Hostage

by Rachel Manija Brown

  He edged backward, then headed toward the opposite side of the canyon, cautiously scuffling with the tips of his boots as he went. If he climbed across the other wall, he could avoid the jelly trap, even if it was spread across the entire canyon floor.

  Before he reached the other side, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He was sure something was watching him. Then a sound reached him from high above. It was the distinctive cough of a cougar.

  Ross gritted his teeth. If he yelled to scare off the cougar, he might alert Voske’s people. Sound carried a long way in the desert.

  The cougar coughed again, this time closer. It was stalking him.

  Ross grabbed a rock, knowing that it wouldn’t put off the big cat for long. There had to be crevices large enough for him to hide in but too small for the cougar. Afraid of setting off the cougar’s pouncing instincts, Ross forced himself not to run. He quickly walked away.

  A soft chuff a few meters away had to be the cougar leaping down to the canyon floor. Then millions of lightning bolts needled Ross from head to toe. He gasped and stumbled backward. The pain was agonizing. He dropped the rock and patted at his face and arms. He’d walked straight into a stand of jumping cactus.

  Ross held himself still, though his breath came in ragged gasps. Segments of jumping cactus broke off and leaped at you if you came too close. Then the hook-shaped spines dug in and sucked your blood. When the segments were full and fat as a tick, they leaped back to their parent plant. Struggling only made the spines dig deeper. The last time Ross had gotten stuck by a segment, he’d had to pull the spines loose with pliers.

  There was a soft padding sound: the cougar was loping away. Ross must have walked into a huge patch, if the cougar wasn’t willing to risk getting closer.

  Then he realized that it wasn’t the cactus that had scared off the cougar.

  The thump of hooves grew louder than his heartbeat.

  A girl’s mocking laughter reached Ross. “Need a hand?”

  It was Bankar.

  Chapter Twelve. Gold Point.

  Kerry

  Kerry Ji Sun Voske, crown princess of the Gold Point Empire, joined her father on his private balcony.

  “Here they come,” Father said.

  After all she’d heard about Ross Juarez, who had ruined the conquest of Las Anclas and killed thirty of Father’s private guard, she’d expected him to be seven feet tall and big enough to lift an ox. But the boy riding with the dust-caked scout team was no older than she, and so scrawny and unimpressive that Kerry wondered if the team had grabbed the wrong guy.

  He rode in front of Charles, whose dark face looked tired and somber as he kept a firm grip on the prisoner’s shoulder with one hand. His horse uncoiled her prehensile tail and tried to smack the prisoner across the face. Charles batted the tail away.

  If Ross even noticed, he didn’t react. His unkempt black hair hid his face, but Kerry caught a glimpse of bony shoulders beneath a ratty old shirt. The only eye-catching thing about him was the beautifully made gauntlet on his left hand.

  The scouts saluted Father, Santiago dropping the reins to do so. He’d been hurt—he wore a sling. Kerry leaned anxiously over the balcony. He gave her a reassuring smile, then faced straight ahead. Oh yes, riding right behind him was a loathsomely familiar skinny form, round face smirking proudly: Shanti Bankar. The scouts vanished beyond the guest house.

  Father turned to Kerry, smiling. “Want to hear the report?”

  “Of course!” Kerry replied eagerly.

  “It will be a good test for you,” Father said. “First, what did you see just now?”

  Kerry knew better than to blab her first impression. The prisoner had to be the right one, or Father would have said something. “Santiago was injured. I’m surprised the team let the prisoner keep his gauntlet, since they obviously fought with him.”

  “Or with his companions. Is he what you expected?”

  “I know better than to be fooled by appearances.”

  Father laughed. “Young Ross doesn’t look very formidable, does he? Come on, let’s hear what Greta has to say.”

  Kerry happily followed him out. She loved it when Father included her in private interviews.

  He paused halfway down the hall. “Where are we going?”

  The chamber closest to the royal bedroom was her favorite, with its cherry wood walls and rich tapestries. But Father only used it to reward people who had performed exceptionally well. Given that the scout team was a day late and Santiago had been wounded, Kerry wasn’t sure the mission had been exceptional. For a failed mission, Father might choose the smallest chamber, which only had chairs for Father and her. But the team had succeeded, though not perfectly.

  “The inner interview chamber,” Kerry said confidently. “It’s comfortable, but not too comfortable. And it’s more private than the outer one.”

  Father’s smile was Kerry’s reward. “Correct.”

  The hall guards opened the chamber doors. Kerry took her seat in the richly decorated chair between Father’s throne and the table with the model of Las Anclas. Her future kingdom! She glanced at the tiny clay houses, wondering which one Ross had lived in.

  Father sat down. “What’s the main thing we need to learn about our new guest?”

  Kerry was a little disappointed. It was such an easy question. “What motivates him.”

  “What do we already know about that?”

  Kerry considered the miniature Las Anclas. “Prospectors usually want to get rich.”

  “Too general,” said Father. “He’s not just a prospector, he’s an individual.”

  She didn’t know much about Ross as an individual. “He fought for Las Anclas. Maybe he’s tired of wandering around, and he wants to settle down.”

  “Let’s find out.”

  The scouts were waiting in the hall with the honor guard. Father waved Greta inside, followed by Charles and Santiago. Kerry was annoyed to see Bankar tagging along as well. The scouts looked tired and grimy, but saluted crisply.

  “You may be seated,” Father said. “Your report?”

  Greta’s voice fell into the formal rhythm of a mission report. “The trip to the ruined city of Las Anclas was accomplished without incident. We took a position out of sight and watched the road with field glasses. That evening, he and two companions, a boy and a girl, arrived and set up camp. We waited through several watches, until he and the boy who looked like a fighter were both asleep, and there was enough light for us to see. Then we moved in.”

  “Santiago was dropped by a guy who wasn’t even awake yet,” Bankar jeered.

  Santiago looked embarrassed. To Kerry’s pleasure, Greta gestured to shut Bankar up. Kerry wished she could use her power on Bankar. Just enough to make her squeal.

  Greta turned to Santiago. “Tell the king about your fight. Exactly the way you told it to me.”

  Santiago shifted, as if uncomfortable. “I tried to sweep him with my staff, and he went for my throat with a knife. He moved faster than I expected, and he got in under my guard. If he’d wanted to kill me, he would have.”

  Kerry was shocked. It hadn’t occurred to her that her boyfriend had been in serious danger from that skinny little guy. Santiago was one of the best fighters of the guys his age. That was why he was one of the king’s scouts. She restrained the impulse to run up and put her arms around him.

  Santiago went on, “Then he flipped the knife around and broke my collarbone with the hilt. I think he’d meant to cut my throat, but he changed his mind. I don’t know why.”

  Father looked intrigued. “What happened immediately before he turned the knife around?”

  Santiago’s black brows pulled together. “I was trying to bring my staff up and move back, but he was too close. I looked right into his eyes, and I knew he was going to kill me.” He shrugged. “But he didn’t.”

  Father nodded, as if that explained everything. He glanced at Kerry, obviously expecting her to understand.

  But s
he was too angry at Bankar’s smirk, as if she thought she would have done better. Crunch! Kerry looked down. She’d crushed one of the fragile Las Anclas figurines.

  Greta picked up the report. “Ross’s companions didn’t go until he shouted at them to run and get help, even after we wounded the boy. The girl wouldn’t leave at all until the boy dragged her away.”

  Father leaned forward. “Out of duty? Or a personal relationship?”

  “Relationship,” said Greta. “I saw them kissing earlier.”

  “You should have taken her, too,” Father said.

  Greta’s eyelids flicked up in alarm. “I’m sorry, sir. If I’d known that was what you wanted . . .”

  Father waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind. I didn’t give you orders for that contingency. Go on.”

  Greta continued, “Charles used the touch to blind Ross—”

  “He says,” Bankar put in, rolling her eyes again.

  Charles spoke for the first time. “He was blind.”

  “Was there any doubt about it?” Father asked.

  “I think so,” Bankar said, arms crossed.

  Santiago snorted. “You just don’t want to admit that you let a blind prisoner escape on your watch.”

  Kerry blurted, “Ross escaped?”

  There was a dead silence. The scouts glanced at Father, then stared at the floor.

  Greta’s usually calm voice was nervous and hurried. “We camped in a narrow canyon and set up tripwires on both ends. We also had a watch on him. In retrospect, we should have tied him up, but at the time it didn’t seem necessary, given that he was blind.”

  Greta glared Bankar’s way. “On Bankar’s watch, she fell asleep for a few minutes, and Ross disappeared without a trace. He didn’t set off the tripwires, and there were no footprints leading out of the canyon. After a thorough search, we decided that he must have climbed out.”

  Kerry couldn’t help it. “Blind?”

  Father gave her an amused glance, then said calmly, “How long did it take you to find him?”

  “All day,” Greta admitted. “When the sun came up, we could see that he wasn’t on the plateau. We employed the standard spiral search, and finally we found a footprint.”

  Bankar grinned. “When we caught up with him, the idiot had walked straight into a huge jumping cactus.”

  “Proving my point,” Charles said. “If he could see, he would have avoided it.”

  “It took half the night to pry out the spines,” Bankar said. “I still think we should have left them in him.”

  Father laughed, to Kerry’s annoyance. She wished he’d be more selective about his pets. Sure, Bankar had a valuable Change, but it didn’t make up for being an immature little brat.

  “Why didn’t you confiscate his gauntlet?” Kerry asked Greta, to cut off Bankar.

  Greta turned to Kerry. “He can’t use his left hand without it. Really. His arm is badly scarred. I couldn’t force his hand into a fist. The king said to treat him like a guest, and taking the gauntlet seemed cruel.”

  “Did he tell you how he escaped?” Father was leaning forward, hands clasped. Kerry hadn’t seen him so interested for a long time.

  “He didn’t say a word for the rest of the trip,” Charles said.

  Father put his hands on his knees. “Perhaps he’ll talk to us. Bankar, you let down the team.”

  Bankar scowled. Had she really thought she’d get away with almost ruining an important mission? Kerry pressed her lips together to hide her pleasure.

  “Ten lashes,” said Father. “Then wall duty with the regulars for a week, while you reflect on the responsibilities of the elite force.”

  Bankar looked glum. But if she hadn’t been Father’s pet, she’d have gotten a much worse whipping and demotion for a month, or even permanently. She ought to be grateful for her ridiculously light sentence. Kerry hoped the sergeant on punishment duty wouldn’t slack off.

  Father addressed Greta. “If Las Anclas sent soldiers in pursuit, they should be right behind you. Tell the watch commander to extend the perimeter to half a day’s ride, triple patrols in line-of-sight. If they attempt a rescue, we can expect it within the next few days. Perhaps as early as tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.” Greta saluted.

  “Good work,” Father told the scouts. “Take your liberty. You’ve earned it.”

  As the scouts left, Bankar taunted, “Skin heals faster than bone. You’ll be out of the scouts for longer than me, Santiago!”

  Kerry shook her head. Being a brat would never get Santiago’s attention. She remembered when Bankar had Changed, and her family had been moved to Palace Gardens. Whenever she had a crush on someone, she’d run up, hit them, and run away. All that was different now was that she used words instead of blows.

  “What do you think of our guest now?” Father asked.

  That was the third time Ross Juarez had been referred to as a guest. That meant father had something special in mind for him.

  Kerry tried to go beyond the obvious. “He protected his companions, but he didn’t kill Santiago when he had the chance. His friend and his girlfriend were loyal to him.”

  “How can we use that to our benefit?”

  “If he made friends with people in Las Anclas and fought for them, we could have people here befriend him, so he’ll fight for us. Too bad Greta didn’t bring his girlfriend.”

  Father nodded. “Yes, that is too bad. We could have made use of her. But, Kerry, you always use the carrot and the stick.”

  “I don’t think the stick will work on him. A guy who was willing to run blind into the desert?”

  “You fit the stick to the individual, just as you do the carrot. From what we’ve heard, I agree that he’s not motivated by fear. At least, not fear for himself. I was thinking about your mother.”

  “What about Mom?” Kerry hid a grimace at the thought of Min Soo. She didn’t dare call her mother by her given name—so disrespectful! But she could at least think disrespectful thoughts.

  “Opportunity Day. There haven’t been any volunteers for the next one, so it would be by lottery anyway.”

  Kerry was confused. “You want to make Ross volunteer? But he’s already Changed. Mom’s power won’t work on him.”

  “No, no,” Father said. “I’ll invite Ross to choose which candidate your mother tries to Change.”

  “What would that do?” Kerry instantly worried that she’d said the wrong thing. Maybe she should have speculated instead. She didn’t want to seem unimaginative.

  But Father was obviously in a good mood. He leaned back in his throne, ready to explain. “How did you feel when you chose?”

  Kerry thought back to the three times when she’d chosen among the candidates. “It was an honor. I felt proud that you let me choose. But it was a letdown when none of my candidates got a good Change.”

  Father looked disappointed. “Didn’t you feel powerful? You were deciding someone’s fate. This will tell us if Ross has any interest in power. If he doesn’t, it’ll depend how it goes. If it goes well, it’ll be a carrot. He’ll be grateful to me that nothing bad happened. If it goes wrong, he’ll feel guilty and blame himself. There’s the stick.”

  “That’s so clever, Father.” It was always fascinating to hear him explain how people worked. Kerry felt like she was getting smarter just listening to him. “I can’t wait to see what happens.”

  “Nor can I.” Father got to his feet. “Kerry, don’t forget that Las Anclas might send soldiers. If you ride outside of the gates, take an honor guard. Or check first.”

  Kerry knew what that meant. “I will.”

  She hurried out of the palace. Servants were watering Min Soo’s rose garden. Kerry wondered if the servants tending those stupid roses hated them as much as she hated hearing her mother drone on about all their dull varieties.

  She cut across the punishment grounds and skirted the whipping post, idly imagining Bankar’s upcoming flogging. The girl had no proper dignity. There was n
o way she’d make it through without squealing—in fact, she’d probably start yelling at the first cut, hoping to make the sergeant pity her and go lighter.

  Kerry picked up her pace, nearly skipping past the execution platform, lost in happy daydreams of her reunion with Santiago.

  At the infirmary, she heard Santiago’s voice through an open door. “Can I take a bath?”

  Kerry stepped up to the doorway. The doctor had his back to her, tossing old bandages into the laundry basket. “You can, but have someone help you.”

  Santiago met Kerry’s eyes and smiled. “That won’t be a problem.”

  The doctor turned, then saluted. “Princess! May I help you?”

  “I’m here for Santiago,” Kerry said. “Shall I walk you home?”

  Santiago jumped up and formally offered his hand, as if she had requested a dance. They both laughed.

  A hot flush of happiness welled up in Kerry as she walked with him, holding his hand. It was so nice to see his brown eyes, his snub nose, his bright smile. Her sister Deirdre used to sneer at Kerry’s “common” taste, meaning that Santiago didn’t meet her shallow standards of handsomeness. But Kerry loved his pleasant, blunt-featured face. It looked friendly and warm and straightforward, which was exactly what he was.

  They disengaged their hands simultaneously, reaching out for each other.

  “Jinx,” said Santiago.

  Kerry laughed as she put her arm around his waist, and he put his around her shoulders. Now they were even closer, pressed together side by side.

  The lead trumpeter on the palace guard watchtower blew the watch change. The trumpeter from Garrison West picked up the chords, and as the fanfare died away, Kerry heard the soft strains of Garrison East’s trumpet, carried on the hot winds.

  Soldiers marched past, saluting when they saw Kerry. She waited for them to get out of earshot before she spoke. She was sick of having her every private moment reported to her mother for her to critique in detail.

  “You don’t have to report to the barracks, do you?” she asked.

  “No, I’m on medical leave.” Santiago grinned. “I can go home for that bath. And by the way, my family won’t be there.”