"Ego?" Galian said with a shrug.
I couldn't argue that point, but there was some larger plot afoot. Something akin to the surprise of our treaty, and I hated that we had no clue what it was. But my questions were soon forgotten when we saw the swarms of photographers, reporters, and general population camped out in front of the hospital, eager to see Galian and me together.
"Prepare yourselves," Kader announced from the front seat.
"Do I have to smile?" I asked Galian.
"Not unless you want to," he said, planting a kiss on my lips as the car slowed and was bombarded by photographers.
They were more eager than ever, fighting with each other for a space, their loud arguing audible even in the car. But even more, there were angry faces behind them, chanting and screaming and pressing in around us.
"Shit," Galian said, backing away from the window. "Who are all these people?"
I saw a sign, "Go back to your country," and it didn't take a genius to realize why they were so angry. "I don't think they like this wedding. Appears your father needs to do some work on his marketing."
"We should leave," Kader said.
"No, we need to meet with McMullen today," Galian said, tightening his hold on me. "We'll just push through it. They won't come inside the hospital."
Kader made a noise, but didn't argue. The car drove impossibly slowly, and it seemed like the crowd was climbing all over it. When we stopped, Kader turned to give me a pitying look. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
I nodded.
He opened his door and the loud roar of the crowd surrounded us for a moment, before the door slammed. Kader barked orders for the crowd to back away, but they didn't seem to listen to him.
"Just keep your head down," Galian said. "Don't say anything, don't look at anyone. I'll get us inside as quickly as possible."
Kader opened the door, and the crowd erupted around us.
"Should've died in that plane crash!"
"Raven whore!"
I kept my gaze on our interconnected hands, as Galian pushed through and dragged me with him. But, against my better judgement, I looked up and stopped short at the chaos around me. A sea of angry faces bore down on us, holding signs and pointing fingers. But I spotted more than a few dark-skinned protestors, screaming that I was a traitor.
"The blood of Rave is on your hands!"
I saw it before I could react; a wave of red coming at me in slow motion. I could only close my eyes and duck before the wall of water hit me.
"Ugh!" I screamed, but Galian yanked me inside the hospital, where we were somehow safe from the crazies outside the door.
"Are you okay?" he asked before his eyes widened. "Holy shit, Theo, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I'm..." But I looked down and my breath hitched. I was covered in thick, crimson blood. I felt it dripping down my face and soaking into my clothes, "Oh my God, I'm gonna be sick..."
"Just as long as none of this is yours." He didn't flinch as he inspected my arms, my chest, my legs, and was satisfied the blood came from somewhere else. "What the actual hell was that?"
Giggling erupted from the other side of the room where two young girls hid behind a pair of magazines. One of them withdrew a small camera and took a photo.
"That's it," Galian said, charging toward them, but I stopped him before he got too far.
"Leave them. The idiots outside got enough footage to last a year," I said. "I just want a shower."
The hospital was full of people and every one of them seemed to be pleased about my current state. But Galian's hand never left mine, and he blazed a trail of daring looks and glares as we made our way to the doctor's lounge. He showed me the shower, finding me a change of clothes, soap, and a towel, before leaving to inform the custodial staff about the blood—and the security team about the protestors.
He was waiting for me by the time I finished my shower, though, in my defense, I'd cried for a few minutes under the scalding water. When I pulled on the extra scrubs he'd left for me, I saw Helmuth embroidered into the chest and it made me smile.
"Are you okay?" he asked when I appeared in the lounge.
"Yeah," I said, toweling off my hair again. "Thanks for the clothes..."
"Can't have you meeting with our guy covered in blood," he said with a small smile. "Though I have to say, you do look good in a pair of scrubs. Maybe you should wear them more often."
"Any scrubs, or just ones with your name on them?" I asked.
He smiled. "You don't seem as annoyed as the last time you wore clothes embroidered with my name."
I'd forgotten all about him giving me his flight suit the first day on the island and laughed. "Well, I no longer only associate the Helmuth name with your father. Some of you are pleasant to be around. Sometimes."
We left the doctor's lounge hand-in-hand, and Galian made a big deal about talking with me as we passed people in the hall. He introduced me to a few of his doctor colleagues, who, for the most part, didn't seem to think I was a piece of trash. They merely seemed curious, asking me how I felt after the crash and how I was liking Kylae.
"It's..." I shared a look with Galian, who shrugged.
"I'm taking her to the exam room," he said, glancing at his watch. "We were hoping to wait until the crowd outside died down."
"Fat chance of that," said an older woman sitting at the desk. "They've tripled, from what we can tell." Her gaze landed on me, and she shook her head. "All this trouble for you."
"Rima, question for you," Galian said, pulling me toward her. "Has my patient Mr. McMullen arrived yet?"
"Yes, Doctor, he's waiting for you in twelve," she said, her gaze dancing to me as she spoke to him.
Galian thanked her with a smile, then we walked toward the other end of the hall.
"That wasn't too bad," I said quietly. "Maybe everyone doesn't hate me after all."
"See?"
"Just the swarms of protesters who think it's fun to douse me in blood." I shivered. "You don't think it was...human blood, do you?"
"Kylaens aren't that bad," Galian said, opening the door to room twelve.
The man inside was short and squat, with fire red hair and pale skin. How he was Anson's contact, I had no idea. He was the most Kylaen-looking Kylaen I'd ever seen.
"Gerard, how are you?" Galian said, closing the door behind him. "This is Theo, though I'm sure you know that."
"You look a bit less bloody than a few minutes ago," he said, giving me the once-over.
"Thanks," I said weakly, amazed at how quickly word had spread. "So you're the one talking with Anson?"
"Me? Hardly. I got a friend who's got a friend who's in his little web."
I balked. "So you're nobody. He's nobody—"
"He's been informing me for months," Galian said gently. "If he's got a message from Anson, it's real."
I was skeptical, but let the man speak.
He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "Anson ain't happy with you, I'll tell you that much. That plane crash was just the beginning."
Galian did a double take. "So it was Anson? How the hell did he get past security? And why target Theo?"
"It was a message for her, and for all us Kylaens. But mostly, it was for Bayard. You'll notice he sent that deputy in his place, huh? Bayard's holed up in Veres right now. He knows Anson's got it in for him, same as he has it in for you, little missy."
I swallowed, something cold in the pit of my stomach. "I'm not the enemy."
"You may not be, but you're working with them."
"We're trying to stop the treaty!" I said. "Surely, Anson knows I had nothing to do with this circus! This wedding is supposed to distract everyone—"
"Of course he knows that, everybody in Rave does. Bayard's looking to get a cushy retirement outta Grieg in exchange for handing over the country. Anson wanted to let Bayard know there wasn't a place he could run that Anson wouldn't find him."
"By making an example out of Theo?" Galian said. "He could've k
illed her."
"I'll say this: if he wanted you dead, you'd be dead. There's plenty of other ways to trip up a plane. And you don't survive seven years in the Raven military if you don't know how to put a plane down with broken landing gear." He snorted, and I couldn't argue that point. "But if you'd died, Anson wouldn't have cried over it. You're a turncoat in his eyes."
A weight of hopelessness hung around my neck. "All I want is for my country to have peace. I don't care how it happens, but it has to happen."
"Anson seems to think the only way to get anything done is through bloodshed," he said. "So my advice to you two is to watch yourselves. You ain't the target, but you'd make a hell of a spectacle. A double funeral might be a tad more unifying than a wedding."
I stared at him; that was the second time someone had said that to us. I was starting to believe someone might go through with it. Based on the crowd outside, I doubted anyone would mourn me.
"A... Thanks, Gerard," Galian said after a moment. "Tell Anson we're willing to negotiate, if he's willing to talk to us."
"I'll get the message to 'im but I doubt it'll do much good," McMullen said, standing and walking to the door. He nodded in my direction. "Godspeed, Theo."
The door closed, and I released a loud breath, slumping down into a nearby chair.
"Don't let him scare you," Galian said.
"I'm not scared," I said quietly. "I'm...Anson was supposed to be the good guy. What the hell are we supposed to do now?"
He chewed his lip. "We do that interview."
"What?"
"You and I go on the Kylaen media and we talk. We talk about ourselves, we talk about us. We make them fall in love with us the same way we fell in love with each other. Then, once they're on our side, we'll have the power."
"How are we supposed to do that in the span of one interview? It took me months to fall in love with you."
"Do you have any other options?" Galian asked, leaning against the door. "Because I don't know what other cards we've got to play."
TWENTY-THREE
Galian
Theo's blood-soaked image was splashed over the newspapers for a few days, which prompted Emilie to go ahead and set a date for the interview with Zygmont. Theo was still unconvinced about the whole thing, but didn't argue. Learning Anson had been responsible for sabotaging her plane had scared her more than she'd admitted to me—because it scared me too. If Anson wasn't willing to work with us, who would? But I kept my worries to myself, maintaining an optimistic outlook for Theo's sake.
Emilie was ecstatic when we told her we'd do an interview—but only with Zygmont, and only if it was live. Predictably, the live part had been dismissed by my father, but our choice of interviewer was approved and the date set for one week's time. The good news was Emilie busied herself working with Zygmont's team to come up with questions (and, of course, our prepared answers). And without her around, my mother was able to extend an invite to tea, under the auspices of planning the engagement party.
Filippa seemed to be the only person in the castle blissfully unaware (or purposefully ignoring) the ramifications of the wedding and treaty. My mother was noticeably colder toward Theo, barely asking my wife for her opinion on anything. But Theo seemed happier not being in the spotlight, so I'd squeeze her hand every few minutes to remind her that she could jump in at any time.
"We'll have to make do without Jervanian wine," Mom said with a small sigh as we nibbled on two choices of bread. "But I hear they've got a good vintage down in the Schoon province from a few years ago. Filippa, didn't Minister Bassett say something about that recently?"
"Yes, ma'am," Filippa said demurely. "Only, I believe His Highness asked Minister Bassett to assist with the rebuilding project in Rave."
If Mom had forgotten, or it was news to her, she played it off admirably. "Then would you please run down to the kitchens and see what the royal cook thinks we should order? I'd like pheasant, so I think a robust red would be an excellent pairing."
"Yes ma'am. I'll be right back."
Mom pretended to busy herself until the door clicked, then she tossed away the menu option list with a disgusted face. "Wedding planning. Such a trouble. Now, tell me about your interview. I'm very pleased you've decided to do it."
Theo made a noise and shook her head. "I'm worried. What if Zygmont decides to go off script?"
"The interview is taped, so at least we'll have some control. Remember, Grieg needs the two of you to be the positive face of the treaty, so he won't let anything get out that's unsavory." Mom sipped some of her water. "Emilie also seems to have your best interests at heart."
"My best interests as long as they make Kylae look good," Theo said with a glance at me. "We saw a draft of the questions this morning. 'How did you meet' and 'what did you think when you first saw each other' don't really lend themselves to talking about the treaty. Emilie also says we can't mention the word 'war' or anything to do with it."
"That makes it rather difficult to discuss how you met, doesn't it?" Mom replied with a small smile. "This is a negotiation, Theo. They've provided the questions—that's their initial offer, then you provide the answers—your counter. What airs is the final agreement."
"Sounds like they get the last word," Theo said with a frown.
"Not necessarily, because you two also have the advantage of being interesting," Mom said. "The people are curious, they want to know all about you."
"Last time I checked, they hated me."
"Hate, perhaps, but they're curious about you," Mom said with a wink to me. "And Galian is still very popular with his countrymen. You two can capitalize on that."
"How can we do that when they're going to tell us exactly what to say?" Theo asked.
"You casually add in a few extra words here and there. Slip of the mind, of course. Pardon my saying so, but Theo is known to be a bit shaky on camera, aren't you?"
Theo's hand jerked in mine, and she pursed her lips.
"Not intended as an offense, my love," Mom said with a small laugh. "But if you were to add in some commentary, it wouldn't seem too out of character for you. Such as, perhaps," she glanced at the paper, "when they ask what you love most about Galian, you could mention how he inspired you to speak from the heart in Jervan."
Theo furrowed her brow and glanced at me. "But—"
"And if memory serves, your speech was broadcast all over Rave, was it not? And the prevailing message of that speech was seeking a peaceful, independent Rave."
"You heard my speech?" Theo asked, her voice small.
"I read the transcript. Unfortunately, the video was not broadcast here," Mom replied. "But for this interview, you and Galian should be reminding the people who you are. A proud, decorated Raven major who gave seven years of her life toward Rave's independence and who was able to look past your differences to fall in love with a Kylaen prince. Anson will hear your loyalty, the Kylaens will see your love story."
"And you don't think Grieg will...have a problem with that?" I asked cautiously.
"I honestly don't know what he's thinking anymore," Mom replied, picking up her tea. "I haven't even seen the man in weeks. But the time for caution is coming to an end. We've laid the groundwork for our offense, and it's time to move on it."
I opened my mouth to reply, but the door swung open and Emilie walked through, a bright smile on her face.
"Ms. Mondra," Mom said, although there was a touch of tension in her voice, "we were having a private meeting."
"My apologies, Your Highness." She bowed slightly. "I just wanted to pass on the good news. The king has granted Zygmont's request to air the interview live."
Theo and I shared a shocked look. "L-live?" she stammered.
"Oh, don't fret, 'neechai. We'll have your answers memorized backward and forward so you won't have to worry about a thing."
Theo did not look appeased by this news.
"That's excellent news, Emilie," Mom replied with a smile. "Could you excuse us?"
&nbs
p; Emilie bowed at the waist, and left us in peace.
"That's awfully trusting..." Theo said after the door had shut. "Why would he have agreed to such a thing?"
Mom, too, looked concerned by this development. "I don't know, darling. But you're right, it does seem out of character for him, especially considering the circumstances."
"Can we still...I mean, this is good news for our negotiation, right?" Theo said, although she sounded as unsure as I felt.
"That remains to be seen," Mom replied, with one final, nervous look at the door.
Theo
Neither Galian nor I could figure out why Grieg would allow us to speak live. There was the chance he thought we were inconsequential, or over our rebellious streak, but I couldn't believe that. Grieg was too smart, and had too many spies. The uneasy feeling that we were again pawns in a much larger game came back with a vengeance, and I couldn't shake it.
Compounding my worry was the fear of this interview. Korina's assurances that Zygmont wanted to paint me in a positive light fell flat on me—I'd met the woman myself. After all, most of the country hated me anyway; she would lose nothing except the king's favor if she made me look like an idiot.
Emilie chalked my nervousness up to simply that—my usual fear of public speaking. But just as when we were preparing for Jervan, I stumbled over words and phrases that should've come naturally. Even Galian couldn't break through my worry, and soon enough, I found myself wide awake the night before the interview, dread, fear, and worry taking turns in the pit of my stomach.
"Go to sleep," Galian mumbled beside me as I turned on my side again.
"I'm trying," I snapped back, hating him and his ability to sleep through worry. Then again, he didn't seem too preoccupied with the interview. "I just hate it, the pressure. Thinking about what I have to say." My heart thumped in my chest. "Knowing that hundreds of thousands of people are watching me, listening to every word. What if she asks something, and I don't know how to respond?"
The Complete Madion War Trilogy Page 65
