by Tia Louise
“Yes,” I answer quickly. “Si!”
Her mother smiles and returns to stirring the pot on the stove. I smell tomatoes and peppers, and I wonder what type of meal she’s cooking.
That makes my little companion smile. “So what is your name?”
“Zelda,” I say. “But you can call me Zee.”
“Selda,” she says, substituting the Z sound with an S.
“I like the way you say it.”
“I’ve never heard that name before.” She walks to the table. “Where do you come from, Selda?”
“Miami.” I’m starting to feel better, and I push the blankets aside to try and stand. I’ve got to move around. I’ve got to get my strength back.
“It’s in America,” Selena says. She looks down as if I said I came from heaven. It gives me an idea.
“Where are we, Selena? What is this place?”
She blinks around the tiny room. “This is our house.”
“Yes, but where are we? What is this island?”
“The island is Uranu.”
It’s the same name Wade said on the boat. The tiniest spark of hope lights in my chest. “And where is Uranu?”
Her slim brows pull together. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Taking a careful step forward, I do my best to remain friendly and not intimidating. “I just mean… Where is Uranu? Is it part of Mexico? Puerto Rico?”
Again, she looks confused, and her mother interrupts our conversation. “Tempu na kome.”
My eyes flicker to the woman’s then back to the girl. Selena smiles, “It’s time to eat now.”
Three plastic chairs surround the metal table. We each have a small bowl containing corn meal mash mixed with tomatoes, jalapenos, and okra. I take a bite, and exhale a groan. It’s delicious. The slimy okra cuts the spice of the jalapeno, and the tomatoes give it a savory goodness. I’m so hungry, Selena and her mother have barely started eating, when I empty my bowl.
They don’t notice or comment, and I sit at the table, feeling the comfort of a full stomach. That small flicker of hope grows stronger, and I start to think I might be able to get out of here. I just need to know where is here.
I’m on the verge of trying to find out again when a man bursts through the curtain door.
“Tendé!” he shouts.
He’s not very tall, but his presence sends Selena running behind her mother’s chair. My friend rises quickly and holds her daughter behind her as she backs toward the wall where their cots are placed.
“Bo a na hasi un trabow!” He crosses the room to my friend, and she starts to scream.
“NO! NO! NO!” She’s wailing, and Selena is screaming with her, holding her arm and crying.
The man shouts back, and the cacophony of noises, violent, shrill, and piercing, cuts through my head, reviving the intense, nauseating pain. My hope and optimism disintegrate as I stagger, practically crawling to my cot.
Tears are in my eyes as I squeeze them shut. Lying down, I pull the skimpy blanket around my head, trying to cover my ears. I hear a struggle in the room, but I’m helpless to intervene. The pain in my head paralyzes me.
Selena is crying. That man is taking her mother away, but I can’t do anything to help them. I can’t even stand. With every beat of my heart, pain flares through my limbs.
I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m hurt, and I miss my sister. I want to go home. I want Cal. I close my eyes and without even trying, the darkness comes.
* * *
When I open my eyes again, it’s morning. Selena is gone, and my friend is on her cot with her back to me. Sunlight fills the space, and from the angle of the light, I think it must be noon. For a moment, I blink around the room. The table is clean, and only the bucket sits there with the gourd beside it. All signs of struggle are gone, and it’s the same as it was when I opened my eyes the first time.
I’m starting to question reality when my bladder tells me I have to pee. Slowly I climb out of the bed and stand straight. The first thing I notice is my head is better. I don’t feel like I’m pitching over the edge of a cliff or I’m about to vomit all over my shoes. I do feel like I’d better get to the baño quick.
Slowly, I go to the door, encouraged that I don’t have to hold the wall to stay upright. I’m getting better… For whatever that’s worth. I have two things going for me: Selena speaks English, and I can actually walk on my own to pee.
I bypass the outhouse of horror and opt for peeing in the bushes behind a tree. As I make my way back to the cinderblock house, I’m able to look around at my location better. Another woman watches me from the window of an identical house as the one we’re in. Her eyes are just like my friend’s—dark and curious.
Pausing for a moment, I give her a little wave. Then I smile. Her expression doesn’t change, but she walks away from the window. Only an empty black hole stares back at me.
A wave of loneliness passes through my stomach, but I dismiss it. Why should any of these women trust me? I don’t know why I’m here, and I’m sure they don’t. If Wade is as cruel to them as he is to me, they’re right to be wary.
Thinking back to last night, I wonder who that angry little man was. I want to know why he came in here and why he upset my friends so much. Entering the room, I pause for a moment, surveying Selena’s mom. She’s still lying on her side facing the wall, but she isn’t covered with a blanket.
It’s not particularly cool or warm, but I decide to return some of the kindness she showed me. Crossing the room, I go to where I assume she’s sleeping and take the thin blanket from the foot of her bed. I’m just about to spread it over her shoulders, when she gasps and turns to face me.
“Kí bo ke!” she shrieks, and I jump back.
“I’m sorry! Sorry!” I say holding my palms out.
I drop the blanket. She’s shivering, and I see now that her face is battered. Her lip is split and dried blood is in the corner of her mouth. My insides twist, and I understand they needed me last night. The man who came here was a bad man, but instead of helping, I was too weak. I hid under the covers when they needed me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, picking up her blanket and putting it on the foot of the bed.
I go to the bucket on the table. Taking the gourd, I fill the bowl and make my way slowly back to where my friend has returned to facing the wall.
“Are you thirsty?” I say, knowing she can’t understand me.
She doesn’t move for a few moments. I wait, looking at the clear water in the bowl and wondering if there might be a way to make it cooler. I know I would’ve preferred cool water when my own face was so beaten.
I’m about to walk away when she moves. She turns onto her back and looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Danki,” she whispers, cupping the gourd with her hands and drinking slowly.
I know that word. I heard it on that old Heidi movie I watched as a kid. Heidi was a little orphan girl from Germany… or Switzerland. Why would they speak German here? I don’t know if any of the islands are owned by Germany. I didn’t even know France owned some until Cal told me. Once again, for the millionth time, I wish I’d stayed in school.
“You’re going to be okay,” I say, trying to encourage her.
She only turns to face the wall again. I have no idea what happened last night, and I don’t even know where I am. Returning to the small table, I put the gourd beside the bucket and force myself to rally.
I’ve been injured. I don’t know where I am, but I’m still Zelda Wilder. If Ava were here, I’d grab her hand and figure it out. Ava’s not here, but I haven’t changed, and I’m not giving up.
Selena will be back this afternoon, and Selena speaks English. I’m going to find out what’s going on here, and I’m going to figure a way out of this. It’s what I do. I might not be Cinderella, but I am a survivor.
14
Double Agent
Cal
Another day gone, and still
no answers. Freddie has scoured every cargo captain, and not a one has connections to Totrington. Most cargo ships are based in the islands or in the U.S. and they carry produce or oil.
“What about this guy?” Freddie says, pointing to an online manifest. “Adem Tanipar?”
“That sounds Turkish,” I say, walking to the large computer screen and leaning forward.
I’m holding the papers on a Russian captain Logan ran background checks on yesterday. No connections to any southern European countries. Still, it’s the closest we’ve come—until now.
“Your uncle fled to Turkey after the shooting at the race.” He looks up at me, and my eyebrows rise.
“Where is Reggie now?” I drop the Russian captain’s papers on the table as adrenaline spikes in my veins.
“We haven’t been able to locate him.” Freddie moves the mouse, and I hear the printer start to work. “He didn’t accompany Wade to Tortola. It seems they’ve split up.”
“Where could he have gone…” I say it as much to myself as to Freddie.
We’re in the large library on the first floor of the palace, and an oil painting of my mother reading a book is situated over a burgundy leather chair with shiny brass buttons. My eyes fix on her, and an idea flashes through my mind.
“Have Logan run a full background check on Adem Tanipar. I’m going to speak to the Queen.”
* * *
My mother is sitting at the blonde wood writing desk in her bright, yellow study with a stack of linen thank you cards beside her. The tall windows are covered in thin, lace curtains, and it all feels very cheerful and summery. I’m working hard to keep my temper under control.
It’s not my manner to be angry with Olivia, but the realization I just had makes me want to shout at her.
“I need to speak to you, Mother,” I say, striding into the room.
“MacCallum,” she says without looking up. She’s holding a cloisonné fountain pen, and she doesn’t pause in writing on the pale linen notecard in front of her. “I haven’t seen you since you returned from your trip. Are you well?”
“As well as can be expected,” I say, pacing the room. My hands are clasped tightly behind my back. It’s going to be difficult to keep this up for long.
“You seem agitated.” She’s still focused on her letter. “Would you please fetch a bottle of the Canard-Duchêne?”
My eyes flicker to the clock. It’s four-thirty in the afternoon. A bit on the early side, but not shockingly so, and the Canard-Duchêne is her favorite champagne as well as mine.
I go to the small wine refrigerator and open the door. Taking a black bottle from the rack, I set it on the counter and proceed to remove the foil, loosen the basket, and carefully slide the cork from its place.
Two flutes are on the portable wet bar at the window behind her desk, and I pour us each a glass before returning to where she sits.
Finally, she places her pen carefully on the blotter and folds the linen paper. “Now, what in heaven’s name is troubling you, MacCallum?”
I let a moment pass, watching as she calmly seals the envelope with a stamp and places it to the side.
“You, Mother,” I answer, and her blue eyes flicker up to mine. “You’ve been keeping up with Reggie. You never stopped communicating with him when Rowan turned him out of the kingdom. You know everything he does and you can get in touch with him whenever you wish.”
Leaning back in her chair, she lifts the champagne flute and takes a small sip. “I don’t know if every word of that is true. I don’t know everything he does, and I can hardly reach him whenever I want.”
I’m at my limit. Stepping forward, I place my palms flat on her desk. “Where is Reggie, Mother?”
“I’m not sure where he is at the moment, MacCallum.” Her eyebrow arches, and she looks up at me. “Despite what you think, my brother does not send me his daily itinerary.”
My jaw clenches, and as much as I respect my mother, murderous thoughts flicker across my mind. “When is the last time you spoke to him?”
Standing, she walks to the empty fireplace and sets her champagne flute on the mantle. “You and Rowan are determined to make Reggie into a villain. If you would take a step back from the situation, I can explain how you are wrong.”
The tightness in my chest makes it difficult to be patient. “I’m all ears.”
“When your father died, Rowan was thrust into a position of leadership whilst at the same time attempting to deal with a tragic loss.” Her blue eyes are fixed on the blackened grate in front of her.
For a moment I study her short grey hair, styled in a perfect helmut. Today she’s dressed in a different, severe pantsuit. It’s cream with navy pinstripes, and her pearls are, as always, perfectly arranged at her neck. Total control.
“I think Ro did a fine job stepping into leadership,” I say. “He’s never been one to be overcome by personal matters. Even now. He inherited your nerves of steel.”
I add that point in case she might try to implicate Ava somehow for distracting him from his “duty,” although the whole idea he should find a wife originated with her.
“He did a fine job,” my mother says with a slow exhale. “You’re right. Rowan is a true Westringham. He has the sophistication and the innate elegance to lead. The fire he inherited from the Tate side.” She looks at me and allows a little grin. “You, my dear, seem to have received a straight injection of Tate fire with only a touch of Westringham to temper it.”
“Enough of this talk.” My patience is gone, and whether it’s the Tate in me or simply my love for Zelda, I don’t have time to sort it. “My uncle has been working with Wade Paxton, and I want to know how much you know about his plans.”
Her face grows serious, and she returns to her desk. “It’s true. Reggie has been working with Wade since your father died.”
“You’ve known about their connection since Father died?” I take a step forward, and my hand brushes over a brass statue of a pointer dog positioned on an end table. I’m angry enough to smash it through a window.
“Control yourself, MacCallum!” My mother’s voice rises, and her eyes flash. “Your uncle has been working with Wade Paxton on my orders. I’m still the Queen of Monagasco!”
Her voice echoes slightly in the room. My lips part, and for a moment, I’m not sure how to proceed. She is still the leader of our country. Rowan has not succeeded her yet. The succession referendum has not even been drafted, so for all intents and purposes, our mother is still in charge of this country. She is eager to retire and has been increasingly ceding responsibility to my brother, but she has the power.
“Mother,” I say, dropping to the seat. Her confession changes everything, from the ransom demands to the reason I entered this room in the first place.
Only one word crystallizes in my mind: “Why?”
“Your father had a heart condition, MacCallum. He had a short temper and he was significantly overweight.” She looks down at the table and murmurs a brief prayer. “I’m not speaking ill of the dead, but the fact is, you cannot blame your uncle for Phillip’s death.”
“I might not, but Rowan certainly does.” It’s not an attack. I’m simply stating the facts.
“Your brother was very hurt and angry by what happened to his father, and it was a most appropriate way to respond. However, our country has been in jeopardy since before the two of you were born. Reggie and I made a vow to save Monagasco at all costs.”
“At all costs? What does that mean, Mother?” My tone is edged with ice. “What do you consider a cost?”
“Hubert joined forces with Wade, and Reggie was determined to stop them. He is as committed to keeping Monagasco independent as your father ever was. His goal was to infiltrate their plans, report them back to me, and help us destroy them from the inside.”
Silence. The ticking of the brass clock on her desk.
“You say that was his plan.” I’m thinking about what I know. “How did it change?”
“When
Rowan kicked the entire cabinet out, Reggie went with them.” She returns to her desk and lifts the cloisonné pen. “He had to choose whether to continue tracking your father’s betrayers or come clean and lose all access he had to them and their plans.”
“He chose to stay in league with Twatrington.” I say, finishing her sentence.
“To protect his country. Reggie is one of us.”
For a moment, I think about what I know of my uncle’s involvement in the plans to overthrow our government, in the plans to sabotage Rowan’s car at the grand prix, in the attempt to kill Ava, in the kidnapping of Zelda… I know very little, actually.
“When he returned with Zelda and Ava, did you have a role in that as well?”
She does a little shrug. “I only know your uncle needed to get back into the country somehow.”
“So this bit about him finding an heiress for Rowan to woo—all of it was simply a coincidence, considering you had just proposed the exact same solution and planned a ball to facilitate it?”
Her blue eyes snap up to mine. “Your uncle has always been very resourceful.”
“You told him what you were planning.” It’s all clicking into place. “He simply had to find a woman—or in this case two—to be his ticket back inside Monagasco.”
“Wade Paxton was already here. He secured a pardon from Hampton de Clare and had begun drafting the treaty to unite our countries. Hampton was already in the process of strong-arming members of both parliaments behind the scenes, creating stories of Rowan’s risk-taking and inexperience—”
“So Rowan was right. The King of Totrington is supporting Wade’s efforts,” I clarify.
“Once Hampton let him back in, I needed your uncle to return from exile.”
My brow lines, and I walk around the space trying to piece everything she’s saying together. It’s going to be hard to think of Reggie as an ally in this.
“Why not simply tell Rowan everything?” I ask.
