Valiant Reign

by Brooke Sivendra

  “I will be releasing further details about the king’s slayer within the next twenty-four hours. Santina, I promised you I would punish the person responsible for murdering your king . . . and that day is coming.”

  The crowd roared so loud that for a moment it almost took Asher aback. The crowd was ready for blood, and he was glad it wasn’t his they were cheering for.

  King Asher.

  Hail King Asher.

  Reed

  Reed ignored the roar of the crowd and narrowed his gaze. His head had been pounding since he left the hospital, but he refused to sit in the palace and do nothing. He looked through his scope to the people below. He had no intention of shooting anyone—not yet—but he was looking for a familiar face.

  “Reed, can you see your friend?” Samuel asked.

  “Negative,” he responded.

  “Hmm,” Samuel mused, but he didn’t sound surprised. Neither was Reed, given that Asher had spoken to him and given him warning minutes before his speech. But if he was here, Reed knew he wasn’t in the crowd to hear what the king had to say. It was very possible he was there to silence the king.

  Nonetheless, Reed continued to scan the faces of the crowd. He’d expected them to disperse once Asher stepped back inside, but the crowd lingered, talking amongst themselves. There was an energy, an excitement that Reed hadn’t seen before. The crowd seemed at one with each other, creating a vibration that was palpable—almost visible.

  That troubled Reed.

  Santina was growing tired of their country being threatened, and they wanted blood. Soon they wouldn’t care whose blood it was—as long as someone was paying. If Asher wasn’t careful, they might turn on him.

  He did a double-take when he thought he saw a familiar face, but it turned out to be a false alarm. He kept scanning, confident that between all of the men Thomas Security had on the rooftops, no one would pass by undetected.

  It took over an hour for the crowd to disperse. Finally, Reed lowered his weapon.

  “Negative,” Reed said. “I’m packing up.”

  “Copy,” Samuel responded.

  Similar calls continued to come in from the team. Reed was disappointed, even though he hadn’t had high expectations of seeing Asher’s uncle there—and even lower expectations of him doing something desperate to try to take out the king.

  Reed knew that was a good thing, but the uncertainty of this case was troubling. Every time they felt like they were close, things took a turn—usually for the worse.

  “Regroup at the palace. I want a meeting,” James said.

  “Copy,” Reed responded as he slung his kit over his shoulder and walked toward the stairwell. His senses were on full alert as he descended the stairs and walked out to the waiting car. He was inside and on his way to the palace without incident.

  Reed exhaled a long breath.

  He used the quiet time to churn the facts around in his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something. This case was like a giant three-dimensional puzzle with moving parts. Every piece had to fit.

  His mind was no clearer by the time he arrived. He went straight to James’s newly acquired office, passing the kitchen as he did. His eyes darted left, to the lone figure at the table by the window. He couldn’t make out any of her features—she was nothing more than a silhouette—but he knew it was Rachel.

  His legs stopped but he forced himself to move forward. He was working a case and could not afford to be distracted. James had given him a gift sending him to Santina; he’d dreamed about taking a case like this for years. He had one shot now, and he wouldn’t blow it.

  Leave it. Keep walking.

  Ten guys, including James, were sitting around the table when he walked in. They nodded toward him and James pulled out the chair beside him, motioning for him to sit.

  “I’m worried about that crowd,” Reed said quietly.

  James sighed. “Me too,” he admitted as the screen on the wall activated and Samuel, Deacon, and Cami waved hello.

  Samuel got straight to business. “We’ve run full forensics on the tape Asher received. It hasn’t been edited. Abi was answering the questions she was asked,” he said.

  “That’s not what I wanted to hear,” James muttered.

  “No, but it’s the truth—it’s one continuous stream. In light of that, what are your thoughts?” Deacon asked.

  James groaned. “I think she was under extreme pressure and in all honesty, she didn’t actually say anything that damaging, it’s just that in the context the average person will view it in. Even with Asher’s forewarning and explanation, this will go two ways: it will be a public-relations nightmare for Asher, or Abi could be heralded as a revolutionary and the tape could be a gift from his enemies.”

  “I think the best thing he can do is give the media something else to focus on,” Deacon said. “He needs to make a big move—something to draw attention away from Abi. He should execute Troy, and do it fast.”

  “He needs to make that move anyway. Santina will grow restless if they think he’s moving too slowly,” James said, then added, “They’re already restless and hungry for blood.”

  Everyone around the table nodded in agreement.

  “And he needs more money,” Samuel said. “He’s not moving fast enough on securing aid. I know he’s had a lot to deal with, but without money to feed his people, his life is going to become a lot harder—especially if he is criticized for Abi’s tape.”

  “He has a meeting with William Bennett this afternoon,” James said. “Any talk of Martin Snider?”

  Samuel shook his head. “I haven’t intercepted anything, which suggests that our assumption that Troy is Martin Snider is correct.”

  “That, or the real Martin Snider wants us to think that and is keeping a very low profile right now. I’m going to speak to Troy again tonight. We’ll see if he offers up anything of interest,” James said.

  “So, the game plan is what?” Deacon asked, getting the meeting back on track.

  “One: Asher needs to secure funding, starting immediately, because those deals will take time to set up and negotiate,” James replied. “Two: While he’s doing that, he needs to make his next move . . . whatever that might be. Three: While Asher is busy with all of the above, we need to find out who sent that recording. I’ve fingerprinted it and Samuel is running the searches.”

  “No matches yet,” Samuel said. “The address on the back doesn’t actually exist, but each post office in Santina has its own stamp, so we know where it was sent from. I’m running facial recognition software from the CCTV footage of three cameras in the area to see if anyone interesting pops up. I think it’s highly unlikely we’ll be able to pick that up, but until we get a better lead I think it’s worth investigating.”

  “Agreed,” James confirmed. “We’ve had worse odds before.”

  “How is Asher’s headspace right now?” Deacon asked, looking directly at Jesse. “Executing his cousin—someone he once trusted—and being blackmailed is enough to make him spiral out of control.”

  “He’s okay,” Jesse said simply. “He’s coping, and I don’t think we can ask for much more than that right now. Asher will do what needs to be done.” There was no doubt in his voice.

  “An execution is the best move he can make right now,” James said. “It was exactly the same tactic Vince used by killing his son when his power and control was threatened. It’s a very effective message.”

  Deacon nodded and Reed wasn’t surprised by his next words.

  “There’s something bothering me about Troy’s comment about Noah,” Deacon said. “Troy said Noah didn’t tell Asher about the revolt because he was trying to protect him, but that’s very contradictory. If he was trying to protect him, if Asher had known and had gone to his father, things might’ve turned out very differently for all of them.”

  “What is your gut feeling about what Noah knew?” James asked his brother.

  “Well, he knew about Alistair
’s fling and even had photos of the woman and child. So, how did he get them? They didn’t come through his email; Samuel has already checked. More than likely, someone physically passed the images to him. So, why didn’t he go to Asher? It doesn’t make sense—unless he wasn’t sure that Troy was Martin Snider. Troy is definitely involved, but is he actually Martin Snider? We haven’t confirmed that, and that is something that definitely needs to be confirmed before Asher executes him.”

  “Well, there’s one way to find out,” Reed said with a crooked grin.

  James wiggled his eyebrows, and Samuel sighed and shook his head.

  “Come on,” James said, and Reed grinned—watching James Thomas in an interrogation was Reed’s favorite kind of movie to watch.

  They strode from the office down to the “cells.” They were quite different from the cells at Thomas Security—clearly, the palace had never intended on having many guests.

  The rooms were bare, with little more than concrete and drywall. They had limited surveillance, no sound-proofing, and no drains for blood.

  But, they did the job.

  “What’s your gut feeling?” James asked as they walked.

  Reed’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I think his father is Martin Snider. I think Troy is Martin Snider’s lackey—a son who thought he’d be next in line for the throne once his father took power.”

  James nodded thoughtfully but didn’t respond.

  He entered the cell first; Reed followed closely behind, before closing the door and locking it. When he turned around, Troy looked at them with wide eyes, his face obscured by sutures and bandages.

  What a waste of time that was.

  “What do you want?” Troy asked quickly.

  “I want to know who Martin Snider is,” James said simply, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Reed recognized the posture as one James used when he wanted to send a message: You don’t threaten me, and you should not fuck with me.

  Troy looked at the floor and visibly swallowed, then looked up with conviction in his eyes.

  “I’m Martin Snider,” he finally said.

  “But you’re not,” James said, sounding bored.

  Troy straightened. “What are you talking about? I am Martin Snider.”

  Reed watched him closely for all the signs that he might be lying—he noted how quickly he blinked, if his shoulders were tense, if his jaw was grinding, if his fingers had a subtle tremor.

  It was hard to distinguish between a nervous person and a liar during an interrogation, but there was a very subtle difference, and that difference changed for each person.

  Troy’s hands were steady and his body relaxed, but it was the fire in his eyes that gave him away. It’s easier to be courageous and to lie for someone else than it is to do it for yourself—especially when that person is someone you love.

  “Do you know how I know you’re lying?” James asked, taking a step forward and then another. He was like a lion, moving in on his prey. James reached for his back pocket and Reed had to force himself to smother his smirk.

  When James waved his scalpel in front of Troy, he started yelling, “I’m talking, I’m talking!”

  “But you’re saying all the wrong things,” James said, his voice menacing, his patience clearly long worn out.

  “I’m Martin Snider!” Troy said. “I’ve been orchestrating this all. It’s me! Kill me now, I don’t care! Just get it over with.”

  Reed shook his head.

  Rookie mistake, Troy.

  James turned around. “We’re done,” he said and Reed nodded in agreement.

  The moment the door closed behind them, James said, “Find his father.”

  “On it,” Reed said.

  Troy’s biggest mistake had been to show them he was ready to die. It wasn’t him; he was covering for someone else.

  The problem with someone resolved to dying was that it made it difficult to get them to talk, and Reed and James knew that Troy would die before he gave up his father explicitly—so they would only be wasting precious moments, because every minute his father was alone was another minute for him to disappear.

  Reed ran through the hallway, grabbed a set of keys, and revved the engine.

  “Samuel, tell me where he is,” Reed said as he put the car in reverse and planted his foot on the accelerator.

  “He’s at his home,” Samuel replied quickly. “Your backup will be right behind you. Go!”

  Asher

  Asher forced a smile as his mother entered his office. “Hey,” he said, sounding tired even to his own ears.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked immediately.

  Asher sighed heavily. “Take a seat. I have some news . . . and you’re not going to like it.”

  She sat in the chair opposite him and the irony of the moment made him pause. So many times she’d sat in that very seat across from her husband, and now she was sitting across from her son while he explained who killed her husband.

  “Is this about your father’s murderer?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Asher said, clasping his hands on his desk. “Father’s murder, Noah’s murder, Abi’s kidnapping. They’re all connected.”

  Asher had refrained from telling her too much too soon—he was worried he might only disappoint her if the team couldn’t capture the killer—and now they were going to have not one, but two.

  “I saw your speech,” she said, and Asher detected the tone in her voice. “And then I received a call from your uncle. You should’ve come to me with this, Asher.”

  Asher nodded. “There wasn’t time. And, unfortunately, Troy isn’t the only one involved.”

  Her eyebrows lifted but she showed no joy at that news. “I want them all punished,” she said, her voice tight.

  “We think—we’re sure—that Uncle himself is involved. A team is on the way to his house now and they’ll pick him up and bring him back here to interrogate him.”

  Emilia’s face turned two shades whiter. “I couldn’t understand Troy’s involvement, but I tried to rationalize it telling myself that your father and Troy were never particularly close. But his own brother?”

  “I know,” Asher said. “Troy said that our family was incapable of leading Santina, that we were ruining it, and so they had no option but to take matters into their own hands.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Your father was dealt one challenge after another and Santina didn’t fall. We did the best we could—the best anyone could!”

  Asher took her hand. “I know. I’m not agreeing with them, I’m telling you that’s their justification.”

  She shook her head like she couldn’t believe it. “How sure are you? You can’t undo this, Asher. This is going to change our family, and Santina’s legacy, forever.”

  “There’s little doubt in my mind. Thomas Security thought right from the start this was done by someone close—close enough to our staff and to us. When I learned about the succession change, I asked Father why he didn’t choose Troy. Father said he was too ambitious,” Asher said, looking at his mother. “I keep wondering if Father knew more than he told us, or if it was a gut feeling? But either way, that gut feeling was correct.”

  Emilia pressed a finger to her temple. “He never mentioned anything to me. He would’ve if he was concerned,” she said, her voice strained.

  “Maybe he didn’t have the chance,” Asher said quietly.

  Emilia looked up, her eyes glistening. “Are you going to execute them both?”

  “Yes,” Asher said without hesitation. “It’s not what I want, but what choice do I have? If it was anyone else they would be executed. I won’t make excuses for them—this was well planned, and they knew the risks.”

  Emilia nodded. “Despite it all, I feel for Grace.”

  “She’s being investigated too,” Asher cautioned. “But even if she’s not involved, she only has her husband and son to blame for this.”

  “Do they have any evidence against her?” Emilia asked.

&n
bsp; “No. Nothing,” Asher said slowly. “But maybe they simply haven’t found it yet.”

  Emilia sighed, leaning back in her chair. She shook her head softly. “She was the first person to comfort me after Martin’s death,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I doubt she’ll want my comfort after all of this.”

  “Well, that’s her family’s fault, not ours,” Asher said firmly. “They took two lives—lives they had no right to take. And then blackmailed me and killed hundreds of innocent Santinians. They don’t get to live now. They’re not even sorry, Troy has shown no remorse.”

  Emilia looked to him with soft eyes. “I wish your father could see you now. He believed in you, but I think you’ve surpassed even his expectations. I wish he could’ve grown old with me, seeing the full potential of his family.”

  Asher smiled sadly. “I like to think he and Noah are watching over us. Sometimes I swear I hear Father’s voice.”

  “I talk to him all the time,” Emilia admitted, her eyes far away.

  Asher reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  But the moment was interrupted when the screen activated and security footage began playing.

  “That’s their house,” Emilia said.

  Asher nodded. “The teams have arrived.”

  Emilia bit her lip, then looked away. “I’m going to leave you to it,” she said, standing. “Make decisions you can sleep with at night,” she told him simply. “That’s the motto your father lived by.”

  Asher only nodded, and when Emilia closed the door behind her, he didn’t hesitate before returning his attention to the screen.

  “In position.”

  Asher recognized Reed’s voice immediately. He wondered again how Reed was upright and back on the field so quickly after being hospitalized.

  “In position,” James said.

  Asher looked at the house, his mind spinning, his stomach churning. His uncle lived in an old palace, one built almost a hundred years ago. Previously a military command base, it had been upgraded and refurbished before Asher was born and again more recently.