Born of Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 2) (23 page)

“Amethyst shouldn’t be here,” Clark whispered. His skin prickled. He’d had the ability, if it could be called that, since drinking the potion. In dangerous situations, his skin prickled. Not always, but sometimes, as it did then.

They sat in the lobby outside the president’s office, spread out across red velvet sofas. Paintings of past kings stared at them from the white-painted walls. Each face frowned, shadowed by a thick crown, the same in each portrait.

“They have her marked as a traitor as well.” Georgette squeezed her daughter’s hand, but Amethyst pulled away to pluck at a loose thread in her skirt. Amethyst’s yellow curls glowed in the light from the windows. They all had to glow, apart from Georgette, who had darker hair.

What would they look like to the president, all of them nervous and decked out as if going to a ball? A pang shot through Clark’s heart. Apart from knowing Amethyst, he would’ve rather been back in Tangled Wire, working the mill and looking after his mother. He might’ve been old enough to make enough money to support them in a little shack on the outskirts of town. He might’ve married Mable to help take care of her. He could’ve protected them all.

Only, he hadn’t.

A secretary in a pastel green dress opened the office door. “President Wilcox will see you.” She curtsied before they stepped into the room.

Clark’s skin prickled more. Why didn’t she meet their gazes as they passed? Instead, she stared at the floor, the tops of her cheeks flushed. Her hands trembled where they clutched her skirt.

Clark took Amethyst’s hand and interlaced their fingers while his heart screamed at him to run.

Eric appeared at his side. “Bad move, son, but I think it would be best if you leave now.”

Clark’s heart thudded harder. He…couldn’t.

The office had the same white walls and portraits as the waiting room, the same sort of furniture. A desk almost as long as the room rested in front of the two floor-to-ceiling windows, a man with gray hair sitting behind the dark mahogany, leaning against his folded hands. He wore a suit and red bowtie with a thin brass chain hanging from the edges.

“Garth Treasure.” The president didn’t rise, didn’t offer his hand for a shake. Clark shifted his stance. If a man didn’t shake, he didn’t want a secret known. You trusted a man whose hand you touched.

“President Wilcox.” Garth strode to the desk and held out his hand, one equal to another.

The president smoothed his hands over his desktop and stood, inclining his head in what might have been a nod, or an appraisal of the situation. “Tell me what’s been happening.”

“This is my son, Clark Treasure.” Garth extended his arm toward Clark. His name seemed to bounce off the walls to echo through Clark’s head. His name, those two words, thrummed, an inclination of danger, accusation, a threat.

“I didn’t know you had a third son.” President Wilcox pushed his spectacles up his hooked nose.

Say you’re someone else. Pretend Clark Treasure hasn’t been found.

“He’s illegitimate,” Garth said. “I can explain those details in greater depth. Do you want a secretary present to record what’s being said?”

Georgette glanced across the office and plucked at her lace choker. She never fidgeted; she had to sense the anxiety in the air.

“That won’t be necessary.” The president flipped a lever on the corner of his desk and a beep sounded in the hallway, loud and drawn out.
Beeeep. Beeeep.

“Something seems to be happening.” Georgette rested her hand on Zachariah’s arm.

“I believe I understand everything I need to.” President Wilcox cleared his throat. “Clark Treasure has been exposed to Vejzovic, a serum the army uses to enable its soldiers to revive fallen comrades. By default, Clark belongs to the army.”

Definitely not a positive statement.

“Clark belongs to himself.” Garth raised his voice. “Mike, this serum—”

“
President Wilcox
,” he corrected, “and I know all about the properties of this serum. My predecessor purchased the rights to Vejzovic. By that contact, Clark Treasure belongs to the government.”

“No,” Garth began, but the president lifted his gloved hand.

“You supported him against the government. That counts as treason. You are all under arrest by my order, as well as Captain Greenwood’s.”

The door to the office opened and two uniformed army men marched inside.

Amethyst’s fingernails dug into Clark’s palm. “How should we do this? Do you want to shoot our way through?”

They’d run out of time for that. His heartbeat sped, but numbness crept over his flesh. At least the fleeing would cease. He would never have to barge ahead without knowing where, if, he would find a place to land and rest.

“Your son, Jeremiah Treasure, has inherited your fortune.” President Wilcox narrowed his eyes. “Until your trial, you will be housed in Kashalkar Prison. Clark, you will be relocated to army headquarters in Hedlund where you will learn proper procedures.”

Kashalkar Prison, the only maximum-security establishment in the west. The worst criminals were sent there because, with the poor conditions, few made it out. The government didn’t have to pay for their board or worry about a trial.

“Why there?” Zachariah’s voice squeaked. “That’s not the right method—”

“You, Mr. Treasure, have been stripped of your duties and titles. You will no longer serve your country.”

One of the army men seized Clark’s arm and jerked him toward the doorway. “Come along, boy.”
Boy
? The man couldn’t be much older, if older at all, than Clark.

His fingers slid from Amethyst’s.

He had to keep fighting for her.

“I’ll save us,” he whispered, hoping she could read his lips if she couldn’t hear his words.

He saved people. He fought for his friends, his family. He’d failed his mother, but he wouldn’t fail Amethyst.

methyst’s pale face and parted lips lingered in his memory. She’d trusted him and he’d trusted her father. Clark would prove he deserved her trust.

He rolled over on the cot they’d provided him with at the Hedlund barracks. He’d tried to get away and he’d ended up back where he’d started. The barracks couldn’t be more than fifty miles from Tangled Wire.

The door opened and light from the hallway flooded the closet. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness, absorbing the image of Captain Greenwood.

“Finally gotcha, huh? Getting away this time?”

Clark lifted his hands to show the cuffs that kept him locked to a hook in the wall. “Working on it.”

The captain scowled, just as Clark had hoped. “You’re mine now. You’re not getting off again. How long you been affected by the serum?”

Clark leaned back against the cornhusk mattress. “Two years, going on three.”

“You’ll go through basic training and then a more advanced course. We’ll make a general out of you yet.”

“I don’t want to be part of the army.” Didn’t running away prove that?

“It’s your honor to serve your country.”

“Not through slavery. Did someone force
you
into this?”

The captain scowled again. “Watch it, boy. It don’t matter how much you like it. You took the serum, that’s all on you. You’ll be leading the troops, those all hyped up on Vejzovic.”

“You want me to lead them? Like, become their captain?” How could he, a mining urchin, know anything about leading people? He hadn’t led the Treasures well.

But if they’d followed his advice…

“You’ll guide them, like. Show them how to handle the ability. Once we got you trained enough, we’ll find our select few and distribute Vejzovic.”

“Wait.” The blood drained from his fingers to leave them tingling. “You’ve never given it to anyone else?” He’d assumed the army didn’t have a lot of the tonic, but they should’ve given it to others. Why would they wait to capture him?

Captain Greenwood rubbed his short beard. “We did give it to some. They haven’t… handled it as well as you did.”

“How’d I handle it well?” What could they have done that was worse than running off?

The captain chuckled. “Most of them offed themselves. They couldn’t handle all the ghosts begging for stuff. Others went crazy in that other land. That’s what we call it, where you go to bring back the souls. Somebody else didn’t have enough hertum and it wore off.”

Clark licked his dry lips. “How do you think I’ll be any help? I can’t help anyone deal with troubles.”

“You can show them it’s possible to get on. Cheer up, boy. You’re gonna be something important in life.” The captain turned, but gripped the doorframe. “You’re also gonna help us communicate with certain ghosts. We can solve the mysteries of the world!”

The door clicked shut, sealing darkness into the closet.

“Cheer up, boy,” Eric mimicked before his voice softened. “We’ll get you out of this, son. I promise.”

Amethyst sat in the high-backed chair by the window in Senator Horan’s office. The emerald velvet cushion only padded her so much. She interlaced her frigid fingers in her lap. When would she feel warm again?

They’d kept her locked in a compartment on the train, flanked by two army men who’d poked her when she’d tried to sleep.

“Precious little Amethyst Treasure,” the older one had sneered. “You’ve fallen, huh? Ain’t got no power no more.”

Her great-uncle must’ve tried to help her. Why hadn’t he come? He had to have some power in the government, even if her father had lost his. What about Jeremiah? Didn’t he care about them anymore?

She hadn’t seen her parents or Zachariah. They were all meant to go to the prison, but after they’d exited the train, her two soldiers had dragged her through the streets, like a common beggar sent to the gallows, to a mansion of brick and stone gargoyles.

A woman in a tight black dress had led her to the office. “Senator Horan will see you soon.”

Clark would save her. She could bide her time. Senator Horan couldn’t know what they’d been doing across Hedlund.

Clark wouldn’t sit still, wouldn’t remain idle.

She rose, glancing around the office of bookshelves and cabinets to ensure she was alone. Paper plaques marked the drawers with names and places.
Grisham
jumped out at her.

Her cold fingers shook fiercer as she pulled the drawer open to find it stuffed with manila folders. Each tab had been labeled with an
X
and then a number, ranging from one to four-hundred-sixty; not enough time to go through each. Sighing, she pushed the drawer shut.