A slow fire uncoiled in Raina's stomach. "You had no choice?"
"Those of us who weren't there by choice, they watched us constantly. At night, they locked us in our rooms. Not all of the knights were in on it, but those who weren't didn't do anything to stop it. The king claimed it was the only system that worked. Anyone who spoke up was beaten. So that was my life for the next three years."
"How did you get out?"
Heather laughed. It wasn't a good laugh. "When they ran out of rooms upstairs, they replaced me with a younger girl. Put me back in the fields. The first chance I got, I ran away. Wandered north. Didn't care where I was going. After a while, I came to the Dunemarket. It was what I'd been looking for all along."
"I'm sorry you went through that," Raina said. "But I'm glad we could give you what you wanted."
"They tell a lot of stories about that place. What a tight ship it is. How they've endured through so much. How charming King Dashing is. But they don't tell you about the girls upstairs. Or the indentured servants in the fields. I hear you want to ally with them. Is that true?"
"We're looking into it."
"Promise me you won't." Heather's eyes bore into hers, bright for the first time. "Promise me you'll never legitimize them with our friendship."
Raina lowered her gaze. "The decision is not mine alone. But I've heard you, Heather. And I thank you for your bravery."
The woman watched her a moment, then nodded. She turned and walked up the hill.
"Sorry about that," Mauser said once they were alone. "Thought you ought to know."
"She needed to be heard. Never apologize for doing as your heart compels you."
"Does that mean you'll turn down the alliance?"
"It means," Raina said, "that I have no idea what to do. It seems my choices are to stand alone, and risk my people, or to wed us to a monster, and risk my soul."
He laughed humorlessly. "Well, I'm happy to have made your decision as complicated as possible. If it helps, just remember no decision's permanent. You can always ally with Dashing now, then betray him after you've used him to crush Anson."
"Do you say evil things to get them out of your heart? Or because you enjoy it?"
"Personally, I would rather not dig into that issue. Let's just say they're the first things that come to my mind."
He tipped an imaginary cap and left her. When she returned to the dig, her thoughts were not pleasant.
* * *
They came in a great yacht with white sails. The figurehead was a woman with arms outstretched, as if to reach for a better world. They docked in Avalon. The soldiers' metal caps gleamed in the sun, peacock feathers dancing in the wind. Their uniforms were camouflage. Raina thought their outfits were a joke, but the men moved with surety.
King Dashing stepped off, wearing plushy purple robes. He lifted his nose and inhaled deeply. He brushed back his shoulder length salt and pepper hair and said something to make his men laugh.
Raina strode up the pier, Mauser one step behind her. A crew of armed warriors watched from shore.
She moved before the man in purple. "Greetings, King Dashing, and welcome to the island of Catalina."
"You're Raina?" Dashing smiled, blinking, the corners of his mouth turned down. "Jesus, they said you were young, but they didn't say you were a freshman. I'm kidding. Great to meet you. I'm Dashing—wouldn't you agree?"
"I am honored to have you in our lands." She shook his hand. A part of her expected it to feel scaly, but it felt as skin did. "Our palace is inland. We have arranged wagons."
"Wagons! You pulled out all the stops, didn't you? I'd love to go for a ride."
His sailors were shown to a guest house in Avalon. The rest of his contingent included five officials, fifteen soldiers, and seven others who, though their hair was combed and their clothes were clean, had none of the dazzle of the officials. Servants. They all loaded into the wagons for the trek west to the palace. Raina rode alongside Mauser.
"What do you think?" Mauser murmured.
"That he thinks too much of himself."
"Most rulers do. Hell, most people do."
They soon reached the keep and stepped down from the wagons. Dashing gazed up at the stone building and whistled. "Now that's what I call a palace. Want to trade?"
Mauser shielded his eyes against the late afternoon sun. "Your rooms are prepared if you'd like to rest or freshen up before the feast. Otherwise, refreshments are available in the great hall."
"I've been sailing all day," Dashing said. "Point me to the bar."
"A man after my own heart. Your men are welcome to join us, of course, but can I ask them to leave their firearms outside?"
"Can I ask you to not ask me that?"
Mauser laughed lightly. "I understand your concerns, Your Highness, yet I'm afraid we have a strict rule of 'no machine guns at the dinner table.' In this delicate time of trust, perhaps we can strike a compromise: sidearms and blades only?"
Dashing arched one eyebrow, then shook his head and chuckled. "It's a deal, pardner."
The warriors collected the soldiers' automatics. While Mauser saw the king's men inside, Raina headed to her quarters. She had never entertained another lord in this fashion and the entire palace, almost to an individual, had made it clear to her that she must dress for the occasion. After much short-tempered deliberation, she'd settled on a simple shin-length garment: slit up one leg, to allow her to move, and black. Her assistants had tried to get her to wear something lighter, but she insisted, on the grounds that it would better hide any blood stains.
Once she was dressed, she sat before a mirror and let the two assistants do what they would with her hair. She accepted eyeliner, too. They attempted to dab powder on her, but she waved them away.
Done, she gazed into the mirror. Portions of her dark hair had been braided, the plaits pinned into loose loops. With the eyeliner and powder, the face in the mirror looked severe, which she approved of, but also striking in an adult manner she'd never seen on herself.
"What do you think?" Alyssa asked, unable to suppress a smile.
Raina turned to three-quarter profile. "It looks… like somebody else."
"Then we've done our job!"
After some more fussing about, they escorted her into the hallway. This led to a double-winged staircase overlooking the hall. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the high ceiling. Mauser glanced up at her, returned his attention to King Dashing, then did a double take.
Raina laughed and walked down the stairs.
"You look breathtaking," Dashing said as she sat. He clapped his hands. "I order someone to get this woman a drink! Hey, Billy!"
A young servant scurried from the room and returned with two beers, setting one in front of Dashing and one in front of Raina. The liquid was foaming and red. Raina rarely drank—Mauser did enough of that for both of them—but men who did were mistrustful of those who didn't.
Dashing gulped back his martini and picked up his beer. "So how'd you get this gig, anyway?"
"I killed the man who ruled this island," Raina said. "But it wasn't so I could take over. He'd killed my father."
"Sorry to hear that. With what we all have to go through these days, it's a wonder any of us ever gets out of bed."
"What about you? How did you come to rule Better San Diego?"
"Oh, one day I declared I was king, and what do you know, they believed me." He winked at her over his beer. "So what do you call yourself, anyway?"
"Raina."
"Your lordly title. What do the people call you? Queen? Empress? Lady Pope?"
"They call me Raina," she said. "Sometimes, the chieftain."
Dashing drew back from the table, regarding her with his dark-rimmed eyes. "Oh, come now. You have to start using a regal appellation. Creating psychic distance between yourself and the commoners is the only way to ensure their long-term respect."
"Has that been your experience?"
"Oh sure. Think about it. If y
ou go by Raina, then to some asshole—pardon my French—to some asshole out in the fields, he's thinking, 'Hey, so she's Raina. Big deal. Anyone can be what she is.' Next thing you know, boom." He crossed his hands over the table in a cutting motion. "Revolution."
"My name is who I am. It's served me well so far."
"Sure, or we wouldn't be talking. I'm not kidding, though. You want to last in this biz, you have to make it abundantly clear that there's something special about you that can't be replaced by Joe the Rutabaga Picker. That's why all the old kings were descended from the gods. Royal blood. Authority literally pulsing through their veins." Noting her glass was nearly empty, Dashing snapped his fingers high in the air. "Yo, Billy!"
The young man returned to the table, soft and plump, condensation fogging his glasses. "Yes, sire?"
"There's a problem with the lady's glass, Billy."
"What might that be?"
"It's empty. Fetch her a cold one, will you? Grab another for me, too."
Billy shifted his eyes to the side. "You wish me to make her glass cold, sire?"
Dashing sighed harshly. "A beer, Billy. In better times, they were served cold. Hence 'a cold one.'"
"So… I should get a beer, and chill it."
"Another minute of this and I'll use your skull for the mug, dunderhead. Bring us two glasses of beer. If they're cold, that's wonderful, but otherwise, the temperature is immaterial. Got that? Two. Glasses. Beer."
Billy licked his lips. "Beer. Two beers. At once, sire."
He turned and hustled from the table toward the kitchen.
Dashing watched him go, then turned to Raina and shook his head. "He's brand new. You'll have to forgive him. I, on the other hand, have to do no such thing."
"You brought a brand new servant to our first meeting together?"
He searched her expression until he found a hint she was kidding. "There's a method to my madness, Empress. He came to us from your sworn enemy."
"The People of the Stars?"
"I thought he might have some useful tidbits for you. But judging from his performance so far, that's highly wishful thinking."
Raina finished her beer. It tasted of wheat and copper. "And what is your position toward the People of the Stars?"
Dashing hoisted the remnants of his beer and wagged the glass at her. "Ah ah ah, milady. Ply me with dinner first. That will put me in a much more agreeable mood."
Billy returned with two glasses of beer. As the smell of roast bison and potatoes with thyme roiled from the kitchen, Dashing spoke in general terms about his kingdom, and introduced his officials, each of whom had a "lordly appellation" of their own. Raina found it tedious, but Mauser was having a grand old time, joking and swapping stories. His drink was never empty. She finished her second beer and asked for a third.
At last, the help emerged from the kitchen with steaming platters and bowls. They ate rolls of sweet rye, a whitefish stew, quail eggs boiled just enough for the yolks to begin to harden.
After the first courses were cleared, Dashing stood, glass in hand. "This has all the makings of a wonderful evening. So I'd better say something before it becomes too wonderful for coherent speech."
A few people chuckled.
"Because I would be beside myself with grief if I didn't thank our gracious hosts. Isn't it funny, you can be neighbors for years, and maybe you smile and wave when you pass on the sidewalk, but you never get to know one another. Not until you invite them over to break bread."
He smiled down at Raina. "Here's hoping our discussions are as rich as this meal. I've got the feeling we're going to go a long way together." He lifted his beer. "To Catalina!"
His people repeated the toast. Mauser's eyes were locked on Raina. After a terse moment, he stood, smiling broadly.
"And to the Kingdom of Better San Diego." He hoisted his own glass. "I hear the weather's excellent."
Dashing smirked. They seated themselves. The servants brought forth the dishes assembled from the bison slaughtered that morning: steaks in pepper; ribs in tangy tomato sauce; ground tongue in tortillas; liver with butter and onions, which contended with the lengua for Raina's favorite. Before serving up the dishes, the workers set the bison's massive, shaggy head at the center of the table, where all would be able to provide their thanks to the one that had provided their meal. Some of Dashing's people stared, but they had enough sense not to complain.
They dug into the food. Billy brought Raina another beer. She couldn't remember if it was her fourth or her fifth. Mouth awash in spices, she'd drunk a third of it before she noticed there was more to it than copper and wheat. She sipped again, holding it in her mouth. After she swallowed, she smacked her tongue. And tasted bitter almonds.
She lurched to her feet. The bison's head stared at her, eyes judging her for her foolishness. Raina clutched her throat, but she could already feel the poison burning in her gut.
9
It was as simple as simple got: one talk with Dashing, then back home for one talk with Anson. Anson dispatched riders to San Diego within the hour. Lowell felt pretty good about what he'd put together until he heard about the wrinkle Anson had added to the plan.
"You're moping," Anson said. They were by the lake, nice afternoon light, crickets chirping like mad. "Why? This is a coup. In both senses of the word."
Lowell gave it a moment. "The thing with the kid. It's not how I like to do things."
The big man laughed resentfully, like you would at a joke made in poor taste. "Do you think I like it? It feels like we recruited a suicide bomber. I'm not going to be able to sleep for weeks."
"I don't like leaving our people without an out. He's a scapegoat. Either Raina's people kill him, or Dashing does to sustain the illusion he's not involved."
"And that's why it will work. We're not going to achieve this without sacrifice. The boy knows that. He volunteered."
Lowell rubbed his mouth. "Why not go all out? Strap a bomb to him? Maybe you can take out some of her cabinet, too."
"That's not fair. Look, clearly I'm not getting it. Why don't you break it down for me?"
"It's a matter of philosophy."
"Philosophy."
"You got a problem with that? You're always talking up in the air, Anson. Are the words you say nothing but words?"
The other man squinted, mouth pursed, then relaxed his face. "Philosophically, what don't you like about it?"
"People aren't chess pieces. You don't spend them and go on to the next move. You have to leave them with a back door. Room to maneuver. Do that, and not only do you sleep easy, but you give them the opportunity to surprise you with better results than you planned for."
"They're on an island a hundred miles from home. There's no way out. You sacrifice one to save many. That's the cold, hard nature of our job."
"Could be."
"Well, they're already on their way. What's done is done." Anson gazed on the sparkling water, then clapped him on the shoulder. "You know what you need, Geoff? A vacation."
"Right."
"Hiking. Fishing. Surfing. Do you surf?"
"About as often as I sew myself a new dress."
Anson made a face. "Whoa, Geoff. That's a little sexist."
Lowell stared evenly. "My point is I feel no yearning to start wearing dresses."
"You're not going to do any good here, right? Until word comes back from Catalina, you'll spend all day trying to get a feel for a situation you can't even touch. So take a break, okay? A seven-day vacation. If you don't feel better afterward, you'll never have to do it again."
After his initial annoyance wore off, the idea didn't seem so bad. Anson was right about one thing: he wasn't going to accomplish anything here. Not until they learned the outcome on Catalina. He went to his house in the Heart, put together a couple of rods and some tackle, prepped his horse, and headed west through the hills.
There were plenty of reservoirs and lakes nearby, but he wanted to go someplace new. He rode through the trees, enjo
ying the shade, and spent the night camped under the stars. It got cold, but it was all right.
A few miles into the next morning, he stopped at a reservoir. The sun was a little high, but the surface was dotted with rising fish. He ambled to the banks and dug some worms and cast his line. The bobber floated along, driven back to shore by the wind. After two nibbles, he had to hook another worm. Three casts later, he had one on the line. He reeled it in. A trout.
As he ran his thumb along the inside of the spine to knock out the guts, he couldn't help wondering how it had got there. It was a reservoir; people had built it. The fish, had they swam up through a stream? Had there even been fish here before the plague? It was a funny thing, how hard life fought to find new niches. All so that a tired man could have a good breakfast. Hard to say whether that struggle in the face of so much futility was miraculous or laughable.
Then again, maybe there was no mystery at all—could be the old people had salted the lake with trout. Provide themselves a little diversion. Something to do on the weekends. Pretend like you were someone who could catch your own food, then drive home to your five thousand square feet in Bel Air with your refrigerator and its $900 of groceries from Whole Foods.
It was late morning and the fish had calmed down, but he kept at it. Did he have the right to criticize the old people for their diversions? He'd taken Garrett out fishing every chance they'd got. The kid had loved it so much he'd made Lowell buy him a pair of waders. Lowell had told him those were for fly fishing, for striding out into streams, but Garrett had insisted. He'd wanted to be closer to the fish, he'd said. To be in their element.
For a while, Lowell didn't pay much attention to the bobber. He remembered Garrett pulling back for a cast, winding his whole body up like Luis Tiant, then slinging the rod forward, bobber soaring, reel whirring as it let out the line. The soft sploosh of the bobber landing. The look on Garrett's face as he willed the trout to bite.
It was painful, but that's why he was there. Not to punish himself. But because if you didn't make yourself remember what had been lost, it was too easy to forget why you kept going.
Relapse (Breakers Book 7) Page 11
