17. Chapter 17
Michaela
“ C orrect me if I’m wrong.” Bishop peered around the next corner as he had for the last twelve. “The queen's power-hungry nature has convinced you that the only chance she has to satisfy her ambition is by planning a massacre of the entire royal party at the ball tonight? You know you sound like a loon, yes?”
“And yet, people have staged coups for less.”
“Excuse me if I have a hard time following since you’re talking about my aunt.”
It didn’t take much to sense his skepticism, and sure, as I heard myself telling him, I had to admit it sounded like ramblings of a conspiracy theorist.
Bishop waved me forward and we jogged to the edge of the shipping warehouse. He paused, listening for any others.
“We don’t have a great deal of time.” He stole a quick peek around the corner. “Afternoons don’t tend to have as many shipments on normal days, but today is far from normal and a great deal is expected. If we’re spotted, I don’t know that I can save you. This fool’s errand must go quickly.”
I bristled at his opinion. Granted, it had been weeks since we’d snuck in the last time. Maybe it was stupid to think the crates were still here or we might find some trace of them. But I expected him to be on my side. It irked me that he wasn’t.
With a wave of his hand, he cued our entrance into the warehouse. Light faded away as we entered, but Bishop switched on the flashlight app on his phone. His eyes searched the darkness, waiting for any indication we weren’t alone.
“He’ll kill me if I let you get hurt. You know that, right?” In the faint glow, I watched the muscles in his jaw tense as Bishop went uncharacteristically stoic. “He’s already facing his father’s death. I don’t think he’ll forgive yours.”
“Stop being dramatic.” I pushed around him and headed for the far side where the crates had been the last time we saw them.
“So says the one who claims a massacre waits in the wings.”
I rolled my eyes, not that he could see it. If I managed to figure out what was actually going on, there would be no attack and, thus, no reason to be afraid.
Behind me, the spine of a binder cracked open and within seconds pages started flipping. “You know, there’s always the chance that you’re paranoid.”
“Considering the alternative, I would welcome it.” And I meant it. An attack like this would be unprecedented. I wanted to be wrong, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I wasn’t.
I brought out my own phone and turned on the flashlight. I started searching the boxes against the wall. It didn’t take long to see that the crates weren’t where we last saw them. Why would they be? Whatever she’d smuggled in, she would want it hidden. It’s not like she’d just move it to—
“The kitchen!” Bishop’s exclamation carried and rang off the walls. I whipped around, frustrated with him, but the look of regret on his face showed he knew he’d messed up. Speaking softer, he said, “The crates, they were sent to the kitchen.”
I hurried back to examine the sheets myself. Voices spoke outside the warehouse, but they didn’t sound like they were coming inside. Had Bishop caught their attention?
“Look.” Bishop put his finger on the sheet. “That’s the date that the carboon blackwing arrived. It says three crates, but we know one contained the bird. It doesn’t list the contents of any, but it says they were moved to the kitchen.” He exhaled, slow and steady. “It may not be anything. Perhaps the smugglers only used a normal shipping date as a chance to get the bird into the palace.”
“Or maybe it’s everything.” My mind started reeling. “What if it’s poison? What if a cook is planning to kill everyone tonight through the food?” When Bishop started to shake his head, I made my case. “Don’t you remember Carline was in the running at the beginning. Her father worked in the kitchen. Maybe he held a grudge, or he was easily manipulated.”
Bishop snapped the binder shut. “Would you stop? We have been chasing the queen since I met you and never once has it proved beneficial.” Frustration gripped his features, turning them hard in the low light. “She may not be a great person, but all we have been able to prove is that she is loyal and in love with her husband.” His stare practically burned right through me. “Other than ambition, why would she go through this much effort to take the throne?”
“Revenge.” It was a better reason than most. “If her father-in-law really had her father killed, don’t you think she would lie in wait until she could take what was supposed to be hers all along?” My tone turned to pleading. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but only because you are too close to it. Trust me, I know what it’s like to lose a father. If I know what it feels like to want someone to pay for…” My voice trailed off, afraid of what I might say next. “Let’s just say, I would understand her motivation if it’s true.”
“But kill her own son?” Bishop wasn’t buying it.
I had to agree. I doubted her ability to go to that extreme. “I don’t have all the answers, but I can’t help feeling like those crates have the rest of them.” I latched onto his arm. “Please, Bishop. Help me find them. If it’s nothing, I’ll drop it. I promise.”
Voices grew louder outside the building. Our window was closing. Somewhere a truck’s beeping cut through the air. Any second the roll-up door would spring to life. Bishop looked at his phone, checking the time. "You’re supposed to be getting ready. If you’re late… I swear… I’m blaming it all on you.”
Without confirmation, Bishop gripped my wrist and pulled me from the building just as the door rolled up. We ducked around the corner and started jogging until we hit cover. Bishop didn’t waste any more time. Without dropping his grip, he led me back to the palace, carefully navigating the halls and skillfully avoiding anyone else along the way. It surprised me that he didn’t use the tunnels like Fitz, but it occurred to me that he might not have been informed of their existence.
“Through here.” Bishop pushed back the door and held it for me. “Wait in here. I need to be sure it’s empty.”
“It won’t be.” It couldn’t. With everything that was happening, how on earth would the kitchen be anything but bustling?
“This isn’t the kitchen. It’s the storage room where they keep the food.” His patience waned. “I’m serious though, Michaela. Ten minutes and then you need to be back upstairs. It’s not just Leonidas who needs you in the ballroom. The whole country needs you.” He took my shoulders. “If you plan to be our queen, you need to put their needs above yours.”
Bishop disappeared through another door but I froze at his words. He was right, and yet, was I ready to do that? I just wanted to marry the man I loved. I hadn’t taken much time to consider the baggage he was bringing into this relationship. A single dad was one thing, but he had literally thousands that he was responsible for, and I was about to agree to share that responsibility.
The door parted in front of me. “It’s clear.” Bishop waved me inside while glancing over his shoulder. “But I’m not sure how long. My alarm from earlier must have been declared a hoax, and I suspect security is higher because of it.”
I understood what he wasn’t saying. We were on thin ice. I stepped down the small staircase into the sunken storage room. The air was dank and musty. It reminded me of summers when we would visit my uncle who had a cellar, though this space was considerably larger. Like Uncle Jacob’s cellar though, the only light came from single bulbs at sections of the rafters, leaving some parts of the room lit and others draped in shadows. Barrels and crates cluttered the open space, some with the lids removed and others sealed tight. It looked as though it went back farther than the immediate room, and hopelessness began to take hold.
How was I supposed to find two random crates in all of this? Especially when most of the crates looked identical to the ones we saw.
“Do you see now?” Bishop waved a hand over the mess of it. “What you’re trying to prove, it’s impossible.”
“Since when did you start doubting?” My frustration with his unwillingness to help finally overflowed. “You’ve been the first one calling guilty since you arrived and suddenly, I’m crazy to suspect? What’s your angle?”
“Angle?” His eyes widened as he spread his arms wide, as if trying to make me see my lunacy. “My angle is that I don’t want to end up king, and if you skip out tonight, I might. So, it would honestly be in everyone’s best interest if you scurried upstairs, put on that pretty little gown, and stood by your man.”
“That’s it? Your selfish needs above everyone else’s? What was that speech you just gave me about duty?”
“For you !” Bishop looked ready to pull his hair out. “Don’t you get it? I am selfish. The second your beloved Fitz told me this plan, I thought he was crazy. Because if it doesn’t work, it’s me holding the bag, or rather, wearing the crown, and I don’t bleeding want it!”
“And you don’t care that hundreds of people may die tonight?”
“I have faith in our security. They’re prepared for all instances—”
“And what if Kabir is in on it?”
“What?” His face fell in disbelief. “Now you’re completely demented. There is no way that Kabir could—”
“We need to cancel tonight. That’s the only way to ensure nothing happens.” I started for the stairway, but Bishop shifted to intercept me.
“You can’t cancel this. The king is dying. The transition must take place. There must be a successor…” His words trailed off. As if another idea took over, his inner eye twitched. “You don’t want to marry him, do you?”
“What?” My throat went dry almost instantly. “That’s not it at all.”
“Of course it is.” Bishop’s face tightened with disgust. “Of all the rotten things to do, accept his proposal and then make up this story about… I mean, I know Americans can heap on the drama, but this is low-hearted even for you.”
“Why aren’t you listening to me?” I took hold of Bishop’s arm, but he shook me off. “I’m telling you. I can feel it in my gut. Something is coming.”
“I should have known. I learned long ago that love isn’t real. Foolish of me to let you convince me that it might be after all. Try not to crush him too badly when you make a run for it.” Bishop spun on his heel, leaving me in the dank room by myself.
As soon as the door closed, I shrieked in frustration. Why was everyone losing their minds? Including me? Was he right? Did I have cold feet about Fitz? I wanted to marry him. The monarchy had me nervous, but I honestly didn’t feel like running. I needed to know if I was right. Were lives on the line? Was some grand scheme in the works?
I had to know. I set to work, checking boxes, looking at labels, trying to find one with the shipping date that matched. I worked through the first stack, then the second and third. They were all too recent. Nothing but root vegetables and various fruits. I moved to the fourth stack and found more of the same. Too recent. Nothing threatening.
Maybe Bishop was right. Maybe I was looking for something where nothing existed. Maybe this was cold feet. I gripped the handles on a crate and shifted it to get to the one behind it. It was entirely possible that I was seeing connections where none existed. I slipped into the tight space and checked the crate on the ground. Not what I needed.
The contents were dried figs from the Gauchian Province. Hardly deadly. I started to move to the next stack when my shoe caught on something and my balance went haywire. I threw my hands out to brace my fall but came down hard on the side of a barrel of Aclusian wine. Groaning, I twisted on the hard cobblestone floor and reached toward my boot to untangle whatever had caught me. The black fabric had a hole which had caught the toe of my shoe. Insult to injury, that was the last thing I needed. Confirmation that I was not only paranoid and a little crazy, but also a klutz.
Bending, I tried to unhook the fabric, but the hole tore more in the process and my foot slipped even deeper until it wrapped around my ankle. Just my luck. I glanced at my watch and felt the pressure of the day crash down. Bishop was right. I didn’t have time for any of this. A shower was out of the question at this point. I needed to get in my dress and somehow survive one last night of hair and makeup with Dahlia.
I jerked my foot free with less grace than a toddler having a temper tantrum, mad that I hadn’t accomplished my goal. The fabric tore up the side, displaying the wood beneath it. My eyebrow shot up. More crates, but these were covered, as if to hide a secret. What were the chances that I’d lucked onto the crates I’d been searching for?
Creeping onto my knees, I pushed the fabric back, displaying two wooden boxes. After so many disappointments, what was the likelihood I actually found what I was looking for? Still raw from Bishop’s accusations, I thought about abandoning the idea all together. This nagging fear had me grasping at straws, but I couldn’t help myself. If there was a chance that I could save lives by following my wild theory, then I would at least try.
Working the top crate out of the alcove it had been jammed into, I carried it back to the main room and set it on top of one of the many barrels. On the side, I found the shipping label I was looking for. Not only was it the date I wanted, but it had been shipped from the Eshein Province. That had to mean something.
The wood bit into the heels of my hands as I pushed on the lid to pry it free. Since it had already been opened once, it didn’t take much. A clatter of the top on the cobblestone floor echoed off every wall, but I had one focus. I had to know what the queen was up to.
I poked through the contents, more baffled than ever. Herbs, oils, some plants in pots, and roots that looked like mangled fingers. The smell, like putrid fish or old socks, why was it familiar? Near the bottom I found some carrots. The only thing in the crate I recognized. I pushed the contents aside, still searching for something incriminating. My fingers grated over the rough wood on the bottom of the crate. All of my fingers but one. That one slipped easily over a card that had been buried. Wriggling it free, I opened the card and read the note that had been scrawled.
You know what to do.
You know what will happen if you don’t.
Fulfill your destiny.
Make us proud.
Death to the monarchy.
My eyes widened as I realized what I held. This was it. This was the proof I was looking for. Her people were waiting on Queen Mariah to enact her revenge so she could take her rightful place as the country’s sole leader. If only Bishop hadn’t left!
Footsteps thudded down the staircase. I looked up, hopeful that he had returned. But when I saw her, my mouth dropped open in shock. Why was she in the storage room? She didn’t belong here.
“Oh, Michaela. Why couldn’t you do as you were supposed to?” Sadie pursed her lips and shook her head. “I was really starting to like you.”
“What are you talking about? Why are you down here?” I glanced at the card in my hand, the same one she was looking at like she’d meant to burn it. “We have to go. This is proof that the queen is planning something horrible tonight.”
Sadie didn’t move. She betrayed no shock at my claim. Instead, she steadily moved toward me, her mouth tilted in a frown. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s not personal. It’s only survival.”
Unexpectedly, she lunged forward. A flash of white covered my mouth and nose. Sadie’s grip locked around me like a python, driving me into the shadows, through the sea of crates, before I had a chance to react. Our bodies crashed against the stone wall. I screamed, but the cloth over my mouth and nose muffled the sound. As I drew in a deep breath to scream again, the powerful fumes filled my nostrils and my head turned to clouds. Weakness overtook my limbs. I clutched her arms, desperate to stay in control. But to no avail. Gravity won. My body tumbled and I waited for the impact, but I only felt the velvet darkness as it took over.