Prisoner Princess (Belles & Bullets Book 5) Page 5

  And then she saw him.

  At first, Lyneah thought she was dreaming, or that she was mistaken, so she rubbed her eyes and checked again.

  It wasn't her imagination.

  “Kieran!” Lyneah screamed his name, flew toward him, threw her arms around him, and buried her face against his coat.

  “Whoa, damn!” Lyneah's overly emphatic greeting made Kieran chuckle. “It's, uh... it's good to see you too?” He glanced back at Ella, whose eyes were wide and amused.

  “Kieran, you don't understand! My mother's in the palace, she captured Tobias, my men were slaughtered, I don't have a way to get back home, Tobias was tortured, they've threatened to kill him tomorrow, and I don't know what to do!” As Lyneah rambled through her story, tears flooded her cheeks, soaking the collar of her dress. No matter how many times she glanced at his face, she couldn't believe Kieran McCray was actually standing in front of her. It had to be a miracle. “You have to help me! You care about Tobias, don't you?”

  “Of course I do! That boy's like a brother to me.” Lyneah's arms were still coiled around him, so he tried to pry her off, but her grip was too tight. “But I'm not sure what you're asking me to do, love. I'm just one man.”

  As she sniffled into his coat, Lyneah cried, “I'm so relieved to see you, Kieran! You have no idea what I've been through!”

  Kieran wasn't sure how much affection she wanted from him, so when he touched the top of her head, he only stroked her once. “So... what exactly do you want me to do?” He was already committed to Ella's cause. He was supposed to take her back to Bordeaux, but Lyneah looked desperate. He couldn't possibly turn her away.

  “You have to help me save Tobias!” Lyneah begged him. “You have to! I can't do it without you! If you do this for me, and we get back to Englund, I'll pay you!”

  “Al...right.” Kieran reluctantly submitted to her demands, even though he had no idea what he was up against. “But if I do this for you, let's establish something first. If I save Tobias, then I've filled my hero quota for the next half-century. No more favors.”

  Seven

  Isabella had a hundred questions for Thomas Harriot, but when he let her out of her room, the first one out of her mouth was, “Is that blood on your shirt?”

  When Harriot looked down, he simply said, “Oh.” It was just a few droplets, but it was more noticeable than he expected. “It's not my blood.”

  “Whose blood is it?”

  “No one important,” he lied, then directed her attention to the brown paper bag on the tabletop. “I brought food from the pub. I hope it's to your liking.”

  “What is it?” Isabella tiptoed to the table, as if she expected something vile to emerge from the depths of the bag. But it wasn't vile at all. There was turkey, potatoes, stuffing and maize. When Harriot handed her a plate, she quietly collected her food and sat at the table. “I wish I could complain, but this honestly looks delicious.”

  “I'm glad you approve. It's better than anything I could cook for you, I'm sure.” Harriot joined her at the table, though he sat at the opposite end. Despite his blank expression, Tom was happy to have Isabella's company. He couldn't remember the last time he had a guest at his house. Vee visited him every once in awhile, but it was rather rare. “Perhaps I should cook for you next time. I daresay I'm not a hopeless chef.”

  “Are you going to poison me?”

  “Of course not! Why would I save your life, only to poison you later?” As he ripped his food from the bag, Thomas looked annoyed. “I would never hurt you.”

  He sounded serious, but that didn't stop her from being frightened of him. “Mr. Harriot... may I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.” His answer was much more agreeable than she expected. “In fact, I'm surprised you've waited this long to ask me certain things. Go on.”

  Isabella sawed a piece of turkey and brought the succulent meat to her lips. After chewing and swallowing, she asked, “What did you mean when you said you spared my brother? You said you didn't kill him?” Isabella's head was shaking. “I want to believe that, but I know what I saw.”

  Thomas' gaze didn't waver as he told her the truth. “It may be difficult to believe, Isabella, but the man I killed was a copy of your brother. He was brought to life by science, and then brought to the palace by me. Do you remember how different he was? How foolish he was? I called him Gemellus... Nico's twin. Our false Nico was our key to getting into the palace, then he gave us what we needed: a dead prince.”

  Isabella's brow furrowed as she listened to Harriot's tale. “You're right. That is difficult to believe.”

  “But it's the truth,” he promised her. “All of it.”

  For the next few minutes, Isabella and Harriot dined in silence. She wanted to trust him, to believe it was true, but it sounded preposterous. Nico did seem different when he returned from Baltmoor, but he looked exactly like the brother she had always known, so she never questioned it. “If my brother isn't dead... where is he?”

  “He's in Bordeaux. I'd like to take you there, but you'll have to give me a few days to prepare. As soon as everything at the palace is settled, I'll reunite you with your brother.” He imagined Nico and Isabella escaping together and living the rest of their days in peace. He never regretted sparing their lives. His father would probably kill him if he knew, but Harriot was glad Isabella still breathed. Had he murdered the princess, her death would have haunted him eternally.

  Isabella was desperate for some hope, but her heart stayed cautious. Her fork idly prodded her potatoes as she struggled with the right words. After a short pause, she resumed the conversation, “For the sake of argument, let's assume my brother is still alive. Let's assume you didn't kill him. The fact remains... you killed my father.”

  “Not directly.”

  “Perhaps not, but your group is responsible for his death.”

  “They are,” Thomas agreed. “And I won't apologize for it. Unlike you and Nico, your father's fate was greatly deserved. Emperor Giorgio was responsible for the deaths of many people. He's the reason I wear this.” Thomas pointed at the odd metal mask on his face. Isabella had always been curious about it. The first time she asked about the mask, he made it clear that he didn't want to discuss it, so she never asked again.

  “You can tell me the story, if you'd like.” Instead of asking him to explain himself, she offered to lend an ear. Isabella hoped it would be a more effective tactic.

  Harriot's fingers drummed the tabletop as he tried to decide how much to reveal. “It usually sounds like a lot of whining, so I prefer not to discuss my past.”

  “I am curious, though.” Isabella forced a smile onto her lips. Perhaps a friendlier face would make him more willing to share? “But I won't force it out of you.”

  Harriot cleared his throat, tugged on the collar of his shirt, took a deep breath—and then he began. “Before you were born, my father was part of a group called Eversio. Back then, they would only have peaceful public protests. They were demanding a variety of things. For example, the end of taxation without representation. They wanted a voice for the people. They wanted minimum wage for people in poorer parts of the country. They wanted help for the poverty-stricken. The general public regarded them as heroes, and your father didn't like that. He was afraid they'd garner too much support. He was afraid the people would be inspired to rise against him... so he had their leaders hunted and killed, one by one.

  “I was a ten-year-old boy back then, but my older brothers were very much a part of the group. In fact, my father and brothers were some of Eversio's last surviving members, and they had gone into hiding. Your father's men were desperate to find them, so they turned their attention to my mother and me. When she wouldn't tell them my father's location, she was murdered in front of me.”

  “God...” Isabella whispered. “I'm sorry.”

  Harriot ran a hand across his bristled chin. For a moment, he thought about removing his mask, but he didn't want to scare her. Fear was usual
ly the first emotion associated with the sight of his face. “My mother was gone, but they still had me... and I knew everything. I knew where my brothers were hiding. They must have known this, because they were relentless. They tied me down and tortured me for hours... and for hours, I didn't speak. I honestly don't know how I held out as long as I did. When they got desperate, they held me down and cut the skin from my face. They just... shred it all away. You can't even begin to imagine the pain, Isabella. The pain and the shame. I'd never seen so much blood before. Then they rolled me over and threatened to cut off the rest of my face, and that's when I told them everything.” Harriot's fists clenched when he reached the end of his story. “I got my brothers killed.”

  Isabella was speechless. She wanted to say something, to give him sympathy, but her tongue was tied.

  “I'm not telling you this because I want you to feel sorry for me. You should know that,” Harriot said. “But you should also know what your father did... and you should know my reason for hating him.”

  Isabella couldn't blame him—in the same way she couldn't blame herself for hating Thomas Harriot. His group had taken everything from her. The most sickening part of it all was that she actually liked him once.

  “Well... that's enough maudlin garbage,” Harriot declared as he shoved an entire slice of turkey into his mouth. As soon as he chewed and swallowed, he added, “Now I have a question for you, Your Highness.”

  “Go ahead,” she said with a sigh.

  “Is there anything I can get for you to make your stay more comfortable? Until I can reunite you with your brother, you'll have to stay here for a few more days. If there's anything I can get for you, don't hesitate to ask. Would you like some books, perhaps?”

  “Do you think you could get a grand piano across the lake... or would that be too difficult for you?” Isabella's eyes narrowed. Even though she felt a bit sorry for him, he was hardly her favorite person in the world.

  “That would be an interesting challenge,” Harriot said with a chuckle. “Do you think I could find one that floats? Or... maybe I could find a very large, very buoyant raft?”

  “I was teasing, you know.”

  “I know,” Harriot nodded. “I was teasing you too.” He was trying to be friendly, but Isabella was determined to hate him. “Very well. Books it is, then. The next time I leave, I'll make a stop at the library.”

  When he started to leave the table, Isabella reached for his arm. “Wait!”

  “Yes, Your Highness?”

  Isabella's nose wrinkled. Every time he addressed her so formally, she wanted to shove him. She hardly felt like a princess anymore. She felt more like a fugitive or a prisoner than a princess. Taking a deep breath, Isabella said, “For what it's worth, Tom... I'm sorry for all that happened to you.”

  “Thank you.” Harriot's lips were tipped by the tiniest of smiles. “And for what it's worth, Isabella, I'm sorry for all that's happened to you.”

  Eight

  “So, what are you going to do now?” Mae asked Lettie as they strolled into the capital. The city was a lot less bustling since the last time she was there. What was once a crowded thoroughfare had become a deserted shambles. The marketplace was mostly empty, and most of the shops showed evidence of vandalism. Broken glass and windblown trash littered the ground.

  “I'm going to try to book passage to Baltmoor, but I have no idea where I'll find transportation when the city looks like this.” Lettie turned her gaze to the darkening sky. “But I should probably wait until tomorrow. It's getting late.”

  “I'm heading to the pub where I was supposed to meet my friend,” Mae said. According to recent news stories, Prince Nico was dead, but she refused to believe it. She knew she hadn't seen the last of her friend. “I'll probably spend a night at the inn across the street. You're welcome to stay with me, if you'd like. We can split the cost.”

  “That's probably a good idea.”

  As they strolled down the sidewalk, Mae suddenly threw out her arm, knocking the wind of out Lettie when she ran into it. “Look!” Mae gasped, directing her companion's attention to the other side of the street. “Is that what I think it is?”

  When Lettie realized what had Mae's attention, her nose wrinkled. “If you're talking about the three dead bodies over there... I'm afraid so.”

  “I was wondering where that awful smell was coming from!” Mae groaned. “And now we know.”

  “When there are corpses scattered on the streets, that's when you know the situation's bad,” Lettie sighed. “I guess the capital really has fallen.”

  “Let's go over there!” Mae suddenly exclaimed. When she started to dash to the other side of the road, she was temporarily halted by a lone horse-drawn carriage—the only vehicle on an otherwise empty street. Its driver, an old man, tipped his hat to the ladies as his vehicle trundled forward. As soon as he passed, Mae sprinted across the road and approached the trio of corpses.

  Lettie, who walked across the street much slower than Mae, was pinching her nose when she reached the bodies. “How long do you think they've been dead?” she asked.

  “Not long, by the looks of it.” Mae knelt beside one of the corpses and reached into the pocket of his coat.

  Lettie's mouth was twisted with disgust. “What are you doing?”

  “I'm picking their pockets,” Mae casually replied. “One of them might have something useful.”

  “Or not.”

  Lettie's pessimism didn't deter Mae, who checked every single pocket of the first man's body. Unfortunately, she found nothing remotely valuable, but she didn't let it discourage her. She crawled to the second corpse and picked its pockets too. A few seconds later, her hand brushed against something cold and hard. “Aha!”

  Despite being nauseated by Mae's undertaking, Lettie was curious. “What is it? Did you find something?”

  When Mae pulled a gun from the corpse's coat, her eyes were wide and wild. “A gun! I can't believe the killer would leave this behind!” She checked the revolver's chamber. “Only two bullets. That's a shame.”

  “Maybe he's got more on him! Check the rest of the pockets!”

  Inspired by Lettie's renewed enthusiasm, Mae did as she was told. She didn't find any bullets, but she did find a long, folded knife in the third corpse's back pocket. “Which weapon do you want?” Mae asked.

  “I don't know. That's a difficult decision.” Lettie stroked her chin as she considered her answer. “On one hand, a gun is deadlier... but on the other hand, a knife doesn't run out of bullets. You decide, Mae. You're the one who found the weapons.”

  After a few seconds of deliberation, Mae handed the knife to Lettie. “Here. You take the knife. Two bullets isn't a lot, but I've had some experience with guns in the last few days, so--”

  Mae's sentence abruptly ended when they heard a scream. Both girls directed their attention further down the road, where the old carriage driver was getting dragged from his seat by two young thugs.

  “Well, then...” With an exasperated sigh, Lettie unfolded her newly-acquired hunting knife. “Finding these weapons was very timely, wouldn't you say?”

  The corners of Mae's mouth turned up, and her eyes were lit with excitement. “You want to intervene?”

  “Of course.” Lettie was already heading in the direction of the developing crime scene. “But if you don't wish to join me, that's perfectly alright.”

  “Oh, I'm definitely coming!” Mae hopped to her feet and chased after Lettie. “I want to find out what kind of sick bastards would attack an old man!”

  As Lettie and Mae sprinted forward, the men ripped a satchel from the old man's hands and punched him in the jaw. “You got anything else on you, old timer?” The speaker shoved his whimpering victim against the side of the carriage and checked his pockets.

  “Look! There's a lot of money in here, Danny!” the second thug reported as he searched the stolen satchel. “This old codger's loaded!”

  “And you'll give the money back to him!” deman
ded Lettie, who tightly clutched her knife as she approached the young thugs.

  “Seconded.” Mae raised her gun. “Give it back. Now. Don't test me, boys.”

  “Daaamn, Marcus! Would you look at that!” The man named Danny shoved the elderly carriage driver to the ground and swaggered toward the ladies. “Hello there, beauties! Are you looking for a date? I'm Danny, and this is my mate, Marcus.”

  The old man's head roughly crashed against the pavement, which made Lettie wince. “Are you serious?” she shrieked.

  “Oh, I'm very serious, sweetheart!” Danny licked his lips as his eyes devoured her. “So, are you girls going to introduce yourselves or what? Or do we gotta guess your names?”

  “I'm Captain Jordan of the Baltmoor Aerial Militia.” She declared it with such conviction, Lettie gave herself goose pimples. “And you're both under arrest.”

  “Under arrest, are we?” Marcus began, chuckling at the thought. “More like you'll be under us.” Inspired by his friend's words, Danny thrust his pelvis at the ladies.

  “Do you not see the gun in my hand?” Mae threatened them. “I should probably warn you... I'm short on bullets, so if I shoot, I shoot to kill.”

  “She's bluffing,” Danny claimed. “A girl like that? There ain't no way she'd shoot us!”

  Marcus must not have been convinced of Mae's harmlessness, because he suddenly took off running. Because he was the one with the old man's satchel, Lettie gave chase. When Danny took off in the opposite direction, Mae tried to follow, but she was wearing a long dress and a pair of flimsy slippers. She tried to raise the hem of her dress as she ran, but after the first two blocks, she had to abandon pursuit.

  Lettie, however, stayed close to her target. She chased him behind a butcher's and through a random backyard, where she dodged linens on clotheslines. When he made a sharp turn, she turned just as quickly. “Stop!” she screamed. “Stop this instant!”