The Rebel King

against his side and stretched his lips in a smile. 'Silas…'

'How did you get in here?' Rhia's voice could have etched glass.

King Weston's smile was wry. 'It appears not quite all of those tunnels have been found and disposed of. after all. The blackguard came right through the wall in my library, if you can believe-'

Nikolas felt Rhia jerk as Vladimir's whip-crack laugh slashed across the last word. 'Believe it, pretender. You can't keep me out. I know this palace better than you do-better than anyone does. And why shouldn't I? It's mine.'

Holding himself in a grip of steel. Nikolas said. 'What do you want, Silas?'

'My name is Vladimir,' the intruder thundered, grasping Weston's arm and jerking him to his feet. 'Lord Vladimir-Duke of Perthegon! I want what is mine-what was stolen from me. Nothing more, nothing less. And I shall have it- or die. But if I die, before I do, this-this thief will die, too!'

'Lord Vladimir,' Rhia said quietly, 'you must know it's over. Your secret is out-you can't possibly get what you want now. But if you give yourself up, you will have a chance to tell your story, get it out there for the people to hear, so everyone will know what was done to you.'

Nikolas edged closer, still holding on to Rhia and trying his best to keep himself between her and the madman with the gun. He could feel her muscles vibrating and bunching under his fingers. It would be just like her, he thought, to do something unthinkable-like go for her weapon, or put herself in front of Vladimir's gun to save him or the king.

Vladimir's glittering eyes flicked at Rhia like the tongue of a snake. 'Give myself up? So they can put me in a cage? What, wench, do you think I'm stupid enough to barter my freedom for my story? No-I'll die first, and die a happy man, so long as this-' he gave Weston's arm a vicious yank '-dies first. And before he dies…he will know the worst pain a father can feel.' A terrible smile stretched his lips. The barrel of the gun slowly shifted.

Nikolas went cold. He felt Rhia's muscles gather under his fingers.

But before anyone could move or speak, there came a thunderous booming from the far end of the hall. From the reception area. Someone was pounding on the outer door.

Vladimir froze, teeth bared in a grimace of madness. He looked quickly one way, then the other, like a cornered animal, and then began backing in a tight circle toward the door to the sitting room Nik and Rhia had just come through, dragging Weston with him, the gun once more pressed tightly against the king's temple.

Henry Weston's face was pasty gray, but his eyes were calm as they met Nikolas's.

Nik didn't think. He just let go of Rhia's arm and stepped forward, hands out to his sides. Heard himself say harshly, 'Let him go. Take me with you.'

'No!' Color flooded back into the king's face as it contorted with anguish. 'I'm the one he wants. I'm old, my reign is over. You're my son, Nikolas. You mean more to me than my crown. More than my life…'

The pounding was louder, now. A preemptory voice was shouting, 'Maximillian-security. Your Majesty, is everything all right in there?'

Vladimir's eyes flicked from side to side, then narrowed. 'This way-all of you,' he hissed. Gesturing with the gun, he herded them through the door and into the hallway. 'In there- hurry!' He pointed toward the first open door on the left.

Nikolas pulled Rhia with him into what was obviously the king's private study. Like his mountain lodge, the room contained floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with obviously well-read books. Vladimir shoved Weston in after them and followed, slamming the door behind him just as a loud bang and running footsteps were heard in the reception room down at the far end of the hallway.

'Don't move-any of you.' he snarled, 'or I kill him now.' He backed across the room, still holding the gun on Weston, then let go of him long enough to grasp the carved molding that framed one of the bookcases and give it a mighty yank. Ancient gears creaked as the section of shelves slowly began to move.

To Rhia, it seemed that an eternity passed before the gap in the wall of shelves widened enough for a body to squeeze through. Everything, even her heartbeat. seemed to be moving in slow motion. Beyond the library door she could hear voices and running footsteps, but their rescuers, too, it seemed, were coming at the speed of growing grass. Meanwhile, she needed only a moment to go for her weapon, but it had to be the right moment. She didn't dare risk it as long as Vladimir had his gun to the king's head. She had to wait for her chance. Maybe, once they were in the tunnel, in the darkness…

But her chance didn't come-not then. Vladimir shoved her through the opening first, then Nikolas, then the king, with the gun jammed ruthlessly against the base of his skull. Once they were all crammed into the small dusty space behind the wall, Vladimir activated some sort of mechanism that reversed the door. Then, while there was still light coming through the opening, he took a battery-operated torch from a niche in the stone wall, turned it on and thrust it at Nikolas.

'Here-take this. She's going first-your lady friend. Keep the light pointed at her back. Don't move it, or I shoot her first.' He didn't sound mad, now, only terrifyingly purposeful. Efficient. Like a stone-cold killer. 'That way. Go on-move.'

With a final groan, the panel clicked shut. In a darkness alive with jumping shadows and the sounds of breathing. Rhia moved forward, the Walther like a hot brick against her thigh.

The passageway seemed endless, following a bewildering succession of twists and turns, short ups and downs, until she had lost all sense of direction. Finally, at the end of a short stretch of passageway, she came to a flight of stone steps that seemed to disappear into the darkness beyond the glow of the flashlight. The steps led…not down, but up.

'So that's it.' Nikolas's musing voice came from close behind her. 'They found all the underground tunnels, but nobody thought to look up.'

'Shut up,' Vladimir hissed. 'Climb.'

'Just out of curiosity.' Nikolas said in a conversational tone, as Rhia started up the steps, trailing one hand along the wall of ancient stone, 'where does this go? To the roof, I assume? What do you do after that-fly?'

'You'll learn soon enough.' Vladimir said with a sneer that didn't have to be seen. 'Keep moving.'

At least it's not a tunnel, Rhia thought with a shudder as she climbed steadily upward into the leaping shadows. The air was close, but reasonably cool, and smelled of ancient dust and rat droppings rather than mildew and damp. But she was worried about the king. How much more stress could he take?

I have to find a way to stop this. I have to get to my gun. Maybe…when we get to the roof…

Nikolas watched the flashlight beam dance across Rhia's slender back, swaying skirt and well-muscled legs. As he followed her up the stairs, he thought he could almost see the gun strapped to her thigh. It was within reach of his hand. Maybe…if they were to pause for a moment…if he could get to it…

I have to find a way to stop this. I don't know how much more my father can take. Maybe…when we get to the roof…

'This seems to be as far as I can go.' Rhia's voice came drifting down from the shadows above him. 'What now?'

'It's a trapdoor.' Vladimir snapped. 'There's a latch. Find it. Open it.'

Nikolas moved the light higher and heard a grunt. 'Ah- I see it. Okay…' There was a loud creak, then a thump, and a rectangle of starlit sky appeared overhead.

'I trust you will remember that I'm holding a gun, and that I will kill Nikolas first if you do anything I don't like.' Vladimir said coldly. 'With that in mind, please…ladies first. Nikolas, keep the light on her so I can see her clearly, or I will shoot this old man in the leg.'

They emerged, one after the other, into the fresh air, like survivors creeping out of a bomb shelter. The night was chilly and clear-and where was the bloody fog when you needed it? Nikolas wondered, as a brisk autumn breeze penetrated the silk fabric of his evening jacket.

They were on a flat surface, stone, from the feel of it, not slate. He could see the lights of the old town, Silverton-upon-Kairn. twinkling festively just across the river, looking almost close enough to touch. He could smell the river, too, and hear the murmur of it as he turned in a slow circle, trying to get his bearings. How could the river be so close-almost beneath his feet, from the sound of it? And the spires of the Renaissance part of the palace so far away?