Alexei couldn’t care less. He never takes his gaze off her as he tells me, “Gracie, come over here and get behind me. Now.”
“Don’t be silly, young man. I’ve come a long way to see Grace. Now, who is going to take me to Jamie?”
On our way through the woods, we climb down steep ravines and over muddy trails, but the prime minister doesn’t complain. Neither does she try to talk to Alexei. He keeps his head down, leading the way, almost like he’s trying to outrun something that he can neither see nor name. But I know better. There are some ghosts that live inside us, and we can never lose them, no matter how far we run.
When we come around the edge of the cabin, I hear the cocking of a gun. I don’t bother to turn, but I can see Jamie out of the corner of my eye. The shotgun is heavy, I know, but he’s found an untapped reservoir of strength somewhere and both barrels are steady as they stay trained on the prime minister.
“What are you doing here?” Jamie practically growls.
“Hello, James,” the PM says, then slides her gaze to me. “My, what a family resemblance.”
“Stop!” Alexei yells, spinning on her. “Stop your lying. Stop … Go away. Go back.”
“Alexei,” she starts, but then seems to realize he’s not her ally here. She has no allies. No friends. But she still has a mission, and when the woman speaks again, she very much resembles the most powerful woman in Adria. “Gentlemen, I need a word with Grace. Alone.”
“I don’t know how you found us, but we’re not—”
“It’s okay,” I say, cutting Jamie off. It’s not that I trust her. It’s that, so far, there are no black helicopters on the horizon, no SWAT teams bursting through the trees. If the prime minister wanted us dead, we would be, and all of us know it. She certainly wouldn’t have come herself and risked getting blood all over her pretty white suit.
“I’m fine,” I tell the boys. They don’t try to stop me as I lead the PM into the cabin.
It’s dusty and dim inside. Three rooms with a roof and a generator and a well for running water. It’s not much else, but it’s home. For now. I try to put on my best Ms. Chancellor smile. I ask myself, What would Noah do?
“Would you care for some tea?” I ask, and the PM smiles.
“That would be lovely.”
I can hear Jamie and Alexei pacing across the porch while I boil the water and steep the leaves.
They might be outside, but the door is open, so the PM doesn’t say a word. I learned a long time ago not to ask questions that no one is going to answer, so I don’t ask again why she’s here. I don’t demand details about who’s been trying to kill us. Or why.
“It’s not that good, but it’s hot,” I say as I hand the prime minister one of the mismatched cups.
“Lovely. Perhaps we can enjoy it outside?”
When we step onto the porch, my brother and Alexei glare at us, but neither says a thing as the prime minister of Adria and I wrap our hands around our steaming mugs and walk toward the trees.
The sun is higher now, but it still doesn’t burn through the fog or lighten the gray. Inside the cover of the trees it might be dawn or dusk or the middle of the day. It doesn’t matter. The clock is the same in any case, and it simply reads, Time’s up.
We walk in silence. Whatever brought the most powerful woman in Adria to the other side of the world, she isn’t in a hurry to share.
Overhead, birds squawk. If the fog would clear, we might see whales breaching in the rough waters in the distance. But we stay shrouded in our cloud cocoon.
“I’ve not seen this part of America before.” The prime minister brings the hot tea to her lips and takes a sip, careful to avoid the chipped section of the old cup.
“Few people have,” I say. “That’s kind of why we chose it. You didn’t tell me how you found us.”
“You’re right—I didn’t.” She takes another sip of tea. “You can’t run forever, Grace.”
I stop. I grin. “Watch me.” The words are like a dare.
“Your brother doesn’t look well. Is he receiving medical care?”
It’s my soft spot, and she knows it, so I snap back defensively, “Jamie is fine.”
She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a thing.
“Do they …” I start but falter. “Does the royal family know where we are?”
“I am not certain.” Her words are clipped, measured. There’s something she’s being very careful not to say.
“It is the royal family, isn’t it?” I ask. “I mean, my brother is supposed to be king. He is Adria’s rightful king. Why else would someone want to kill him? So it has to be them. Is it them?”
The words are desperate, but I can’t help it. I need a face for the threat in the dark. I need her to tell me that I’m right. Because I don’t know how many more times I can survive being wrong.
“There is much we do not know. Yet.”
“Yes or no?” I snap. “Is the royal family of Adria trying to kill me?”
The PM carefully considers her answer. “Probably.”
It’s all the verification I need. The truth hurts, when I let myself remember. Better to keep it like a thorn pressing against my skin, never quite piercing through.
“I met the king once,” I tell her. “He was nice. But that was before he needed my brother dead.”