The Water Queens (Keeper of the Water) (16 page)

After first leaving the jungle, I did enough research on the hijacking story to know that many people discredited Ashley’s account of Cassie – a mere teenager – being leader of the women hijackers; others thought it even crazier that Ashley claimed the women survived the plane crash, even though their bodies were never found. Ashley later reported on the reason for the plane in Florida being taken, citing an unnamed insider as her source of information. Experts blasted her for her theory of a race to the Lost City, but the public paid little attention to this side story during their time following the plane crash. I didn’t destroy Ashley’s credibility but I didn’t exactly help her career, either. Needless to say, I’m glad to read the headline: LUTZ LOCATES LOST CITY.

“She finally reached Z, after all these years,” John says. “Claims her source on an old story left her a map, which she followed with the help of the Brazilian government. Although she didn’t find any gold or treasure there, experts are already calling it the archaeological discovery of the century.”

I’m able to see a few other photos of the Lost City of Z, familiar images of ancient ruins I once stood among. Though I’m happy for the reporter that once helped me in my greatest time of need, seeing pictures of the jungle –
my
jungle – makes my longing for the past even greater. Still, I’m relieved
this
is the news and not something else I was worried about.

“I should probably get some sleep now,” John finally says, unable to suppress a yawn. “I got an early morning in the gardens.”

I stand from my chair and John opens the front door, expecting me to follow him inside. But I slowly shake my head.

“Going for a walk?” he asks. I nod. He knows me so well, doesn’t even need to ask where I’ll go. “Well, be careful walking up the mountain at this time of night.”

“I will,” I say. “I won’t be long.”

He’s so understanding at times; it makes me feel guilty for not being as accepting of his faults. I throw my arms around him, more in love than ever. But just as I’m about to let go, my hand brushes against something near his lower back; it
crinkles
. The sound causes him to recoil and turn away from me. If he wasn’t so drunk, he might realize how guilty this makes him look.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says, though his reaction certainly seems to indicate otherwise.

I frown. I still haven’t lost my amazing speed, which I prove by circling around him and grabbing another part of the newspaper from his
other
back pocket. Had he been sober, John would’ve been able to match my speed move for move. As it is, he’s still fast enough to snatch the paper out of my hand before I hold it for even a second. I
could
try to get it back from him but instead, I glare at him and cross my arms.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up here with me,” he says.

“What don’t you want me to see?” I ask.

The familiar sensation of worry stirs in my stomach; I suddenly wish I hadn’t hugged him in the first place. John is at a loss for words. I can tell he’s struggling with how much to say.

“I didn’t want you to worry more than you already do,” he says, handing the paper to me. I grab it but he doesn’t let go right away. “We’ve stayed anonymous here, we’ve made a wonderful life. I know you don’t think we can shelter Janey here forever but as far as I’m concerned, what’s in this newspaper changes nothing for us.”

He lets go of it but holds my gaze for several long seconds. The glassy drunkenness has left his eyes, replaced by a fire I haven’t seen in a long time. He immediately calms my racing nerves and makes no further issue about the information I’m holding.

“I’m going to bed now,” he says. “If you need to talk, wake me up.”

John walks inside and quietly closes the door behind him. I consider crumpling the newspaper, never reading whatever troubling story that waits inside. But my curiosity has none of the restraint I wish it had. I open the International Section of the London Herald, the only newspaper in English that can be bought on Andros. More pictures of Ashley Lutz and the jungle ruins fills most of the page and I begin to wonder why John would possibly think I’d worry about this.

But then I flip to the next page of this section and my eyes are drawn away from the bigger pictures of Ashley, down to a single small photograph at the bottom of the page. My heart skips a beat and I feel sick. I fight to remain calm but it’s not easy to do while staring into the smiling face of Cassie.

Cassie looks different from the last time I saw her; actually, she looks different from any time I’ve
ever
seen her, whether it be the years we spent growing up together or the years we spent as Amazons together. Her hair is longer, flowing, like she has a team of stylists at her disposal. Her makeup is expertly done and her face looks fuller, not so strong and angular and cruel as I’ve always known her. I hate to admit it but she looks stunning, regal even. It almost doesn’t look like her and a part of me wishes this woman just
happens
to resemble Cassie. But her eyes are still the same, still glaring, still plotting something that can’t be good for anyone but her.

I wonder if this is how Isabella of Castille once appeared when she ruled over Spain; I’m glad John went to bed because I don’t know if could’ve stopped myself from asking him. There’s enough moonlight to read the headline – SPANISH COUNTESS NOT CONCERNED FOR SAFETY – but I need more light to read the article. I quietly sneak back into the house and turn on the light in the kitchen. As I read the article, the information I learn disgusts me, makes me wish I’d been strong enough to tear up the newspaper the moment I saw Cassie’s picture. I’m mad that I can’t unlearn the things I’ve just read…

Somehow, Cassie is now a countess in Spain, having recently married Count Cristiano Silva. Silva had been one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors for years, even more so once the King of Spain reinstated ancient monarchy titles to his most trusted family members. According to the article, Countess Isabella remained a mysterious newcomer to the Spanish royalty, especially considering her “questionable bloodlines.” I want more info on the new countess but the story is focused less on her past and more on her present. Countess Isabella was quoted as saying that she did not fear for her life despite recent –

My breath catches in my throat and I swallow hard. The next part sends chills rushing down my spine. I’ve wanted to know for years what Cassie was doing but now that I’m figuring it out, I wish I never questioned it. The article tells of a recent string of assassinations in Spain during the last few months, resulting in the deaths of the king and queen and other royalty. Spanish royalty was being systematically eliminated by a band of mysterious, cold-blooded and well-organized assassins, killers who hadn’t left a single clue about their identity. The entire county is in an uproar and no level of protection is safe enough for anybody who shared the royal bloodline. The Spanish government is still trying to figure out the proper line of succession for the throne but their plans have been thwarted every time they found a possible replacement; the killers are striking faster than the new king or queen can be named.

I shake my head at the article, reading it over and over. Since Cassie regained control of the water, the cruelest scenarios I conjured in my mind had her using brute strength and force to gain power. But I have to remind myself that Isabella of Castille once ruled Spain for many years; Cassie was never much of a fighter so it shouldn’t be surprising that she’s found another way to gain prominence.

The only other information in the short article deals with famous Spanish palaces being closed to the public, while the remaining royal family is currently under tight guard. It briefly mentions how the deceased king’s brother was saved from assassination when several women interfered, though those rescuers had yet to come forward and accept credit for their heroics.
Helping
doesn’t sound indicative of the Queen Clan so there’s only one other group of women I can imagine capable of stopping Cassie’s death squad; this is the only part of the article that provides me the slightest smile, though it doesn’t last long.

I want more details of the entire Spanish ordeal but the story seems to be several weeks old and the Lost City’s discovery takes up most of the coverage. I really wish this newspaper were from Spain so there’d be a lot more about the killings, a lot more about the rescue, a lot more about the new
countess
. But papers in English are hard enough to come by let alone Spanish. I spend nearly an hour reading the same ten short paragraphs over and over, hoping to squeeze anything new out of the article. By the time I’m done, any chance of my mind slowing enough for sleep is out the question.

I tiptoe down the small hallway and immediately hear John’s snoring, usually bearable but made worse by how much he drank; I’m glad to see the news of Cassie’s rise in power hasn’t affected him. I stop in front of Janey’s room and peek inside. Her reading light is still turned on but she’s fallen asleep, her book splayed across the floor. She snores louder than her father. I quietly put the book back on her shelf and turn off the light. She looks much younger while sleeping, not nearly as mature. Several minutes pass as I simply stare at her, awe-struck by how quickly she’s grown up. But watching her inevitably makes me think of Cassie and about what she’s planning, about the kind of world my daughter will grow up in if the queens follow through on their desire for world domination.

Sleep won’t be coming to me for a while so I sneak back outside as my mind races. I’d felt cold while waiting for John to come home but now I hardly notice the chilly night air. I stare out at the dark mountains; they once seemed protective, providing a cocoon of safety from the outside world. With Cassie gaining more power somewhere out there, this area now seems like a jail cell, holding us in. Maybe it was foolish to think we could ever stay in one place and truly be safe. Visiting the former water source up the mountain seemed like a good idea earlier but not so much anymore.

I try to push thoughts of Cassie out of my mind but I can’t. The more time passes, the stronger my thoughts become, the stronger my emotions of fear and worry and curiosity become. I know what’s about to happen and logically know I should fight my mind from forming this connection. But I can’t stop and the mountains in front of me slowly fade away…

Before I even see anything, I
feel
something, an intense emotion I’m familiar with but rarely experience so strongly. Anger, all encompassing, nearly overwhelming. Feeling this tells me right away that I’m in Cassie’s mind and a moment later I see what she sees. I’m inside some sort of amazing palace, it’s stone hallways large enough for a bus to drive through with plenty of space remaining. Tapestries and frescoes line the walls, artwork that looks older than me – older than me from my
first
life. But Cassie – and hence I since I’m in her mind – is more interested in the gold-plated mirror just ahead. Cassie stops stomping down the hallway, barely paying attention to any of the royal guards stationed in front of the large palace windows. Security is obviously on high alert but I don’t sense any concern from her about possible danger. Big surprise there!

Cassie stops and looks at herself in the mirror. She looks even more exquisite than in the newspaper photograph but she focuses on a single strand of hair out of place and sighs with annoyance. In the mirror behind Cassie approaches a well-dressed, handsome man who looks to be a decade her elder. He’s immaculately groomed but nothing could hide the look of dire concern etched across his face; it makes him look even older. When he speaks, he does so in Spanish but I understand every word.

“My love, must you make so many public appearances?” he asks with concerned desperation in his voice. “I know you’re not accustomed to life in the spotlight – to being royalty – but our kind has never faced greater danger than we do now. The brother of our king – God rest his soul – is the only one to survive being attacked by the assassins and every guard assigned to him wasn’t so lucky. If it wasn’t for those heroic women interceding – ”

“Yes, if it wasn’t for those
women
,” Cassie interrupts, her face skewing in disgust at the very thought, “
we
would be next in line for the throne. And who knows? The killers just might find more success the next time and follow through with killing him.”

Count Cristiano looks appalled by the hope in Cassie’s voice. He grabs her by the wrist and spins her around to face him. He becomes irate, his face red, just inches in front of Cassie – he doesn’t look nearly so handsome anymore. The man has a firm grip but it’s nothing compared to the strength I know Cassie possesses. She could break the Count’s arm before he knows it – I feel that she’s angry enough to snap at any second – but she shows restraint and merely stands still, letting her husband seethe.

“It almost sounds like you
want
the killers to succeed,” he growls.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Countess Isabella says.

“If you keep insisting on making public appearances and giving interviews antagonizing the assassins, they might make certain that
you’re
their next target,” the count warns.

I feel Cassie laughing on the inside though she fights the urge to do so in her husband’s face. There’s movement from just down the hallway and the anger on Count Cristiano’s face quickly turns to fear. But when husband and wife turn to look, they see it’s only a large young guard, who glares at the Count.

“Countess, is everything okay?” the guard asks, looking at the Count’s vice-like grip on Cassie’s wrist.

“How
dare
you interrupt while I’m talking to my wife,” Count Cristiano snaps.

But the young guard does not back down from the powerful count and turns his attention to Cassie, who smiles at him in response. It never ceases to amaze me how some men will put themselves in foolish situations for a woman with a pretty face (despite how black her heart might be). Cassie could subdue the Count
and
the guard without batting an eyelash but she revels in the attention from the young man; I can’t help but wonder if this was once how John acted around her.

Ponce de Leon
, Cassie suddenly thinks, a thought in her mind I can read crystal clear. She’s confused to think about him at this moment but quickly pushes away the thought.

“We’re okay, thank you, guard,” she says, promptly dismissing him.

The young man nods and walks away, at which time Cassie easily pulls herself free of Cristiano’s grip. The count appears surprised but does not try to grab her again.

“To worry is to admit fear,” Cassie tells her husband. “I know you’re nervous but now is
not
the time to be cowardly and hide away. Someone has to step forward for the people, become the face of the Spanish monarchy before the government decides to bring an end to having a king or queen. If we show bravery now in the face of crisis, the people will revere us and demand we take the throne. This is our moment,
your
moment to be king.”

Count Cristiano steps forward again but this time lacks his previous anger. He takes Cassie gently by the hand and leads her into the closest room. Once alone, he forces Cassie against a wall. Her revulsion is so obvious that I don’t need to be inside her head to sense it. Still, Cristiano must either be incredibly dense or not care that his wife recoils by his touch.

“Maybe if we finally started a family we’d be the ideal candidates, give the country a future prince or princess,” the Count says.

“Kids? Ugh,” Cassie says, though she doesn’t mention that the most sickening part of making children would be doing so with him. I’ll never understand how a husband couldn’t realize that his wife hates him. “Children will come later. For now, we must focus on raising our profile in the public; we don’t want people thinking of you as the carefree bachelor if you want them to think you kingly.”

“Exactly the reason for kids, or at least the fun of trying to make them,” he says, forcing himself onto her.

Cassie whispers for him to back off but he doesn’t listen. The feel of his breath against her neck sends a chill through Cassie, but not the same sort of chill I feel whenever John nuzzles his mouth against
my
neck.

Ponce de Leon, why am I thinking of him?
Cassie wonders. The thought sends a burst of rage through her and she can contain this anger no longer. She suddenly grabs Count Cristiano by his shirt and lifts him up, his feet dangling nearly two feet off the ground. Needless to say, his eyes go wide with shock.

“I told you to
get off of me
,” Cassie says, her voice eerily calm.

She tosses Count Cristiano a few feet back. He stumbles as his feet hit the floor but he manages not to fall.

“You aren’t the same woman I married,” the count says, his voice quivering.

Cassie shrugs. When she responds, her voice
sounds
sweet but not even Cristiano is obtuse enough to miss the veiled threat.

“You wouldn’t
possibly
be foolish enough to try leaving me, would you?”

The Count glares at her but doesn’t have a chance to answer when there’s a knock at the door. Instead, he turns his fury at the unknown knocker.

“Go away!” he yells angrily, spittle flying from his mouth as his face turns bright red. I have no doubt that he wishes he could be yelling this at Cassie.

“I must speak with the Countess,” a female voice calls out.

Count Cristiano storms toward the door, which he throws open. I can only see the shadow of a woman standing in the hallway.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” the count screams. “How dare you disobey me! Do you know what I can have done to you for – ”