Ammey McKeaf

by Jane Shoup

  “There is Mehr,” Salvo said.

  “Oh, Mehr will die, too. But Jade first. She’s the key.”

  “Wouldn’t it be perfect if we could kill Jade and Mehr at the same time?”

  Zino mulled it over. “Too complicated, I think, for as quickly as we need to act.” Perhaps framing him would be enough. “We could frame him for bedding her. That would be as damning and far easier.”

  Salvo smiled.

  “For it to work, we need an assassin, a patsy and an opportunity,” Zino mused calmly. He suddenly laughed. “Oh! It is too perfect.”

  “What?”

  “The king has just reinstated the policy of opening the court to hear from citizens,” Zino reminded him. “What if someone gets past the guards and murders Jade?”

  “Oh,” Salvo said, the beauty of it dawning on him. “As before.”

  Zino nodded.

  “If only he’d listened to you,” Salvo said with mock grief.

  “It cannot be too similar to before,” Zino said, beginning to pace with renewed vigor. “In fact, an abduction for ransom might be better. After all, why would a common citizen kill the queen? But for money—”

  Salvo watched Zino with unabashed admiration.

  “Perhaps there is a way to lay it all at Pechaco’s doorstep and kill two birds with one stone,” Zino said as a plan began coming together in his mind.

  “That would be perfect,” Salvo replied, his eyes alight at the thought of it.

  Zino chuckled beneath his breath. “Yes. Perfect.”

  ~~~

  Ammey rose from her bed where she’d been resting. It was time to dress. Her maids were supposed to have returned to help, but they hadn’t. It didn’t matter. She would dress herself. She had a lifetime of practice at it. Marko had requested her presence during today’s open court session, so she would sit by his side and do her best to appear wise and regal. She was proud that he had initiated the practice again.

  Ammey started toward her wardrobe, but stopped at the full length looking glass and peered at her reflection. She slipped off her robe wondering what her family and friends would think and feel when they saw her again? They would recognize her, of course, but would they know her? Did she even know herself or had the pretense of a false identity actually altered who she was?

  Queen of Bellux-Abry. Lady Jade Corin was queen. Lady. Jade. Corin. All three titles were false. What was not false was that Marko loved her, and she cared for him. The question and the quandary was how she would explain everything to her family. How would she make them understand the choices she’d made when they loathed Marko Corin with passion? The situation was so unfair. She was still herself, even if she went by a different name for the time being. She had done what she was told to do and what was necessary at the time and she had gotten swept up in unexpected consequences.

  Besides, if Marko continued his path of restoring peace and stability, and if she could make her father and brothers understand he was not the vile creature they thought him to be, they might learn to accept him. Evil men had manipulated him, so he was guilty of poor judgment. Of being weak. Of a bad temper. But she had not seen a single moment of that temper since her ‘accident.’ He had been nothing but loving and attentive since then. She had come to trust him. In fact, she was going to reveal her true identity as soon as Nafino Zephyr and Salvo Voreskae were finally gone. Her family needed to be informed of her whereabouts, and she would never be able to get word to them without Marko knowing. It’s true that Marko would be shocked by the truth, but he would adjust and accept it.

  She went to a wardrobe, mindful of the image she needed to project. What did one wear when they were pretending to be someone who pretended to be queen? Julia would have been amused, but the undeniable bright side was that she was helping Marko to find himself and to be the ruler he was capable of being, which meant she was helping many. Surely, that was what the Seidhkona had meant by her affecting many lives. Which meant it was her destiny.

  Vincent’s face unexpectedly flashed in her mind, causing a shot of pain. She had determined never to think of him here. He didn’t deserve it and neither did she. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of anything other than Vincent.

  It didn’t work. It never worked.

  She opened her eyes, shook her head, and began going through her gowns. She selected a pale blue square-neck undergown and a deep blue, almost violet overgown and dressed. She heard her maids enter and she was glad of it since she needed assistance with her hair. She turned to them, but it was two strange men who rushed at her. Before she could make a sound, they shoved a cloth into her mouth and brutally wrenched her arms behind her back. She tried not to gag as her hands were tied. She was forced from the room, nearly tripping on the bodies of her maids who stared out lifelessly. Their necks had been broken.

  Resolute terror took hold. These men were nothing like the blundering guards from the dungeon. They were deft and silent as they navigated the palace. When they arrived at an exit point, they covered her head in a dark, hood before forcing her outside. Her only hope was that someone saw her and raised an alarm.

  Her panic was dull and throbbing as she was lifted onto a horse. “Swing your leg over, highness,” one of the men commanded, even as the other man took hold of her leg and moved it for her. “We’ve a long ride ahead of us.” One of them quickly mounted behind her.

  This was Zino’s work. He’d struck again, only more effectively after weeks of careful planning. Soon she would be dead, and Marko would be devastated because he had not been able to protect her yet again.

  ~~~

  “We are from Leklaf, a village east of here, sire,” an old man began in a tremulous voice. He was not accustomed to crowds or palatial splendor and today he faced both.

  Corin nodded patiently.

  “Our village was burnt in a siege and we lost our crops and our foodstores. We have worked to rebuild and replenish, but with winter coming, we are concerned for our survival.”

  “Your foodstores will be restocked,” Corin said. “See to it,” he directed to his secretary.

  “Thank you, sire,” the man gushed, bowing deeply. “Oh, thank you!”

  “Next,” the secretary called, waving up the next group of people, but a frantic looking guard appeared at the side door at that moment.

  Corin, too, noticed the guard. “What is it?”

  “You should come, sire,” the guard stammered nervously.

  Marko saw other guards arriving in the corridor, poised to spring into action, a grim look on their faces. “Where is my wife?”

  The guard hesitated, and Marko rose abruptly and strode to the man, causing a rush of alarm in his wake. “Where—” he began again.

  “It appears she has been taken, sire,” he said apologetically.

  No! It wasn’t possible. Not again. But hadn’t he been on edge for the last half hour? He had been fretting over where she was and what she was doing when she should have joined him. Not again, he prayed. Let it be a mistake.

  But it was no mistake. The guard posted at one end of the floor was dead, his neck broken, and it was the same with Jade’s personal maids. “Search the palace,” Corin yelled. “And find Zephyr!”

  “Yes, sire!”

  Corin went into the bedchamber, his heart hammering. Not again, he prayed with each painful beat. He spotted a rolled parchment on a chest and he strode to it. Picking it up with a shaking hand, he read the few lines.

  We will gladly exchange your lady for one thousand gold roms. Deliver them in a chest to the third flag of the Uerad border. Do this and your lady will be returned unharmed.

  “Ransom,” Marko breathed. “Get Mehr Pechaco,” he said, finding his voice. “Find my treasurer. Get everyone!”

  ~~~

  The heat was so intense, it was difficult to breathe. Each breath was a struggle and it was all she could think about. By the time they stopped, Ammey had lost all sense of space and time. She was pulled from the horse and he
r hood removed. She winced and closed her eyes because the light was blinding. At least, she could breathe.

  “Why do that?” the second man complained. “Just cut off her head.”

  A painful shiver traveled up her spine.

  “They don’t need it for three days. Do you know what this heat can do to a body in three days? You want to live with that stench?”

  “Just you remember the warnings.”

  “This is me and you. Anyone ever gotten away from us?”

  “Fine, but leave her tied.”

  “I was going to. But don’t tell me what to do.”

  Ammey had regained partial vision, although there was little to see. They seemed to be in a barren desert. Uerad, she realized. The desert of Uerad. It was said that no one traveled through the desert of Uerad, that any who attempted it perished by gruesome death.

  Her abductors were professional assassins and they had every intention of killing her and cutting off her head. With her hands bound behind her, she had no chance of escape. Even if she managed to make it to one of the horses, she would never be able to control it. Her only chance was through negotiation. Whatever Zino had offered, Corin would pay more.

  Both men were in their twenties or thirties, although their dark hair had begun thinning. They had a similar look, small foreheads and long noses. “You’re brothers, aren’t you?”

  One of them walked toward her, his face devoid of expression. He reared back and slapped her into the sand. He came at her again and she tensed for another blow. Instead, he squatted and helped her to a sitting position. “We need your head, but we don’t need it to look good. You understand?”

  She was afraid to answer, which seemed to please him. He stood back up and walked a short distance away to relieve himself. After that, except for occasional glances, the men ignored her as they set up camp. She struggled to get loose of her bonds, but she was tied too securely.

  “Would you like some water?” one of them asked her.

  Her throat was so dry, it burned. She nodded.

  He sauntered toward her with his canteen in hand, stopping before her. He took a long drink, allowing some to dribble down his chin. “Ahhh,” he reveled. “That is good.” He brought the canteen toward her, even allowing its neck and a few precious drops of water to touch her lips before pulling back. “Not like that, I think.” He took another drink, filling his mouth, then came at her, pressing his mouth to hers, emptying the water into her mouth.

  His brother laughed.

  “That way it’s good for both of us,” the first man said. He took another drink and transferred it. “Look at me, I’m mouth to mouth with a queen.” He grabbed the back of her head and leaned in to kiss her. She resisted, so he slapped her again, then hauled her to her feet and tried kissing her again. She couldn’t wedge a knee between his legs, so she bit his lower lip. He abruptly pulled back, bleeding and furious.

  “Told you,” his brother said in a smug tone.

  The injured man glared at his brother and Ammey took advantage of his distraction by turning sideways and driving a hard kick to his groin. The force of the kick doubled him over and sent the other man running at her.

  It was time for the hop-kick move Forzenay had taught her. Concentrate, he coaxed in her mind. Control your fear. Do not allow it to control you. She sprang into motion, delivering a hard kick to his face. He was knocked backwards and blood poured from his broken nose, but he was only stunned. They were both only stunned. She needed her hands free. She turned and ran, despite the fact there was nowhere to go, but her bound hands deterred her speed. One of the men quickly caught her and threw her to the ground.

  “Only because my hands are tied,” she cried. “That’s the only reason you can—”

  He pulled a dagger from its sheath and came at her. She rolled away, but was driven into the ground. His knees were on her back and buttocks. She feared the stab that was coming; instead, he cut the rope from her wrists.

  “Wha are you doig?” the man with the broken nose yelled.

  She was jerked around to face the man with the bloody lip and aching balls. “You would have had a few more days to live,” he declared as he slipped his dagger back in its sheath. “But now you die! And not because your hands are tied, you arrogant bitch!” He wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed.

  She reached for his dagger, but couldn’t get a grip on it. She clawed at his face, gouging an eye, and he screamed in pain and released his hold. Gasping for air, she brought her elbow up under his chin sharply and followed it up with a blow to the center of his chest. She scooted clear of him and tried to get her feet underneath her, but bloody-nose tackled her back to the ground and began pummeling her with all his might.

  “Get her up!” the other yelled. “I want her to feel my blade while she still has sense enough to know she’s being cut apart.”

  She was yanked back to her feet, but the earth was spinning too greatly to remain upright. She crumpled, bleeding from her nose, mouth and ear. The man who had delivered the pounding did a spin kick to her head and sent her crashing to the ground again.

  “What did I say?” the other screamed.

  “Thaz a gick,” bloody-nose screamed at her.

  “Get her up!”

  It was over. It was all over. She was hoisted up and held in place as her executioner drew his dagger with relish. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by regret that she would never see her family again. Or Vincent. Please, she prayed, help me. I don’t want to die.

  “Open your eyes,” the man taunted. He jabbed her chest with the tip of his blade, causing a stinging pain and a warm stream of blood to seep.

  She opened her eyes, but everything still spun. There was a pale full moon in the sky and she tried to focus on it. Milainah had claimed she was favored by Selene, goddess of the moon. Selene! Help me!

  The man’s bloody nose gurgled in her ear. “Do it,” he urged.

  She braced for the cut. The blade was poised only inches from her heart.

  “Whaz wrag wi you?” Bloody-nose demanded.

  Ammey tried to focus on the man with the blade. He didn’t answer, nor did he move. He had a startled, incredulous look about him and she suddenly had hopes of Marko and his army standing behind her. Or Forzenay’s Five. Or her father and a battalion of his men. Although she’d heard nothing.

  “Wha—” bloody-nose uttered.

  Her vision had to be playing tricks on her. The man’s skin suddenly looked as gray as the sand around them. He was perfectly still. Frozen. Only his eyes were moving. He looked trapped. A prisoner in his own body. In a resurgence of desperation, Ammey tugged sideways and got free of her captor’s grasp. Turning, she saw that he, too, was frozen. His eyes moved and his nose continued to bleed, dripping rhythmically onto the dry sand in front of him. His skin was not only gray, it was cracked and parched looking.

  Ammey backed away watching the brothers getting grayer and grainier looking. Because the desert was cursed? She’d always heard it was cursed. A strong wind suddenly blew, kicking up sand, and the men began to disintegrate before her eyes. Clutching her throbbing side, Ammey limped toward the horses as fast as her weakened legs would carry her.

  By the time she took both of the brothers’ canteens and mounted a horse, there were only booted stumps where the men had stood. Bits of their clothing blew about and a shiny dagger reflected the last of the sunlight. She dismounted with a moan, and went back for the dagger. She couldn’t tear her eyes from what was left of the men. Had entreating Selene done that? What else could it have been? She would never have survived the assassins on her own. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you!”

  She remounted, determined which direction was west, and started the horse moving left of it. She had not considered the possibility of freedom in months, but the thought of it was all consuming. Bellux-Abry was far closer, and she did want Marko to know what had happened, but she was not safe in Bellux-Abry, no matter how much he wished it.

&
nbsp; The Blue Mountains loomed in front of her. She tried to picture a map of the country but, instead, her mind went to her family and the joy they would feel when they saw her again. Nicolas would run to her and embrace her, barely holding back tears. Tom would heave a sigh of relief and then angrily demand to know where she had been while they had been worrying themselves sick over her. Anthony would take hold of her arms, not knowing whether to shake or embrace her. Knowing him, he would probably end up doing both.

  David’s embrace would nearly crush her. Richard would hold back until it was his turn and then he would kiss each of her cheeks and tell her how glad he was to have her back. Dane would probably be last, and his embrace would be equal to her own and according to whatever she needed. He had that innate sense where she was concerned. And baba? How would he react? He loved her as she loved him and there was no doubt that he had suffered in her absence.

  She thought of her home. The house and the forge. Her own room. Kavanne, their cook sparring with Deborah, although the two of them loved one another dearly. The dining hall with all of them sitting around the table. It was all so painfully sweet, it almost hurt to think of it.

  If her fellow captives from Daleog had truly gone free, as she had been told, her family would likely have been informed of her whereabouts. Of course, if they hadn’t been freed, or if they had, but for some reason, had not made it back home again, her family might not know. They might still believe she was well and safe in Daleog. How bitter and ironic it would be for them once they learned the truth.

  Once she was safely back at home, she would get word to Marko. He needed to be informed that she was safe. He also needed to know how dangerous Zino was.

  ~~~

  “It says she won’t be harmed,” Mehr reminded Marko. Marko was beside himself, filled with an agitated vigor that would not allow him to sit or relax.

  “So it says,” Zino repeated ominously.

  Mehr scowled at him.