He said they’d catch a ride back with Isabelle, or someone.” She depressed a button on the key fob, and parking lights flashed them a greeting.
“I can drive,” Thad offered.
“Sorry.” Monica cut him off from the driver’s seat. “You’ve got to keep your head down.”
While Monica backed the subcompact from the parking space, Thad obediently scooted into the backseat and sank down low, praying the nuisance reporters wouldn’t slow them down too much. But at the same time, he almost smiled as he whispered to Monica, “We got away from Petrela.”
She glanced back at him in the rearview mirror. “Are you going to try to go after the scepter?”
Thad didn’t hesitate. “The sun will be setting shortly. This may be my only shot.”
Though she’d earlier said she wanted to accompany him, Monica didn’t ask if she could come along. She stayed silent, her eyes focused on guiding the car down the narrow ramp that led from the parking garage. “Should I head straight to the palace?” she asked once they reached the exit to the street.
“Not yet. If the paparazzi are swarming, they may be headed there, too. Let’s wait until it gets dark out. Can you drive around a little?”
“Gladly.”
* * *
Monica zipped up and down unfamiliar roadways. At least Kirk’s car had plenty of gas in the tank. Finally, she was convinced she’d lost anyone who might be following them.
At the same time, she was also convinced she was lost.
“Um, Thad?” She brought the car to a stop at a scenic overlook high above the city. She’d instinctively gone uphill, hoping the vantage point would allow her to see her way back to the palace. “Do you know where we are?”
Thad had practically flattened himself against the upholstery to avoid being spotted, but he raised his head and made a face. “Lover’s Lookout?”
A blush immediately rose to her cheeks. “Sorry. I got lost. It’s starting to get dark out, and I thought perhaps if we could get high enough to see the city...”
“It’s all right.” Thad opened the back door and crawled out. “Let me stretch my legs and take a look around. I’ve only ever been here a time or two, and it was years ago, but I should be able to remember the way home.”
Following his cue, Monica stepped out as well, stretching after the tense car ride before taking in the view.
They were high on a bluff overlooking the city, which twinkled below them as lights came on in windows and street corners, winking like yellow stars reflected in the waters of Sardis Bay. The Mediterranean stretched out like a rippling mirror, catching the reds and pinks and oranges of the setting sun, casting them back like a thank offering hurled to the heavens.
A canopy of tree branches above them and fragrant climbing flowers framed the image, and Monica couldn’t help drawing in a deep breath. “It’s so lovely,” she murmured softly, sitting down on the hood of the car.
Thad took a few steps closer to her, but his attention remained on the vista before them. “My domain.” Irony stung his words. “The kingdom I defend.”
Finally, Monica thought, a moment to speak to Thad, alone. She swallowed past the lump that had risen to her throat, and tried to find the words.
“If we head east down this road—” Thad had a
lready moved on to finding a way home “—I believe we’ll come to a cross street that leads downtown. From there, it’s no trouble to get back to the palace.” He stepped closer to her and reached out his hand. “Would you like me to drive? It’s getting dark, so hopefully no one will see me.”
Monica stared at his outstretched hand for a moment. No wedding ring. No sign that he’d ever worn one. She, too, had removed hers before returning home to her parents. No sense giving anyone a reason to ask questions she didn’t have the heart to answer.
Thad cleared his throat. “We should get going. Every minute is precious.”
“You’re right.” She handed over the keys, surprised how reluctant she felt to leave Lover’s Lookout and such a gorgeous sunset. She knew the clock was ticking and her son’s life was on the line. So why did she long to lean against Thad’s shoulder and linger in the light of the sinking sun?
Thad took the keys from her hands, but didn’t move.
She looked up at him, thinking that perhaps he’d taken a moment to bask in the glow of the beauty around them. Instead she found him looking down at her as though she was the dazzling beauty.
“Thad?”
He shook his head slowly, shushing her, and traced the outline of her face with the tips of his fingers. He stopped at her chin and tilted her head upward a tiny nudge.
Without really thinking about it, she rose up on her tiptoes and brought their faces closer together. His lips brushed hers with a sweetness that whispered of promises neither of them could keep. He let out a plaintive, almost inaudible moan. Then he took two steps backward before circling around the car to the driver’s side door.
Monica wanted to reach for him, to pull him close again. At the very least, she wanted to confess her jumbled feelings. She longed to hear what Thad was thinking and feeling, to learn if the man she’d once loved so deeply was still buried inside his banished and battered frame.
She pushed the longing aside. This was no time to let her emotions get the best of her. Until they had the scepter in their hands, there wasn’t any time to waste. Besides, if she wanted to talk to Thad about her jumbled feelings, they could always talk in the car.
But once Thad had the vehicle headed down the road, Monica still couldn’t find the words. Please, God, she prayed silently, help me know what to say.
Finally she turned in her seat enough to see Thad’s profile as he focused on the road, and she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s no big deal. We’ll be back at the palace shortly.”
“Not for getting lost.” She sucked in a shaking breath and plowed on, in spite of her trembling heart. “For getting mad at you. For accusing you of running away.” She’d heard Lucca’s words from the tiny hospital bathroom, and realized that she’d spoken the same accusation that Thad’s murderous enemy had used against him. “You did what you thought was best. I realize that now.”
“No. I was wrong to run away. I should have faced Octavian years ago.”
“Could you have defeated him then?”
“Can I defeat him now?” Thad’s mouth twitched as he stared straight ahead, shifting with the manual transmission as they crawled through the first of a series of stoplights.
“Can you?” Monica whispered into the fear-filled silence.
“I don’t see how.”
His prognosis fell like the blade of a guillotine, cutting off her hope. Frantically, she scrambled to think of a reason why they ought to be able to defeat Octavian. Surely Lucca’s death counted for something. “Do you think General Petrela is on our side?”
“If he is, even Octavian will know it after what happened at the hospital today.”
“Who’s going to tell Octavian?”
“Any one of the men in the hallway could.”
“They didn’t intervene when Petrela shot Lucca.”
“I could have been shot. My father could have been shot.” Thad punched the car into gear. “And they did nothing. They’re nothing but mercenaries. Octavian has hundreds of them—enough to defeat the Lydian Army, if it came to a battle. We are outnumbered, outmaneuvered and he has our son.”
Monica felt her hope receding like an ocean drawn back by the tide, sucked away by an invisible force, each wave a futile effort to escape the immutable pull from beyond. “God won’t let my son be taken from me.”
“He already has.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, but Monica could think of nothing else to say. Up ahead, she could see the dark shadows of the palace walls looming through the darkness. Her heart hurt for Thad. In the bitterness of his words, she could taste the despair he’d been living in. She wished she could take that pain away from him and give him back his faith, but she didn’t know how. “What happened, Thad? What made you so angry at God?”
Thad remained silent. Realizing her words—a desperate plea for him to open up to her—might have sounded somewhat accusational, she softened her tone. “I want to understand,” she whispered as they neared the palace.
After a painful stretch of silence, Thad eased the car through the back palace gates and brought it to a stop in an open, empty bay of the garage. “I don’t want you to understand.”
His response was so unexpected, she sputtered. “Why not?”
The silence was deeper with the engine dead, and the sounds of the city blocked out by the high wall that encircled the palace grounds. The darkness had deepened as night had fallen, and inside the garage was pitch-black, the stinging scent of burnt gasoline far too reminiscent of the oil rig where she’d found him. Monica couldn’t see Thad’s face.
“Because—” his voice echoed from somewhere in the utter darkness “—if you understand,” he said, straining against the words until she could almost hear his angry grip on the steering wheel, “that’s what Octavian wants. He wants you to spark that hope inside me so I’ll chase after it. He wants me to abandon reason in favor of love. He wants me to care more about you than my kingdom, and I can’t allow myself to do that. I shouldn’t have kissed you back there. I was too weak to resist. I’m too weak to defeat Octavian, too.”
Monica sat in shocked silence, the garage vapors and vast darkness reminiscent of what Thad must have lived through for six long years at the edge of the earth, reminding himself daily of all he’d given up, and all he would never get back. Something warm and tragic stirred in her lungs, and she felt like that fish on the rocky Alaskan shoreline, flopping helplessly, wanting to live, but beyond all hope.
While she sat still, absorbing what he’d said, Thad got out and headed toward the palace. Monica sighed and trudged after him. They’d used up nearly all of the time Octavian had given them, and she felt as though they were further away from succeeding now than they’d been in the beginning.
Worse yet, she supposed that was precisely what Octavian wanted them to feel.
NINE
Thad dressed in black to blend in with the darkness. He slipped his phone into his pocket and tried to think of anything else he might need.
Comfortable shoes for walking, even jogging. It was a long journey, making it a long night. He brought a flashlight, even an extra flashlight, just in case something happened to the first one, and slipped a bottle of water into one cargo pocket of his pants. Then, feeling lopsided, he slid another bottle into the pocket on the other leg.
There really wasn’t anything else.
With time ticking relentlessly away, Thad headed through the palace to the entrance of the tun
nel that would take him to the place he’d left the scepter six years before. And if he found it, for once he’d have bested Octavian. It might not mean he’d get his son back, but it would at least give him a shot.
And if the scepter was gone, he’d have to come up with another plan, though he couldn’t imagine what that might be.
The soft soles of his black cross-training sneakers made no sound as he slipped down the empty palace halls, past tapestries, framed artwork, pillars with vases and the occasional suit of armor worn by the kings of old. When he came to the open throne room, he paused, his back against the wall, panting.
Had he heard footsteps?
Perhaps it was just the urgent beat of his heart, driving him to hurry, or maybe the echo of his own footsteps against the cold stone floors.
He glanced into the wide throne room, where at the age of twenty-two he’d signed the Article of the Crown, confirming his intention to rule Lydia should anything happen to his father, who’d then just been crowned king. And then the paper was rolled up and tucked back inside the Scepter of Charlemagne, and stored away in a locked case until he’d taken it two years later, hiding it away from Octavian.
This same throne room was where Octavian wanted to meet with him in less than fourteen hours. In this same throne room, he’d face the man who’d stolen his son.
Somehow, he had to protect them both—his son, and the crown. But what if he couldn’t do both? What if he had to choose?
Light from the rising moon spilled in through the stained-glass windows high on the walls of the vaulted throne room, pouring in and landing on the glass case that held the crown of Lydia. The amethysts sparkled lifelessly, their cold light unchanged from that day when he’d signified his intent to rule Lydia with faith, honor and love.
Love.
He’d been naive to think it could ever be that simple.
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