Inner Sanctuary

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Cassadie blinked. “How do you figure?”

  Bentoncourt quoted Nijmege. “ ‘She’s the spitting image! She’s Euro whether we have genetic proof or not.’ This vote has put us in the position of granting her a European lineage. And while we’re here making all sorts of important decisions about Davis, she’s across the water doing what needs doing to forge her crown.” Bentoncourt laughed again. “Bertrada had better enjoy her sense of victory. It won’t last long once she realizes that this vote seals Davis’s rule over the European Sanguire.”

  They stared at one another in consternation before Cassadie pulled out a silver pocket watch. “Damn, I might actually make the second act.” As he put the timepiece away, he stepped toward the door. “I’ll think on what you said, Lionel. You may be right. If you are, we’re all going to get a rather rude awakening, aren’t we?”

  ***

  Margaurethe lay abed, eyes closed. Every muscle in her body ached from the sudden seizure that had occurred when Whiskey had attacked. Her head pounded and her eyes screamed at the smallest hint of light. Daniel had informed her how fortunate she was to still have all her mental facilities. She thought Whiskey lucky, as well. Reports from Castillo told her how badly Whiskey had taken the reflexive attack. Margaurethe would need all the political and psychological weapons in her arsenal to ease Whiskey’s guilt over the accident. Regardless of how personal the attack felt, she knew it had only been a reaction to her foolhardy attempt to give physical support.

  Centuries before she had learned to avoid Elisibet when she became enraged. Elisibet had enjoyed her many negative moods, and had no difficulty in exposing them to the people around her regardless of their station. While she had never outright attacked Margaurethe, there were moments early in their relationship that had scared Margaurethe enough to know when to make herself scarce. Up until now, Whiskey had never shown such a tumultuous emotional storm. She had her moments, as everyone did at her age, but rarely were they violent. The deepening of the bond between them, this newfound ability to feel one another’s emotions and hear each other’s thoughts, had caused Margaurethe to forget Whiskey’s potential—the same potential that Elisibet had exploited on a regular basis. Intercepting Whiskey on a grief-and anger-stricken tear had been the epitome of suicide. The only reason Whiskey had stopped was because Margaurethe was the one whom she had attacked.

  Margaurethe heard a gentle tap on the door, and closed her eyes tight against the impending pain. “Come in.” Even the stab of weak light against her eyelids increased the ache in her head.

  She forced her expression to pleasantness, not wanting to give Whiskey the least indication of her discomfort and more fodder for self-flagellation.

  “Minn’ast?”

  She smiled at the whispered endearment, and waved Whiskey forward. “Close the door behind you. Come sit by me.” Once the dangerous illumination was hidden, she opened her eyes and watched the silhouette approach.

  Whiskey sat gingerly on a chair beside the bed. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been run over by a carriage.” She chuckled to offset her words. “But Daniel says I’ll make a full recovery in a day or two.”

  Leaning forward, Whiskey placed one hand on the edge of the bed as she stared. “I am so sorry, Margaurethe! I never meant to do anything to harm you. I swear.” Her voice was edged with earnest panic.

  Margaurethe took her hand, and held it firmly, conveying a subtle message that she remained strong despite what had happened. “I understand. Apology accepted. And I apologize to you, too.” Whiskey’s hand jumped as she tried to pull away.

  Margaurethe held it securely, and Whiskey capitulated, probably worried about causing more pain.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. I was angry and weak. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Oh, I think I did.” Margaurethe forced herself to laugh though it hurt her head, holding their hands between them.

  “Barging into a wounded lioness’s den to give her a hug, and not expecting to be mauled for the effort is the ultimate in stupidity. I should not have physically interfered.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  “Actually, yes, I did. Elisibet spent many nights on the verge of violence. I simply didn’t recognize the signs coming from you; it’s been so long since I’ve seen them.” She watched Whiskey digest the words, apparently not taking them well. Of course. Now Inner she’s dealing with her fear of becoming Elisibet. Margaurethe swore at the slip, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Her mind was too fuzzy. She couldn’t argue herself out of a paper bag at this point. “In any case, we’re both more educated on matters of your emotions and abilities. A reccurrence can easily be avoided.”

  “Is it that simple?”

  Margaurethe smiled, and squeezed her hand again. “Of course.” Whiskey appeared unconvinced. Margaurethe gingerly pulled the covers back from the bed, and tugged on their joined hands. “Come here.” After an initial attempt to withdraw, Whiskey crawled into the bed, pillowing her head on Margaurethe’s stomach. A tentative sense of relief stole over Margaurethe, and she closed her eyes. At least this hadn’t been completely destroyed. They lay together for long minutes, Margaurethe gently caressing her lover’s hair. The unending throb in her head was the only thing keeping her awake. Even with the painkillers Daniel had given her, Margaurethe still felt the sledgehammer and maul attempting to split her skull. Fortunately, Sanguire healed quickly, even from wounds of this nature. Tomorrow she would be much better, but this conversation couldn’t wait. “How are you feeling? Still furious?”

  Whiskey’s shoulders stiffened beneath Margaurethe’s fingers.

  “Not as bad, but yes.”

  “Anger will do you good if you can control it. If you can’t...”

  “I’ll be just like her,” Whiskey completed the sentence.

  Margaurethe tugged a lock of Whiskey’s hair. “No, you’ll never become her. I have faith in you. You are leaps and bounds ahead of her.” Her next words caused as much pain in her heart as was rocking her head. “The more I see of you, the more I know you’ll do the job so much better than Elisibet ever could have imagined.” Odd, this sense of betraying my heart. Yet the sentiment is true; Whiskey will do more than Elisibet ever could have. And she is my heart and soul, just as much as Elisibet ever was.

  Whiskey scoffed, the sound muffled against Margaurethe’s abdomen. “You say that even after I attacked you?”

  “Yes, for one simple reason.” Margaurethe forced her aching muscles to support her as she sat up, displacing Whiskey. “When you realized what you were doing, you stopped.”

  They stared at each other. “I won’t attack you ever again, Margaurethe. I promise that.”

  “No.” Margaurethe’s palm cupped Whiskey’s cheek. “Never promise something of which you can’t be certain. Who knows what the centuries will bring? We could find ourselves at odds over some decision or other. I could go off the deep end and become a depraved serial killer or something.”

  Whiskey snorted unwelcome laughter at the thought. “That will never happen. I’ll become one before you will.” The truth of her fear drove the tentative humor out of the conversation. She leaned into Margaurethe’s hand.

  “Impossible,” Margaurethe whispered. “You’re too compassionate, too kind. You’re a youngling with volatile emotions, and someone dear to you has been taken away. You have every right to feel this pain, this anger.” She leaned closer, brushing her lips against Whiskey’s, tasting the salt of tears on her skin.

  For a moment Whiskey became pliant, then stiffened. She pulled back, Sanguire eyes reflecting the minimal light in the darkened room. “I can’t feel you!”

  Margaurethe frowned fuzzily until the rising panic in Whiskey’s expression prodded her. “It’s all right! I’m fine. You did no lasting damage.” She grabbed Whiskey’s upper arms, stilling the trembling shoulders. “Daniel gave me medication to numb that area of my brain since it received the brunt of the attack,
nothing more. I’ll be fine.”

  “Medication? Why?”

  She felt so tired. She needed sleep, but Whiskey required an explanation for peace of mind. Leaning back on her pillows, Margaurethe sighed. “If you receive a bruise, you allow it a chance to heal. Prodding it will make it worse, not give it a chance to rest and repair itself. Such is the same for mental injuries such as this.”Whiskey digested the information, still sitting up on the bed.

  “I...bruised your brain?”

  Margaurethe smiled. “In a manner of speaking. Tomorrow I’ll be much better, but we’ll need to go slowly for the next few days.” Her eyes drifted closed of their own accord. The brush of Whiskey’s lips on her temple roused her. “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted. The medication...”

  “It’s okay.” Whiskey laid beside her, gathering Margaurethe into her arms. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”

  Comforted, Margaurethe allowed Morpheus to take her, knowing she was safe in Whiskey’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hours later, Whiskey eased out of Margaurethe’s bedroom.

  She almost stumbled across Margaurethe’s chambermaid seated just outside. Maya leapt to her feet to give proper obeisance. “My Gasan.” The Human girl, a kizarus, glanced at the closed door.

  “Will she be all right?”

  “She’ll be fine.” No thanks to me. Whiskey stifled her recriminations. There was an assassin in her home, and two friends were dead. She had no time to become a hot mess. “Stay close.

  She’ll probably need blood when she wakes.”

  “Yes, Ninsumgal.” She paused. “Father Castillo wishes to speak with you when you are available.”

  “Thank you.”

  Whiskey left Margaurethe’s apartment for her own, feeling surprise as she gazed out the windows of her sitting room. It seemed like days since Andri’s gruesome discovery and her temper tantrum. The sun that had threatened to end the late morning rooftop party had indeed burned off the clouds. The Willamette River drifted lazily in shadows as lights began to come up on the east side, and the last bit of rush hour traffic whisked across the bridges and highways. Hardly any time had passed at all.

  “Ninsumgal?”

  She turned to see her chambermaid at the door leading in to the rest of Whiskey’s apartment. “Sithathor.”

  “I imagine you’re not hungry, so I’ve prepared a cold dinner for you to eat at your leisure. It’s in the kitchen refrigerator.”

  A ghost of a smile quirked Whiskey’s lips. “Thanks. Take the rest of the night off.”

  Sithathor curtsied, her powder-blue sari gracefully shifting with her. “Please do not forget to eat, my Gasan. Ki’an Gasan Margaurethe will be most displeased.”

  Whiskey couldn’t dredge up the least amount of interest in food, nor the potential haranguing she would receive from her uppity chambermaid should she ignore the repast. “I’ll eat. I promise.”

  “Yes, Ninsumgal.” Accepting the assurance, Sithathor curtsied again and disappeared inside. She, like Andri, lived in the apartment with Whiskey, always within calling distance. No doubt Andri cowered in his tiny room right now, afraid to poke his bulbous nose out the door for fear of reprisals.

  Whiskey discarded the thought of trying to ease his fears.

  She didn’t trust herself not to cause another scene. Instead, she turned back to the windows, staring as the blue sky deepened in color. After an indeterminate time, she recalled Maya’s message.

  Picking up the nearest phone, she told whoever answered that she wanted to see Castillo. His knock came so quickly, she thought he must have been waiting in the hall at the security station.

  “Ninsumgal.”

  Disgusted at his bow, Whiskey waved at him. “Stop that! Get up. I don’t deserve it.”

  For a change, he lowered his chin rather than concede. “That’s for me to decide.”

  Not used to outright defiance from him, Whiskey simply gaped. She didn’t have the mental wherewithal to argue the point, feeling old beyond her years. “Whatever.” Turning away, she didn’t complain when he stepped inside and closed the door.

  “So, what did Lionel have to say?”

  Castillo sat uninvited on the couch. “The Agrun Nam has used the news of Cora’s and Anthony’s murders to call for a new vote. Ki’an Gasan Margaurethe and Sublugal Sañar Valmont will be in receipt of orders to return you to them immediately.”

  It made sense. With the discovery of a snake nesting in her home, what else could they do? Even had they not been involved in engaging the assassin they would want to move her to safety.

  Her people had made no secret of The Davis Group’s political aspirations, and it would improve the Agrun Nam’s standing to appear as if they held the power in any worldwide Sanguire conglomeration. She looked over her shoulder at Castillo. “Do we know if any voted against?”

  “Nam Lugal Bentoncourt says he was the lone dissenter.” He shrugged. “They believe you’ll be safer there than here.”

  “Better under their thumb, you mean.” My, what big teeth you have, grandmother.

  “You say tomato.”

  Whiskey’s agitation forced her to start pacing. “Do they expect me to be the good little European Sanguire and come running?”

  “I believe so.”

  “What world do these people live in?” She paused to glare at him.

  “A very closed one in which they’ve been in political power for centuries.”

  She ran both hands through her hair. “I hate politics.”

  Castillo smiled, having heard her say the same countless times during their lessons. “Unfortunately, it’s what makes our world go ’round.”

  Whiskey dropped into an armchair. “So, tell me, Padre, do they have a legal precedent for ordering me to attend them?”

  “None of which I’m aware.” He frowned. “Even if they have confirmed you’re European through your father’s side, you technically outrank them. They cannot order or compel you to do anything.”

  “But...?”

  “But, they haven’t actually accepted you as their monarch. I’m not certain if it’s necessary for the Agrun Nam to officially accept your ascension or not. They brought Elisibet’s father into power to begin with, so that is somewhat relevant.” He gave her an apologetic shrug. “About the only ‘official’ thing you have going for you is your likeness to Elisibet Vasilla, and the fact that you’ve already begun amassing a following and an army.”

  She stared blankly at him. “An army?”

  “Your security force, the Aga’gída.” He overrode her derisive snort. “A standard corporation doesn’t have near the amount of firepower. The Agrun Nam has to be concerned at how much you’ve amassed in such a short time.”

  It was too much to deal with on top of everything else.

  Whiskey set his words aside for the time being. “Where would I go to find out the legalities of my claim?”

  He frowned in thought. “There might be something in the library. I’ll have a look.”

  “Do that. I’ll draw up a personal letter to the Agrun Nam, refusing their...offer.” Whiskey massaged her temples with her fingertips. Too much to think of, too many loopholes and contingencies, not enough knowledge. Frowning, she looked up.

  “Where are Reynhard and the others?”

  “Ki’an Gasan Margaurethe notified all your advisors, and Valmont arrived this afternoon. Chano has offered spiritual counseling if you would prefer him to myself.” His gaze became distant. “I’m not certain about Sañur Gasum Dorst. I haven’t seen him at all today. I thought you’d sent him on another errand, or that he was lurking about in some capacity.”

  “I didn’t send him anywhere.” Even given Dorst’s secretive proclivities, she doubted he would investigate the murders without checking in with her. Digging her cell phone from her pocket, Whiskey gave his number a call, but it dropped immediately into voice mail. “No answer.” She picked up the house phone.

  “This is Sasha, Ninsum
gal.”

  “Has Reynhard Dorst been in today?”

  “Let me check the visitor’s log.” There was a pause as the new Ugula Aga’us of Whiskey’s Aga’gída looked up the information.

  “No, Ninsumgal. He left the building last night, and has not returned.”

  Whiskey thanked Sasha and set the phone down. “Where the hell is he?” She had half a mind to return to Margaurethe and ask when she had called him, but held off. Even with the drugs Daniel had given her, it had taken a long time for her to move far enough past pain to sleep. Margaurethe needed rest, not more prodding.

  “Perhaps he already has a lead on something?”

  “Or perhaps he’s the one responsible.”

  Whiskey whirled to see Valmont in her door. He had entered without knocking, and stood politely in place with a very pale aga’us standing behind him. With a wave of his hand, he released his mental hold on the much younger Sanguire guard. “I’m sorry for the rudeness, but when I heard that you’d called the priest, I assumed you were taking visitors.

  Unfortunately, this gentleman took exception to my attempt to speak with you.”

  The guard slumped a little, hand to his head as he came to his senses. A moment later, he flushed and snapped to attention.

  “Ninsumgal! I’m sorry! I—”

  She waved off his apology. “No matter. Go...report to Sasha. Leave us.” Once the door was closed, she scowled at Valmont, the unremitting fury barely contained. “If you ever compel someone in my home again, I will eviscerate you. Is that understood?”

  Valmont blanched at the violence lurking beneath the veneer of normalcy. “Of course. This was just a way to expedite my visit.”

  Whiskey stared at him until he blinked and raised a chin high in concession. “What do you mean Reynhard’s responsible? Why would he kill Cora and Anthony?”