by Wren Weston
The matron nodded, and the bidding started anew.
After Chairwoman Holguín raised her paddle for ten million, Chairwoman Hardwicke shook her head, letting her rival take the boy.
“I didn’t know the Hardwickes were interested in Oskar,” Lila said.
“They aren’t,” her mother replied. “Everyone knows that Chairwoman Holguín likes ones and fives and tens at these things. Chairwoman Hardwicke just wanted to drain her coffers.”
As soon as the gavel banged against the podium, Chairwoman Holguín click-clacked toward the ballroom entrance, the hand-crafted lace on her orange dress swaying with every step.
“It’s the loyalists,” her father said as the LeBeau militia led Oskar back to the holding cells. Phillip Wilson stepped up beside the podium next, his chin raised, his lips frozen in a pout. “I suspect killing Oskar was Plan A. Plan B is dealing with the Holguíns. They’ll buy the boy and murder him to secure the empire, and it will only cost them ten million to do it. I should never have let you sell him, Bea.”
“The prime minister does not let the matrons do anything. And I sincerely doubt that Chairwoman Holguín has found a loophole around the slave regulations. She’s not smart enough for that.”
“She doesn’t need a loophole,” Lila reminded them. “If I wanted the boy dead, I’d promise one of the families whatever it took, just so I knew where the boy would be after the auction ended. It would only take one shot from a high-powered rifle a kilometer away. A trained sniper—someone like Commander Sutton—could make that shot easily.”
Her mother’s face paled. Clearly, she hadn’t thought of the most obvious solution.
Perhaps there was hope for her yet.
“Lila, you need a vacation.”
“I’m only saying what someone has already planned, Mother. An assassin doesn’t even have to take the shot tonight, especially if half the journalists in New Bristol follow the boy. They can just keep him in sight and wait for a clear shot. My advice, Father? Get Chief Shaw on it, and advise the Holguíns to keep the boy underground. It’s hard to find someone on thermal through several tons of dirt.”
Her father pulled out his palm and began typing a message. “I’ll have Chief Shaw escort the boy to the Holguín compound and keep a few patrols in the area. The chairwoman can contest our interference with the council later.”
“She will,” her mother predicted. “I suspect two groups are out tonight, Henri. The loyalists want Oskar dead, but the traditionalists will want him alive. At ten million credits, the boy would make for a cheap and grateful puppet, one still young enough to be molded.”
“It beats being a slave, doesn’t it?” Lila asked.
“It’s just a different kind of slavery. We should all be more concerned with the empire’s aristocracy. If they fetch Oskar and take his father from King Lucas, then they could gain control of the empire, so long as they can sway public sentiment and gain the support of their clergy. Warmongers, the lot of them. King Lucas does a fair job of holding them all in check, but if he loses the reins…”
The chairwoman took a sip of wine and fixed her daughter with a stare. “War is generally bad for business, unless you’re the one supplying the bullets and the rations and tossing someone else’s children into the breach. It only takes one excuse to beat the drums.”
“Well, let’s hope they don’t find an excuse.”
“Let’s hope they take up a new pastime and stop playing at politics.”
“You dabble all the time, Mother.”
“Dabbling isn’t what they do. We push through favorable zoning laws and pollution regulations. That’s a lot different than poking at foreign leaders and governments. It’s why we let the senate handle such things. Buffers, if you will. Buffers who have too many children scattered among the highborn and lowborn alike to risk their offspring falling on the front lines of a war without reason. It gives us boundaries, Lila. That’s the difference. Ask Commander Sutton if you still don’t understand.” She drained her glass and nodded at Lemaire. “Are you ready to leave, Henri?”
He tapped out one last message on his palm. “Yes. Lila, would you like to ride with us?”
Lila frowned. The pair seemed to have made up. “As much as I love trying to carry on a conversation while you both paw at one another, I have my own car and a prior appointment.”
“Such a grouch. Maybe she does need a vacation, Bea.”
The chairwoman looked smugly at Lila.
“Come to Falcon Home tomorrow morning for breakfast, Lila girl. Nine o’clock. I have an early meeting, but I’ll wait to eat until you arrive.”
Lila nodded, steeling her face so that she would not tip off her mother. Her father didn’t want breakfast. He wanted her help with Oskar.
And that was too bad, for Lila had every intention of stealing the boy herself.
“I’d love to have breakfast with you, Father.”
“Good. Perhaps I’ll even try my hand at making pancakes.”
Lila tried to smile. Though she appreciated the effort, she’d eaten burned pancakes too many times as a child. “Hmmm,” she answered diplomatically.
“Fine, I’ll ask Chef Mathieu make them instead.”
“No sausage?”
“No sausage,” he promised, his hand over his heart.
“Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to attend.”
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Other Titles by the Author
The Lila Randolph Novels
The Heirs of New Bristol
The Lost of New Bristol
The Wolves of New Bristol
The Oracle of New Bristol
The Gods of New Bristol
The Champions of New Bristol
The Unbowed of New Bristol
All coming to Amazon by December 2017!
About the Author
Wren Weston grew up writing fantasy and science fiction stories, but one chance book club encounter with a romance novel changed her favorite genre forever.
She became addicted.
Not only can she not stop reading them, she can’t stop injecting shades of the genre into everything she writes.
You have been warned, darlings.
To recommend a romance novel to Wren, visit www.wrenweston.com or drop her a line on Twitter.
