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I take a seat on the bench across from him. I wonder if something has gone terribly wrong at home while he’s been here for the wedding.
“What is it? I ask. Vincent looks like he wants to murder someone, perhaps several someone’s in extremely brutal ways. This can’t be good, at all.
“I found out who the queen was meeting.” Vincent says, and his tone does nothing to alleviate my concerns. Obviously, whatever he found out is bad for him, or us.
“You did?” I ask quietly. I sense that if I push too quickly Vincent will explode, and I don’t need a fight—I need information. It’s clear from Vincent’s expression Ileana wasn’t choosing a surprise wedding present for the three of us. I wait patiently for Vincent to continue, although I’m starting to understand his desire to throttle people for information.
“Do you know a man named Alex Richter?” he asks.
Alex Richter, oh this is bad, very bad. I weigh my options. I debate telling Vincent that I only know Richter by reputation, but I think he’ll suspect I’m lying and I would be. I have made use of Richter before. I decide against deception. If this is to be a true alliance I have to trust Vincent, and clearly he trusts me or we wouldn’t be having this discussion at all.
“I know Richter,” I say simply.
“Then you know what he does.” Vincent nods in confirmation. “Ileana met with him in her private office today.”
“Well, we’ve got to find out why Ileana is seeing him. Find out who her target it is.” I say.
“I know that,” Vincent says, looking down, his voice heavy.
“You do?”
“I saw them together before they saw me. I doubled back and was able to reach her office first. I hid in the closet and heard everything,” Vincent says.
I’m actually impressed with Vincent’s restraint. I know he probably wanted to beat the answers out of them, but Vincent still hasn’t told me who the target is and I’m starting to suspect. I feel dread and anger starting to claw its way through my blood.
“Who’s the target?” I ask, but I know the answer as soon as Vincent looks at me.
“You,” he says.
I take a deep breath. This wouldn’t be the first attempt on my life, but it is the first to come from so close to home. I spare a second to wonder if Vincent could be involved. I dismiss the thought immediately. For all his faults I know that if Vincent wanted to kill me, he would give the respect of doing it himself, and he would have tried a long time ago.
“I’ll kill her,” I say, getting up from the bench, “and I won’t need Richter to do it for me.“
“Nathan,” Vincent says sharply, rising to stand in front of me. He places a hand in the middle of my chest. It’s oddly comforting. “You can’t do that.”
I would comment on the irony of Vincent counseling caution, but I’m too pissed off. I want to wrap my hands around Ileana’s throat and watch the life leave her wicked eyes.
“There’s more,” Vincent says.
“More?” I force my emotions to calm. I need to be able to think, to plan, because someone is going to die and it most certainly isn’t going to be me.
“She told Richter she wants it to look like a murder,” he says.
“A murder?” I say.
“Yes and I’ll-” Vincent starts.
“Be blamed.” I finish his sentence. I begin to see the evil brilliance of her plan. It’s genius. I should have seen it from the start. I should have known that Ileana would try to seize power. “With me dead, and you to be executed, Isadora would be in control of the entire region.”
Vincent nods in agreement.
“But,” I continue, “she doesn’t want Isadora to rule, does she?”
“She doesn’t think Isadora can,” Vincent says.
“But we both know better,” I say. “Isadora won’t give up control. If Ileana thinks she will, she’s underestimating her.”
“Indeed, she is,” Vincent agrees.
“What do you think she’ll do to her?” I know the answer, but I ask anyway.
“She’ll kill her, probably have Richter make it look like a suicide,” Vincent says.
Sometimes there’s something to be said for directness, I suppose.
“We’re not going to let that happen.”
“Of course not,” Vincent says.
“We need to plan,” I say, “but first we need to tell Isadora everything.”
“Tell Isadora?”
I can tell from Vincent’s tone that he doesn’t like the idea. I can’t believe that for once I’m the one who wants to be direct; perhaps Vincent is influencing me as much as I’m influencing him.
“You know as well as I do that protecting her will be a thousand times more difficult if she doesn’t know what’s happening,” I say.
“I know, “ he agrees, “but-”
“I don’t want to hurt her either, but we have to tell her.”
Vincent and I are so deeply engaged in our discussion that neither of us hear the lock click.
