A Queen's Pride

by N. D. Jones

  Silas poured himself a steaming cup of coffee, adding one sugar and two cream packets. He sniffed, tasted, smiled. Perfect.

  “Are you done?”

  Returning to his seat, Silas inhaled the rich aroma of hazelnut and drank more of the life-saving caffeine.

  “You and your damn coffee addiction. As I was saying, Asha is just a girl. You saw the way she sat at this table yesterday. She looked bored out of her skull.”

  “News flash, Frank, all teenagers look like that. It doesn’t mean anything. You would know that about them if you hadn’t palmed the raising of your kids off on your ex-wife. How old are your sons? Early twenties, right?”

  “My family is none of your concern.”

  Frank all but scowled the words at Silas, the only clue the man gave a damn about someone other than himself. Good to know.

  “My point is that she has no more interest in ruling a kingdom than any other teenager would. Because her parents are gone, I’m sure she’s hurt and angry. But she’s also afraid of ending up like them, almost as much as she’s terrified of running a country she’s ill-equipped to handle. Like I said, she looked bored yesterday, ready to get the hell out of here as soon as she could. She doesn’t want the responsibilities left to her.”

  “You’ve made a lot of assumptions.”

  “Thirty-five. That’s how old a candidate must be to run for Chief. We’re ten years older than that.”

  “I’m forty-seven.”

  “Cut the passive-aggressive bullshit and listen.” Frank eyed the coffee cup in Silas’s hand. A minute later, he fixed himself a cup—black—like his heart. “No country has a head of state under the age of thirty. Any head of state younger than thirty, the country risks having a ruler in office with too little knowledge, skill, and experience to be an effective leader. She may be more mature than the average eighteen-year-old, I’ll give her that. But at the end of the day, Asha is a girl with a big title, an even bigger country, and huge shoes she can’t possibly fill. By taking a third of her kingdom off her hands, we’ll be doing her a favor.”

  “A favor?”

  Frank gulped his coffee as if it wasn’t hot. “She won’t want to see it like that, and I doubt she would admit it to anyone. But she’ll be glad to be rid of some of her responsibility. Her parents were too proud for their own good. But I do know teens and fuck you for implying I was an absent father to my boys.”

  Silas lifted his cup to his mouth. Empty. From the way Frank’s fists were clenched, maybe they would come to blows after all. Ignoring Frank, he poured himself more coffee. The second cup was even better than the first.

  “Stop seething and finish. You may not have anyone waiting for you at home, but I do. I don’t want to be here all night.”

  Silas thought Frank would curse him again, and maybe he would’ve, but the knock on the door halted whatever had been percolating in Frank’s mind.

  To be continued, he supposed. “Come in.”

  A security guard opened the door and peeked her head inside. “Sirs, there is a Sergeant Major Javier Hernandez to see you. I was told to bring him here when he arrived.”

  Frank got to his feet and walked to the door, ushering Sergeant Major Hernandez in and thanking the guard before closing the door firmly in her face. Frank shook the tall, muscular man’s hand, and so did Silas.

  “Stormbane, this is Chief Silas Royster. Silas, Stormbane here is the elite of the elite. Rogueshade is comprised of only the best the Vumarian military has to offer.” Frank’s big eyes brightened, and he slapped Hernandez on the shoulder. “I was just telling Silas about your good work at the hotel. How’s our little queen?”

  Dressed in crisp black fatigues, white shirt, and black boots, Hernandez didn’t look like a man who’d been in a life-and-death battle. He appreciated Hernandez’s good sense to freshen up before appearing at the party’s headquarters.

  Hernandez’s dark eyes fell to the hand on his shoulder then to Silas. “Nice to meet you, Chief Royster. May I sit, Deputy Chief?”

  “Of course, of course,” Frank said, happier and friendlier than he’d known the man to be, except for when they’d won the election. Frank pulled out a chair for Hernandez, the one right next to his own. “Here you go. You should’ve brought Nighthide with you, so Silas could see we don’t discriminate in Rogueshade based on gender.”

  Maybe not gender, but there were other forms of genetic-based discrimination.

  While on the campaign trail, Silas had met his share of active duty and retired soldiers. They weren’t all the same. Not in their bearings or in their beliefs. But he knew a veteran soldier when he saw one—men and women too used to taking orders and going into war. The Sergeant Major had that look about him—a man who’d traveled to a cliff’s edge countless times, jumping over because someone above him, someone like Frank London, told him his loyalty and service were for a great cause. Silas would like to think the causes Hernandez had killed for were indeed great. Unfortunately, what happened at the hotel couldn’t be counted as one of them, not when terrorizing and kidnapping a child had been part of his mission.

  There was something else in the man’s eyes. Sadness, maybe. Regret? Silas couldn’t pinpoint the emotion. But the way he’d all but flinched when Frank mentioned Nighthide, a female Rogueshade apparently, Silas assumed whatever emotions he detected from the soldier had to do with the woman Frank thought would demonstrate his group’s gender equality.

  “Savannah is in the hospital.”

  Frank patted Hernandez’s shoulder again. “I understand. I guess she was hurt during the mission. I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s tough, just like her husband.”

  “Yeah, Savannah is tough. But you don’t understand.” Hernandez placed the item he’d been holding on the table in front of Frank. “But you will.”

  “Great, the video you mentioned on the phone. Where’s the folder I gave Nighthide?”

  “Back at the warehouse.”

  “You were supposed to bring it here.”

  “Tell us what we don’t know,” Silas interjected, annoyed by Frank’s obliviousness to detect the undercurrent running through his own soldier. “What happened after your team secured the girl?”

  Long seconds passed before Hernandez responded. His big hands were splayed on the table in front of him, and Silas could envision those hands holding a gun and ending lives. The elite of the elite. With a code name like Stormbane, Silas grasped what made him and his fellow Rogueshades the best the Vumarianmilitary had to offer, at least in Frank’s eyes.

  “I left a squad behind to collect our dead and dispose of the bodies of the others.”

  “Good,” Frank agreed, with the same bland tone as Hernandez’s use of the word “others” to describe those killed by his team.

  “Not good, sir. When they didn’t return, I sent a couple of the guys after them.”

  Silas knew he wouldn’t like the conclusion to Hernandez’s story.

  “The bodies were still there, including the squad I left for cleanup and removal.”

  The hand wrapped around the coffee cup and making its way to Frank’s mouth stilled. “What are you talking about?”

  “We killed the Shona leaders and all of their bodyguards. At least we thought we eliminated all of the guards.”

  Frank’s hand slammed to the table, cracking the coffee cup. “The royal family and six guards. That’s nine felidae. Only one of them should’ve survived—the girl. Eight bodies. Are you telling us you don’t have eight felidae bodies?”

  “We don’t have any felidae corpses. That’s what I’m telling you. A lot of dead Rogueshades, including the squad assigned to cleanup and disposal, but not one Shona. We swept the hotel for survivors before we left with the girl.”

  “You obviously missed someone.”

  “I don’t see how we could’ve.”

  “Yet you obviously did.”

  “Yeah,” Hernandez said and scratched his scalp under his closely cropped hair, “I suppose we di
d. But there was no bodyguard with the girl when we found her.”

  Like Frank, Silas no longer had a taste for his coffee. He pushed his cup away instead of slamming it on the table as Frank had done his own. “Does it make sense to you, Sergeant Major, that Khalid Bambara and Sekhem Zarina would leave their daughter unprotected?”

  “It doesn’t. I assumed her guard had been killed and, in the melee, she ran away. We caught her in the kitchen. Most likely she thought she could escape through the loading area. Smart plan, but I’d stationed three soldiers at that post.”

  “When she was discovered, did she fight or try to run away?”

  “Make your point,” Frank barked at Silas.

  “Your Sergeant Major knows my point. The girl allowed herself to be captured because she was protecting one of her guards. That’s the felidae who took out the squad he left behind and who also removed the bodies of his leaders and comrades. Isn’t that right, Sergeant Major?”

  A stiff nod answered his question, so Silas pushed on. “Tell me you sent in another squad to clean up what the first failed to do. By clean up I also mean the security footage.”

  “That’s what took me so long to get here. I went back to the hotel to personally oversee the mission. We had until five before the change in shift. The morning hotel crew will arrive to find bullet holes and blood but no bodies. The shift manager will call corporate and the police. There was never any way to keep what happened under wraps. But, without bodies and security tapes, the police won’t have much to go on.”

  “Unless the bodyguard you let slip through your net goes to the police.”

  “Come on, Silas. We can spin this however we want. No one will believe the guard.”

  “Why? Because he’s Shona and beneath humans? All of Vumaris doesn’t think of the felidae the way you do.”

  “If that were true, we wouldn’t have won the election. Our supporters know that no matter how rich the Shona are, how well spoken and educated, or even how attractive their human form that, at their core, felidae are dangerous animals who cannot be trusted. One guard killed an entire squad. Why would we place our trust and safety in a race of people capable of that kind of carnage?”

  “But—”

  “Stormbane, tell me why you didn’t bring the signed papers and what’s on the VHS.”

  Hernandez’s gaze shifted between Silas and Frank, probably confused as to which of them was in charge. His dark eyes finally settled on Frank. “The girl refused to sign the addendum. She also attacked my wife. She could’ve killed her. She moved incredibly fast. I was standing right there. Right in front of her.” He licked dry, cracked lips. “I didn’t see her stand. I didn’t see her fingers shift. I didn’t see anything before her claws were embedded in Savannah’s chin.”

  “My god.” The statement burst from Silas. The image he’d envisioned was gruesome but also incongruent with the quiet, polite girl he’d met.

  “She looks like an angel—soft spoken and mannerly. She isn’t. She didn’t kill Savannah, although she could’ve. She wanted to hurt her, to punish her. She wants to punish us all.”

  The two-hundred-pound, six-foot hardcore soldier shivered.

  “You sound as if you’re scared of the girl. Are you scared of an eighteen-year-old child who weighs a buck twenty?”

  “You don’t get it, Deputy Chief. We killed her parents. What do you think something like that does to the mind of someone as young as the girl? I don’t think she gives a damn about being sekhem, but she cares a hell of a lot about hurting those who hurt her.”

  “She’s just a scared little girl,” Frank insisted. “We can and will control her. Okay, yes, maybe she has more balls than I gave her credit for having. Maybe she’s more like her mother than I realized. But she’s still a solitary lioness without a pride to back her up. She’ll sign over her land to us, even if it takes destroying her will and breaking her body. Use the lions, if you must. I bet she’ll sign then.”

  “What lions?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Silas.” Frank slid the videocassette to Hernandez. “There’s a VCR on the television stand. Put the video on so I can see what’s got you shaking in your boots.”

  Hernandez paused and then frowned as if he’d smelled rotten food, but said nothing. Doing as Frank ordered, the Rogueshade turned on the television and VCR and pushed in the VHS. He handed Frank the remote control when he returned to his chair.

  The lighting in the warehouse wasn’t the best, but Silas could make out armed soldiers standing against a wall behind a seated Asha. The girl looked like she’d been through the wringer. Her hair stood up in wild curls. Her dress, different from the one he’d last seen her wearing, was torn in places and bloodied in others. She wore no shoes. Dark circles rimmed eyes that looked nothing like the ones he’d seen when she’d sat with her parents.

  Silas wished his shock at seeing irrefutable evidence of his and Frank’s plan to kidnap a daughter of Shona, her wrists and ankles chained to a chair, served as the cause of his pounding heart and suddenly dry mouth. But it wasn’t, no matter how uncomfortable the sight of a bound girl made him feel.

  Her eyes—golden-brown—neither reminded Silas of a caged animal nor of a frightened teen. They didn’t shine with tears, although their puffiness revealed she had cried. Her eyes also didn’t wilt when Stormbane approached from the side. They stared right into the video camera.

  Flat. Cold.

  “Hello, Chief Royster and Deputy Chief London.”

  When she spoke, the expression on her face didn’t change; neither did the look in her eyes. Her voice didn’t remind him of her mother’s—strident and subtly threatening. Silas couldn’t recall if he’d heard the girl speak yesterday. For some reason, he didn’t think she had, so he couldn’t be sure if her voice had changed. Common sense told him, after her ordeal, it very well may have. But it was as Hernandez had said, she looked like an angel. A bedraggled angel, but an angel all the same. But her voice—a diabetic coma level of sugary sweetness—was potentially life-threatening.

  Frank paused the video. “You should’ve shackled her from the beginning. She won’t attack anyone else with those heavy-duty chains holding her in place.”

  “Can she break them?” Silas asked.

  “She let me put them on her without a fight or complaint.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “It means I have no idea what she’s capable of until she does it, Chief Royster. It means if I get back to the warehouse and find my soldiers slaughtered and her gone, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hernandez pointed to the paused image of the girl. “She won’t be gone, though. She hasn’t punished us yet.” The same finger shifted to Silas and Frank. “She hasn’t punished you two yet. We should kill her and be done with it.”

  “No,” Silas and Frank said at the same time but undoubtedly for different reasons.

  “You already murdered her parents. That’s enough. Asha doesn’t have to die too.”

  “That decision will have us all dead. You might as well play the video and see for yourself. The girl’s not right in the head. She speaks in riddles, but her message is clear.”

  “That she wants us all dead?”

  “Wouldn’t you, Chief Royster? I know I would. Why should I think because she’s young and female that she would be any less bloodthirsty? If her personality ever matched her sweet face, it doesn’t anymore. She’s a spawn of the devil.” Hernandez removed the remote control from Frank’s immobile hand and pushed the play button. “We unleashed a demon. See for yourself.”

  “When the world around us raged with injustice and all manner of violence and oppression, the Kingdom of Shona avoided becoming embroiled in the affairs of others. We neither took sides nor offered our opinion on social issues that did not involve our people. If nothing else, we Shona know how to survive.”

  She paused.

  Silas released his held breath.

  For several minutes, Asha remained silent, staring off into the distance.
It was an empty warehouse. What in the world could’ve captured her attention?

  “We Shona believe in a higher power. When a lion and lioness ascend to alpha, they are blessed with a new name. The name Bambara comes from a Panthera Leo tribal leader who risked his life to aid the Panthera Tigris fleeing human captivity. Zarina means golden lioness of peace and protection. For my grandmother, the name Zarina exemplified what it means to be a sekhem, so she chose not to bestow Mom with a new name upon her ascension to alpha.”

  “This is worthless,” Frank complained. Snatching the remote from Hernandez, he paused the video. “Instead of allowing her to record this garbage, you should’ve used the time to force her to sign the addendum. I don’t need a lesson on Shona naming practices.”

  “Neither did I, sir. But there’s a message in what appears to be the ramblings of a grief-stricken girl.”

  “If you say so.” Frank restarted the video.

  As if she’d been waiting for them, she paused again. Her eyes, once more, looked off-screen.

  “What is she looking at?” Silas asked.

  “Nothing. Everything.” Hernandez shrugged. “She’s the spookiest kid I’ve ever met. Give me permission to put a bullet in her brain. If not, at the first opportunity, she’ll do to us what she did to Savannah. But she won’t stop at a tongue and chin. She’ll take all of our heads.”

  Silas gripped his coffee cup, raised it to his mouth, and downed the rest. It was no longer hot and the flavor of hazelnut didn’t taste as good going down as it had before, but Silas needed something to calm his nerves. Room temperature coffee wouldn’t be enough, but it was better than nothing.

  “My mother gave me my sekhem name. I didn’t want it, but she had no choice but to bless me with it anyway.” Asha paused again but didn’t look away. She stared right at the camera lens, eyes more gold than brown. “He who beats the drum for the madman to dance to is no better than the madman himself.”

  “What does that mean?” Frank asked.

  “He who runs after good fortune runs away from peace.”