The Captive Twin (Principality Book 2)

by R. J. Francis

  She closed the distance and hugged him with one arm. “Go with the divine spirit. Be safe. Contact me once you reach Kalmise,” she said.

  “Think of me whenever you’re lonely,” he said.

  “That, you can count on.” She kissed him on the forehead, and she headed back to the courtyard, with Elaina staring at Makias the whole time.

  As they neared the coach, Alessa whispered in Elaina’s ear: “I love him.”

  Alessa and Makias didn’t have to wait a full twenty years to be reunited, but it certainly felt like more than a day had passed.

  They shared a delicious meal of shell-shaped pasta with white sauce, a crunchy green salad, fresh oat bread, and a tart clarified nectar. They spoke of their hobbies: he described his painting and sculpting, and she told him all about her collection of old books back in Arra, her temperamental horse, her patch of forest, her lessons with Elaina, and her houseplants. “I’m not sure any of my collections survived the invasion,” she said, sadly.

  When two adult Celmareans spend time together, the real conversation is unspoken: each reading the other’s emotions and inner thoughts. Such play is enjoyable and addictive. It had never been possible to fully connect on that level when they were teens. Now it was.

  After dinner she helped him clear the table. On one return trip from the kitchen, she nearly ran into him. Close now, they hugged again.

  As they held each other lightly, Alessa sensed that Areu—the comforting, stabilizing force that keeps Celmareans pure—was shifting, lifting, and allowing her to experience physical pleasure. This scared her more than she expected, because all these years Areu had been like a father to her, protecting her.

  “It’s okay,” Makias said.

  She took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “My work with Elaina has been so important, and successful, but it’s not over,” Alessa said.

  “I told her I wouldn’t take you from her.”

  “You told her that? What did she say?”

  “She said she’s not comfortable with me.”

  Alessa giggled, moving on to the kitchen to drop off the glasses she was holding. He followed her. “You got into her mind, didn’t you?” she asked. “Through your connection with me?”

  “Probably. I don’t know exactly how I did it.”

  “Oh, you need to let her come to you,” Alessa said. “She’s sweet, but she’s not to be crossed. If Elaina feels threatened by you, she may just kill you, and if I’m not there to protect you…”

  “What can I do to win her respect?”

  “Elaina respects everyone. It’s her trust you need to earn. First, remember: she’s your princess—you must do everything she asks. The worst mistake you can make is to go against her wishes. And never tease her.”

  “I bet you tease her all the time.”

  “I’m her peer, Makias. You’re not. And she’ll be watching how you treat me. She’s curious. She’s never seen me around you—well, not that she can remember. In her mind it’s always been just her and me.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Our spirits aren’t fully bound yet.”

  “I know,” she replied. “But they are close to being so, aren’t they?”

  “Maybe one of us isn’t ready.”

  She leaned in slowly and gave him a tiny kiss on the upper lip, then the lower lip. “I think you’re right. One of us isn’t ready. Must be you,” she teased. “Well, hurry up.”

  “It feels like only yesterday,” he said.

  They kissed again, this time for real. When Celmareans physically express their love, the sensation is doubled, because they can feel each other’s pleasure. She took a breath and breathed him in. “We’ve disrupted the way of things by staying apart so long,” she said. “We were meant to be bound when we were young.”

  “What’s holding us back now?”

  “Probably the same thing that has always held us back. This war. We need to stay safe,” she said.

  “You’re right.”

  She knew she had to take it slow, but when she looked again in his captivating eyes she wanted more of him. And tonight. She led him all the way to the couch and he collapsed backward onto it. She fell with him, and, pressing her body against his, she engaged him in an even deeper kiss.

  They tested Areu until they finally found where its boundaries were: that nudge in their minds that told them when they were about to take it too far. She relaxed, very relieved to have found the limit, resting atop him, with her head on his chest, feeling his warm body, his breath, his heart pounding beneath her.

  “I…I still have work to do to prepare for the briefing tomorrow,” she whispered.

  “As do I,” he said. “Bring your work here. Stay the night.”

  She giggled. “I’d get nothing done.”

  In silence she rested on him, and as Makias stroked her hair and face she closed her eyes and they just enjoyed each other’s presence. They were so utterly comfortable with each other they both fell asleep.

  An hour later, he woke her and walked her to the door. They kissed good-bye. “Twenty years…like a day…” he said.

  “What have we sacrificed, Makias?” she asked.

  “Nothing—if you truly believe, as I do, that it was meant to be this way.”

  ______

  Alessa walked slowly down the underground corridor that linked the ministers’ residences with the palace, savoring the memory of the beautiful evening she’d had. She thought nothing of her messy hair or her wrinkled dress. She’d forgotten what it was like to long to see someone again, knowing that the same someone was waiting to see her. She felt needed, desired.

  When Alessa reached her assigned room in the palace, there was Elaina sitting cross-legged, blocking the door.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” Alessa said. “Have you been sitting here all evening?”

  “I ask the questions,” Elaina answered, hopping to her feet, grinning. “How did it go? I had some strange feelings about you and Makias this evening, and I have to know.”

  “Come on in,” Alessa said, and Elaina followed her into her room and waited for her on the bed. “It’s really quite simple,” Alessa began, sitting down beside her. “Celmareans most often find their soul mates in or just before their first years of Kalmise. When Kalmise arrived, Makias and I were living in different kingdoms, so we messed up the natural order of things, in a way. When we last saw each other in Arra, we felt the bond—at least I thought we did, but we weren’t old enough to know for sure.”

  “And now do you know?” Elaina said. “Is he your soul mate?”

  “Yes,” Alessa said, confidently. “But because we were apart during that critical time the bond never fully developed. It still will, but…all of the things we’ve gone through as individuals while apart have kind of…well, complicated the situation. We will need to unwind some feelings, and get used to each other again before we can truly be united.”

  “I’m sure you will. And I’m sure he’ll be worth the wait,” Elaina said.

  “Thanks, cutie. I can’t believe you waited up for me. That’s adorable.”

  “Has the bond between me and Jaimin fully formed?” Elaina asked. “Is my being away from him this week going to mess things up?”

  “You have nothing to worry about, my dear. You and my nephew are inseparable. Now, leave me in peace. I need some time to reflect.” She kissed Elaina’s forehead, and Elaina headed back to her room with a smug smile on her face.

  What exactly is it that we need to do, Makias? Alessa thought to herself as she undressed.

  “Come,” said Radovan.

  The black-clad messenger cautiously approached the throne, got down on one knee, and held up a headset.

  “News from the north, Your Majesty.”

  “It’s about time,” said the king, putting on the apparatus. “Lazlo?”

  “Your Majesty,” came the choppy transmission. “The news isn’t good.”

  “Seir failed. Dammit! I knew that weasel would
crumble under the weight of this task.”

  “Seir did just as he was told, Your Majesty, but the islanders survived the trap. We seized their children, but the convoy never made it to the Arran capital.”

  Radovan cracked his knuckles and snarled at his messenger, who could only guess what was being said on the other end of the transmission. “Didn’t we kill any of them?”

  “We…don’t have confirmation, Your Majesty,” said Lazlo.

  “Do you know what this means?” Radovan asked. Silence on the other end. “Do you know what I must do now that this opportunity has been squandered?” Radovan ripped off his headset and threw it at the messenger, who deftly caught it with his pinky. “Get out!”

  The messenger, trembling, scrambled to his feet, bowed, and hurried out with the delicate piece of equipment. The huge door boomed closed.

  “It was too ambitious,” came a man’s voice from the darkness of the balcony. “Now your path will be much more difficult.”

  “Damn those blundering fools,” Radovan said.

  “You must make the journey tonight,” said the man.

  “Have mercy on me,” Radovan said. “Take my life. Don’t make me walk that path.”

  “I…cannot help you. The tutor will have his way. You tried. I too wished for the plan to succeed: for your daughters to die quickly. Now I’m afraid they must suffer.”

  Near midnight, Princess Eleonora woke her husband. The evening candles had burned down; the room was completely dark.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Love, my father just came by the door. What he told me… I’m still shaking.”

  “Was he drunk?” he asked.

  “He looked…compromised. And he was dressed to go outdoors.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “‘Listen, don’t speak,’ he said, ‘and don’t alert the guards.’ Then he said, ‘You and your husband must leave the palace. I can no longer protect you.’ Then he began to walk off. ‘Denda,’ I called, ‘what’s the danger?’ He…he just kept walking—quickly, but uncertainly, as if ill. I followed him, but he put up his hand to stop me before we reached the outer hall. With a bow to the guard, he left, and I didn’t pursue.”

  “He was drunk again,” said Eleonora’s husband. “This is the third time this year he’s done this.”

  “The last two times he just said we were in danger. But he’s never warned us to leave the palace.”

  “Ellie, he loses his mind when he drinks. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. You’ve never been drunk before, but trust me: he’s in another world.”

  “I’m so afraid, Cam,” she said. “I’d like to follow his advice and leave.”

  “Where would we go?”

  “Your brother’s house, perhaps?”

  “Your father is the king, dear. How could he not be able to protect us? If you ask him about it in the morning, I assure you, he’ll have no memory of his visit here.”

  “I feel this time there’s something awful going on.”

  “It’s the hour.”

  Eleonora’s reason told her that her husband was probably right—the only danger was that Radovan would do something that would embarrass the family. He’d been drinking heavily lately, and she heard he’d been experimenting with a few psychoactive substances from the laboratory.

  Her reason reassured her, but her intuition was telling her to beware. “Lend me your sword,” she said. “I’ll stay up a while.” He reached under the bed and tossed her his weapon.

  “Don’t slice me open by mistake,” he said.

  “You just be ready if I nudge you.”

  “Good-night, my love.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  T he sprawling Destaurian palace had existed in some form for nearly three thousand years. It had been expanded so many times there were more chambers and passages than any one king and his court could possibly make use of. Some unused sections had been forgotten entirely.

  There were also many ways to enter and leave the palace. Radovan chose to leave by one that wasn’t even known to the guards.

  Moderately drunk, and disguised as a shabby peasant, the King of Destauria emerged from his secret exit into the forest southeast of the city.

  A rudimentary trail led him to a small settlement on the bank of a river he would follow upstream. Smoke from dying hearth fires rose in perfect columns from the chimneys. Everyone was asleep—even the sheep, pigs, dogs and cats in their straw beds didn’t stir as he passed by.

  Once Radovan was on the riverside path, the tenor of his inner conversation changed from numb and droning to desperate, for deep down he had no desire to see the monster again, or to receive any of his poisonous instructions.

  Any good that remained in his heart called out for him to turn back, but his mind wouldn’t listen. His body was even more committed to reaching its master. His forward foot always found the firmest patch of dirt or snow to step on—the surest, straightest path to his goal.

  Up he hiked, until the trail ended at a half-frozen stream feeding the river from the south. There was no bridge; he would have to cross the stream by stepping on the rocks.

  Perhaps if he hurried he would fall… Yes! By briefly convincing his own mind that he should move even faster toward his goal, he tricked it into being careless. On a wide rock, grey and smooth, his boot slipped sideways and he landed hard on his hip in the shallow water, cracking the surface ice. He imagined letting go, falling backward into the current, surrendering to its flow, and letting it carry him to the sea—to freedom.

  Alas, the stream was so shallow the water hadn’t even completely soaked his pants. It wasn’t going to carry him anywhere.

  And then a switch flipped in his mind—one that had flipped so many times before: the realization that his resistance to the compulsion was the disease from which he needed to be healed. A warm sensation permeated his body all the way down to his numb bottom, and convinced him that all would be well if he just got up and kept going.

  He carefully lifted himself to his feet. Dripping, he staggered the rest of the way across the stream and turned to follow its narrow bank, first through a patch of forest where giant needled evergreens had caught most of the snow before it hit the ground, and then through a clearing where the stream cut through a thick blanket of snow, and finally into the familiar canyon, with its towering rock walls. Everything’s going to be all right now, he told himself. It’s out of my hands. She is out of my hands.

  He glimpsed memories of Eleonora as they slipped away for good. The birthday party where she wound up being the only one not covered in blueberry pie. The life-sized wooden jungle animals he’d commissioned for her. The walks on the beach. Her string recitals. Her eyes: big, brown, drenched in passion for life—just like her mother’s. How she said “Denda.” Bring it all up, said a voice within him. And then give it all up.

  Not far up into the canyon, the stream bank narrowed and steepened, and the only way to continue was to navigate a series of footholds that someone had cut into the snow. Radovan stepped carefully. Tall tufts of dead grass brushed his legs. Icicles overhung from the rocks above like giant teeth, ready to devour him should his heart try to stray.

  Finally, he ascended to a level area where the canyon widened and the remains of a fire smoldered, surrounded by a patch of bare, compacted dirt. Not far away, a shelter leaned against the canyon wall. Strewn about the place were animal bones, broken tools, and bloody pieces of fur. Someone had gotten creative and piled berries into a few perfect pyramids.

  Radovan knelt before the dying fire and tried to feel its heat.

  Whack!

  A blow from nowhere struck Radovan’s back, nearly knocking him into the fire’s embers. He twisted at the last possible moment to land on his side on the dirt.

  Flipping around, he faced his attacker. It was the camp’s resident, clothed in a linen loincloth and a hooded cloak made from the jagged furs of housecats.

  The tutor—which most people
called this wild man—grinned with delight. In fact two faces grinned, one hovering in front of the other like a mask.

  “How nice to see you,” said the tutor’s vile mask. “You’ve saved me a trip.” He ecstatically inhaled Radovan’s thoughts as if smelling a delicious stew. “Ahh…how things are turning on end. Too bad I won’t be here to see it play out. I’m leaving you in charge. You know what to do. Come, let’s play one last time.”

  Several hours later, in Arra, a teenager was scaling a cliff, dressed entirely in dark grey. Almost to the top now, her shoulders and arms burned with each pull. Compounding the agony of the climb, Nastasha knew that even by cover of night she was an easy target should an enemy notice her pressed against the rock with her huge sack.

  When she reached the top, she pulled up her lines, dragged the sack a few meters into the icy shadows of the canyon, and sat to catch her breath. She massaged her sore, slender arms, and wished for just a moment that she were as muscular as Elaina.

  She stood again and approached the edge to look out over her occupied nation. Most of the leaves had dropped from Arra’s trees. The moon had set, but there was enough starlight to illuminate the top of the forest, which resembled a lumpy mat of brown fur. Off to her left she could make out Arra’s capital city and the castle she had called home. Behind the castle, a thick plume of smoke rose vertically. The invaders were burning something…

  To her right, across the expanse of woods, down on the coast, tinier pillars of smoke rose from enemy fires, where the Arrans had been camped just days earlier.

  The fittest officers at Black Tubes had volunteered to lug the relay equipment up the cliff, but Nastasha had insisted on making the climb personally. She had designed and built the solar array herself; she didn’t trust that anyone else would be able to rig it properly.

  She didn’t give herself much of a break before clearing the snow from her workspace and unpacking her cargo. To her relief, and thanks to the careful packing of the army’s technicians, the components were undamaged. The relay’s battery was fully charged now—but the solar arrays would need to start collecting more energy at first light.