Hostage

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Santiago indicated for Ross to take the one on the right, and tackled the left-hand guard.

  Ross ran up, determined not to let down Las Anclas. But within one block and a feint he sensed his opponent holding back. Of course. Nobody would risk hurting Voske’s “guest.” Ross eased up, barely tapping the guy as he swept him and pretended to club him behind the ear. As the guy hit the dirt, Ross was sure he saw relief.

  He turned to help Santiago, who was wrestling with a wiry redhead. Ross was about to join in when voices rose from behind the scrub oaks on the hilltop.

  “You’re dead!”

  “No, I’m not! You only got me on the shoulder, but I got you in the side.”

  “Dead! I hit you first!”

  It could have been one of Mr. Preston’s drills. Ross smothered a snicker as he cleared the oaks. But his amusement died when the scout and the sentry looked up fearfully. Ross, too, looked around. The oaks were barren except for a few withered leaves. Beyond them was nothing but sky, and a couple of hawks riding the currents lazily as clouds moved in.

  The scout and patrol leaders ran up to settle the argument.

  “You’re both unconscious,” the scout leader suggested.

  The patrol leader added, “For three hours. Both of you.”

  The two sighed and sat down.

  The hill had been taken, so the dead trooped down to be put to work. The scouts began patrolling so from a distance they would look like the enemy. They had one pair of field glasses, which they passed from hand to hand.

  Ross was surprised to get a turn. He obediently peered down into the camp, though he’d already decided he wasn’t going to offer any ideas; he was more interested in looking beyond the camp—beyond Gold Point—to the mountains behind the city, and the dam that everyone was so proud of. But he knew better than to linger on it, and the glints of sun on steel indicated—as usual—that it was bristling with armed guards.

  He passed the glasses on.

  Two rounds later, Santiago’s cousin Jorge gave a quiet exclamation. He pointed toward the west road, barely visible against the dark line of the distant Joshua Tree forest.

  Ross made out a tiny figure on horseback. When Santiago got the field glasses, he stiffened into a tense silhouette. Ross held out his hand for the field glasses. Santiago gave him a strange look as he wordlessly handed them over. Ross saw the bounty hunter, Mr. Vilas, riding under a white cloth tied on a stick.

  “All right, you’ve all seen him,” the scout leader said. “Get back on patrol.”

  Hostage exchange, Ross thought. His chest hurt with the strength of hope, then he tried to dismiss it. So far, he’d been wrong about everything he’d predicted of Voske. He couldn’t let himself believe that he’d be freed.

  Santiago was clenching his jaw so hard his compressed lips had gone white. Ross wasn’t the only one who was trying not to hope too hard.

  “There’s the signal from Five,” said the scout leader. “We’ll—”

  “There he goes again,” Jorge whispered.

  Ross didn’t need the field glasses to spot the bounty hunter riding through the gates.

  “Pay attention,” the scout leader snapped.

  Jorge straightened, flushing to the ears.

  Santiago’s breath hissed as the scout leader began outlining the plan of approach to the fort. But before she finished, a new figure on horseback galloped through the gate, leading two saddled horses and carrying a signal flag with a red circle on it.

  “Message from the king,” someone said.

  Everyone watched as one of the green team ran out to meet the runner, then made a series of hand signals to the scout leader.

  She turned to Ross and Santiago. “You’re wanted. On the double.”

  Running downhill would probably give away their position. But as far as Ross was concerned, the game was over. Maybe his stay in Gold Point was over. He and Santiago raced side by side until they reached their horses.

  When they arrived at the palace, Ross’s heart was pounding as if he’d run all the way instead of his horse. They were led to the throne room, where the king waited. Ross wondered if the formality was a good or bad sign.

  One look at Voske’s face, and Ross knew it was bad.

  “Mount up, boys.” Voske’s teeth gleamed white in the smile Ross hated. “Your guides are readying the horses for your next expedition to the ruined city. You know what I want.”

  Ross’s nerves chilled.

  “Sir!” Santiago saluted.

  Ross followed him out. With every step they took away from Voske, hot anger replaced the chill. Voske must have refused the hostage exchange. What other possible reason would the bounty hunter have in coming, when everyone knew Las Anclas had Kerry?

  Voske was keeping Ross. Would Las Anclas let Kerry go?

  Ross wanted badly to ask questions, but one look at Santiago’s distraught profile kept him silent.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight. Las Anclas.

  Kerry

  Kerry should despise the Lees. But she didn’t. And not despising them—worse, looking forward to another meal with them—made her feel guilty, as if she was betraying Father. Min Soo would despise them, too. The Lees were exactly the sort of people who deserved conquering: sentimental, weak, trusting.

  As he always did, Dr. Lee named each dish he set on the table. This time it was noodles in black bean sauce, startlingly purple kimchi, and crab dumplings.

  “I love crab.” Mia piled a huge helping on her plate, with no thought to dainty manners. Then she looked up suspiciously, the serving spoon suspended mid-air. “Dad, you didn’t do anything weird to it, did you?”

  Dr. Lee shook his head. “Not unless you count ‘added crunch’ as weird.”

  “Depends on what’s crunching.” Mia used her chopsticks to dissect a dumpling.

  It was so different from dinners in the royal palace. Different and . . . better, though Kerry would never admit it out loud. There were no gold utensils or beautiful porcelain plates, or silent servants expertly making sure everything was perfectly prepared and steaming hot.

  There was just Dr. Lee, who couldn’t resist experiments, some of which were revolting, and his daughter, who treated everyone according to how much she liked them, not their degree of power and influence. Dr. Lee didn’t mind hearing that he’d ruined a dish, and Mia laughed with him instead of laughing at him. It was nothing like the palace meals, with the mothers watching their own children’s manners and watching the other children to compare. And Min Soo watching them all.

  And Father always testing.

  There’s nothing wrong with that, Kerry scolded herself as she bit into the dumpling. It was the responsibility of a king to test his heirs. Physical strength and skill wasn’t enough. You had to be strong in mind to keep your empire together, and that meant constantly thinking ahead of everyone else.

  I should think about things I could take back when Las Anclas is just one town in my empire. Gold Point was too far inland for her to have ever tasted crab. This dish was definitely successful. Bits of crisp noodle had been folded into a delicate, savory filling. But there’s no way to get it to Gold Point fresh.

  Kerry turned her attention firmly to the other dishes. The thick black sauce over the wheat noodles was rich with bits of meat, the kimchi sharp and pungent. For all Min Soo’s bragging about the wonders of her Korean heritage, she’d never had the cooks make food like this.

  “Isn’t it delicious?” asked Mia.

  “Do you like the black bean noodles?” Dr. Lee added, with a man’s version of Mia’s hopeful expression. “They’re my grandmother’s specialty.”

  “She used to run the saloon before Jack took over,” Mia said. “Her cooking was famous all over town.”

  Kerry’s eyes burned. What was wrong with her? Why would a good meal make her tearful? Or was the problem not the food, but the company?

  “It’s okay,” she said flatly. Though the others didn’t say anything, she saw the hurt in thei
r eyes that were shaped so much like her own.

  Weakness!

  Nobody spoke. The only sounds were the tap of chopsticks on plates, and from outside, the excited voices of children playing some stupid game.

  Kerry finished her meal. It was easy when the food was that good. But her mind kept drifting. Father’s testing. Min Soo’s royal tastes. Bankar, dead at seventeen.

  Dr. Lee scooped another helping of each dish onto her plate. She dug in, determined to crush those sentimental thoughts. Bankar was—had been—a soldier, and she’d failed in her mission. The price of failure is death.

  Santiago . . .

  “The crab dumplings are great, Dad,” Mia said.

  “I thought they turned out well,” Dr. Lee turned to Kerry. “Have you had a chance to see the ocean?”

  Kerry shook her head.

  “I could take you,” Mia offered.

  Kerry had a brief fantasy of materializing a boat for herself and escaping. But no doubt if Mia did take her, Preston would provide an escort of rifle-toting guards.

  “I don’t care.” Kerry knew she sounded even more sullen than when she spoke to Min Soo.

  But did either of the Lees call her on it?

  No.

  Dr. Lee said to Mia, “Just before you girls showed up, Mr. Chen scribbled something on your board. I couldn’t read it. My guess is the water pump by the senior village.”

  Mia’s glass banged down on the table. “Ross did that a month ago. Did a beautiful job of it, too.” She sniffed loudly, then grabbed the last crab dumpling and stuffed it in her mouth.

  Mia said thickly around the dumpling, “Mr. Chen caught me before the—before breakfast. The back wall generator’s been making weird noises ever since Henry and Tommy decided they’d enjoy sentry duty more if they had popcorn.”

  Dr. Lee laughed. “They didn’t.”

  “They weren’t stupid enough to pour it into the machinery. They put it into a frying pan and set it on top. But corn kernels jump when they pop, and a few probably got into the gears.”

  Kerry had learned to loathe Henry almost as much as that loud Tommy Horst. They both taunted Kerry every time they saw her.

  “Too bad I missed the whipping,” she said.

  The Lees looked at her as if she’d grown an extra arm.

  “The what?” Dr. Lee said.

  Kerry put down her chopsticks. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of punishment in Las Anclas?”

  “Of course there’s punishment,” Mia said. “Henry’s been assigned to feed smelly garbage to the eater-roses on the walls, and his sentry station for a month will be Mulch Row, since it was his idea. And Tommy Horst is probably shoveling out the stables right now. They’ll be nice and soupy after that rain.”

  “How bad does a crime have to be to get a whipping?” Kerry asked.

  “We don’t do that here.” Dr. Lee began picking up the plates.

  Kerry jeered, “So murder gets a whole month in the stables?”

  Dr. Lee answered her seriously. “For very serious crimes, like arson or murder in the heat of passion, we have exile. And for the most serious crimes, like premeditated murder or serial rape, the punishment is death.”

  Exile was the one punishment they didn’t have in Gold Point. You could be whipped or jailed or executed, but you were never allowed to leave. Did people really love Las Anclas so much that being kicked out was the worst thing they could think of?

  Dr. Lee brought a covered dish to the table. “Dessert will be a family favorite, apple crumble from Jack’s saloon.”

  Dr. Lee set a big helping before Kerry. The scent of apples and cinnamon rose up. It was Santiago’s favorite dessert. He could be dead, and here she was, with the dessert they should have been sharing on the roof of the palace . . .

  Kerry threw down her spoon, ran to the bathroom, and locked the door. She wadded up her shirt and stuffed it into her mouth as sobs came ripping up from deep inside her.

  Santiago had to be dead. Why wouldn’t Ross run away and save himself? Kerry would have. The death of an enemy was a cheap price for success. Only a weak person would refuse to pay.

  Ross was strong. She’d known it when she’d heard of his blind journey, she’d experienced it when he sparred, and she’d become certain of it from Mia’s stories about him. He’d killed thirty of Father’s elite guards!

  Father was wrong. Ross wasn’t weak. Therefore, Santiago was dead.

  She wanted to kick and rip and tear the world apart, but that wouldn’t bring Santiago back. And it had been so pointless. Just so Father could test her loyalty.

  Somebody tapped at the door.

  “Go away,” Kerry snarled.

  “I need to use the bathroom.” Mia’s tone was apologetic.

  Kerry scrubbed her face on her sleeve, but wiping away her tears wouldn’t conceal her reddened eyes.

  To hell with it. It wasn’t like they didn’t know what she’d been doing. She yanked the door open. “All yours.”

  “It can wait,” Mia said surprisingly. “If you want to be alone, we can go back to my cottage, and I’ll sit outside for a while.”

  Kerry walked out. The sky was clear, the cloudy sweep of the Milky Way bright overhead. She remembered the meaning of its other name, El Camino De Santiago: The Road To Santiago. The space behind her ribs ached with emptiness. That was a road she’d never walk again.

  Mia paced along quietly beside her till they were inside her cottage, then said,“ Apple crumble is Ross’s favorite. I couldn’t eat it, either.”

  Kerry scowled at her. “It was Santiago’s favorite.”

  “Was?” Mia gasped. “So he was at the attack after all?”

  “No. Your boyfriend killed him.”

  “Really?” Mia looked startled. “I’m sorry. In the battle for Las Anclas? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “No, no, no. In Gold Point.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mia repeated. “Was Ross trying to escape?”

  “No,” Kerry snapped impatiently. “I mean, who knows. It would have happened after I was kidnapped.”

  “Kerry, if it would have happened after you were gone, how can you possibly know Ross killed him?”

  “He must have,” Kerry said bitterly. Why not? It wasn’t like anything she said would change the facts. “It was a test. Of loyalty. For me.”

  “I don’t get it,” Mia said.

  “Father set it up. He wants Ross to prospect the ruined city outside of Gold Point. But he can’t send Ross in by himself because he’d escape. So Father ordered Santiago to befriend Ross. The plan was to send them in together. Father said Ross wouldn’t let Santiago die, and Santiago could guard him. But of course Ross would let him die. What would he care?”

  “Did you see this happen?” Mia asked.

  “No. Your kidnap squad got me first. But it was planned for two weeks ago. And Father never changes his plans.”

  Mia was slowly shaking her head.

  “What?” Kerry asked, as irritated and angry as she’d been sad a few minutes ago.

  “Ross wouldn’t do that. Your father was right. I’m sure Santiago is fine.”

  Angrily, Kerry burst out, “Who would give up their own chance of escape to save an enemy?”

  “Ross,” Mia said simply. “When I first saw him, Sheriff Crow was carrying him to the surgery. He’d lost a lot of blood, cutting that crystal shard out of his arm, and he’d been shot, too. Dad said another hour in the desert, and he would have died. But when Sheriff Crow found him, he warned her that he was being chased. He told her to leave him and come back with help.”

  Kerry found that hard to believe. But she couldn’t think of a reason for Mia to make up such a story.

  Mia went on, “Ross didn’t know a thing about her, except that she didn’t mean him any harm. But that’s how he is. He won’t kill anyone, except in self-defense or to defend someone else. And he won’t let anyone die in his place.”

  If two people as different as Father and Mia agreed on
something, it had to be true. Father had certainly been convinced of Ross’s weakness and sentimentality.

  Relief flooded through her. “Maybe you’re right.” Relief and . . . guilt? Kerry squelched that feeling. Guilt was a weakness.

  “Anyway, where is he?” Mia asked. “If he killed Santiago and escaped two weeks ago, why isn’t he here?”

  Kerry searched for some other explanation, but she couldn’t find one. “Yeah, he’d have come here. He got away from the capture squad the first night they got him, even though he was blind. When they finally caught up with him, he was halfway back to Las Anclas.”

  Mia let out a piercing yell, making Kerry jump. “I knew it! I told them! But they wouldn’t believe me. I should have gone after him myself.”

  If what Mia is telling the truth, Santiago is alive. Kerry tested the idea carefully. Hope was as bad as guilt. Powerful people didn’t hope. They conceived plans, studied the enemy, executed the plans, and got what they wanted.

  “You would have been captured. And Father would have used you as leverage over Ross.” Kerry was unsettled at how bitter her voice sounded. Why? It was smart tactics.

  “Two weeks,” Mia said slowly. “How long will your dad wait?”

  “Wait for what?” Kerry asked, disconcerted.

  Mia’s shoulders tightened. “He wants Ross prospecting for weapons, right? It doesn’t sound like he’s interested in archaeology, biology, or art. Or does he want Ross to use those crystal trees as a weapon?”

  Both, Kerry thought.

  “Probably both,” Mia said, her gaze unnervingly steady. “But Ross won’t do it. He’ll stall as long as he can, but he won’t help your father find weapons, and he’ll never use his power as a weapon again.“

  Kerry remembered Ross’s horror when Father had asked him to pluck a crystal seedpod, and Ross shouting that Father had experimented on his own soldiers.

  A spurt of anger made Kerry think, You got me into this, Father. You got Santiago into this. Why am I protecting you when you didn’t protect me?