A Guiding Light Page 20

  “If those lines across your forehead get much deeper, they might become permanent,” Marshal said, plopping onto the couch beside me. “What’s bothering you?”

  “I was wondering about your talent,” I confessed.

  “I don’t think I’ll have a heart attack like you if it’s suppressed.” Marshal poked at my bracelets. “I don’t know what it’ll be like waking up wondering what’ll happen, though.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. I have no idea what it’s like to know what’ll happen in the future, but what will it be like for you going from knowing to being as blind as I am? That’s bothering me.”

  “Dr. Stanton said I might have panic attacks. Those can get ugly, but she said she’s going to head into the city as soon as she can for medications and the other set of suppressors. The medications might help me transition. If my talent is as strong as she believes, only the really important dreams will get through, and given a few months, I’ll get used to not dreaming about everything. It’ll just take time. And therapy.”

  “Maybe we should go to therapy together,” I muttered.

  “It’d probably save time, because my sister is going to demand to go with me because she’s afraid of psychologists.”

  I had a difficult time imagining Veronica being afraid of anyone. I could easily imagine her being afraid for people, but never of them. Before we’d been separated, she’d faced everything with indomitable pride and courage.

  In some ways, I believed the king feared his daughter more than he resented his inability to control me so he could rule beyond his reign. Veronica had changed me, transforming me from a quiet boy content to go with the flow to a determined but still quiet boy.

  Understanding how things had fallen apart helped me to accept them.

  Dr. Stanton was right. Something needed to change. That I understood I needed therapy to overcome the circumstances of my so-called childhood meant it was more than just a small problem. What would life have been like if I’d been allowed to be a child? No matter how much I wanted to deny the truth, it stared me in the face. From the day I’d hooked a princess, I’d stopped being a child.

  I’d first been a puppet, manipulated into believing I’d one day rule a kingdom, dedicating most of my time to learning what the king thought I needed to know to be the perfect puppet. But Veronica had changed me, and when the king believed I was no longer the perfect puppet for his needs, I’d been cast aside, worthless trash unsuited for the job I’d been groomed for.

  I hadn’t had a chance to be a child, and the times I escaped, usually to go fishing, it had been in the shadow of those who wanted me to become a pawn in a royal game.

  “Adam?”

  “If you could get rid of your talent, would you?”

  “No. It’s a part of me. It’d just be nice if it was a little easier to sleep at night.”

  “Hopefully one of my bracelets will help you tonight.”

  “But won’t that make your bond with my sister harder to handle?”

  “I think it’ll be a lot easier to handle now,” I admitted. “But I won’t know until I try. I’d give you both of mine, but I expect Dr. Stanton has thoughts about that.”

  “Yes, I do,” my doctor replied. “The answer is no. You may loan him one of your bracelets. You may not loan him both. No one needs you crying in a corner because your talent’s upset Her Royal Highness isn’t nearby. I expect you’ll be crawling out of your skin by morning.”

  “You’re acting like my talent is a living thing.”

  “Who’s to say it isn’t? That’s one thing we may never know for sure. And even if your talent isn’t a separate entity, it’s a reflection of you. Consider this: your magic, without any input on your part, prevented you from being killed in the mall earlier today. Perhaps that isn’t definitive proof it’s a living entity, but your magic acted independently to preserve your life.”

  “Point,” I conceded.

  “I respect your reasons for dampening your talent. I don’t approve of Dr. Berriner’s methods, but you did what you could to survive. Your talent is a reflection of you, and it’s doing what’s necessary to ensure your survival. In that regard, yes, I do feel it’s a living thing. If it didn’t have a mind of its own, you’d be dead right now.”

  “That’s another good point.”

  “I have them at times. You need dinner, your next dose of medication, and a good night’s sleep. If the gentlemen in the other room are to be believed, it’s going to be a busy day tomorrow.”

  I took off one of my bracelets and offered it to Marshal. “Shall we test drive the suppressor during dinner?”

  The young prince narrowed his eyes, nodded, and took the suppressor, fiddling with it before wrapping it around his wrist. Dr. Stanton leaned over him and tapped at the bracelet until it popped open, which allowed her to adjust its length to fit him without falling off. “Let me know if it becomes uncomfortable, Your Highness. With your talents, you shouldn’t have reactions like Adam, but you may become anxious or nervous. Tomorrow, I’ll try to get the quarter-interval set and find the best one for you. As for you, Adam, if you notice any chest pains, tell me immediately. His Highness can survive an extra night or two suffering from dreams. The last thing you need right now is another heart attack.”

  “I’ll let you know if there are any problems,” I promised.

  “Good.”

  Sharing a bed with Veronica’s little brother hadn’t been part of my evening plans, but he followed at my heels wherever I went, and I couldn’t force myself to drive him away. When dinner and the medications conspired against me, I suggested the beleaguered RPS agents might have an easier time if we stayed together, offering him a way to stay near me without forcing him to ask—or make him feel like he imposed.

  His immediate acceptance confirmed my suspicions he wanted to remain close.

  The crying started within five minutes of turning the light off.

  I remembered nights I’d spent alone, hiding under the blankets hoping someone would come for me despite understanding I’d been abandoned. Marshal’s father had abandoned him in the worst way possible, even worse than how my parents had been forced to abandon me.

  I remembered longing for comfort too well despite the years, so I sighed, rolled over, and tucked him close, wishing I could undo everything that’d been done to him and his family. Would he believe his mother had abandoned him, too? I hoped not; perhaps his talent would be useful for helping him accept his mother hadn’t left him alone by her choice.

  I hoped he wouldn’t blame himself for not being able to change everything.

  As I’d learned through bitter experience, grief couldn’t be rushed; all holding it back did was create a stronger tide, one capable of breaking even the strongest beneath its relentless flow. For however long he needed to cry, I’d wait. I had no idea what to say to help him through it without making everything worse, so I remained silent.

  Our circumstances were different. Nothing would bring his mother back.

  I could, if I wanted, bring my parents into my life again. The walls dividing us could be torn down, a possibility I hadn’t considered in years.

  When Marshal’s sobs ebbed to messy sniffles, I slipped out of bed, found a box of tissues, and brought them to him. I left the light off so he wouldn’t feel like I watched his raw grief.

  “She’d talked about Europe, but I never had the heart to tell her she’d never make it there,” he confessed in a choked whisper. “I told her I thought Europe would be nice. She liked that I approved of her destination.”

  How many lies had Marshal told over the years to cover what he witnessed in his dreams? My life was littered with white lies, too, the kind meant to make others feel better while I bottled the unpleasant truth and hid it deep inside. Sometimes, what I bottled faded away to painful but tolerable memories.

  Too often, it fermented and waited for its chance to erupt.

  There was only one thing I could say, and I’d repeat
it until he believed it was the truth. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know. It’s my father’s fault. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d be able to help my brothers and sisters. You changed so much, but there was never a future with my mother in it. I understand that. But it’s still not fair.”

  Little was. “One way or another, your mother will have justice,” I promised. I’d already committed myself to so much, so what was adding a promise I’d be hard-pressed to keep to the mix? “Try to get some sleep. Don’t hesitate to wake me if you need me, all right?”

  “I’m used to my dreams waking me. I’ll be all right.”

  “Still, if you need something, wake me.”

  “All right.”

  Marshal snuggled close, and within a few minutes, he slept. Like me, he snored, although his was quieter.

  I remained awake for a long time, wondering what the future would bring.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cursing in the other room woke me, and I contemplated giving them a reason to curse. Marshal crawled over me and howled, “Noisy!”

  I grunted at his weight on me, grimacing as a myriad of bruises announced their presence all over my chest and back. “Pot,” I complained.

  “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. They’re just giving a running commentary at the television. Talking to the television isn’t going to change anything, damn it.”

  Lifting my arms hurt like hell, but I relocated Marshal to the bed beside me. “How long have they been yelling at the television?”

  “About an hour. I think they’re talking about the news. I decided I didn’t care, so I stayed in bed.”

  “What time is it?” I groaned.

  “Eleven. Dr. Stanton came in to check on us around eight, but I asked her nicely to go away. She said to let you sleep as long as you wanted. She’s impressed you hadn’t woken up yet. She thought you having only one suppressor would be a disaster. The only disaster is your whistle. I think she’s planning on having your whistle checked in some sleep test or another. She’s the type to fret, and apparently, your whistle is unacceptable.”

  Marshal sounded far too awake to me. I lurched upright, caught myself before I could curse at the throb from my injured leg, and considered bashing my head into the headboard to put myself out of my misery. “No matter what she tells you, snoring is not a reason to lock me in a hospital for testing.”

  “She’ll recruit my sister, and they’ll win. Women do that. They’re sneaky.”

  “It’s too early in the morning for this.”

  “But it’s eleven.”

  I grunted, rolled out of bed, and limped for the bathroom.

  “Don’t even think about taking a shower with that bandage on, Mr. Smith,” my doctor called from the other room. “You can take a bath, but keep the bandage dry.”

  I twitched, grunted again, and retreated to the bathroom. I refrained from slamming the door in an expression of my annoyance over her meddling. If I’d gotten my way, I would’ve taken the world’s quickest shower so I could find out what they were cursing over. Minding my doctor’s orders, I kept the bandage as dry as I could, and I soaked long enough my back and chest didn’t ache as much, although the dark mottling of bruises concerned me enough I’d ask about them once I got dried off and dressed.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “What?”

  “I’m making sure you haven’t drowned,” Marshal replied.

  “I haven’t drowned.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I swallowed back a groan. Reminding myself to be patient, I replied, “I haven’t drowned. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  As I had the feeling he was waiting on the other side of the door and wouldn’t stop until I emerged, I drained the tub, got out, and cursed my leg under my breath. Between my bruises and the graze, I regretted getting out of bed, as dressing hurt far more than I’d anticipated. I clenched my teeth and waited for the pain to subside before straightening and limping to the door.

  Marshal waited on the other side of the door, staring at me with wide eyes. “We slept through my father’s statement.”

  “I take it the speech is what they’re cursing about out there?”

  “I think so. Dr. Stanton’s the worst offender, but the RPS agents look pretty unhappy, too. Their phones have been ringing non-stop.”

  “I’m not sure if I want to know.”

  “They’re going to tell you even if you don’t want to. I caught Dr. Stanton in the hallway checking to see if you were finished taking your bath. They’re not going to let you escape. Dr. Stanton would recruit the RPS agents to help her.”

  “For a reluctant player in this fiasco, she’s pushy.”

  “What part of this is a fiasco?”

  “That someone would turn on his family out of greed.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, there’s no point in delaying. Let’s go find out what sort of bullshit His Royal Majesty attempted to feed the people—and if the people bought the shit he’s trying to sell.”

  The instant I stepped into the living room, silence fell, which I took as a bad sign of the conversation to come. “I really don’t want to hear the bastard talk, so give me a recap of the bullshit he’s trying to sell.”

  The RPS agents exchanged looks before focusing their attention on Dr. Stanton.

  She sighed. “His Royal Majesty claims the queen committed an act of treason and attempted to murder Prince Marshal. The media has responded with broadcasts of the incident at the mall, the clip focused on where you prevented the king from murdering his son. The angle of the footage made it perfectly clear the king would’ve fired, and it showed where the bullet hit your vest. They even slowed the replay down to make certain there was no doubt the king would’ve either killed or seriously injured his own son. This is a political nightmare for the king, and the king’s statement has turned the rioting into full-fledged revolt. Fargo’s in a state of chaos.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what Dr. Stanton had left out of her recap, but I suspected I wouldn’t like it. “Please tell me that’s the long version.”

  “That’s only the beginning.”

  “If you want me dealing with this, I’m going to need some painkillers,” I confessed.

  “You’re going to have to deal with an injection,” she warned. “We’re going to split up and meet somewhere closer to Fargo; we’re not sure we can get Her Royal Highness out of the city, so we’re going to go to her and hole up. I’m going to get better medication for you and acquire as many suppressors as I can get my hands on before rejoining you.”

  “Veronica’s all right?”

  “They’re all fine. You would’ve known before us if anything was actually wrong. You slept well with only one suppressor. Trust in your talent. If Her Royal Highness were in any actual trouble, she’d be unable to hide it from you. You handled separation far better than I expected, too.”

  “He flared,” Marshal reminded my doctor. “He’s probably tapped out.”

  “I’m aware, Your Highness. Your family is as fine as can be expected under the circumstances.”

  I appreciated that Dr. Stanton didn’t lie to Marshal and claim his family was fine after the murder of their mother. “Have you spoken to Veronica this morning?”

  “Yes, she called your agents following the initial broadcast. We advised her you were still asleep. If you can handle a set of injections, I’ll make your breakfast and get your medication ready for you while Agent Porter gives you the more thorough breakdown of the media reports. I’ll be borrowing your other agents so they’re ready to handle the side effects of your medications.”

  Daniel sighed. “These will be a few unpleasant minutes, I expect.”

  “I’ll try not to run away when she pulls out the needles this time, if that makes you feel any better.”

  “While appreciated, I’m not going to hold a legitimate phobia against you. There are some important parts of
the broadcast you need to be aware of. First, the media seems to have taken your side of the revolt. They’ve showed a lot of footage from the mall, and they’ve made a point of censoring any material that might indicate you have a protective detail. They blurred some of the footage, and while they included imagery of our truck, they changed its color.”

  “They changed the color of your truck?” I blurted.

  I hadn’t even known it was possible to completely change the color of a vehicle for a television broadcast.

  “Yes. They ran a filter over the vehicle in all frames, so the truck looks black rather than blue. They also blurred the license plate. While your faces are clear in the footage, everyone else’s faces have been blurred. There were two images I’m present, and my face was blurred—and they changed the color of my clothing as well. They’ve made deliberate efforts to mask our identities. That tells me someone in the media is aware we’re RPS agents. Considering the clarity of the rest of the footage, they probably know we’re from Montana as well.”

  “Because of your pin.”

  “Yes. This is a good thing; the media controls public perceptions, and as you have the media’s support, you’ve already won half the battle. The king is rapidly losing the support of the public, which will put you in a position to act.”

  “How, exactly, am I supposed to act?

  “You have several legal options, but it depends on what the media and the public does. If the king declares a state of emergency or martial law, a few laws in place across the entirety of the Royal States kick in. A lot of people forget these laws exist, as no one really wants to believe they’ll be needed. I expect you’ll need to take advantage of them.”

  “What laws?”

  “Under the Royal States Foundation Act, any royal family that declares a state of emergency or martial law due to public uprising may be challenged for the throne by any member of the elite. Dr. Stanton assures me you have the appropriate legal rating and that your status change has been filed. To make it unassailable, she’s filed a notification with Montana in the case of probable uprising. She might not look like much, but Dr. Stanton’s clever—and highly educated. Activists often are. Activists can be dangerous on the political floor, but there are few better allies. You’re very fortunate you’ve earned her support.”