by Robyn DeHart
“Which was?” he asked.
“World domination. He will use the elixir to make your military impossible to defeat. At least he will attempt to do so.” She shook her head.
“Then instead of trying to discover the identity of the Chosen One, we should find the dove. The prophecy states it’s the only way to stop him. He’s already found the other two guardians. Despite your clever way to hide in plain sight, chances are he will eventually find your identity.” He clasped his hands together. “So we need to be ready for him.”
“With the dove,” she provided. “The problem is, we don’t exactly know what the dove is.”
“Clearly they don’t mean the actual bird,” Max said.
She rolled her eyes. “Obviously not.”
He took that moment to take the map out of his bag and spread it out on the table.
Sabine’s breath caught. “I didn’t know you had that with you,” she whispered. She splayed her palm on the map as if trying to touch the actual island.
“I thought perhaps it would help the Seer with the prophecy if he could see it.” Max shrugged. “But that didn’t work so well.”
She gave him a sweet smile. “It was a good thought. I have no doubt he would have loved to see it.”
Max pointed to the inscription that mentioned the dove. “Perhaps it is a weapon of some kind. Which makes sense. If we are to do battle, we will definitely need a weapon.”
She glanced down at the map and then back to his face. Something in her expression softened. She reached into her own bag and held out a folded piece of parchment.
“What is this?” he asked.
“I found it. In Phinneas’s house,” she said.
“This is what you were hiding,” Max said.
She opened her mouth, then shut it with a heavy sigh. “I merely wanted a chance to read it first. Alone. I thought it might be something else.” Then she shook her head. “Just read it.”
He looked down. It was dated three days before and was from Phinneas to Madigan. “‘I believe I’ve located the dove, but have decided not to remove it from the current location. It appears safe enough and disturbing it might be even more dangerous.’” Max caught her glance. “He knew where the dove was?”
“Yes. It appears as though he might have deciphered that part of the prophecy.”
Max kept reading, then flipped the parchment over. “The letter is unfinished.”
“I think he was interrupted by the Chosen One and only had the time to hide the letter,” Sabine said.
Max read it again, searching for a clue to the location, but found none. “Where is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I was hoping he’d have something written in the book, but I haven’t found it yet. I’ll keep reading, though,” she said.
But she did not open the book. Instead she stared at the map, soaking in every detail. It mattered not how awe-filled her eyes were or how lovingly she followed the lines of the map with the tip of her finger. He was on this quest, not primarily to help her, but to aid Justin and ultimately to find what he’d sought these many years. Atlantis was out there somewhere, beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered.
He cleared his throat. “This letter does not include you. Why would he notify only one guardian?”
“Perhaps he died before he had the chance.”
* * *
Spencer had just returned to town when he’d been summoned to meet the queen in the breakfast room. Her majesty had been an early riser ever since her husband had passed, and when she was ready to attend to business, she expected her advisors to be ready as well. Spencer tugged on the hem of his jacket to straighten it, then allowed himself to be led into the room.
The room was red nearly from floor to ceiling, with enormous velvet drapes framing the large wall of windows. With the matching scarlet upholstery on the furniture as well as the red rug, it looked like a room bathed in blood, hardly one for consuming food. But someone had told her majesty that the color stimulated the appetite, so she’d taken that to heart and instructed her decorators to make it so. Perhaps it was all the blood he’d seen lately that brought the visual to his mind.
“You wanted to see me,” he said as he bowed before her. He made no move to take a seat until she offered.
“Yes, sit.” She pointed to a chair adjacent to her. Her gray hair was wound in its usual long braid and wrapped into a wide bun that sat at the base of her neck. Winter was weighing on her, stiffening her joints and making her movements slower and more pronounced. England’s beloved queen was getting old.
He sat and said nothing as she ate three bites of quail eggs from the gold-rimmed plate before her. Additional food-filled platters and bowls sat on the sideboard behind them, but she offered him none.
She leaned forward and tapped her blunt fingernails on the heavily carved mahogany table. “I’m told that you recently met with an investigator from the Scotland Yard,” she said. When he nodded, she continued. “Have they made any headway in finding out who is killing all of my generals?”
“Unfortunately, no. They have no leads.” He crossed one leg over the other.
“Well, that stands to reason,“ she said. “This is a cunning killer they are dealing with, smart enough to not leave evidence. I’m told he uses a different type of gun with every one. Then there was General Carrington, whom the savage beast used a knife on.” She chewed thoughtfully for several moments before she spoke again. “I heard whoever is doing this has left me some sort of message.”
“I beg your pardon?” he asked. She had called him a savage beast. He evened his breath and clasped the arms of the chair. One day they would all see what he was doing, and they would know it had nothing to do with savagery.
“The killer”—she waved her hand about, her fork dangling daintily from her hand—“he left me a note on one of the bodies.”
She believed his message was addressed to her. Clearly that was how the inspectors were interpreting it. Otherwise she would never have heard of it. Fools. Spencer had hoped they’d run the notes in the newspapers as he’d commanded them. But they were idiots and clearly could not follow instructions.
He knew the third guardian lived somewhere in London. His ring flickered too often for the guardian to not be near. The guardian could only hide for so long before he would ferret him out. Then he’d have all of the elixir, as the prophecy required. And immortality would be his.
“A message for you?” he asked.
She rattled on about speculation from the detectives. Spencer had known this conversation would happen. At some point, he’d expected it. He hadn’t informed the queen of the inspector’s visit but that didn’t mean she would not be concerned or interested in the investigation. Discussing his own crimes without her knowing the truth exhilarated him. What would she do if she knew her favored advisor was single-handedly destroying her military forces? No doubt, have him beheaded.
He caught himself before he smiled. Careful not to show his glee, he forced his features into a frown.
“My apologies, your majesty, for not telling you of the visit sooner. I’m afraid I was called away at the last minute. My aunt is ill.” He feigned concern. “We don’t believe she has much more time.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Spencer,” the queen said, her voice lined with authentic sympathy.
“When the investigator came, he brought along someone,” he told her, “the Marquess of Lindberg. Are you familiar with him?” Spencer had done some investigation of the marquess but had not come up with much information. He’d already known the man was a member of London’s most exclusive club. Perhaps her majesty would give him some new details.
The queen paused over her breakfast. Then she set down her fork and smiled dreamily. “Maxwell Barrett; yes, I am familiar. Quite the charmer, that one, with a wicked sense of humor.” She took a bite of buttered bread slathered liberally with jam. “I presume he came along to assist his friend in gaining an audience with me. I do wish I
had known when they were here. It would have been entertaining to see him again.”
“You were resting. I didn’t want to rouse you. You’ve been under so much pressure lately,” Spencer explained.
A heavy line creased her already wrinkled brow. “I am the monarch of this country,” she said in her strongest voice of authority. “I do believe I can handle the pressure. I have thus far.”
“Yes, your majesty.” He lowered his head and hoped he appeared appropriately contrite. “It won’t happen again.”
She stood, and a flurry of servants were instantly by her side while she moved to a large wing-backed chair in the sitting area of the room. “Well, don’t dawdle, come join me.” She beckoned with her hand.
He moved quickly to the seating area and selected his chair.
“Hmmmm. I am most concerned about this current situation. I simply will not abide a lunatic murdering my military leaders.” She pounded her fist on the armrest. “Soon I will have none to rely on. Precisely how am I to civilize Africa if all of my military leaders are deceased?”
He bristled at her use of the word “lunatic.” He was not some common madman going about London murdering just anyone. This was his destiny. Everything had been explained to him, in detail, when he was a small child. His grandfather had seen to it that Spencer had grown up knowing precisely who he was—the Chosen One. When everyone else had failed him, his grandfather had been there to show him the way.
“Well, of course you cannot,” Spencer said, continuing to play his role as faithful advisor. “The whole of your empire will feel the effects of the loss of these important men.” He crossed his legs. “But we will get this situation under control, and your African missions will move forward as you have carefully planned.”
He’d needed to infiltrate her defenses, to make her fear for the safety of the country. Without having a role in the government, without being close to her, his random killing of the generals would have served no purpose. Just as carefully as he’d orchestrated the kills, he’d created a relationship in which she would rely on him. He hoped the next words out of her mouth would be the ones he’d been waiting to hear.
“I want you to meet with the lieutenant-generals,” she said. She sat back in her chair and gripped both armrests. “See which of them is up to the task. I’ll get recommendations from others, but you’ve always had a talent in that area. I need you to help me select who should be the next in command,” she said.
There it was, the assignment he’d worked for. All his efforts were paying off. All of the years he’d spent trying to work his way into her cabinet, and then once he’d arrived, the exhausting hours of pandering and fawning over her. They had not been for naught. He said nothing and tried to keep any indication of his excitement out of his expression. So he merely nodded.
He knew precisely which men to contact. He’d already selected them and slipped them elixir in preparation for this very moment. And it was working. The elixir was feeding their aggression, making them stronger and their minds more cunning. Spencer’s army would be brilliant and unstoppable.
“I can’t very well traipse about in the training field,” the queen said abruptly, pulling him out of his fantasy. “I want those five men replaced in two days with the best you can find. I know there are men up for promotion, but I want these hand-selected. By my decree.” She tapped her chest.
He smiled; he could not help himself. “Yes, your majesty, I will get to work on this straightaway.” Of course, she’d have two more to replace before all was done, but his plan was falling into place. “I will find the perfect men to lead us into battle,” he said.
Soon they’d be ready for his command, and then he would control all of Britain’s military just as the prophecy had predicted. And he could see his ancestors’ plan through to fruition. Atlantis might not physically rise, but he could ensure an Atlantean ruled all.
“You are dismissed,” Victoria said.
He stood to leave.
“Oh, and Cole”—she held one finger up and leveled her shrewd eyes on his—“the next time someone comes to see me about this matter, especially Maxwell Barrett, you are to allow him entrance.”
“Of course, your majesty.” He nodded, then backed out of her presence. Perhaps Spencer should do something about Max to make sure that never happened.
Chapter Eleven
Sabine knew she was going to walk through that door and break Agnes’s heart. To say she was not looking forward to it was a gross understatement. Regardless of how difficult it might be, this was not something Sabine could keep from her aunts.
She stepped into the large bedchamber they all shared. It was the sort of room designed for children, with more than one bed along the expansive wall. But Max had no children, so he’d had the room designed to cater to guests. He’d offered her aunts their own bedchambers, but they’d opted to share this one. They’d always shared a room, and they’d seen no reason to do differently.
It was late in the evening, but her three aunts were still awake. Lydia sat in a reading chair in the corner, book in hand, while Agnes stood behind Calliope braiding her hair. For a moment, Sabine could imagine how they’d been as girls, with her mother right there with them. Four sisters and the best of friends.
“Sabine,” Calliope said with a warm smile. “Welcome back.”
Agnes immediately walked over. “How was he?” She put her hand to her throat. “How was Phinneas?”
Sabine felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Agnes, I’m so very sorry.”
The color completely drained from her aunt’s face, and immediately her two sisters were there by her side as she crumpled to the floor. She clung to them as she wept, and they cried with her. Sabine stood quietly, watching, her tears clouding her vision. There was nothing graceful about their grief; it was raw and intense and utterly unapologetic.
After several moments, Lydia stood. “The Chosen One had found him, then?”
“It appears so. We found Phinneas in his garden. Max made certain to give him a decent burial there.”
Agnes swallowed and tried to smile. “He loved that garden.”
Calliope and Lydia helped her to the edge of her bed, where she sat. Her head and shoulders hung down in defeat.
Sabine knelt at her feet. She placed the stack of letters in her lap as well as the ribbon collection Max had found. “We found these. We thought you’d want to have them.”
Agnes opened her eyes and gasped. “My ribbons. That silly old fool. Why would he keep all of these?” She ran her hand reverently over the bag of ribbons as she spoke.
“Because he loved you,” Calliope said.
“I’m sorry, but we read through some of the letters,” Sabine said. “We thought they might help us.” She shook her head. “I don’t know, perhaps assist us in figuring out a way to stop the prophecy.”
Agnes looked up. She shook her head. “Don’t be. There is nothing I’m ashamed of in these letters.” She motioned to Calliope. “Hand me my box.”
Calliope reached beneath Agnes’s bed and withdrew an old wooden box. Sabine had seen it before, plenty of times. Her aunt had always had it, as far as she’d known, but Sabine knew better than to ask what was kept inside.
Agnes withdrew another stack of letters. “Here are his letters to me. And you’re right, perhaps you will find something helpful within them.”
Sabine took the letters, both sets. “I’ll make certain you get these back.” She would share these letters with Max, because they might hold some clue that could aid them in their search. But they also might reveal secrets she’d worked hard to protect. Earlier on the train when he’d asked why Agnes and Phinneas couldn’t be together, she’d lied, come up with a false reason about a Seer and a Healer not being free to marry. But it was the only thing she could think of, aside from telling Max the truth about Agnes’s being the third guardian.
Agnes wept freely. Sabine longed to say something or do something that would ease Agnes’
s pain. But she knew there was nothing that could help. When her own parents had died, she’d had to allow time to soften the pain. It still lurked beneath the surface and sometimes would crash upon her, but most days she simply missed them.
“What of the Seer’s book?” Lydia asked.
“We found that as well, though someone was coming back after it. We had to run and hide in the woods.”
“We’re so thankful you’re safe. Max took very good care of you,” Calliope said.
“Phinneas faithfully wrote all of his visions down in that book,” Agnes said.
“I was hoping you could take a look through it,” Sabine said, holding it out to Agnes. “See if you can find anything on the prophecy and his interpretation of it. I know he didn’t have the entire prophecy, but he knew enough about it to have found the dove.”
The aunts exchanged glances.
“Did he say where?” Lydia asked.
“No, it was an incomplete letter to Madigan. It said he found it, but it was safe for now so he didn’t want to remove it and risk endangering it,” Sabine said. “Max and I have decided we should try to locate it, to be prepared for the battle with the Chosen One.”
“Where will you go?” Calliope asked.
“That’s what I was hoping you would help with.” She handed the book to Agnes, then placed her hand over her aunt’s. “I don’t want to put too much pressure on you. So if you can’t do this, I will do it myself.”
Agnes’s shoulders straightened. “Of course I can do it.”
“The Chosen One will be after you now,” Lydia said to Agnes.
“Let him come. I will not fear him,” Agnes said.
The following morning, Sabine was surprised to see Agnes join them at breakfast. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, a testimony to a late night spent crying.
“Good morning,” Max said to Agnes as he rose from his seat.
