Hostage (10 page)

“As you say, Dr. Rowan. What do you think I should try first?”

The boys spent a pleasurable afternoon trying out different games. Astrin was not very good at any of them and bored with them quickly. By the time the shadows began to lengthen, Rowan was getting exasperated with Astrin’s butterfly mind and quicksilver personality that couldn’t settle on anything for long. It didn’t cross his mind that there was a reason for it—a reason that really wasn’t Astrin’s fault.

“You look tired. Do you want to lie down before dinner?”

“I am tired. My head aches from all the bright colors and loud noises.” Astrin sounded fractious, which only added to Rowan’s irritability. His patience had already begun to wear thin, making his comments sharp around the edges.

“Come on, then. I’ll take you to my room.”

Astrin brightened. “I’d like to see that.”

As Crown Prince, Rowan’s room was exceptionally grand. The dark oak four-poster bed, hung with chocolate-brown drapes, would have dominated any other room, but in this one it was nothing special, dwarfed by the high-arching ceilings that were decorated with ornate moldings.

Along one wall, enormous windows were dressed with curtains of the same brown as the bed. It contrasted with the bright turquoise of the walls, from the ceiling down to where they met the rich oak paneling, which clad the bottom third.

Various pieces of furniture, including a very cluttered desk, stood around the edges.

At the moment the drapes were drawn back, showing floor-to-ceiling windows. Between each window, on the narrow strip of turquoise wall, a candle sconce jutted out, containing a single white candle as thick as Astrin’s wrist. At the flick of a switch, the candles lit up with real flames.

Further lighting was supplied by a turquoise-and-amber chandelier that hung high above. It was more modern and less ornate than most other things in the room, but one of the most beautiful.

“It’s amazing,” Astrin said, breathless.

“What? Oh, I never turn it on. I prefer the candles.”

“Oh please, put it on for me.”

Taking a moment to close the curtains, Rowan reached out to a panel beside the bed, flooding the room with amber and blue light.

“Oh,” Astrin sighed. “It’s beautiful, like being underwater—like the fish in the pool.”

“I never thought of it like that, but I suppose in a way it is.” Finally beginning to relax again, Rowan took the stunned Astrin by the hand and led him to the bed. “I have things to do. Rest, and I’ll call you for dinner. My sister will be there… and Ragnor too, I expect.”

“Who are you?” Astrin asked again as he lay back against silk pillows with a sigh of sheer pleasure.

“Your friend. Now rest. I have things to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rowan smiled at the playfulness in his voice, but as he turned away, he frowned. He was really starting to like this boy, and that wasn’t part of the plan at all.

Sitting at his computer, Rowan tried to concentrate on his work. He gave up after half an hour and started playing one of his favorite online games, but that didn’t satisfy either. The problem was that, no matter what he did, his mind wasn’t focused on it. It was somewhere else entirely.

In the end he shut off the computer, sat back in his chair, and ran his hands through his hair with a sigh. He wasn’t sure which emotion was taking precedence in the tumult that engulfed him. Sure, there was still anger there, still bitterness that this boy had it all—all that Rowan had been denied—but it was muted now. There was guilt too, for the way he’d treated Astrin yesterday.

Maybe when this was all over and Astrin was free again, they could talk. Astrin could teach him how to be a good king and a better man. With a sinking heart, Rowan realized how unlikely that was. Even if Astrin forgave him for what had been done to him, he certainly wouldn’t want to be friends with the man who’d not only seen him in such an undignified and demeaning condition but had also tormented and abused him. There was no way Rowan could make up for that in one day.

He got up, wandered restlessly over to the bed, and looked down at the sleeping prince. One arm lay across his stomach and the other was thrown over his head. Astrin was relaxed, peaceful, and very beautiful. Rowan allowed himself to appreciate him, unhindered by anger and hatred. Where once he’d mocked the pretty face and beautiful hair, now he was drawn in and couldn’t look away.

Rowan frowned. The boy he’d hated had suddenly become a man he couldn’t hate. But if not hate, then what? Rowan couldn’t, in all honesty, say he liked him, but… Astrin fascinated him. Yes, that was the word: fascination. He couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering what he was really like, what it would be like to truly be his friend. The flashes of personality he’d seen were tantalizing, and Astrin’s calmness and self-assurance were beguiling. He wanted to see more, to know more.

S
HOCKS
AND
M
EMORIES

T
HE
DINING
room was truly grand. The chandeliers were pure lead crystal, the size of small cars—and there were two of them. The table was large enough to seat a hundred people and was so highly polished that Astrin could see his face in it. Right now his face looked pale and tense.

Astrin sat next to Melissa, across the table from Rowan, who was beside Ragnor. They had eaten their way through three courses, and although Astrin had yet to clear his plate of any course, he had enjoyed every mouthful and should have been feeling full and contented.

The conversation had flowed, and all three of his companions were pleasant and charming. And yet. He had a strong, if not entirely rational, feeling that something wasn’t right. The grandness of his surroundings was part of it, making him uneasy. He’d asked Rowan many times who he was and had been evaded. It was obvious to him the house did not, as Rowan had indicated, belong to a friend—it was
his
house. All the servants deferred to him, and there were many.

Another thing that greatly disquieted Astrin was no one ever answered questions. As soon as he noticed it, he tested it out, slipping questions in wherever he could. General questions like “
What wine do you think goes best with chicken?
” were answered readily enough. However, questions about the future like “
Can we walk in the garden again tomorrow?
” or “
When do you think I’ll be up to leaving the infirmary?
” were evaded. Direct questions like “
What’s wrong with me?
” or “
Do I live here?
” were basically ignored.

The feeling that something was wrong and things were not what they seemed grew stronger and stronger until it was getting harder to conceal his unease. Before the meal was half-over, he was convinced he was part of some elaborate deception and began to be afraid.

I will not show them my fear,
he thought.
I’ve been trained too well for that.
Then he thought,
Trained? Trained for what? By whom?

Melissa’s hand touched his where it lay on the table beside his plate. He jumped and jerked his head around, his eyes unguardedly anxious.

“Are you all right, Astrin dear? You seem so far away, and you look tired. Perhaps it’s time you retired. We really are most insensitive keeping you up so long when it is only your sec—first day up and about.”

Astrin narrowed his eyes.
Second. She was going to say second. Why?

“I….”

“You’re right of course, Melissa. Perceptive as usual,” Ragnor said, looking at Astrin piercingly through the candlelight. “You are looking tired. I would be remiss as your doctor if I allowed my patient to overstretch himself on the first day. I think perhaps it
is
time to retire.”

“I… I’m not tired.” That was a lie. “I don’t want to go back yet.” He turned and smiled at Melissa. “I’m having fun.”

Melissa returned his smile and patted his hand again. “There will be other times, my dear. Many more when you are stronger. Let Ragnor and Rowan take you back to your room now and rest.”

Astrin looked up and was shocked by the expression on Rowan’s face. It was so sad and…. Almost as soon as Astrin noticed, Rowan noticed him and hid the expression under a smile. It was too late, though, and suddenly Astrin was frightened, a feeling of dread sweeping over him. The friendly faces around him turned sinister, and he realized he was trapped. There was nowhere he could go, nothing he could do. He was too weak to fight them all.

There was one thing he was sure of: he really didn’t want to go back to that room. What were they going to do to him when he got there? A shock thrilled through him, and he rubbed his arm, feeling the hard plastic beneath the shirt—what
had
they been doing to him?

Lowering his eyes, he breathed deeply and centered himself. Again, the idea came to him that he’d been trained for this. Continuing his deep breathing, he dissipated the fear since it was getting in the way. The fog that had been clouding his mind for the whole day seemed to be lifting, and the thoughts flitting about behind it were drawing closer—still not close enough to grasp but close enough to whisper a warning.

Something was going on, something bad. He had to go along with it until he was in a position to do something about it. Clearly, they weren’t going to kill him, he reasoned; otherwise why the elaborate charade? Why pretend Rowan was his friend? Why treat him to dinner? No, it was something else.

A sharp but fleeting stab of pain in his chest made him think that perhaps they weren’t
deliberately
setting out to kill or hurt him, but that didn’t mean they weren’t going to. He was now certain he wasn’t ill, had never been ill. His weakness and apparent illness had come from something they’d done to him.

All these thoughts flew through his mind in less than a moment, then he looked up into the smiling eyes of Ragnor, of whom he was most afraid.

“All right. If you think it’s best.”

He had absolutely no intention of allowing himself to be taken back to that room. There was a lot of distance between here and the infirmary. All he needed was a clear sight of somewhere he could hide until complete darkness provided him with the opportunity to find a way out.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he was good at hiding. If he could just get out of sight, he’d know what to do, and they wouldn’t be able to find him again. Until then, he had to play along and make them think he was compliant, keep them off guard.

He was sad about Rowan, though. He liked Rowan, had really begun to think he was a friend. Rowan looked angry half the time, but when he smiled, it lit up his face, and he really was quite beautiful with his shaggy black hair and eyes that were pools of darkness.

Astrin sighed. “I suppose I
am
a little tired.”

“Good.” Rowan and Ragnor stood, and Astrin turned to Melissa. He took her hand and, bowing slightly over it, brushed his lips over the back of it.

“It’s been my pleasure, High Lady. I hope to have the opportunity to avail myself of your company again soon.”

Melissa smiled kindly, but then her eyes flicked up to the startled expressions on the faces of her brother and cousin. Astrin had given her proper title. As the eldest son of House Gabriel, Rowan was Crown Prince. Technically, as his sister, Melissa was princess. However, in all four royal Houses, the term High Lady was given to the eldest woman in the family. Since Charles’s wife was deceased, Melissa, as the eldest woman, was High Lady.

There was no way Astrin could have guessed or imagined that. The only way he could have known was if he had remembered.

“Astrin,” Ragnor said softly, “it’s time to sleep now. It’s time to return to your room and sleep.”

Astrin froze, his eyes still on Melissa. She smiled sadly and stroked his hair. “Take care of him, Ragnor.”

“Of course I will.”

Something strange had happened to Astrin. When he heard Ragnor speak, he froze but remained aware—in fact, alert. At almost the same instant, the feeling of calm and sleepiness washed through him, he recognized it as a conditioned response and overrode it.

He was right. These people were not his friends. They’d applied mental conditioning to him in some way. His mind raced, dissecting the day that had passed. From the state he’d been in that morning, it was clear whatever they’d done to him had harmed him in some way. It felt as if they might have affected his heart. Thank the Gods, he seemed to have recovered from it, more or less, and he didn’t think any permanent damage had been done. The tube in his arm made sense now because they were obviously drugging him. The pieces slotted together except for one… he still had no idea
why
.

Clearly, part of what had been done to him was the removal of his memory. While he seemed to be shaking the conditioning that kept him docile and unaware, his memory wasn’t showing any signs of returning anytime soon, apart from sending him the nudges and urges he needed to become more aware of the situation.

Now more determined than ever to get away from here as soon as possible, he allowed his face to go blank and sat unmoving, his mind working overtime as he waited to see what would happen next.

What would have happened next was anyone’s guess if something wholly and dramatically unexpected hadn’t superseded it.

Before anyone could move, and while Melissa’s hand was still in Astrin’s, the door opened and a man walked in. He was wearing royal livery and was in fact a messenger. He looked tense, as if he were holding himself in, keeping a strong emotion inside.

“My Lord Ragnor, there is an urgent message.”

“I was about to escort Prince Astrin back to his room. Can this not wait a few minutes?”

“I’m afraid not, my lord, and what I have to say affects him too.”

Startled and frowning, Ragnor spoke softly to Rowan, “Keep an eye on him.” Then he disappeared through the door with the messenger.