Authors: Elizabeth Jennings
Tags: #Romance, #General, #Suspense, #Contemporary, #Fiction
Darkness at Dawn (30 page)
“Who are they?” he asked Lucy. “Not the Royal Guard. Not the regular army.”
“No,” she whispered back. “They’re mercenaries. Sharmas, a warrior tribe from a small neighboring country. Their main export is soldiers, and they’re good. If Changa is planning a coup, he won’t be able to count on the Royal Guard or even the regular army, which is recruited from the peasantry and loyal to the Royal Family. The mercenaries’ only loyalty would be to Changa.”
He looked up and Lucy took off again. More corners, more long walls, until finally she stopped. They looked down over the edge. This was another long wall, along the back. No soldiers in sight.
Many rooms, many balconies, separated by about five feet. One balcony was particularly large. Lucy pointed. “The King’s Chamber,” she murmured. “The room next to his is Paso’s. This entire section comprises the Royal Chambers.”
The King’s Chamber was well lit, the room next to it dark. Almost all the rooms along this wall were dark, except for the king’s and a corner room about two hundred yards away.
Mike and Lucy looked at each other.
Paso’s note had only spoken of the Royal Chambers, not which room. If they rappelled down onto the wrong balcony, they’d have to either pull themselves back up to the under-roof portico or hop from one balcony to another.
“Which?” Mike whispered.
“The King’s Chamber,” she whispered back. “The lit one. She’ll definitely be there.”
Mike took one look at her face. She was sure of what she was saying. Good enough for him.
“Okay, this is how we’ll work it. I’ll rappel down and see if I can look inside the room, see who’s there. See if the princess is in the room, too.” He fitted the harness to her, drove a nail deep into the ancient wood, affixed a figure eight, ran the rope through it. “When I give the signal, get on the railing of the balcony.” He watched her carefully. “Do you trust me?”
“Absolutely,” she replied quietly.
“Good. Because you’re going to have to step off the balcony and trust that I’ll be guiding you down safely. Do you think you can do that?”
She nodded.
Rappelling down was easy. He landed lightly onto the balcony of the King’s Chamber and studied the window. Yellow silk curtains covered the windows, but the silk was thin. He could make out a figure inside as its shadow played on the silk.
The curtain didn’t quite cover the window on the left-hand side. He placed his face close to the glass pane, being careful to ensure that his breath didn’t fog the pane up.
The room was enormous, the ceiling lost to shadows, magnificent with gilt furniture, huge colorful tapestries, outsized carpets, lit partially by a huge wooden chandelier. Everywhere were tables with brass statues of the Buddha, candles lit at the base, surrounded with vases of fresh flowers, small bronze and brass statues of animals and large necklaces of jade and coral with long, brightly colored silk tassels.
A huge carved bed, the largest bed Mike had ever seen, stood high off the ground, fierce dragons carved at the top of every bedpost, under an enormous yellow silk canopy as big as a sail. A thousand brightly colored pillows sat against a carved headboard at least five feet high, and an enormous, heavy, thick comforter covered the rest.
And lost in the huge bed was a tiny figure. More like a child than a man. A bald, emaciated child. An IV tree was next to the bed on the side closest to the door, holding a clear solution in a Baxter bag, the line running to the bed, under the covers.
Next to the tiny man Paso sat on a chair, holding one of his clawlike hands. She was completely concentrated on the man in the bed. Her body language spoke of deep distress but not fear.
Mike waited five minutes, watching the little tableau, and at the end concluded that the two were alone in the enormous room. No attention was in any way directed elsewhere.
He could wait some more or he could go ahead.
He tapped on the window. Paso looked up, wary. The figure on the bed didn’t move. Paso picked up a heavy candlestick and approached the window slowly.
Smart lady.
Mike took a step forward and remained unmoving when the curtain twitched. A second later, the huge heavy curtain was pulled back and the door thrown open.
“Mr. Harrington!” She looked around the long balcony.
“Where’s Lucy?”
First things first. “Are you alone in the room with the king?”
“Yes.”
He leaned his torso out over the balcony, looking up. Lucy’s face appeared immediately. Mike stuck his thumb out.
It’s okay.
Without hesitation, Lucy stood on the balcony, waited until the cable tightened and, at his nod, stepped off. Mike brought her down, nice and easy, caught her and brought her onto the balcony. He had barely had time to set her on the ground and unhook the carabiner, when Paso shot into her arms and they hugged each other fiercely.
Paso’s face was wet with tears. “You came! You came! I was so worried that you couldn’t make it! There are soldiers everywhere, I couldn’t imagine how you’d get here.”
They moved indoors, Mike following. Lucy unbuckled her harness and handed it to him without looking.
Paso held Lucy’s hands in hers as she guided her to the king’s side. She looked down at her brother, wiping at her cheeks.
His eyes were closed, moving rapidly behind the lids, as if he were awake but couldn’t find the energy to open his eyes.
Jesus, Mike could believe that. He’d never seen anyone look as bad as King Jomo. Mike had seen soldiers die, often. Soldiers died messy, violent, bloody deaths on battlefields. Strong young men, at the peak of their powers, blown apart.
This was somehow worse. This was the body blowing itself apart. Though Mike knew that the king was a young man, barely in his thirties, he looked ancient. Mike remembered reading a book on Greek mythology as a kid. He never forgot the Fates, holding life by a string. The king’s string was frayed, weakening by the minute.
Every few breaths, there was a burbling sound in his chest, and Mike knew he was hearing the death rattle. He doubted the king had more than twenty-four hours to live.
Paso’s voice was low and strained. “This morning, my brother heard two guards discussing something, something terrible. They thought he was unconscious, but he wasn’t. He has refused pain medication ever since and begged to have you brought to him.” Paso dropped her forehead onto Lucy’s shoulder. “I knew what I was asking of you when I left that note at the Dancing Buddha. General Changa has filled the Palace, and from what I’ve heard the entire city, with troops. But Jomo wanted so much to see you.”
They both looked down at the young/ancient king. He looked as if he’d crossed some kind of boundary. Maybe they’d arrived too late.
“Did he give a hint of what he overheard?” Mike asked. Both women jumped as if they’d forgotten he was in the room.
“He tried.” The princess’s voice wobbled and then she steadied it. “He tried to talk to me. He ordered the nurses to remove morphine from his drip.” She drew in a shaky breath. “He’s been in terrible pain all day. I didn’t know what to do for him. This past hour he’s just been lying there without responding.”
Mike hated having to do this. But it was likely the king knew something of vital importance. His hand hovered over the king’s shoulder and he looked at Paso. “May I?”
Fresh tears filled her eyes and she bit her lips. But finally, she nodded.
Mike shook the king’s shoulder, very gently, trying to keep the pity from showing on his face. God, the man was all bones. He barely stirred. Mike shook his shoulder again.
Suddenly, the king’s eyes opened, and for the moment they were clear and knowing. He swept the room without moving his head, and his eyes lit on Lucy.
“Lu-cy.”
Lucy moved to the bedside. Mike could see her long, slender throat working as she swallowed. Her face was pale, but she didn’t cry. “Jomo.” She sketched a shaky smile. “You remember me.”
“Of . . . course. Listen, Lu-cy.” The king’s free hand clutched hers so tightly his knuckles whitened under the golden skin. His head lifted slightly from the huge embroidered silk pillows. “Bad men. Very bad men.” His eyes were fixed desperately on her face. “Changa . . . your government . . .”
His head dropped back onto the pillows. The sound of his wheezing as he tried to draw breath into his dying body was loud in the huge, silent, shadowy room.
Paso was hugging herself tightly, tears leaking out of the edges of her black eyes.
Lucy’s face was gentle as she bent over the king. “Jomo,” she said softly, as she touched his shoulder. “You are so brave. A true king. You shall live in your people’s hearts forever. Let us know how we can stop these bad men. Help us save your people.”
It was exactly the right thing to say. King Jomo’s eyes fluttered open. “Changa is planning to . . . attack India. Deadly . . . disease. Millions will die.” His eyes went to his sister, rocking back and forth in pain. “He plans to . . . marry Paso after I die . . .”
Mike leaned down again, “How—” he had begun, when he heard boots in the outside hallway.
Fuck.
He tackled Lucy, taking her to the floor with him, rolling them under the high, ceremonial bed just as the big doors slammed open and soldiers marched into the chambers of the dying king.
F
IFTEEN
IFTEEN
LUCY was on her back, Mike’s heavy body completely covering her, head to toe, his big hand over her mouth. When he saw that she understood, he removed his hand and turned his attention to the direction of the door, listening intently.
Lucy knew he was unarmed, but the expression on his face was frightening, a warrior’s face. Even unarmed against guns, she’d bet anything he’d take down several soldiers before falling himself. He felt like stone on top of her, every muscle tense and ready.
The heavy silk cover of Jomo’s bed fell halfway between the bed and the floor. If she looked to the left, she could see some of the room reflected in an enormous silver-backed mirror in a heavy wooden frame hanging at an angle. Lucy tapped Mike on the shoulder. His head turned to the left where she pointed.
General Changa stepped into the frame of the mirror, and every hair on Lucy’s body stood up. Menace emanated from him as he walked slowly to the right-hand side of the bed, looking down at the dying king.
Behind him, four soldiers stood at attention, assault rifles held across their chests, completely blank-faced. The Sharmas. The mercenaries. Fierce and brave warriors, famed throughout the Himalayas. But true mercenaries. They’d fight to the death for their sponsor, but the instant he lost power, they’d turn their backs on him, ready for their next paymaster.
Lucy watched in horror as the general stared down coldly at the king and pinched the hand where the IV went in. The king didn’t move. Lucy couldn’t imagine anyone conscious not reacting instinctively to the pain. The general grunted, satisfied that Jomo was passed out.
Paso went wild. She screamed and launched an attack on the general, scrambling at his hand to dislodge it. The general backhanded her without taking his gaze from the king’s still form.
Mike jerked, muscles moving as he prepared to attack. Lucy immediately locked her arms and legs around him. His movements had been instinctive, that of a male unable to stand a woman being slapped around, but he wasn’t going to help anyone, Paso or the king, by revealing their position. He’d only get them killed.
Mike understood this. He stilled. His face got even grimmer, eyes as cold as the general’s as he watched events unfolding in the mirror.
Paso had been knocked to the floor but was unharmed. She scrambled to her feet, screaming.
The general put his big hand around her throat. Mike’s jaw muscles danced and his hands clenched. Lucy put her hand on the side of his face and turned it to hers. She shook her head sharply.
Don’t interfere.
Don’t interfere.
Changa wasn’t strangling Paso, he was establishing control.
“You silly woman. Your brother is almost dead. The only way you can become queen is to marry me. And you will, if I have to drag you to the ceremony. You are crazy to oppose me, for I am planning on great things for Nhala.”
“You son of a bitch!”
Paso spat in his face.
“I would rather die than marry you! The only great thing possible for Nhala is for some brave soul to put a dagger through your black heart!”
Paso spat in his face.
“I would rather die than marry you! The only great thing possible for Nhala is for some brave soul to put a dagger through your black heart!”
Mike looked at Lucy, but she didn’t dare translate. She was surprised the general didn’t hear the frantic tattoo of her heart, beating so hard she thought it would beat its way right outside her chest.
The room went white with a bolt of lightning, followed by a window-rattling rumble of thunder.
The general tightened his grip around Paso’s throat, stilling her.
Behind the general and Paso, however, the soldiers exchanged wary looks. They were the general’s mercenaries and, by their own code, his soldiers. But they didn’t have to like the sight of the princess being manhandled, hurt.
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