Into His Command (37 page)

“You’re right.”

“This makes your movement no better than terrorism, or even anarchy. And—” I froze.
“
What
?”

“I said you’re right.” For the first time, he fidgeted. It continued as he returned
to his feet as well. He stepped back out to the aisle, starting to nervously pace.
I was perversely glad to see it, which calmed me enough to listen as he went on. “I
joined the Pura as a way to open up dialogue about the new direction of Arcadia. I
simply felt, like many others, that things were going too fast. We have natural resources
to protect, a beautiful land we don’t want ruined. That’s
all
.” He stopped. Scrubbed a hand down his face. “At least it was…until we attracted
the outside money.”

Damn good excuse to let my legs give way again. “So Jagger and Syn were right. There’s
an external source involved.”

“Who’s changed a lot of shit,” Dillon recounted. He began pacing again, new urgency
stamping each step. “It’s emboldened the handful of radicals in the movement. Made
them overreact to everything…even talk of a full rebellion, if they can’t succeed
in wiping out the Cimarrons.”

The acid turned to ice. I gripped the pew with shaking fingers. “Wiping out…as in
killing?”

“Wasn’t that answer made clear by what they tried four days ago?” He blew out a harsh
breath. “So many of us—
most
of us—never wanted this. We still don’t. But the lunatics have taken over the asylum,
and now we don’t know what to do…or how to control them.”

I struggled to wrap my brain around all of it. Fought to comprehend the reality, so
horrific, that I hadn’t accepted even after Evrest and Cam arrived at Syn’s castle
that crazy morning.

There were people on this island right now who wanted Samsyn and his family dead.

My
family…dead.

“Who?” The word left me on locked teeth. I snapped my head up, drilling a demanding
gaze into Dillon. “Who the fuck is it, Dil? You have to tell me. We have to figure
out how to stop them.”

Dillon slumped back into the pew. “I don’t know.” Raised a glassy gaze at me. “Few
of us do. They’ve compartmentalized it now. Everyone knows only what they need to.”

I snorted. “Of course. That’s what terrorists do.”

When he turned toward me, I wondered why my dread doubled. The last time I’d seen
that look on his face, he’d been pulling an
F
in Calculus and didn’t know how to tell Dad.

“They
have
…sent me with a message, B. For you.”

Rocks. Stomach. What a delightful combination. “Shit,” I muttered. Only that. It was
the best I could do.

“They have the two men Samsyn is searching for. They’re hiding them in the basement
of a house, at the outskirts of the city—and they’ll surrender both outlaws, if you
go and meet with them.”

Screw the rocks. I was dealing with full boulders now. “
Me
? But why—” Snagged breath—released on a huge huff. “Scratch that. I know why. And
do they think I’m that stupid? Mice scurry into traps, Dil, not grown women with functioning
brain cells.”

He held up both hands. “They just want to talk, B. really.”

“And there’s a nice piece of land up near Censhyr I’d love to show you.”

“You honestly think they’d try anything dumb?
They
have functioning brain cells too. Whether they were behind the break-in on Evrest
and Camellia’s suite—”

“You mean they weren’t?”

“I have no clue. And does it matter? Public perception already blames them, so fucking
with the queen doesn’t improve their position for being truly heard by the king and
High Council.” He firmed his stance, folding his arms. “That’s really all they want,
B—to be heard. And they trust you to help them accomplish that,”—he dropped a censuring
scowl—“despite your husband’s fucked up views on that matter.”

I smacked his shoulder for that. Syn’s issues might really
be
messed up at the moment, but no one got to voice it except me.

After the clarification, I stepped back into the confusion. “I still don’t get it.
And now I’m
really
asking: why me?”

“Because you’re perfect for the job?” he rejoined. “
Listen
, dweeb.” His countering smack stopped my snarky eye roll. “You’re a reasonable sounding
board, B—someone who appreciates everything Arcadia is, but has seen some of America’s
mistakes with squandering its natural resources. You straddle both worlds.”

I cocked my brows. “So do you.”

“King Samsyn doesn’t look at me like honey spun of gold.”

He let
that
one sink in, good and deep. And hell was it good, considering how Syn’s gaze alone
could turn me into that dripping honey. And deep, thinking of the golden connection
beneath it.

The connection.
Our
connection. I wanted it back. God, I needed it. Once upon a time, I would’ve given
my teeth to have two days of raw sexual ecstasy with him…but the intimacy was nothing
without the bond. Being his lover came nowhere near the joy of being his friend, his
confidante, his partner.

If I did this—met with the Pura and secured those criminals into custody—maybe he’d
see that. Surely he would know, without a doubt, how serious my loyalty was to him
and Arcadia.

Not if you go and get yourself captured—or killed.

New point for the
hell no
column—until Dil’s point resonated again. The Pura were pinned down like butterflies
on a board. They had nowhere to pivot off their reputation as murderers. Harming another
queen would elevate their brand from terrorists into monsters. And
this
queen was a trained Arcadian warrior, unafraid to turn a man’s balls into mashed
potatoes before stabbing out both his eyes with her fingers.

On that colorful musing, I looked back up to Dillon. What if he was right? What if,
despite the rogue actions of a radical few, the Pura were just concerned citizens
interested in a healthy dialogue? What if this wouldn’t be good for just Syn and me?
What if this was good for all of Arcadia too?

Opportunity didn’t favor wusses.
Time to slide on the big girl panties, girlfriend. To do this for the country you
love, and the man you love even more.

I whooshed out a breath. Dropped a determined nod, before I lost my nerve. “Fine.
I’ll do it—but only if they let you come with me.”

Dillon damn near crushed me with a hug. “I think they’ll be okay with that. Thank
you, munchkin. You have no idea what this means.”

As we pulled back from each other, I let him have the brunt of my wince. “You know,
dork, this was easier when you were just flunking Calculus.”

*

“Your Majesty Brooke.
Merderim
for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure. Really.”

For the first time tonight, I didn’t rely totally on the calm queen training. I’d
felt like crap since bringing it out with the very person from whom I’d learned it,
but the white lie couldn’t be helped. Telling Mishella I was having dinner and a
Star Wars
binge with Dillon was better than implicating her in my slip from the Palais—accomplished,
ironically, by hiding myself in a load of laundry.

Still dressed in the white turtleneck and pants that’d helped with the ruse, I took
a full breath for the first time in the last hour. Even meant every inch of my smile
at the bearded man with the kind eyes who greeted me with a respectful bow once Dil
and I had arrived at the safe house.

“I hope you understand…about having to take your phones. They will be returned as
soon as we conclude.”

“It was unnecessary,” I returned coolly. “But if it makes you all feel better, then
we understand.”

The man flashed a friendly smile before leading the way toward a larger room. Instantly,
we were drenched in what seemed like stadium floodlights. Close. They were stage lights,
equipment commonly used in television studios. I’d been in enough campaign commercials
and interviews with Dad to know that much. Not surprisingly, a professional-quality
TV camera was set up on a tripod in the room’s corner, pointed at a grouping of cozy
furniture where three more men waited.

I took their leader’s lead, and smiled.

They didn’t. Nor did any of them rise. Or speak.

Keep. Calm. Keep. Calm.

“As you can see,” my guide said, “we have already made arrangements to record everything.
This way,
nobody
will recall the meeting inaccurately.”

Talk about subtext that banged a girl over the head. “I see,” I finally murmured.

Time for calm queen to get her groove on again. A nervous glance from Dillon encouraged
it.
Thanks a lot, brother.

“We know you
do
see, Your Majesty. And we are humbled by the gift of your time tonight. We simply
wish…to talk.”

I forced my feet forward…wondering why I suddenly didn’t believe him. Also puzzled
why the other men seemed glued to those damn couches. And why nobody introduced themselves
by name. And why their gazes were all so focused and narrowed, reminding me of the
guys back at the Center when we’d group up for war games…

“Please,” bade beard guy. “Come in, come in.”

“I’m already in, thank you.”

His angular chin notched up. “We mean you no harm, Majesty.”

“Then you won’t mind if I stay right here.” Just steps from the door from which we’d
just entered. With nothing but the small kitchen at my back. Still, the hairs on the
back of my neck wouldn’t relax. My gut knotted tight, just as it had the night of
the royal ball…in Jayd’s suite at the Residence Rigale. Just before the wall had imploded
and the ninjas from hell broke in…

Shit, shit, shit
.

Had any of these stony, solemn bastards been part of that raiding party? Had two of
them even been part of the attack on Camellia? If so, why had I expected that pair
to just be neatly tied up, ready to be surrendered?

Calm the hell down.

I drew in a careful breath. This was all simply nerves getting the jump on me. Just
because the room looked like an inquisition didn’t mean it
was
one. I didn’t see any stretching rack or waterboarding equipment. On the other hand,
all they’d laid out for snacks was a wrinkled bag of cheese crisps. Who invited someone
to a party and didn’t even put the cheese crisps in a bowl?

People who threw parties inside mouse traps.

Shit, shit, shit.

Why did I suddenly feel like I’d sprouted long whiskers and a tail?

And why had I listened when Dil insisted Palais security couldn’t know about this?

Because, at least about that, he was right.

Because you
still
know that Syn’s teams are loyal to Syn—and they’d have informed him about all this
without thinking twice. Right now, you’d be joining Jayd in restricted quarters, instead
of trying to make things better for Arcadia.

I hoped.

Oh dear God…I hoped.

Big girl panties.

I was, as I’d just said, already in. Now, for better or worse, I had to face the consequences
of this crazy leap…whatever they were.

Dillon hung back with me, next to the table in the dining area of the little house.
I looked across the table at him, struck by the surreal feeling of all this. Even
with the cheese crisps, the set-up in the living room made me think of surgery prep.
In here, cozy and homey reigned. The table supported a bowl of whole fruit. Beneath
that was a folded copy of yesterday’s paper.

But next to
that
was a pair of themed salt and pepper shakers. A dolphin and a shark.

Holy shit, I hated fitting symbolism.

“Hey, you guys.” Calm queen received an infusion of peppy Brooke. Just as fake but
twice the fun—or so I prayed. “All that sitting room formality gives me the heebs.
Tell you what? Grab
one
light and the camera, andcome in here. We’ll just sit around the table and talk.”
Which would keep Dil and I closer to the door. Which made me feel a hell of a lot
better—

Until I scooted back, closer toward that door—to be stopped by a figure who stepped
out from the kitchen. Graceful as a gladiator—and as huge as one. Calm as a Caesar—and
as dominant as one. He’d even cut his hair into a “Roman bowl” style—but that changed
nothing about the disgusting excuse for a “leader” he was.

To my dread, everything else about his face was the same. His dirty yellow gaze, filling
my blood with dreading maggots. His slow, knowing smirk, turning my knees to liquid.
His clicking cattle call, spurring all the men in the room to motion—except Dillon,
who was paralyzed by the same horror as me.

Paralyzed by horror.

Frozen in fear
.

It wasn’t just a trite twist of speech.

Oh God…it wasn’t.

Move. Now! You are a warrior of Arcadia, Brooke Cimarron. You know what to do. You
know how to move
!

Only…I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not when I gaped at the monster who lived in so many of
my nightmares. The devil from a hell I never imagined visiting again.