“All right. The painkiller is only going to take a few minutes to kick in. I dosed according to Dr. Stanton’s recommendations, so I don’t expect any problems there. However, she’ll confirm there aren’t any issues upon her arrival,” Daniel announced. “I’ve put the needles away, so you can open your eyes. We’ll wait until it’s working to see how much damage the bullet did.”
I grumbled, cracked open an eye to confirm the needles were gone, and grunted my acceptance of his decree. Waiting would only make the task harder, so I eased out of Ian’s battered jacket and escaped Peter’s holster. “It can’t be too bad. I was able to walk on it.”
“Gunshot wounds have an unpleasant tendency to surprise people, Mr. Smith. I’m more surprised you’re not showing any of the classic signs of blood loss or adrenaline fatigue yet. You’re far more responsive than you likely should be.” Daniel moved the coffee table away from the couch, took hold of my ankle, and worked my shoe off before propping my leg up so he could get a better look at my calf. My slacks would be making a one-way trip to a trash can. The RPS agent grabbed the scissors and cut until the bandage was uncovered. “Dr. Stanton mentioned you were recently on hexapentin, but she also stated you aren’t exhibiting any of the normal withdraw symptoms.”
“I haven’t been off it long,” I admitted. “But if there has been anything, I haven’t noticed.”
“He’s so strongly bonded with my sister that he’s been cruising on an empathy high since their reunion. Honestly, I’m surprised he isn’t climbing the walls trying to get to her,” Marshal chirped.
Glaring at the young prince did nothing to discourage him. Then, with sickening clarity, I realized I was grateful my glower didn’t smother his good humor.
It wouldn’t last.
Reality would fall hard and heavy on us both. His mother was dead, and there was nothing I could do to change that. I’d killed a man, and my guilt loomed on the horizon, although I refused to question the reason why I’d fired the gun.
If I could rewind time, the outcome wouldn’t change.
Even knowing the outcome, I would’ve fired to protect Marshal from sharing his mother’s fate.
“That still doesn’t justify the circumvention of biological functions,” Daniel replied. “Following a painful injury and near-death experience, shock and adrenal fatigue are common. Mr. Smith suffers from neither.”
“Oh. That’s because he’s also cruising on a rush from a talent flare still. He’ll crash in a few hours. When my father shot him, the ground shook. When he killed my father’s agent, something went pop.”
I didn’t remember any pops. “Something went pop? What?”
“I don’t know. I just heard it. Mother told me to pay attention when something weird happens. It’s usually the sign of someone using their talent. There was a pop, and it was weird.” Marshal shrugged, sat beside me on the couch, and leaned against me.
I lifted my arm so he could scoot closer, and once he made himself comfortable, I held him. I remembered being in his shoes, although I’d been older and hadn’t had anyone to hide with. Had I not been alone for so long, would things have been different?
Daniel dug his phone from his pocket and tapped at the screen. “So, there was a tremor when Mr. Smith was shot, and there was a later pop?”
Marshal nodded. “That’s right. I don’t know if there were any pops when my father shot Adam. Gunfire’s loud.”
“Do either of you have any problems with your hearing? Any ringing in your ears?”
I shook my head and Marshal replied, “No.”
“That’s also unusual. Gunfire without appropriate protection can cause ringing and discomfort for several hours.” The RPS agent frowned, first looking me over before turning his attention to Marshal. “We generally train while wearing mufflers to protect against hearing damage. How close were you to Mr. Smith when he fired?”
“Not far. The agent shot at one of us, but he missed. He hit the ground between us. Maybe two to three feet?”
“Which one of you was he aiming at?”
“Marshal. That’s why I shot the agent. Peter had warned me not to fire unless I was at point-blank range, but if I hadn’t…”
“Then it was probable you or His Highness would’ve been shot instead. How many other people were in the parking lot?”
I thought about it, growing uneasy as the realization sank in the lot had been far quieter than it should’ve been considering the situation. “Very few, actually. We left the mall out of one of the side exits near the docking bay, but there were few people.”
“It was weird,” Marshal added. “I guess everyone left the mall through the other exits?”
Daniel scowled, and deep lines creased his forehead. “Or they were congregating where the king was for a look at the local royalty. That’s a possibility. But yes, that’s highly unusual, especially for an evacuation situation. We’d noticed the lack of traffic near the docking bay, but there were a lot of cars leaving from the main street. Without a full team, we couldn’t spare the time to investigate the situation.”
I breathed in deep to steel my nerves and prepare for the unpleasant conversation my question would ultimately trigger. “Have you been in touch with Prince Ian’s agents?”
“Their extraction is under way. When we know more, we’ll tell you.”
I had a feeling I’d find out what was going on when I saw Veronica and Ian again. The real question was when, and I lacked the courage to ask.
Chapter Fourteen
Dr. Stanton arrived within the hour, and the instant she walked through the door, accompanied by a single RPS agent wearing a Montana pin on his black jacket, she snatched the television remote from the coffee table. “For the victim of an assassination attempt, you’re looking well, Mr. Smith.”
“You should hire these two whenever you need to give me a needle. They stabbed me three times.” I meant to hold up three fingers, held up four, and after I scowled, I tried again with better success. “I think their drugs are better than your drugs.”
“They’re technically my drugs, as I told them what to give you, Adam. I even suggested the injections because they have a faster onset time. The news stations are starting to run reports on the mall shooting, and the situation is turning ugly fast.” Dr. Stanton turned on the television and changed the channel until a news anchor began speaking, detailing the incident at the food court. After his brief summarization of the shooting, the image changed to the mall’s food court.
Someone had gotten a clear video of my meeting with the king, beginning moments before Marshal had stolen my milkshake. Closing my eyes, I hung my head and sighed as the world got to hear the entire disastrous negotiation word for word. When Veronica found out, she’d probably be the one to kill me, and I’d deserve it. “This is a nightmare.”
“Hardly. Perhaps a little embarrassing, but this is not a nightmare for you. North Dakota’s government has a nightmare on its hands, but that’s not your problem.”
“Yet,” Marshal added.
“While I do apologize for subjecting you to several syringes, Adam, they really were necessary. The painkiller has a secondary benefit; it helps mitigate the symptoms of talent usage. Your leeching talent is more active than before, which plays a part, but my suspicions of your other talents seems to have been correct.”
“What?” I blurted.
Dr. Stanton checked the remote, pressed a few buttons, and replayed the video, beginning right before I’d been initially shot by the king and pausing right before he’d fired the first shot. “Please confirm this for me, agents, but unless I’m mistaken, His Royal Majesty had been aiming for Adam’s head.”
I narrowed my eyes, focusing my attention on how the king held the gun. Sure enough, even to my uneducated eye, it did look like the gun was pointed at my head rather than my chest.
Daniel grunted, and Jack replied, “I agree with your assessment. The angle he’s holding the weapon does indicate he was targeting for Mr. Smith�
�s head rather than his chest. From my understanding of His Royal Majesty’s skills, he does practice with firearms. Your Highness?”
“He’d go to the range to practice at least once a week. To blow steam,” Marshal confirmed, his tone bitter. “He’s a good shot.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “How good of a shot?”
“He wanted to take part in some competitions, but it was declared too much of a security risk. He’s not the type to miss often.”
Dr. Stanton continued playing the video, and I flinched at the flash from the muzzle when the king fired. Despite appearances, instead of hitting me in the head or missing me and hitting someone behind me, the bullet slammed into my chest, caught by Peter’s bulletproof vest. “I’m of the belief we now have video evidence Adam developed his father’s talent. This is typical of an uncontrolled flare. Flares are typically triggered by a stressful event or necessity, and considering the nature of his family’s talent and Adam’s personality, the best outcome was for the round to hit Adam in the chest. Had the round missed in any other fashion, an innocent bystander would’ve been hit.”
“Adam wouldn’t like that at all,” Marshal announced.
“Exactly. Talents are often the manifestation of someone’s state of mind, and training is done to prevent accidental usage.” Dr. Stanton paused the video at the point Marshal had attempted to jump for his father. “While your bravery is to be commended, Prince Marshal, you’re very fortunate Adam was in mid-flare. Otherwise, you would’ve been shot. At that stage in his flare, Adam was likely feeling the first symptoms of a talent-induced adrenal spike. Considering the number of rounds fired, I suspect the spike crashed along with his talent, resulting in the final round grazing Adam rather than being a vest hit. From your descriptions of the injury and the photos you showed me, it was the best-case scenario. I’ll examine the wound in a few minutes, but I felt this was more important.”
I considered my doctor’s words, wondering how much of her claims were the truth versus wishful thinking. “Can you replay it?”
“While I understand why you’re skeptical, Adam, there’s enough circumstantial evidence to support the probability you had a flare at the mall.”
Jack took the remote from Dr. Stanton and rewound the recording to the moment before the first shot was fired. “I’m inclined to agree with Dr. Stanton. At that range with the angle of the weapon, the first shot should have been lethal. At that range, anyone with any reasonable skills with a firearm should have hit the target. That he missed so dramatically while standing so close to you can only mean one thing: magic. I’m in agreement with Dr. Stanton. You were grazed when you were an easy target. Those bullets were redirected. Firearms are considered magic’s bane for a reason; talents capable of stopping bullets are few and far between.”
“I’m surprised more people aren’t armed,” I admitted.
“And give the little people a chance to beat the talented?” Jack snorted. “It was one of the first laws the elite pushed through to protect their talents. Firearms even the scales too much for their comfort, and the royals aren’t brave enough to arm the general populace—not when rebellion and civil war are probable outcomes.”
“No one wants to be stepped on because they weren’t born with the right talents,” I muttered.
“And you know that better than most,” he conceded. “While you could win a lot of popularity with the lower castes, what would you do if you could change those laws? Because arming the populace at large would turn a stable society into a war zone.”
“The Royal States has seen enough war for several lifetimes.” I’d done my homework as a child, and decades of civil war had lost everyone a lot with very little gain. If the founding royal families hadn’t taken control using magic and brute force, it was entirely possible there wouldn’t be a government at all.
No one knew exactly how many people had died before the informal formation of the Royal States; for at least ten years following the second civil war, there were no official records as there’d been no real governing power.
In some kingdoms, where were still pockets of people who didn’t exist on paper, startling everyone when they appeared from nowhere claiming to be from a town or city believed wiped from the map during the second civil war.
“And there are more important laws to worry about first,” Dr. Stanton said, stealing the remote back from Jack and turning off the television. “You’ll be in a unique position to change some policies. Not even Montana is in the right position to do it. Hell, Montana’s royal family been forced to participate to protect their only child of legal age.”
“Ten is not legal age,” I blurted. “Montana’s princess is ten.”
“Ten is the legal age of betrothal in approximately half of the kingdoms, Mr. Smith,” my doctor replied. “At fifteen, she’s eligible to be wed in any kingdom, and all it would take is one kidnapping and a forced vow to see her fall into the wrong hands. That’s why so many royal families use betrothals. It prevents someone from taking their children and marrying them through force, a disgusting and unfortunately legal practice. There’s nothing in the law books that protects the children from being forced to consent to marriage. Montana’s princess is considered fortunate. She’s betrothed to someone she’s bonded to. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s very similar to your situation. According to the public documentation, Princess Mireya likely bonded to Prince Adam when she was five or six. However, unlike in your situation, Montana and Texas have laws preventing the separation of bonded pairs.”
I flinched. “You’re serious.”
“As serious as the heart attack you suffered testing the limitations of your talent and bond with Her Royal Highness. You were betrothed at age five. You were groomed into believing this was an acceptable arrangement. In part, your magic ensured your cooperation. The rest was nothing more than the manipulation of a young child. Your talent bonded you to Princess Veronica, but tell me this: at five, were you capable of determining if you were ready for the responsibility of one day ruling an entire kingdom? At ten, were you capable of becoming a partner and husband? How about at fifteen? You were forced to live on your own at fifteen. Would you have been ready to take on the responsibility of having a young wife at fifteen?”
Her questions cut deep, but there was only one answer. “No.”
“Hindsight is ever perfect. But then, you believed you could, didn’t you?”
Yes, I had, and then, I would’ve done anything to be in the same room with her, to breathe the same air she breathed.
That hadn’t changed.
“A light can only shine its brightest in the darkness, Adam. What you went through is something no child or family should ever be forced to go through, but unless someone forces change, society will continue as it has done for hundreds of years. It will continue to treat children as currency, marrying them off so that the greedy can hold their positions of powers. And then there are those like the Montana and Texas royal families, who participate to protect those they love from being sucked into the system in an even worse way. You can change the world, if you choose to.”
“He already has,” Marshal whispered.
What had Marshal seen for him to sound so confident? If Dr. Stanton wanted to safeguard children, I saw one way she could do it. Narrowing my eyes, I considered her. “Right now, there’s nothing I can do about it. However, there is something you can do.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “What can I do?”
“Evaluate Marshal’s talent and get him suppressor bracelets. No child should see what he sees. Hell, no adult should, either.”
My doctor’s attention snapped to the young prince. “You have your grandmother’s foresight talent?”
“If I’d seen this coming, I would’ve kept my mouth shut,” he muttered.
“Easily done. Foresight is a mutated illumination talent, and there are already suppressors designed to contain generalized illumination talents. It shouldn’t be difficult to acquire
an attuned suppressor, although it may take a few weeks to months. A generalized suppressor might work, but I’d need to evaluate how your talent works.”
“I dream when I sleep,” he replied.
“If it doesn’t manifest outside of your sleep, then a generalized suppressor might work to contain your talent. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’ll make certain it’s handled.”
“You can make the dreams stop?”
“I can’t promise I can make them complete stop, but I’ll try. However much Adam vexes me with his clever distraction ploys, he is right. No child should be burdened with seeing the future. I also agree that no adult should, either—especially if it’s a future that can’t be changed.”
“Adam changed the future. I dreamed he could, and he did.”
“What future?” my doctor asked, and I winced at the suspicion in her tone.
“Instead of my entire family dying, only my mother died. He’s changed everything. I don’t know what I’ll dream tonight.”
“Do you have the other set of suppressors with you, Dr. Stanton?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Then tonight, you can wear mine,” I said. With luck, he would enjoy a peaceful, quiet sleep without dreams.
Maybe I’d changed his world, but I feared the price would be too high.
“Perhaps you should try only one of Adam’s tonight,” my doctor suggested. “Until Princess Veronica is here, I’d rather not experiment. I don’t want to make a lethal mistake with either one of you.”
“That’s fair,” I conceded. “Is there a protocol for this situation? Technically, I’m a nobody, and however much I don’t like it, His Royal Majesty is the king. The news essentially played back an act of treason for the world to see.”
The RPS agents exchanged looks, and Daniel sighed before saying, “Kings are not exempt from the laws. Attempted murder in a public place is still an attempted murder, and as you did nothing to provoke him, and he turned his weapon on a member of the royal family, he’s guilty of attempted murder of a royal. The penalty for that in most kingdoms is either life in prison or execution.”
A Guiding Light_A Royal States Novel Page 18
