The Phoenix

by Jillian Dodd

  Her bright-eyed view of the future is catching, and I’m feeling more hopeful than I have in days.

  She cheers loudly for Daniel.

  And she needs to.

  The race is way too close for my liking, but, thankfully, Daniel ends up getting into the finals that will take place later today.

  “You barely won,” I say to Daniel when he joins me back at the villa between races. “Is the competition that much better here?”

  “It’s called strategy, Huntley. No reason to win big until the final.”

  “You’re a pool shark,” I tease.

  “Yep. I’m a shark in the pool.” He laughs. “The goal for this morning’s heat was simply to make the final and get a choice lane.”

  “Are some lanes better than others?” I wonder.

  “From a swimming standpoint, no. I’ve won a gold medal in lane eight, which is supposed to be harder due to waves pushing off the pool’s edge. Really, being in the middle lane makes it easier to see where your competition is. All that really matters is, I made the cut. I can set a record in any lane.”

  “You sound very confident. It’s quite sexy.”

  He musses my hair. “I like when you flirt with me. It’s good for my ego.”

  “You have an off-the-charts ego,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  He gives me a wink. “I still like it.”

  “When you get in the stadium, you ought to feel like your Grinch heart grows three sizes! People from every country are cheering for you.”

  “They like to root for a winner.”

  “And not only are you going to bring home the gold, but you’re also going to set new Olympic and world records tonight.”

  He kisses the side of my face. “Keep thinking that,” he says, touching his neck. “My throat is feeling a little scratchy. I cannot afford to get sick. I got a B12 shot after the race, but do you have any lozenges?”

  I pick up the phone and call down to the staff, who promptly delivers some to my room.

  “Thanks,” he says, lying down on my bed. “I’m gonna take a quick nap.”

  And then he’s out.

  I decide it’s time to confront Royston about the ring he was wearing at the wedding. I ask Ellis for his whereabouts and find him on the main terrace. He’s standing at the railing, looking out at the harbor and the ocean beyond, lost in thought.

  I’m right next to him before he becomes aware of my presence.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. “That ring you had on at the wedding, the green one, can I see it?”

  “Have you seen one like it before?” he inquires. He tries to make it sound like a simple curiosity-type question, but there’s a slight desperation in his tone.

  I squint my eyes at him. “Like, specifically? No,” I lie, “but it looked vintage, and I’m obsessed with a vintage emerald ring that this fashion blogger I follow has. She says she got hers at a flea market, yet it’s supposedly this real emerald, and I don’t buy it.”

  “But you want to?”

  I chuckle. “Exactly. I wondered if there’s some secret vintage emerald boutique out there. And trust me; I’ve Googled it.”

  “Let me go get the ring, and I’ll show it to you.”

  “Really? I’d love that!” I clap.

  He returns a few moments later with The Echelon ring.

  “Wow, this looks really old. And it’s interesting that the designer would cover up a stone of such magnitude.”

  Royston closely studies me.

  I tilt my head. “This design though—the cross with the broken circles—it looks very familiar.”

  “Did you happen to see a ring like this in Ares’s belongings?” he asks, breathlessly awaiting my answer.

  “No, but”—I snap my fingers—“I know where it was. Not long ago, I went on a castle tour here in Montrovia. A symbol like that was on a box that supposedly held Lorenzo the Magnificent’s nautical compass. We talked about the design in detail with the guide, and she said he took his Medici family crest and mixed it up to create his own.”

  “I’d like to see that box,” Royston says. “Do you think tours are going on during the Olympics?”

  “There are. After those men came into the castle with machine guns a few months ago, I’ve wanted Lorenzo to stop them. But, with the Olympics in town, it’s the next hottest ticket. He said they have been sold out for months.”

  “You are friends with the king,” he says with a grin.

  “Let me call him.” I pull Lorenzo’s number up on my phone.

  “Hey,” I say when he answers. “So, long story, but Royston Bessemer has this cool vintage ring that I admired at Ari’s wedding. I got to look at it closely today, and I think the design on the top of it matches the scrolling on a box I saw on the palace tour. With the Olympics in town, all the tours are sold out, so we were wondering if we might be able to talk you into allowing us to sneak in the tour.”

  “I shall arrange a private tour for you,” Lorenzo replies as I hoped he would. “When would you like to come?”

  “Now,” I tell him.

  “May I join you?”

  “Um …”

  “I’ll have our most tenured guide waiting for you when you arrive.”

  “Thank you!” I say, ending the call. “Let’s go, Royston.”

  We get to the castle and, thankfully, get the same guide Ari and I had. I introduce her to Royston and ask her specifically about the box in the Velvet Room, which she leads us directly to.

  “I can’t recall what all you told us about it, but I remember it being about how some thought it was a symbol of a secret society, and others just believed it to be his personal crest.”

  She holds the box in her hands. “That’s correct. Legend has it that Lorenzo the Magnificent created a secret society. Lorenzo was a master statesman. Who his heirs wed was very strategic. If you married off your children to countries who might attempt to overtake you, it would lower the risk. Same goes for his supposed secret society. If you gathered a group of like-minded men in places of power, you could effectively control the world—or so Lorenzo thought.”

  I trace my fingers across the gold design.

  “And this was thought to be their symbol?” Royston asks.

  “Depends on who you ask,” the guide says with a grin. “While some believe the group survives even today, historians and symbolists suggest that this was simply Lorenzo’s personal signet.”

  “And how does it relate to his family?” Royston asks.

  “It’s believed that he took the five balls from the Medici crest and split them, symbolizing slashing his familial ties. Over them, he placed bands in the form of a cross, either referring to his religion or it could symbolize the defeat of the cyclical nature of the universe. In today’s world, we’d say Lorenzo dreamed big,” she says with a chuckle. “Throughout the world’s history, all great empires eventually fall. Some scholars believe that Lorenzo hoped to defeat that cycle in order to maintain a long-standing, peaceful society. Others suggest that the cross is the simple pagan sun cross, which represents the four directions, an early compass of sorts, tying into his love of the sea.”

  “The same symbol is on Lorenzo the Magnificent’s tomb,” I mention.

  “In all its glory,” the guide says, “which is why so many scholars believe there is no secret society. If there were, he wouldn’t have been so blatant in his use of the crest.”

  “Makes sense,” Royston says and then thanks the woman for her time.

  But, the second we leave the castle, he says, “I want to go see the tomb. Is it nearby?”

  “Yes, he’s buried in the National Cathedral on the Plaza de Vallenta.”

  The streets of Montrovia are crowded, and it takes us nearly twenty minutes to make the two-mile drive. Royston is very quiet during the ride, and I am not quite sure what to say.

  Ultimately, I decide to leave him with his thoughts—at least until after our brief history lesson is over.

  We g
et dropped off at the busy plaza. Lots of tourists are milling about, most sporting clothing featuring their country’s flag. It’s really pretty amazing, all the nationalities represented in one small space.

  Royston is staring up at the outside of the cathedral.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’m told, since it was built, most of the royal weddings in history have taken place here because it is much larger than the church on the palace grounds.” I wrap my arm through his, so we can stay close, and I lead him inside. “I know you want to see the crest, but you have to stop for a moment and appreciate the view of its massive interior with its multiple naves, domed ceilings supported by marble columns, and unique navy-and-white stripes. And, if that doesn’t impress you, take a look at the floor covered in mosaic designs that tell stories similar to those typically found on stained glass.”

  “I’m going to have to bring my wife back here,” he says. “She drags me to churches everywhere we travel to, and she will be awed by this.”

  I point to the front right corner of the church, where only a few tourists are gathered. “That nave is called Magnifico.”

  “For Lorenzo the Magnificent?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I lead him toward the ornately carved memorial. “Seek and ye shall find.”

  “What does that mean?” he asks, but then he sees it.

  “Only those who know to look for it will find it,” I answer.

  “I probably wouldn’t have noticed it otherwise,” Royston says in awe. “The symbol is hidden in the tree branches.”

  “What do you notice about the rest of the memorial?” I ask as we move in closer.

  “It’s very nature-oriented,” he says, “with all the trees and animals set on the rolling hills. Is it supposed to be Montrovia?”

  “Some scholars say it represents heaven, but it’s really a place from Greek history. During the Renaissance, the idea of an idyllic society was taking root. And it was depicted in many art forms during the time period. It’s Arcadia,” I say, following it up with, “Have you ever heard of it?”

  He tightly grabs my arm and leads me to a pew in the back of the church. “How do you know about all of this?”

  “I never got to meet my father,” I tell him. “But I’ve been trying to learn as much about him as I can. One of his prized possessions was a book written by Lorenzo the Magnificent. He was very intrigued by Lorenzo’s ideas on creating the perfect society. On creating Arcadia.

  “Recently, my brother and I traveled to Florence to see the tomb of Lorenzo’s brother, Giuliano de Medici. Lorenzo was given this land and named the Duke of Vallenta while his brother ruled Florence. It’s believed that the brothers created an underground society, bringing those with power together for the greater good of their world.” I put my head down and pretend to confess. “There’s something I know that I’m not really supposed to.”

  “What’s that?” he asks, his eyes brightening.

  “I know about the group called The Society.”

  “Your father had a ring like mine,” Royston blurts out.

  “He did?” I fake surprise. “Why?”

  “Why isn’t really important right now. I fear I’ve already said too much, but I can tell you that your father’s ring was supposed to pass to his firstborn son upon his death. Did he receive it?”

  “No. And Ari would have told me. He told me about his first Society meeting and what went on. I love him, but if I ever had a deep dark secret, I wouldn’t tell him. He’s honest to a fault—wait,” I say, pretending to have just put it all together. “History, if you believe the rumors, speaks of two groups formed by Lorenzo the Magnificent. One a group of ten, like a Knights of the Round Table, and another larger network of spies. My understanding is that this network of spies is what is now The Society. Is this ring, with Lorenzo’s personal crest, proof that the smaller group still exists?”

  “What about you?” Royston says, his face turning grave. “Are you like your brother as far as secrets are concerned?”

  “Not at all. I feel like a secret is a bond between two people. I’ve always loved history, but since learning I was Ares Von Allister’s daughter, I’ve grown to love it even more. I feel like it’s a bond between us. Something that, even though I never got to meet him, no one could take away.

  “I went through everything I could find in his office, at his home in DC, and even in Iraq. He was obsessed with Arcadia. It’s painted on the dome of each Sphere, both the TerraSphere in Iraq and the CitySphere here, which houses the athletes. Since I discovered that, I’ve become a little obsessed, too. I even dragged my brother to Florence to the Basilica di San Lorenzo. The guide there was amazing.” I stop and smile at him.

  “I even sort of lied to him and told him I was working on my doctorate and studying the first Lorenzo, and he told me about the rumors of the secret society. He said it existed and even took me to a part of the church that was off-limits. You should have seen the place. Even the sconces leading down the tunnel to the room had this same scrolling crest. And there was a worn round wooden table with ten chairs. That means, there would also be ten rings. Who else has them?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” he says.

  “You received it recently then?”

  “Yes. After the Von Allister Industries’ board meeting. They mentioned your father and a plan”—his face goes white—“as well as the attack in Iraq. They didn’t know it was you. Had you been killed, the man who ordered it would have been killed by the group.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of your last name. What happened at the Sphere that caused them to want you dead?”

  “I had a code that overrides the system, and we used it to gain access to all the research labs and tour them. Malcolm Prescott told me that it might have been a case of suspected corporate espionage.”

  “I fear that Montrovia is in danger,” he finally says.

  “Montrovia was definitely in danger. As was their king,” I say, trying to figure out what he knows and hoping to catch him here. “Although you will never hear this from anyone else, for obvious reasons, but the general who died last night was planning a coup.”

  “Did he control half of the forces?” Royston asks.

  “Yes. The entire Montrovian Army.”

  Royston lets out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. That means Montrovia is safe now. We can relax and enjoy the Olympics.”

  Even though I believe him, I’m not sure his assessment is correct, which tells me he doesn’t know everything.

  Journalists are all around me as I enter the aquatics facility for the final. When I take my seat in the bleachers, Bella and her mom are already seated with American flags in hand.

  I warmly greet them and then sit down. I text Lizzie, who I know was planning to watch the race from the Royal Box.

  Me: The press is relentless outside. I mentioned how the four of us are very good friends, and they asked if you would be in my wedding to Daniel. I said most definitely. So … will you be my bridesmaid?

  Lizzie: I’d be honored. He’s going to win tonight, isn’t he?

  Me: He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Of course he will.

  Lizzie: Come sit with me. I’m bored up here by myself.

  Me: Why don’t you come sit down here at the finish line with me? I have two seats, and my brother went to some equestrian event. Daniel would love having us both at the finish line when he sets the record.

  Lizzie: You’ve been a good friend to him.

  Me: Misery loves company. Plus, you can meet Bella, who is here for her Dream Wish, and she not only wished to come to the Olympics and meet Daniel, but she also just found out her cancer is in remission. She would love to meet you. But you have to hurry. The race is about to start!

  Lizzie quickly joins us, giving me a hug before sitting down. I hear the clicking of cameras and realize this is probably a strategic move from that side of things, too.

  “You look positively radiant today,
” I tell her.

  “I’m happy. Crazy, stupid, happy,” she whispers. “And keeping things under wraps has made me feel slightly rebellious to the crown.”

  I quickly introduce her to Bella and her mother. Bella asks her a million questions about her upcoming wedding to King Lorenzo and then stops talking the moment Daniel steps out onto the swimming platform.

  The swimmers are told to take their marks, and very quickly, the race begins.

  Bella jumps up and down and cheers, all the while spouting out stats and giving us a running commentary of how the race is going.

  The stadium is going crazy, the noise deafening, as the crowd watches the clocks on the big screen above us—one showing Daniel’s last world record pace time against his current, faster pace.

  “He’s going to do it,” Bella yells, grabbing my hand and tightly squeezing it. “He’s really going to do it!”

  As Daniel makes the turn going into his last lap and swimming toward us, the energy in the arena goes through the roof, everyone realizing we are about to witness history.

  Not only could Daniel set both new world and Olympic records, but this could also be the first of eight more possible gold medal runs. The announcers have mentioned numerous times how, at the last Olympics, then-seventeen-year-old Daniel won eight gold medals. If he wins another eight at this Olympics at just twenty-one, he will become one of the most decorated Olympic athletes in history.

  Lizzie grabs my other hand, and the three of us are screaming as Daniel slaps the wall with a record-setting time.

  The stadium erupts with cheers.

  Daniel jumps up out of the pool, throws his arm up in victory, and beelines toward us. He grabs Lizzie and kisses her on the lips.

  “Me, too,” I whisper in his ear, so he grabs me and gives me a similar kiss. “And the rest of the front row,” I say.