“I can understand it, even if I don't have siblings. It would almost be the same if I had to do this to Wynn. She might just be a best friend, but we did all those things growing up. We're closer than close, and I love her with all my heart. I can't even imagine having to sentence her to death or lock her away for life. One of the reasons I fell so hard for you was because I loved your compassion and consideration of other people's feelings. If you had gloated and celebrated Paavo's death, I think I would have been disappointed. Just because it's not easy to do what you have to, doesn't mean you won't do what you must. Paavo will get his punishment. I have no doubt of that. The citizens of this country know it, too. Your reputation as a hands-on king, someone whose dedication to his people is legendary, will be what everyone focuses on going forward. Those who can commiserate with your situation will understand.” Chey reached out to brush her fingertips along the back of his hand.
Sander smiled down into her face, catching her fingers for a quick, light squeeze. “Thanks. I'm glad I have people in my corner. Mattias, Gunner and Natalia all understand and have publicly backed me. Some members of the council still rail and rant about it, but they'll get over it and be on to the next thing soon.”
“That's human nature, I guess. There will always be someone who disagrees.” Chey smiled when Sander brushed a kiss across her palm, then returned her hand to the covers.
“Exactly. I'd better go get this over with. I want to be back before the storm rolls in.” Sander kissed Chey's mouth one more time.
He departed the bedchamber after that, steeling his resolve as he left the castle behind.
*
Sander stared down at the ruins of Macor as the helicopter circled overhead. The structure, considered a ruin thanks to the age and state of decay, looked the same as he remembered on his last visit. It wasn't a large fortress, but the stone walls were a foot thick, the front door a heavy slab of iron enforced wood, with windows facing out across both a pasture and woods.
Another chopper carrying Paavo and extra guards followed close behind Sander's craft, aiming for a vacant few acres of flat land suitable to set the birds down.
Sander, with Mattias at his side, disembarked and set out to inspect the changes he had ordered over the last few days. Iron bars covered every window now, giving any occupant a view of the pastures and trees but prohibiting any thought of escape. The front door had been reinforced with more iron as well, along with an extra set of bars tacked to the outside. One of the lower windows had been fitted with a special pass-through slit for delivery of meals on a tray. The bigger problem had been heat. Latvala's winters were brutal and no one would survive within the walls without some kind of system to provide warmth. Fire was out; Sander didn't want to give his brother any kind of weapon to use against guards. So he'd had a separate compartment built for a heater to push warmth in through an iron barred window. The heater itself could not be accessed from within the walls of Macor, thereby reducing Paavo's odds of dismantling the unit for parts that again, might become weapons. Only one room would receive enough warmth to be comfortable—but that was for Paavo to deal with. The single bed had no metal frame, nor wood. It was two double mattresses situated flat on the floor. Sander had ordered the men responsible for Paavo's care to use tranquilizers should Paavo prove difficult on cleaning and pest eradication days. Small cameras situated high in the corners of every room would monitor his brother's actions. The second it appeared Paavo was attempting to escape, the guards would knock Paavo out via the tranquilizers.
Sander had no doubt that Paavo would try every trick in the book to gain his freedom.
Coming around to the front of the fortress, Sander met up with Paavo, who was surrounded by guards. To the lead guard, Sander said, “Everything looks as I asked. Should you or anyone else have questions while on your shift, call Urmas directly.”
“What is this, Dare?” Paavo asked, frowning. He wore a simple, neon orange jumpsuit with slip on shoes. The eye-watering color would attract the guard's attention should Paavo make an escape.
“This is where you'll serve out your sentence. I'm sure you remember Macor.” Sander met Paavo's gaze. He felt no guilt for what he was about to do.
“You can't be serious,” Paavo said with a grating laugh. The whites of his eyes showed, however, and his nostrils flared. “This is no place for a prisoner.”
“I've made it all but impossible to escape. Here, you will have no access to other inmates or guards who you might sway with threats of blackmail. You'll be given one hot meal a day and two cold meals, along with enough water to survive.” Sander gestured for the iron bars to be opened, and then the heavy door.
Paavo leaned against the guards, bracing himself from being pushed forward into the fortress. An angry, almost accusing tone accompanied his next words. “This is absurd. It's not insulated beyond the stone and has no heating or light.”
“It does have heating, Paavo. I arranged it that way. What it doesn't have is stimulation. No lights, no television, no games, no one else to torture. Here, you will spend the rest of your days and nights contemplating the consequences of your actions.” Sander gestured for the guards to escort Paavo inside.
“Wait! Wait--”
The guards did not heed Paavo's protests. Sander followed the group past the door into the main room of the fortress. A large, square base made up the ground floor, with stairs leading to rooms above. There were two doors to other rooms and the barred windows overlooking the terrain beyond the ruin. The main room's ceiling vaulted up two floors, giving a grand sense of space with more high windows allowing light to pour in at angled slants.
“There isn't even a chair to sit in! This is barbaric!” Paavo declared, struggling against the guards. His bound wrists and ankles made it impossible to fight his way free.
“There's a bed in that small chamber over there,” Sander said of the shadowy doorway to the right. “That's also the only room that the heater heats fully. The rest fizzles out in this lofty area here and up the stairs.”
“You can't do this. You can't--”
“I can, Paavo. I am. Now sit on the floor and allow the guards to remove your shackles. Or, if you prefer, we can leave those on, too.” Sander would absolutely allow Paavo to live with the restraints for several hours and only remove them after sedation. The guards were all well trained in the use of tranquilizers.
Paavo refused to sit. He snarled at one guard that kneeled to try and get the ankle shackles off.
“All right. Leave them on. Guards.” Sander pivoted and exited the fortress. His boots thudded on the stone until he reached the dirt area just beyond the door. The guards filed out behind him.
“Dare! The international community will have a field day with this when they find out. You can't treat a prisoner with this much cruelty!”
Sander ignored Paavo's ranting and whining. He watched as the guards closed the heavy door, laid the braces in place, and attached no less than three locks through chains that secured the door to an iron plate in the wall. Then, and only then, were the final bars closed over that. Two massive layers to break through, which was beyond any man's means, especially with no tools. There wasn't any other entrance or exit to the building, built that way for security reasons in an age of endless war.
“Dare! Dare!” Paavo's voice echoed through the building, barely heard through the thick paned windows.
Sander ignored the faint shouts and faced the guards. They were men chosen specifically for the task. “There are security feeds everywhere. The layers of protection don't stop here. So if he attempts to talk to you for longer than five minutes, troops will be en route here and you'll be questioned. You've already been filled in on what to expect, and what to do—as well as what not to do. Contact Urmas with any concerns.”
The guards inclined their heads.
Sander watched the guards retreat to one of the converted outbuildings. There, the men had all the necessities a body required for comfort: heat, water, sepa
rate bedrooms for sleeping during shift changes, a small but well appointed kitchen and extra stores of food.
Everything had been taken care of.
Sander looked back to the window, where he could see Paavo pacing the interior of the fortress, already looking for weaknesses and ways out. He heard his name repeatedly, along with threats to his family that hardened his eyes and toyed with his temper.
The last glimpse Sander had of his brother was one he would never forget: Paavo, wild-eyed, panic and realization etched into his features, stalking past the window. Sander turned away then, following his former footsteps back toward the chopper. He heard his name again, fading further and further, until it was just the gentle breeze through the pasture grasses and the whine of the engines as the pilot readied for the flight back to Pallan island.
As he strapped into his seat and placed the headgear over his ears, Sander's mind cast back to happier times in his life. To those scenes he'd described to Chey, when he and his siblings hadn't the stresses and responsibilities they had today. He preferred to recall the affection, the trust, the loyalty the Ahtissari children had once had together rather than the mad man Paavo had become.
This was, he reflected, his final goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-Five
My wife issued me a challenge that I cannot refuse. The challenge is this, right here, my very first (and probably my last) journal entry. I don't feel the need to pour my emotions out on paper like she does, but a challenge is a challenge and, like all the other times, I'll rise to the occasion.
I have no idea what to say. Does that make you happy, Chey? I know you'll read this and laugh. You'll read this with glee and realize that your doting husband can't do journal entries to save his life. Maybe then you won't keep asking me to write things down.
Anyway. What to say. It's peculiar to try and figure what to commit to the page when I'm so cautious about how I project myself in public. Chey would say that this isn't public, it's private, and that's what's so great about it. I can put anything here that I want to and no one but me (and her) will see it.
Even so, even knowing any entries beyond this initial one are for my eyes only, I feel conspicuous. Talking about the weather (winter has settled in fully now, as we push toward the middle of December) seems humdrum and boring, as does the details of my every day schedule. I know she hopes I'll vent some of my most inner feelings about the bombings and my decision about my brother, but I'm strangely hesitant to pen anything about it. The country is recovering slowly. The citizens were especially horrified that Ahtissari castle was hit with such force, but many have come out to support my decision about my brother's punishment. The council hasn't let me forget, not for one day, that I will be held personally responsible for every single death that occurs should Paavo either escape or somehow convince others to again act in his stead.
Do they not realize I already bear the responsibility of the deaths past? From all three bombings? Because I was not vigilant enough concerning Paavo's imprisonment, innocent people died. The deaths have kept me awake at night and also haunted my dreams. In the time since the incident, I have worked tirelessly to change policies about the security of my borders and our people. The prison has been overhauled, with new systems in place to deal with exactly the kind of situation that led to the last breach.
These actions will not bring the dead back, and I mourn that fact, but it should prevent more in the future. In the aftermath of the destruction, I have forged alliances with both Imatra and Somero. Our cautious meetings have been fruitful, and both Thane and Aleksi have proven to be responsible leaders. Imatra, with Somero and Latvala's help, has begun to recover from Konstantine's reign.
Elias, Emily and Erick have bounced back admirably. None seem to experience fears or worries about the bombing, for which I am grateful. Someone once told me that children are very resilient, and I have seen proof of that here. I adore them more than I can say. Elias is growing more independent and strong willed every day. I have been unobtrusively shaping him into the king he will one day become. Mattias, Gunnar, Leander and several other friends who are sovereigns in their own right have also provided guidance, which I believe will make Elias a well rounded king when the time comes.
Emily is the spitting image of Chey. She is sweet, kind and has a willful streak a mile wide. She also has me completely wrapped around her little finger. I have given her little 'duties' as princess and she takes them all very seriously.
Erick is currently wading through the waters of the terrible twos. I have to say—he does not seem to be overly afflicted by temper tantrums, but when he throws them, the entire castle is aware he's on a rampage.
Chey is recovering well from the shooting. With the sling gone, one would hardly ever know anything happened with the way she bustles around, doing ten tasks at once. Christmas is almost upon us, so of course she's turned Kallaster into a wonderland of decorations and light. I am thankful every day that she survived both catastrophes and is by my side.
I got more written here than I first thought, so I think I've met and completed Chey's 'journal challenge'. I expect her to gloat for a full twenty-four hours, even if I didn't spill my deepest, darkest feelings onto the page.
Sander, King of Latvala
p.s. I'd better not quit my day job to become a writer.
Sander re-read the entry with a snort. He closed the cover of the leather bound journal and smoothed a hand over the dark surface. There were pages and pages left beyond the one he'd used, pages that, as far as he was concerned, would remain blank. Writing his personal thoughts on paper was not his strong point. He was too private about his inner workings to share them in this particular manner.
Standing from the desk in his personal office, he wandered to the balcony windows of the bedroom suite. Snow fell in fat flakes, creating more layers of white on top of the foot of snowfall that had accumulated during the night. The balcony banister was loaded, though staff members had cleared the balcony itself, as well as the chairs and table, in case Sander and Chey preferred to watch the snow fall outside instead of inside.
He realized he hadn't been disturbed by the kids or Chey in hours and, frowning, crossed the suite and exited into the hall. He checked all the upstairs rooms where the kids usually played—empty. Chey was nowhere to be found. Lifting a hand, he smoothed down the fine hairs at the back of his neck, reassuring himself silently that they were probably all in the kitchen or in the big play room.
The kitchen proved to be empty of his family, as well as the play room. His steps quickened toward the front of the castle, where he spotted Urmas, hands full of folders.
“Have you seen Chey and the kids?” he asked outright.
Urmas halted in place and inclined his head. “Your Majesty. They're right outside.” He tilted a look at the double front doors.
“Thanks.” Sander didn't bother to remind Urmas that he was free to use his given name in these unofficial surroundings. Pushing outside, Sander caught sight of his children and wife. Chey and the kids were building snowmen in the bailey, not far from the front steps. He smiled at the crooked snowman Elias worked on, and the tiny one Emily constructed with red gloved hands.
The tightness and fear that had begun to constrict his chest eased. If he'd suffered any after effects from the bombings and attacks, it was the extreme unease that settled in when he couldn't easily locate his immediate family. The fear of losing them lingered, occasionally flaring hot and wild.
Trotting down the steps, he waded through the snow drift, already attired in warm winter clothing and waterproof boots. Chey's red sweater, the same red as Emily's gloves, was a beacon that drew him straight to her. She saw him coming and smiled, cheeks flushed from the cold, a wad of snow in her hands.
“Look, Em's building a snow cone!” Chey announced with a laugh, to which Emily stomped a boot with indignation.
“It's a snowprincess!” Emily declared. Her 'snowprincess' was perhaps the size of...a three tiered snow cone.<
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A Royal Legacy Page 19