The Rebel King

gas camping stove that had been placed on the warped linoleum-covered countertop. 'I've been looking all over the map for you, since I found out I'm not who I thought I was.'

Silas nodded without looking away from his task. 'Aye, ye'd be wanting answers, I'll warrant.' He spooned tea leaves into a pot and poured boiling water over them. 'Ask your questions, lad, and be done with it. We have important things to talk about, ye and me.'

'Is that how it happened?' Nikolas asked, and though his voice was quiet, something in it made Rhia feel chilled. 'You just…found me abandoned on your doorstep?'

The old man gave his whip-crack laugh. 'You think the likes o' me crept into the royal palace one fine eve and stole the royal babe from its mother's arms? Am I a ghost, then? A will-o'-the-wisp?'

'No, not a ghost.' Nikolas said softly.

Silas seemed not to hear that as he carried the teapot and three crockery cups to the table and set them down with a thump. His eyes were aglow with a feverish light. 'And what does it matter to ye now, eh? That's in the past and done with. This is the time that matters. It's our time now, boy-everything we've worked for, planned for-it's here now-' he made a fist with one hard bony hand and shook it in front of Nikolas's nose '-right here in our hands. Not quite the way I'd planned it…but either way, that conniving thief Weston's done. Silvershire's ours. Nikolas-ours. At last…'

The countryman's lilt had disappeared from his voice, Rhia noticed. He spoke now in the clipped accent of Silvershire's upper class-British, only more so. She reached unnoticed for the heavy crockery cup, weighing it in her hands, assessing its possibilities as a weapon.

Nikolas leaned casually back in his chair. 'Ours, Uncle? Exactly how is Silvershire 'ours'? I thought we were working to build a new democracy here.'

Silas straightened and drew back, his eyes suddenly wary and his smile more fox, now, than wolf. 'Why, that's what I meant, lad…what did you think? Democracy, aye, that's what we've been about, ye and me, t'be sure 'tis.'

'Is it?' Nikolas's voice had gone deadly quiet. His eyes, Rhia noticed, were iron-hard, and were fixed unwaveringly on the other man's face. 'I know what I've been working for, but somehow I don't think we've had quite the same goal in mind… .Lord Vladimir.'

For the space of a half dozen heartbeats, everything stopped-all sound, all movement…even breath. The air itself seemed to freeze solid.

The older man broke the stillness first, cracking it like a stone thrown onto an ice-covered pond. But before his harsh croak of denial could form into words, it was overridden by Nikolas's cold and implacable voice.

'Don't, I've just come from Perth Castle. I've seen the proof with my own eyes.' He leaned forward and placed his hands on the tabletop, and to Rhia. watching with suspended breath, he seemed almost to grow taller…broader. Every inch a king… 'The only thing I want to know, Lord Vladimir, is how you did it. And why. Was it all about revenge?'

'Revenge?' Every muscle in Rhia's body tensed as Vladimir swooped down like a hunting hawk, eyes fiery with rage, fingers curved into talons. Hers clenched around the crockery teacup, relaxing only slightly when he grabbed hold of the table's edge. She could see droplets of spittle on his lips, shining like tiny diamonds. 'You call it revenge? I call it justice! I was King Dunford's choice! I was supposed to inherit his crown. That weasel…Henry Weston…he plotted behind my back…poisoned the king's mind against me. He took what was mine! Took my crown, my life…left me with nothing!'

On the last word he pushed back from the table, and Rhia started to breathe again, though she kept her eyes riveted on the man's face the same way she would a coiled-up rattlesnake. He's insane, she thought, watching his glittering eyes. Completely mad.

Why, then, does he seem so familiar to me?

Vladimir drew himself up and glared down at them from his full height with the haughty bearing of an emperor. 'So, I took what was his-I took his son. Is that not justice?'

'Brilliant.' Nikolas murmured, studying him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. 'How on earth did you manage it? Must have had help from inside the palace, I imagine.'

'Help? Pah-never needed it.' His face took on a crafty look, and his eyes shifted to a distant place only he could see. 'I have my ways…come and go from the palace any time I please, yes, I do…and no one the wiser. Took the babe from under their noses…' He laughed-a thin, gleeful snicker. 'Raised the boy to despise his father, too…taught him to hate everything the man stands for…educated him…' His gaze snapped back to Nikolas, sharp and bright again. 'Oh, and you were a fine boy, a clever boy, Nikolas. Blood will always tell. That was my one mistake you know-that brat I put in your place. Low-class genes…should have known better…'

'Who was he-Prince Reginald?' Nikolas asked softly.

A sneer curved Vladimir's lips. 'Bought him. Didn't cost me much-mother was a prostitute and a drug addict. She was glad to get the bit I offered her.'

'What happened to her? Did you have her killed, too?'

'Didn't have to,' said Vladimir with a disdainful sniff, looking as if he'd gotten something foul on his hands. 'Naturally, the bitch took the money I paid her and bought drugs- too much, as it turned out. Just as well-saved me the trouble of getting rid of her.'

He seemed so pleased with himself, seemed not to realize how damning his boasting was. Rhia wondered whether he didn't care if they heard his confession-and the implications of that were chilling-or whether he was simply relieved after so many years of silence finally to be able to let the world know how clever he'd been.

'Wait.' Nikolas said, shifting forward in his chair like an interested student at the feet of the master. 'I don't understand. If you can get into the palace whenever you want, why didn't you just kill Weston and be done with it?'

Vladimir grimaced. 'You disappoint me, boy. Think- what would that have gained me? If the king dies, the crown passes to a child-Reginald, and the power to a regent. I'd have my revenge, yes. but not the rest that I'm entitled to. The power, lad.' He clenched a fist as if plucking that elusive commodity from the air. 'The power that should have been mine.'

'So…what was your plan? And why kill Reginald, after all those years? I thought he was your ticket to the power.'

Vladimir snorted. There was a pause while he picked up the teapot and lifted the lid to inspect the brew. 'Why, indeed. As I said, the boy was a lowlife, and stupid in the bargain. I'd kept the proof of your identity, of course- hidden safely away until I had need of it. I meant to use it to blackmail Reginald into doing my bidding-he'd inherit the crown, but I'd be the real ruler of Silvershire-the power behind the throne. But alas, the twit got a bit too big for his britches- tried to have me killed, if you can believe it! Stupidly, too-fortunately for me, I suppose.' He leveled a glare at Nikolas from under bristling eyebrows. 'Well, after that, what could I do? The nitwit left me no choice. Ah…but this is so much the better. We can have it all now. Nikolas, my boy, don't you see?' He was smiling again, that wild, insane light glittering in his eyes.

He seemed to have forgotten Rhia, who sat rigid in her chair, fighting a disgust so intense she could feel her nails biting into the palms of her hands.

She looked at Nikolas, caught his eye…and the instant flash of communion between them was like electricity in a dark night, a beautiful light flooding her soul. The message in his eyes was plain as spoken words, calming as a touch.

She cleared her throat…pushed her chair back. 'I'm afraid that's not going to happen, your lordship, or… whatever. You see, I'm a licensed bounty hunter with the Lazlo Group. I've been commissioned by His Majesty King Henry Weston and his regent. Lord Russell, Duke of Carrington, to take you into custody and return you to Silverton to answer charges of kidnapping, extortion, murder, attempted murder, treason…let's see, what else? Oh. a bunch of things. Anyway, now-' she rose, hitched in a breath '-I'm going to have to ask you to put your hands behind your head-'

Vladimir's whip-crack laugh cut off the rest. 'You? Think you can arrest me? Tell me, wench, how you mean to do that, precisely.' His sneer was almost audible. 'You don't even have a weapon!'

Rage sizzled behind her eyes…twisted cold in her belly. But it was the flash of recognition that took her breath away… turned her body to stone. My God…that's who he reminds me of. Except for the madness, he's