Shades of Truth (The Summerlynn Secrets) (20 page)

“I should have realized…” His head suddenly drooped forward, as if it weighed more than it had a moment ago.

“Realized what?” From his reaction, the necklace meant something to him.

“How long have you had it?”

“Since my sixteenth birthday.” At his raised eyebrow, I clarified. “Four years.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“My father.”

“What did he say when he gave it to you?”

“Nothing. All I remember is being annoyed he did not buy me something new and insisted on passing along an antique.” I had been quite annoyed, the design being too abstract for my taste.

“You’ve had it this entire time
? “

“Of course.”

“I am a fool.” With a violent movement, he pushed away from me. He began pacing, short angry strides.

“So you know what it is.”

“Yes.” The word was bitten off.

“Then tell me why you are so angry.” Colton obviously knew much more than Sabean, who hadn’t told me anything beyond it being a Tallon symbol.

He snorted. “You would be just as angry in my position.” His face hardened into that arrogant, disbelieving mask I abhorred.

“And what position is that?”

He ignored my question. “Tell me, was the story about Lisbon entirely made up? A ruse for you to come along?” His tone flattened. If I hadn’t seen the white lines of temper around his mouth, I might believe he was entirely calm.

“No. I went to Lisbon because I had to.” How had we gone from the pendant to the journey to Lisbon?

“Had to? How so?”

I narrowed my eyes, disliking his eagerness in seizing the word
had
. I folded my arms across my chest. “Be thankful I chose to go with you. I could have made things very difficult for you.”

Carefully, he examined my features, as if looking for the answer to some deeply felt question. “What else have you been hiding from me?”

A knock came at the door, thankfully, before I told yet another lie. The lock fell back, and the door swung open to reveal yet another stranger. I think he was at the table last night, but could not be certain.

“You,” he indicated Colton. “Come.”

Colton nodded. Without looking at me, he wordlessly walked across the room and out the door, which was closed and locked behind him.

Excellent. Colton was in a fury and I didn’t know why. Plus, I’d been locked into a room severely short on amusements. At least I had the opportunity to examine the book, which thankfully had remained in my pocket over night. My hip surely had a book shaped bruise on top of the rock shaped bruise from yesterday morning.

Walking back to the window where the most light was, I took the book out of my pocket. The brown leather binding was cracked and worn. The gilt lettering of the title
, Goran Through the Years
, came off against the finger I ran over it. I tested the weight of the book in my hand, deciding it weighed about what one might expect from a book of middling size.

I opened it, checking the inscription on the inside flap. Yes, it still said what it did last night. This was my father’s book. But why was it here? What connection did my father share with these people? Were they Tallons?

I considered that. If my father’s book—marked with the Tallon symbol—was here, it might mean he’d been here. If they were Tallons, that explained it. He must have come for a meeting of sorts and left a book behind? No. That didn’t seem correct.

Maybe he sent it to them, an earlier version of the letter. But why send a history of Goran? Further, why send his own personal copy of the history of Goran? The one emblazoned with a Tallon seal? What was it about this book, specifically, that my father wished these people to know? Where did Sabean fit in?

There must be something I was missing. Something gigantic that made sense of all my endless questions. Idly, I picked at a loose thread in the binding at the bottom of the back cover. To my surprise, it easily gave, and a piece of paper dropped to the floor.

Dumbfounded, I simply stared at the book. Had a piece of paper just dropped out of the back cover and onto the floor? I looked at the floor. Yes. There was a fresh looking piece of paper on the wood planking.

My next step was to hold the open seam of the book up to my eye and peer inside. The open stitching was directly beneath the Tallon symbol. Coincidence? I didn’t think so. I stuck my finger into the open binding, just to ensure there had been enough space for the carefully folded piece of paper to fit in the binding. I also noticed the thread color was a slightly lighter brown then the thread on the rest of the book.

Right. I suppose I should pick up the piece of paper and see what it said. Strangely, I was reluctant to do so. What if it was a signed confession note from my father? What happened then?

Nothing was being solved the longer I stood staring at the paper. In one swift movement, I bent and opened the sheet of paper.

It was a map, but of no place I’d seen before. At the top, it read
All the answers lie below
. Apparently someone had a sense of humor. My eyes found the circled x on the map. It certainly didn’t look as though it held any answers, though it was cradled between what looked like two mountain peaks.

The rest of the map was comprised of forest (all Goran was heavily forested, so that didn’t help), mountains, villages and yes, a stream every now and then. There wasn’t a single defining characteristic. That place could be anywhere, not only in the country, but the world.

Resisting the urge to crumple the paper up, I instead turned it upside down to see if that angle improved the view. Nothing. No matter which way I turned it, it didn’t look familiar. I’d never been a big fan of geography. My governess had been right in saying one day I would be sorry I hadn’t bothered to learn the counties of Goran. I even regretted my eye roll when she’d said it.

My thoughts were interrupted by the door opening once again. Quickly, I shoved the piece of paper up my sleeve, relegating the book to the front of my shirt. When I turned back to the door, it was to find yet another strange man regarding me. He beckoned. Cautious, I came closer. His appearance was scruffy and his face carefully blank. Did he mean to take me out back and murder me?

Silently, he retreated, leaving the door open. After hastily rearranging the book that had slipped to my waist, I walked forward. Did I dare escape? The staircase was to the right, and the end of the hall to my left. If I could surprise the man by rushing past him and down the stairs, I might be able to reach the door.

But, once there, what would I do? Where would I go? I wouldn’t get very far on foot, which meant I’d have to find a horse, but where was the stable? Where was I? What direction should I go? And what about Colton? Could I just leave him?

All that could be decided later. Escape was not to be passed up. If this was my only opportunity, I was going to take it.

I followed quickly, only to see the man standing at the head of the staircase,
arms crossed. My thoughts of freedom vanished completely. He was bigger than I remembered. Perhaps I should meekly find out where we were going before making a break for freedom.

He led me down the staircase and toward the back of the house on the first floor. Ah, the retiring room. I would have hugged him, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate it. I used the chamber pot, washed up, and took a minute to straighten my clothing. How I longed for a bath.

My friend stood waiting in the hall. Though he was big, I didn’t think he was quick. If I timed it right, when we passed the front door, I might be able to dart past him and to freedom. So I gave every appearance of being an obedient, docile prisoner…

Until we passed the door on the way up the stairs. I waited until his foot landed on the bottom step before turning and making a break for the door. My hand barely touched the doorknob when I was grabbed around the waist and hefted over a shoulder. The book pressed hard into my stomach. Not one to take this treatment without retaliation, I began pounding his back and kicking my feet.

During our struggle, we were wordless. I’d never been a screamer. Not that it would have helped. For all I knew, I was in a deserted area with nobody around for miles, surrounded by people uninterested in my fate.

The journey back to the empty room was conducted quickly. It seemed the man holding me couldn’t wait to be rid of me. He opened the door, deposited me rather harshly onto my feet, and scrambled back to the hallway. The lock turned before I could do anything other than watch it close.

At least I’d attempted escape. I felt less like a passive prisoner calmly accepting my fate. I hadn’t received a beating or any other punishment beside confinement in an empty room. But, since I was already here, I may as well do something to deserve it.

The hours crawled by. I paced, sat, counted the wooden slabs across the ceiling (32), read the entire history book, examined my nails, looked at the map until my eyes hurt, and took to throwing the blankets around the room. Why? Because I could. It was either that or fling myself screaming at the door.

I was released again for a visit to the retiring room. After that, I was brought back to the empty room where a tray of food awaited. Left alone again afterward, I began to long for Colton, even if he was going to be sullen and angry with me.

Though he really shouldn’t be. I hadn’t done anything wrong. So what if I had a pendant? If he’d confided in me from the beginning, perhaps I would fully understand
its meaning and would’ve handed it over without complaint. But no, Colton preferred to believe I was part of some plan to trick and manipulate him.

That stung. Which started me thinking why it hurt so much, which led me to the startling realization I was falling in love with Lucas Colton. Fabulous. Next, I would begin poking myself with sharp objects, since my judgment was apparently impaired.

I didn’t even know his name! Oh, he might go by Lucas Colton while on his missions or whatever it is he did, but it wasn’t his real name. Using a pseudonym actually made a bizarre sort of sense since being the son of a powerful man would make using his true name very hard.

Not that it was excusable to lie repeatedly about one’s name. No. He would get no help rationalizing his decision to lie.

When he did return that evening, I instantly knew the meeting had not gone well. His shoulders were tensely held and he did not offer a greeting. Of course, that might be deliberate, judging from our last conversation, but I decided not to let that bother me.

I watched as he turned his head away from me and walked toward the blankets. Separating a few, he went to sit against the far wall. All along, he kept his eyes on the ground so I knew he was intentionally ignoring me.

Fine. If he wanted to be childish, I would return the favor. “It is lovely to see you as well. How was your day?”

Silence.

“Thank you for asking. I had a wonderful day. No one glowered at me, accused me of lying, or even mentioned my father. It was heavenly.” I walked back to the pile of blankets and seated myself against the wall so I was more or less facing Colton. The silence stretched for a minute, maybe longer. “Rough day?”

With a groan, Colton put his head in his hands. “Nothing has gone as planned, starting from the moment I saw your pendant this morning.”

“My father’s pendant,” I corrected.

His mouth tightened. “I am sorry to report, sweetheart, but the line between you and your father has blurred.”

“Meaning?”

“Those men believe you are working for your father. My presence has only tempered their opinion a bit. They think I should leave you here and let them deal with you.”

I couldn’t tell his opinion on the matter from the emotionless tone of voice. “And you said?”

“No. I made a promise.” For the first time since he entered the room, he raised his eyes to mine. The dark blue depths contained regret and yes, anger.

Anger at what? Being stuck with me? Well, I wasn’t exactly happy about that either. “Maybe you should leave me since you so obviously wish to be free of me.” I fisted the blanket beside me.

“It’s not so much wanting to be rid of you as wanting to be finished with the lying.” He rubbed his beard, a dry, scratching noise filling the room.

“If anyone is lying, it is you.”

“Name one instance I have told you a lie.”

“Your name.”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “My name is real.”

“But it’s not yours.”

“And you say this because?”

“Because it takes you a tad too long to respond when I call it.”

“That is because you choose to call me by my surname and not my first name.”

“I imagine you gave a fake name so I wouldn’t recognize who you are.” I shrugged. “If I told you I didn’t care who you are, would you tell me your real name?”

“While it’s flattering you think I am rather important, I’m not.” He rotated his shoulders.

I rolled my eyes. “Now who’s lying?”

“Perhaps I should hand you over. They would get the truth out of you.”

“Who are they?”

“A concerned party.” I noticed how he refrained from naming the men he had met with.