Chapter 17
“We caught a break,” Erick said.
Elias thrust a hand through his hair and approached the desk Erick and Caspian were seated around. He’d found the duo in Caspian’s private parlor after several failed searches elsewhere in the castle.
“What kind of a break? We’ve got trouble,” Elias said, ready to dive into the time limit Inari had put on the mission.
“Erick and I sent all the photos of this guy we could find to my father’s forensic specialist. They’ve got stronger software than we do,” Caspian said. “Turns out they were able to patch together a face from all the different camera angles, especially the two newer pictures Erick found a few hours ago. We’ve got our assassin in full color.”
Elias circled around the back of Erick’s chair and stared at a face on the screen of his brother’s laptop. The dark-haired man seemed eerily familiar, despite the lack of sunglasses. It was the general shape of the face, the style and color of the hair. As if he’d been looking at the man through blurry lenses and, suddenly, all the details had come into sharp focus. Even with the clarity, this was not a face he knew. The assassin was not another royal or a member of high society.
He was a killer for hire, nothing more, nothing less.
“Meet Ven Clarence. Born in Australia, raised in New York, now living in the United Arab Emirates. He has a few aliases, one of which popped up at a hotel in Somero, about twenty miles from the palace,” Caspian said. “We got that information like . . . five minutes ago.”
“Let’s get our gear and go. It won’t be easy hitting him in broad daylight, but Inari’s informed me that she can’t wait longer than a day or two to tell Thane about our suspicions that Valentina is somehow involved. That’s the trouble I spoke of,” Elias said. He pivoted away from the desk and stalked toward the door. Erick and Caspian would have to catch up and keep up.
He didn’t intend to miss this opportunity to strike.
Inari stood at the bookshelf and slid the book she’d been looking through back into its former slot. She’d found no more letters or journal entries tucked into the pages, no hints or clues about the strife between Imatra and Latvala.
She used two fingers to scan the spines of other tomes, sometimes unable to read the titles due to extreme wear and the passage of time. On the fourth shelf, she discovered a small box made of hand-worked animal skin. The lid was the sort held on by hinges and domed in the center. With care, she eased the box—twelve by seven inches, she guessed—from the shelf and carried it to the table. She suspected the box would hold nothing of value in regards to what she was searching for, but it didn’t hurt to look.
The anticipation and curiosity kept her from dwelling on Valentina, on Wolfe, on Elias. It distracted her from a riot of emotions she did not want to currently engage.
She eased open the lid. The rather rustic hinges had warped a little over time, leaving the lid sitting at a somewhat crooked angle once it was up.
Three iron keys sat to the left in the corner of the box, probably belonging to old locks used in the castle decades before. She discovered a round locket, hand hewn in silver with a strange engraving on the front, as well as four folded scraps of material. A musty, stale smell clung to the box itself, enhanced by the items within. She wondered how long it had been since someone had opened the box and rooted around inside.
She used a finger to lift a corner of the material. There didn’t seem to be any other items within, nothing tucked between the material as there had been in the pages of the book.
Pity.
Just as she was about to close the lid and put the box back, she noticed that the bottom animal skin did not match the rest. It was ten shades darker, at least, with a different texture she hadn’t noticed at first.
Being the thorough person she was, Inari took everything out until the entire bottom of the box was exposed.
Except it wasn’t the bottom of the box.
It was a book. A thin, leather-bound tome with only the image of a gold leaf crown pressed into the cover. Ridiculously, her heart tripped in her chest and her breathing came at a shallower, faster pace.
She removed the book, set it on the desk, and opened the cover.
The daily events of King Archon Rehn.
Archon. That was not the same name as the ones on the found pages in the other book. Inari reached over to ease the single journal entries closer. The name on the bottom: Amschel.
Was Archon Amschel’s father or son or grandson? Great-great-grandson? She did not know each single member of the Rehn dynasty well enough to recall offhand.
She turned another page.
Let me begin this tedious task by saying I have ordered an assassination attempt on Latvala’s traitorous king, Darrion Ahtissari. My spies tell me that Darrion sent a cadre of men into a small village on Imatran land and killed the entire population. Eighty-seven people fell to Latvalan swords or were burned alive in their thatch-roofed homes.
I am as furious as I have ever been. Father, and Grandfather, warned me.
They told me in my youth to never trust the Ahtissari line, that their devil’s blood has made them vicious, unforgiving men.
How right my father and grandfather were.
Darrion will get what’s coming to him, God willing.
Father and Grandfather do not know what I have done. No one knows except me and the three assassins I have sent to do my bidding. My father would not understand anyway. His memory has lapsed severely in these latter years, which is why I now sit on the throne. Grandfather is lively and has his memories, but is too old to burden with actions such as these.
I cannot, will not, call back my men.
In two days’ time, the current king of Latvala will be dead.
Archon Rehn, King of Imatra
Inari devoured every word.
An assassination attempt on Elias’s ancestor. She did not recall any former Latvalan king’s assassination, however, though she knew that, in those days, the truth might have been covered up to protect the kingdom.
Had one of Imatra’s sovereigns killed a Latvalan king?
She read on, unable to stop.
Something is wrong. It has been twenty days since I dispatched the assassins, and I have not heard back. Not from the men sent to do the job, nor have I heard rumor that the Latvalan king is dead. I loathe to think that the men were captured and are being held prisoner, tortured until they talk.
Will Darrion seek revenge? Are there assassins stalking me even now, as I write this? Is his plan to take me by surprise?
I am wary. Uneasy. These are not things I can discuss with my family. With anyone. This is a burden I must shoulder alone or admit what I have done.
I continue to hope that my men are simply taking their time in return, or were otherwise delayed due to unforeseen circumstances.
To consider otherwise means I have turned from hunter into the hunted.
Archon Rehn, King of Imatra
Leaning forward over the desk, Inari stared at the handwritten page with a mixture of bemusement and frustration.
That did not answer her questions. Perhaps the truth would come out in the following pages. Inari paused just as she turned another page. Perhaps she should take this to Caspian and Elias. It wasn’t as if anyone could do anything, of course, but they had seemed interested in this angle.
Her gaze landed on the first line of text by accident.
She was drawn immediately into the past.
We are under siege. An army has landed on our shores. Our scouts returned only moments ago with panic in their eyes and terror in their voices. They say the ships have no flags. No defining colors or markings. They came in the darkness and fled onto the shore like shadows.
Stealthy, skilled fighters with long swords and heavy shields.
Even now I can hear war cries. The enemy approaches.
This may be the last entry I write as king.
Archon, King of Im
Archon had abandoned his journal in such a hurry that he had not finished Imatra. Chills swept up and down her arms as she carefully placed a marker in the book before she closed it.
This far beneath the main floor of the castle, in a labyrinth of tunnels and caves, Inari could almost believe she was back in Archon’s time, while the enemy stood outside the gates with promises of death on their lips.
She felt a strange kinship to Archon’s plight. Not his actions—she would never condone murder—but his belief that his life was in immediate jeopardy.
Indeed, she had existed in that state since the night of the ball when the strange man had attempted to poison her. These were the risks that came with being first in line to the throne. To being king or queen.
Inevitably, someone wanted you gone. For one reason or another—political, personal, or otherwise—not everyone agreed with a monarch’s reign. The last attack on Somero had come decades before, when a Rehn king had ordered a city in Somero bombed as a diversionary tactic.
She peeled the white gloves from her hands and laid them over the book.
Despite everything else going on, she felt it imperative that she inform Caspian and Elias of her find.
On the main floor, she searched the usual parlors and sitting rooms.
Nothing.
No Elias, no Caspian. Not even Erick.
She decided they must be closeted away in some other, more private room, discussing her own assassin.
“Excuse me,” she said, spotting Caspian’s personal assistant.
“Your Highness.” The man paused and bowed his head. Dressed in a sharp suit of black with white accents, standing perhaps six feet even, the valet reminded Inari of a traditional bookworm: thin-rimmed glasses, hair parted on the side and combed carefully back, leather folder tucked into the crook of his arm. His lean, angular features were set into studious, serious lines.
“I need to speak with Prince Caspian and Prince Elias. Where can I find them?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness. The princes stepped out a short while ago and are not expected back until late.”
Stepped out. Not expected back until late.
Inari stifled her surprise and dismay. There could only be one reason for the men to leave the castle without telling her. Elias and the others had gone to do what he’d promised: find her assassin and bring him to justice.