The Captive King

by Susan Copperfield

  That didn’t sound good at all. “What problems?”

  “First, there’s the matter of your hair.”

  “My hair? What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “It would be ideal if we could shave your head for this procedure. We’re trying to avoid directing the cinnabar to the brain stem, as we don’t know what the consequences would be for your nervous system. So ideally, we’d drain the tainted blood through several points around your skull and forehead. It’s something we’ll have to do in stages. Right now, because there’s so much concentrated in one place, it’ll be easy to drain. Clotting, however, is a very real risk we need to address, which is why we want to do the drainage in a controlled fashion. We don’t think that your brain has been irreparably damaged yet, but if we don’t get the pressure down, that could change.”

  They were seriously worried about my hair? “Hair grows back. Brains don’t, last I checked.”

  Dr. Clemmondale chuckled, shrugged, and held his hands up in surrender. “While I thought you would be practical about the situation, Alaskans seem to have inherent issues with cutting a woman’s hair during medical procedures without consent.”

  “Do I need to start carrying around a card that says I consent to having my hair cut in case of emergency? Also, please don’t call me by any weird titles. I’m not ready to deal with weird titles yet. Call me Summer, please.”

  “Patient comfort,” Dr. Clemmondale muttered soft enough I suspected he meant it for the other doctors to hear without me snooping in. I pretended I hadn’t heard him. “What’s the second issue?”

  Andrew sighed. “We want to neutralize your talent for the procedure. We have suppressor bracelets on loan attuned to earthweaving talents. While you wear them, you won’t be able to use your talent. We’ve done a few limited tests while you were drugged, and they don’t interfere with others using earthweaving talents on you. We suspect your earthweaving talent is responsible for the development of the cinnabar cluster.”

  Great. My own talent was out to get me.

  Was it a curse, like I thought, or just the consequences of magic? Damn it, I wasn’t sure. One fear rose over the rest. “Will the neutralization be permanent?”

  “There’s a risk of that, but we’re confident you should emerge unscathed. You have a strong, well-developed talent that’s used frequently. As it is, I’m not certain the suppressors we have available will be enough to fully shut it down.”

  “Does this mean I’m a freak?”

  Dr. Clemmondale laughed. “If you could stop hoarding the cinnabar like it’s a damned treasure, we’d be appreciative, Summer. We’re expecting the first stage of the procedure to take a minimum of twelve hours.”

  “Twelve hours.”

  “You’ll be sedated through the entirety of the procedure.”

  “That’s something. I’m not sure I’d want to be conscious while someone was digging around in my head. That sounds even nastier than handling a still-beating heart.”

  “Both activities can be rather gruesome.”

  “Are you going to drill a hole in my skull?”

  “There is a possibility that may have to happen. While we’ll try to avoid it, if we’re forced to, there will be a small plate to cover the hole until we can fly in a bone specialist to restore the skull. It’s one of the perks of being a queen. You’ll benefit from the best healthcare in the world, and your husband has to pay for it.”

  “Are you saying I married him for his health insurance policy?” I considered that, not sure if I liked the implication. “It doesn’t count. He tricked me into marrying him. That’s part of my salary for putting up with him, right? Is that how this works? I don’t even know how this works. I refuse to acknowledge I’m married until he does the whole on the knee thing. That’s a requirement.”

  Andrew snickered. “I’ll make certain His Majesty knows his new marriage is in the closet until further notice.”

  “Where is His Majesty?”

  The doctors all sighed.

  “That doesn’t sound promising.”

  Andrew straightened his shoulders and tensed, as though expecting to attend his own execution. “He is at the castle dealing with matters there.”

  “Good. I gave him a lot of work that can’t wait. Sitting around here and watching my brains be stirred around with a spoon isn’t productive. And if for some reason you need to do anything with my still-beating heart, I ask it is recorded. All of my studies on the subject have been purely theoretical. Archaeologists are not permitted to observe heart surgery.”

  Andrews pinched bridge of his nose and sighed. “This conversation explains so much.”

  “What? Why?”

  “As you’ll find this out eventually, His Majesty is prone to becoming bored. This is partly due to the demands of his station; he’s required to handle the same type of work daily. He been pressured to take a new wife for a while. However, he—”

  I snapped my fingers. “You’ve been sending him the same type of woman—possibly young girl—his way, and they’re all for political benefit. They’re trophy wives, and he doesn’t want someone for their looks, breeding, or upbringing. He’s easy. He wants someone who can have a conversation with him. Duh. This isn’t rocket science.”

  “Close enough,” Andrew conceded. “Anything else us ignorant men should know?”

  “You don’t want to ask that question of me, Dr. Andrew. I get mean.”

  “Trust me,” he replied. “We noticed.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The jade necklace haunted me, as did its rightful owner.

  My speculations had been right; she was no beauty, but she held herself with the pride of a queen, looking down her crooked nose at me. Disapproval was etched into every wrinkle of her face, and her age startled me.

  I hadn't known the Nahua could live to be so old. I hadn't believed it possible; so many lost their lives to war, sacrifice, and disease that I never really took the time to consider their lifespan. Logically, I knew better. Motēuczōma Ilhuicamīna, the emperor of the Nahua responsible for the consolidation and spread of the empire, had lived to be seventy-one. He'd ruled over the famed Tenochtitlan, making his mark on history.

  I'd always giggled over how much trouble people had pronouncing his name—how much trouble I'd had learning to pronounce his name.

  The necklace's rightful owner looked like she'd lived to be over a hundred, and her amber eyes, harder than any jewel, chilled me.

  I'd learned a lot from the Nahua and the Maya, but the most important of those lessons hurt the most. Death came to us all.

  Death was a cold, dark place, and only the spirit offered any light, barely enough to illuminate her face and her bony figure. The silence stretched into an eternity.

  I supposed time no longer mattered; time meant nothing to the dead.

  I tried to speak, but my voice had died with me, I supposed. It didn't matter. I lifted my hands, and the obsidian discs still circled my wrists. I pointed to the glyph representing death on both, then I touched my chest over my heart.

  There were so many ways to interpret my simple gesture, but in the end, they were all correct. Death of the body wasn't much different than death of the heart. I supposed my strained, tired heart had finally had enough of being jerked around. Perhaps I'd been afraid of what Landen had offered, and like the coward I didn't want anyone to realize I could be—often was—I'd taken the easy out. Death meant I didn’t have to make sense of anything, including my willingness to marry a king.

  His title scared the hell out of me, but he’d played me right.

  I’d fallen in love with the man and the holes in his socks, simple proof he was like me, finding value in things that were broken. Maybe his socks had been the tipping point in the scales.

  If he kept socks with holes in them, I could have a little faith he wouldn’t discard me once he learned I was a little broken, too. Disappointment over losing my chance to see what would happen for myself dulled my desire to com
municate with the rightful owner of the necklace I’d sold.

  The woman’s expression softened, and she held out her hands towards me, waggling her fingers. I frowned but held out my hands.

  She touched the glyphs representing first meetings, then she lifted her hand to press her fingers to her necklace.

  Like with my gestures, there were so many different ways I could interpret her, and they all hurt. Life was a long chain of hellos and goodbyes. The hellos brought fear with them, fear I hid behind a gruff exterior and callous, rude behavior. The goodbyes hurt.

  I had so few people who mattered to me that losing even one cut me far deeper than a ritual blade ever could. I’d spent most of my life avoiding the hellos so I’d never have to deal with the goodbyes.

  It hadn’t helped. It only made the goodbyes even worse.

  And now it was my turn.

  I shook my head and tapped the glyph for death. Whose death? Likely mine. The hope of having a love as strong and deep as the woman’s died with me without a chance of being born.

  Something changed in her expression, and her mouth twisted. It took me a moment to realize she smiled. Then she reached out, took hold of my hand, and slid my finger to the next symbol, the one representing my birthday and rebirth.

  I was no phoenix waiting to be reborn from my ashes, but I lacked the heart to keep arguing with her. When I didn’t resist her chill touch, she shifted my fingers to the glyph representing first meetings.

  Then she tapped the glyph for birth again.

  Why did everyone in my life—and my death—want me to get back up and try again? I had nothing left to give.

  Why couldn’t she understand that? I’d made a mess of everything, but I’d started the process of getting justice for Elise and the other women. I’d paved the way for Landen to do what was needed for his kingdom without the guilty obstructing justice.

  Hadn’t I done enough?

  She waited, and tired of fighting her, I nodded.

  The ghost disappeared.

  I hated hospitals. The sane liked them, viewing them as places of hope and healing. No wonder the damned ghost of the necklace’s owner had argued with me. She’d probably known I wasn’t actually dead yet.

  Damned ghosts.

  Damned hospitals.

  Damned headache, which throbbed to the beat of my heart and made the rest of my body hurt, too.

  I had an entire list of people and things I’d damn to the deepest, darkest pits of hell if given an opportunity. The old crone and her cursed necklace rose to the top of my list.

  I bet my lively state and the ripping pain in my head were all her fault. That made sense. She’d touched the bracelets at the zenith of the solar calendar, the moment of birth and rebirth.

  Waking in a living hell of my skull splitting open seemed like a suitable punishment for stealing her treasures to me. Next time I saw Landen, I’d give him a piece of my mind.

  Hopefully not literally.

  It took an unpleasantly long time to become aware of anything other than my headache, and I regretted my attempts to regain coherency the instant I noticed the obnoxious beeps of medical equipment nearby.

  Stupid hospitals. Damned cinnabar for invading my brain and turning into a red ball of death. I contemplated marching to Nevada and lighting the death temple on fire, not that stone burned well. I’d need lava to get the job done.

  Where could I get some lava?

  “I’d be satisfied with an estimate,” Landen snapped, and his tone promised someone—probably one of my poor doctors—was about to come to a bloody end.

  “Don’t give him a knife. He’s learning bad habits from me,” I contributed. My voice slurred, and it sounded like I’d swallowed rusty nails, which wasn’t comforting for anyone, myself included.

  Damn it.

  “As I said, Your Majesty,” Andrew said, his tone weary. “Patience is a virtue, one that you’re going to need a lot of for at least a week. I don’t want to know what bad habits she’s teaching you that involve knives, and I’d like to remind you that drugged ramblings should not be taken seriously.”

  “Ripping out still-beating hearts should always be taken seriously,” I complained.

  “Summer.” Landen’s relieved sigh hurt, and I wasn’t sure why. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Did you rip out my still-beating heart? Not cool, Landen. Not cool at all.” Someone choked on a laugh, but I wasn’t brave enough to open my eyes to find out who. “What? I like my heart. It’s important.”

  “I didn’t rip out your still-beating heart,” Landen replied, and gentle fingers brushed against my cheek. “I had no idea you were so sick. If I’d gotten you to the hospital sooner…”

  “Dr. Andrew? Is there a prescription for whining? Landen needs a dose. He’s not allowed to whine.”

  “I’m afraid not. He’s merely concerned for your health. If he bothers you, I’ll have him removed. You’re going to suffer from severe headaches for the next few days, and you’ll be staying here until we’re confident there are no clots. In good news, we were able to remove the majority of the cinnabar. We’re looking into your options, which are promising at this point. Until we’re able to get rid of the remaining cinnabar, mercury poisoning is a possibility.”

  “He has a job, so you can’t remove him.”

  “What’s my job?” Landen asked, his tone curious.

  I liked that. I liked his curiosity.

  Damn it, I liked him, period.

  “I bet I have a new hole in my skull, because my head hurts like hell. Your job is to make sure my brain doesn’t escape. I need it.”

  “Your brain isn’t going to escape,” Landen replied.

  I didn’t like his tense tone, as though he feared that would actually happen.

  “It can’t actually escape, Landen. You’d need a long stick with a hook and pull it out with a lot of force through my nose. That wouldn’t be fun for either one of us. It’s probably safe.”

  “Summer!” he complained.

  “What? It’s true. Ask the Egyptians. They’re good at the brain removal thing. Through the nose, Landen. Through the nose!”

  “This is what I get for falling in love with an archaeologist, isn’t it? I’m going to spend a lifetime being lectured on how cultures removed various body parts.” Landen’s strained sigh broke me. “As I’ve heard of the brain through the nose myth before, it hasn’t been proven that’s how they had removed the brains of their mummies.”

  Busted. I couldn’t stop giggling, no matter how hard I tried.

  “Your archaeologist needs to rest, and you need to return to the castle and get work done. As it isn’t public you tricked her into marrying you, you need to maintain the illusion you’re a concerned suitor.”

  I huffed. “Tricky Landen. Make you pay for that later.”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Instead of surprising me, go to that castle place you do things at and make sure those girls are taken care of. That’s better than a surprise.”

  “They’re being taken care of,” he promised. “Montana’s delegation arrives next week for formal hearings. A few interested parties are also coming to witness the complete overhaul of my government. Following the hearing, a vote will be called to select a replacement advisory council.”

  “Make them verify they aren’t scum, too.”

  “I was already planning to do so, but thank you for your advice. You get some rest. I’ll be back in the morning.” Landen sighed. “The very early morning, but even if you’re not awake, I’ll be here.”

  I believed him.

  I dreamed of the woman and her jade necklace again, and she laughed at me. The next time I woke up, I’d upgraded a flimsy hospital gown for flannel pajamas, and I was tucked in a real bed, a warm, soft one. I had no idea where the bra had come from or why I was sleeping in it, but it fit without murdering my shoulders and back.

  Miracles could happen.

  I had no idea where the hell I was, howe
ver. I cracked open an eye.

  Warm colors, masculine touches everywhere, and a large television mounted on the wall pointed to a certain king’s bedroom. I could live with that. In fact, I could live with that rather happily, as there was a nice bathroom within easy crawling distance.

  I oozed off the mattress and wormed my way over the sun-warmed rug to the bathroom’s marble floor. From there, I slithered out of my clothes and into the big tub meant for two. Someone with an obsessive compulsive bubble disorder had stocked the tub’s ledge, and I picked the blue one, dumped it onto my feet, and turned on the faucet, wiggling my toes under the stream of steamy water.

  A control panel just within reach promised I could keep the water warm. A single push of a button would turn the jets on. After I added in a backrest perfect for lounging, my mind was made up. If Landen wanted to evict me from the bathroom, he’d have to use force.

  My head didn’t even hurt, although a few tentative touches to my scalp confirmed the presence of stubble instead of hair. Later, I’d have to find out if I had a new metal plate that would make me a menace at any airport.

  I turned the jets on and confirmed I’d found a slice of heaven.

  Then, as though some sort of spell had been cast, the rumble summoned Landen, who poked his head through the doorway. “Again?”

  While his tone was exasperated, he smiled at me.

  “If you don’t want me in here, you shouldn’t leave me unsupervised.”

  His smile widened into a grin. “I’ve no intention of denying you yet another bath. I’m just making sure you don’t try to drown yourself again when you fall asleep. As I’ve been warned you’ve been drugged into incoherency and won’t remember, that was five times yesterday alone. Apparently, my penance for blind trust in my advisors is a demotion to babysitter for the foreseeable future. How’s your head?”

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Good. While you’ve been sleeping or running my water bill up, I’ve been scouring the Royal States for someone with the talent capable of dealing with the deep cluster of cinnabar. I haven’t had any luck, but your long-term prognosis is good. You’ll have to deal with treatments to help with the mercury poisoning, but it can be controlled. Dr. Clemmondale asked for one of his colleagues, Dr. Jameson, to fly in to do a series of tests. He’s a neurosurgeon specialized in unique forms of traumas and rare brain tumors.”