A Royal Legacy

by Danielle Bourdon

  “What about the bodies, though?” he asked. “They looked like dead people to me. Or did you hire professional make up artists?”

  “No, no, they were dead people. Real dead people. We used fresh bodies from the morgue and...and...” Mikel looked at the ground.

  “And put bullets in them, or hacked out chunks, or laid them atop grenades and after detonation, put the pieces together again in your staged area,” Sander said. The thought made him sick.

  “Yes. Yes. Exactly. We did the same for the second attack. Konstantine paid certain members of the military off to act out the scene and to keep their mouths shut.” Mikel glanced from Mattias to Sander.

  “And he did so because his ultimate plan was to come to me with his ridiculous idea to merge countries. So that he could increase his army twofold, and perhaps threefold if we, together, tried to get Somero on board. And if Konstantine staged those scenes, then he's probably the one responsible for the attacks on Thane and I. He arranged—planned—for those bombs to go off. He's massacred hundreds and hundreds of people.” Sander narrowed his eyes. “Did you have anything to do with planning that, too?”

  “No, no! I swear, I never heard anyone breathe a word about the bombs. I didn't hear the regular assistant, my direct boss, ever say anything about it. I also didn't see or hear him planning anything, so I don't know how Konstantine arranged it. But he must have, which is why I'm here. I cannot believe he took it to that extreme and I can't condone the killing of hundreds and hundreds of people. I won't be a part of it any longer.” Mikel rubbed his hands together, a traditional gesture of anxiety.

  “Konstantine would have kept something like that as close to the vest as possible,” Sander said of the bombings. “Although honestly, considering you helped stage the other attacks, I don't see why he wouldn't have engaged your aid again. You already knew what was going on.”

  “I never heard anyone talking about the bombings. Not even whispers or rumors. That part is a bit confusing for me because I am in and out of the king's office all day long. I just think that Konstantine planned it with his military advisors and kept everyone else in the dark so that it didn't leak out. What about the bomb on his own country, however? Why would he hit his own people? I have friends in that area,” Mikel said.

  “Konstantine isn't known in elite circles for the strength of his mind,” Mattias said. “He could very well have struck his own city to increase sympathy for Imatra, a way to try and coerce Latvala and Somero to join.”

  “You said 'was' in reference to being his second assistant,” Sander said to Mikel. “Does that mean you quit?”

  “I did. I cited a family emergency and walked out. Then I made my way here to tell you what I know in exchange for amnesty. Konstantine will kill me if I return for divulging state secrets,” Mikel said.

  “And how do I know that you're not actually a spy, sent here to learn as much as you can learn? Perhaps Konstantine wants an inside man, and what better way than to send someone like you.” Sander had been through too much, lived too long in this world, to instantly put his trust in someone. He understood how the governments of the world worked, knew that there were plants and spies in all regimes.

  Mikel's eyes widened and he held his hands up in a 'stop' gesture. “What? No, never! I am no spy! I swear on my grandfather's grave. I came here only to tell the truth about Konstantine so that no one else will die.”

  “You may stay for now, but you're under temporary watch until I get more information. The guards will see to you. If you've nothing to hide, we'll know it soon enough.” Sander ended the conversation by having two guards escort Mikel to a waiting SUV. From there, the assistant to Konstantine would be cared for while Sander sought more answers.

  “I hadn't thought about him possibly being a spy,” Mattias said when he and Sander were alone.

  “At this point, I don't think we can trust anyone outside our inner circle. It would be a good way to get someone inside Latvala to report troop movements and everything else.” Sander muttered a curse, then added, “I knew something was up with those photos.”

  “Indeed, your instincts are right on. What are you going to say to Konstantine?” Mattias asked.

  Sander glanced at his watch. He only had a few minutes to spare before returning to Kalev to meet Konstantine. “In light of these revelations, it'll be all I can do not to punch him in the mouth and drag him off to a holding cell.”

  “I agree. Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No. Stay here and oversee this. Find out what you can about this Mikel person. I want to know if he's really an assistant to Konstantine, who his family is, and whatever else you can find out.”

  “I'll do it. Be careful. There's no telling if Konstantine has arranged any other 'surprises' along the way.”

  Sander clapped Mattias on the shoulder. “You be careful, too.”

  “I will.”

  Sander left Mattias to deal with the Ahtissari fallout while he returned to Kalev.

  He had a meeting he absolutely did not want to miss.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Tell him no, for the third time,” a guard snarled into the phone. “Sander is not going to see Paavo.”

  Chey paused outside the main information room, the center of intelligence gathering and incoming news, when she overheard Sander's name in conjunction with Paavo's. The third brother in the Ahtissari line, the trouble-maker who had nearly killed Sander in a blatant attack years ago and who had wanted to divide Latvala into regions, apparently wanted to see the king. Chey knew that Sander had paid Paavo a visit a year earlier when Paavo began causing problems in jail, and that Paavo had demanded that the king send him to the executioner's chair—or set him free in another country. The latter option hadn't ever been considered, not with Paavo's destructive background, and Sander had denied the execution as well. Chey remembered sitting up with Sander for a week after that conversation, talking through the disturbance it caused in her husband. Having been asked to kill his own sibling, whether Paavo deserved it or not, had hit Sander hard. Chey didn't blame him. It was his brother, someone he'd grown up with as a child, and she suspected it was the memory of Paavo in his youth that made the task impossible. Not only that, but Sander, still harboring ill feelings over his attempted murder, refused to give Paavo the easy out. Paavo was paying the price for his actions by being denied that which he most wanted: freedom.

  “Excuse me. Is Paavo asking for Sander again?” Chey asked, stepping into the room.

  The guard glanced at the door. “He's been demanding to see Sander since this morning. We've informed the guards at the prison it won't happen.”

  “Did someone inform Paavo that the family seat had been attacked?” Chey knew that word of the attack traveled fast. Perhaps even fast enough to reach inmates in prison.

  “Honestly, I don't know. Paavo didn't state a reason, only that he demanded to see Sander immediately.” The guard ended the call after a gruff goodbye and hung up the phone.

  Chey considered the situation. Paavo might have heard there was an attack but no details. Perhaps he just wanted to rehash his insistence that Sander put him to death or to barter his exile with another country. Either way, Paavo was not a distraction she wanted Sander to have to deal with right now, and it appeared Paavo was going to keep insisting Sander's presence, a thorn in everyone's side. She expected Paavo to pull out all the stops, becoming such a nuisance that Sander would be forced to eventually visit the prison.

  After several minutes, she said, “Call them back. Tell him that Sander will see him after all. Then arrange for my transport to the prison.” Misinforming Paavo that Sander was coming instead of her would shut him up, at least for the time being.

  Every guard in the room stopped what they were doing to snap a look Chey's direction.

  “Your Highness--”

  “Chey--”

  “That's not a good idea--”

  Chey interrupted the expected denials. “Just arrange it. I
want to leave as soon as possible.” After a moment, she added, “And no, don't call it in first. I'll be there and back before Sander is through with his meeting with Konstantine.”

  Leaving the guards flustered but moving forward with their new instructions, Chey made her way to the two guards in charge of watching over her children. She didn't mention the mission, only that she was leaving on a brief, important errand and reminded the guards what to do with the kids should anything go wrong at the safe house in her absence. The children were to be put on a plane immediately for Afshar.

  Within ten minutes, Chey had a team of three guards ready to escort her through the tunnels. She stepped onto the street at the same place Sander had departed earlier, glancing left and right along the city block before climbing quickly into the waiting Hummer at the curb. All three guards followed her inside.

  Minutes later she was on her way to the helipad.

  *

  It was a short trip by air to the prison. Chey watched the city of Kalev, with its mix of modern buildings and older structures, fade to quaint residential areas and finally, wide open land. The terrain this close to shore was lush as well as rocky, with broad meadows occasionally broken up by large boulders that jutted from the earth like giant teeth. Forests spread out to the north and east, unspoiled by the hand of man.

  Miles of beautiful greenbelt passed in a blur, until swaths of open land and meandering rivers took over where the trees left off. It was in one of these exposed areas that the prison housing Paavo stood. The rectangular structure, enclosed in high chain link fencing and rolls of barbed wire, was one of the smaller detention centers of several on Latvala lands. This particular prison had only five hundred cells opposed to thousands at larger facilities. Prisoners of Paavo's status or other high profile inmates were housed here, within easy access of the city but far enough away that should there be a breakout, the guards in one of four towers would see the escapee long before the prisoner could cross the open land to the trees. Any escaped inmate would be forced to hike over rough terrain and miles of exposed land to reach the city.

  Once the helicopter landed, two SUVs transported her and the guards to the prison gates, where armed security personnel let them in. The vehicles passed through another gate built into the walls, then stopped in front of an admittance building with wings of the prison jutting off left and right.

  Chey disembarked, guards on her heels, and followed an officer through the admittance chamber, through a gated hallway, and into another long hallway to the left. There were no cells here, but rather personnel offices, a medic and other rooms necessary to prison life. The linoleum floors were as polished as a hospital ward, the walls a plain white lacking decoration or architectural nuance. The building was about as utilitarian as any Chey had ever seen. The lighting came from high fixtures locked behind iron grates.

  Near the end of the row, at a heavy door with one thick paned window to see in and out, stood no less than four guards. These men wore black and white suits rather than the standard blue and gray uniforms of the other employees.

  Arriving, Chey said, “I want to be alone with him.”

  “Your--”

  “Is he secure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I'm fine to be alone with you all standing right outside the door.” Chey suspected Paavo wouldn't talk anyway with an audience, no matter that any of the guards could look in the window any time.

  After a brief discussion between the suits and Chey's own guard, one man opened the door.

  Chey drew in a deep breath, girded herself for confrontation, and stepped inside.

  It had been multiple years since Chey had laid eyes on Paavo in the flesh, as far back as the birth of her first child. She couldn't have anticipated the changes in Paavo, even if someone had warned her beforehand. Sallow skinned, green eyes brooding in a face gone gaunt, Paavo Ahtissari appeared a beaten man. His short black hair looked as if he had spent considerable time tugging at the strands, making them skew every which way. Although never a big man, standing a couple of inches under six feet, he had lost enough weight to turn his once honed body into a shadow of its former self. The white jumpsuit and slip on shoes did nothing for him, washing out his already compromised complexion. His bony wrists were shackled to a rectangular table designed for the attachment of cuffs, his ankles secured to the legs of a metal chair. When Paavo made eye contact, he scowled.

  “Where is my brother? Don't tell me he sent his bitch in his place,” Paavo said.

  Chey schooled her expression. She approached the table, the only piece of furniture in the room besides Paavo's chair and her own.

  “I came of my own accord. Sander is busy.” She wanted to see how much Paavo knew about the attack on the family seat, or if he had heard anything at all.

  “I asked for Sander!” he said, his voice peaking.

  “He's busy,” she repeated. Chey stood behind the chair for the moment, staring across the table at Paavo. “What is it you want from him now?”

  Paavo's jaw clenched and unclenched. He narrowed his eyes. “I demand to see Sander. Now.”

  “He's not coming.”

  “Then you've wasted your precious time. I have nothing to say to you when I've made it clear I need to speak to Sander.”

  “And I'm making it clear that he's not coming. Not today, not tomorrow, not next month or probably next year,” Chey retorted in a matter-of-fact tone. “So you talk to me about what you think you need, and I'll either pass it on—or I won't. It just depends how important I think it is.”

  Fury sparked in Paavo's eyes. He spat curses in his native tongue before switching back to heavily accented English. “I should have slit your throat when I had the chance.”

  Chey held firm through a shudder that passed down her spine. “Too late. Do you actually have anything serious to say, or should I just leave? I'll make sure to let Sander know he shouldn't bother to stop by in the next five or ten years.”

  Paavo appeared to weigh his options. His shifty gaze studied Chey's features, as if weighing the measure of her. “I've heard a most unsettling rumor, and I want to know if it's true.”

  Chey did not step into Paavo's blatant pause to offer an answer. She wanted him to divulge what he knew—if anything.

  He snarled quietly when she didn't offer up details. “Has there, or has there not, been an attack on my home?”

  “It's no longer your anything, except the place you grew up,” Chey reminded him. She didn't delight in pushing his buttons, yet she also didn't hesitate to speak the truth.

  “Did it or did it not get attacked!”

  “It did.”

  Paavo waited, sitting forward as if expecting her to go on. When she didn't, he snarled again. “And? Do I have to yank the information out of you?”

  I'd like to see you try. Chey contained the condescending comment by a spare margin. Instead, she called upon the reserves of calm she had learned during her years as queen. “More than a third of the castle has been damaged.”

  “Deaths?”

  “Many.”

  “How many?”

  “Does the number matter?”

  Paavo shouted another curse and banged his cuffed wrists on the table. “You bloody, insipid witch. How many?”

  “Eighty-three people.”

  “Who? Who died?”

  “I don't have a list of names.”

  “My sister? Brothers? Not your kids, or you wouldn't be here. Though you must have been close by, judging from the scrapes and bruises on your face and hands.”

  Chey couldn't say for sure if that gleam in Paavo's eyes was one of glee at the thought of her being hurt in the attack, or from simply guessing right about the origin of her injuries. Either way, she didn't like it one bit. “Your sister and brothers are all fine. None of them were at the castle when it was attacked.”

  “But you? You were, were you not?”

  Chey did not confirm or deny it. Paavo would probably learn the truth as new de
tails emerged through news outlets and word of mouth.

  “What about your children? Where they there as well?” he demanded.

  Silence.

  “I have a right to know details.”

  “Is that all you wanted from Sander? You could have asked any of the guards and received the same answer,” she said.

  “The guards won't tell me much.”

  “Then how did you hear about the attack?”

  “Inmates. I am allowed access to other human beings now and again,” he said in a derisive tone.

  “Then maybe you can get more details from them, too. But don't keep asking for Sander. He won't be coming. Do I make myself clear? He has no patience for this nonsense, and now that I know you only want to bring him here to put a drain on his time and resources, I'll be sure to tell him not to waste his breath.” She turned to the door.

  “You didn't fly all the way here just to tell me that. And contrary to your holier-than-thou assertions, I do have something else to tell him.” He stood from the chair, placed his hands flat on the table, and leaned forward.

  Chey paused halfway across the room to look back. She arched a brow, unimpressed with his attempt to loom—or whatever he was doing. It lost effectiveness thanks to his gaunt state.

  “I want to offer my help. Who attacked him? I can infiltrate the enemy. Find out their deepest secrets. No one would ever expect to see me, a man sentenced to live out the rest of his days in such luxurious surroundings.” He gestured sarcastically to the walls of the prison.

  Chey laughed a very quiet laugh. “You can't be serious. Really? That won't happen. Not ever. You've lost touch with whatever snip of reality you had left if you think Sander would trust you again.”

  “You need to tell him what I said. If the castle has been attacked, and he doesn't know who is responsible, then I can help. I'm a perfect candidate. In times like this, family needs to stick together.”

  “You're crazy. Get used to these walls, Paavo. You'll die here an old man.” Chey, inwardly aghast at the mere thought Paavo expected her to pass on such a ludicrous message, tapped on the door for the guard to let her out.