A King’s Crusade Read online

  A King’s Crusade

  The Royals Book Seven

  Danielle Bourdon

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by Danielle Bourdon

  Published by Wildbloom Press

  Copyright © 2016

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  For the fans

  Without you, this book would not have been written

  Thank you for your years of love and support

  Chapter One

  A Desolate Winter

  “It won’t start. We’re stranded,” Gunnar said through chattering teeth.

  “Try again.” Sander glanced up from the list of supplies attached to his clipboard. To his right sat a large military convoy vehicle, the kind with a tarpaulin-covered bed used to transport firearms, personnel or, in their case, foodstuffs. He met his youngest brother’s eyes; Gunnar looked miserable, cold.

  “We did. Six, seven, eight times now. It needs a garage and the right tools. Tools we don’t have out here,” Gunnar said, gesturing to the barren winter landscape. White stretched as far as the eye could see. Flurries swirled faster, growing thicker, threatening to become something more than a mild snowstorm.

  Sander stood with his back to the howling wind, ignoring the chill creeping under the edges of his white and gray camouflage clothing. He didn’t think he could get any colder than he already was. “What does Leander say?”

  Leander slammed the hood of the truck shut with enough force to blow a thick layer of snow off the wheel wells. He leaned around the vehicle, met Sander’s eyes, and said, “Gunnar’s right. We’re not going anywhere. The whole engine is seized, rendering this beast all but useless.”

  Leander had been a friend for more years than Sander could count. If Leander couldn’t fix the truck under these conditions, no one could. Opening the back passenger door, Sander tossed the clipboard onto the seat and tucked the pen into his pocket. He raised his voice to be heard above the wind. “We’ll have to set up camp right here and see if we can raise someone on the satellite phone in the morning.”

  “It looks like another storm is coming in. If it turns into a blizzard like the last two, it’ll be too risky to stay exposed overnight,” Leander said. “We’re going to have to walk back to the last farmer’s house and take shelter there until it passes.”

  “We can’t abandon the truck. I counted at least two weeks’ worth of supplies in the back. I’m not leaving it here to rot when there are people starving a few miles up the road,” Sander said.

  In the beginning, their group had started out with three trucks and eighteen men. The first truck to go down had slipped off the road and had become wedged in a ditch. All attempts to pull the truck free had failed. The second vehicle, carrying supplies and personnel from the first, lost a tire and, subsequently, the two extra spares. After replacing the tire with one of their own spares, Sander had been forced to send more than half his team back to the nearest small town to wait out the storm. They’d sent a good deal of supplies with the men in hopes the food would last long enough to stave off starvation.

  That was what this whole mission was about: saving as many people as they possibly could. Hundreds, if not thousands, of Latvala citizens had already perished in the brutal winter. Sander didn’t want to lose more. The unprecedented blizzards had stacked one upon the other, turning the entire region into a frozen mass that was nearly impossible to navigate. Sander and his men had departed weeks ago from the coast to deliver foodstuffs to starving, snowbound residents.

  Now their last vehicle had broken down in the hinterlands, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere. Even the smallest villages were miles and miles from where they currently stood. Out here lived rural farmers and other citizens who preferred a more solitary existence. Each and every life was important to Sander, important enough to risk sleeping in the open if it meant they could continue. Haunted by the thought of children crying to their parents for food, by images of emaciated, skeletal families on the verge of death, he pressed ever onward.

  “We’ve got maybe an hour until nightfall,” Mattias said, appearing at Sander’s side. The fifth in line to the throne and Sander’s middle brother, Mattias Ahtissari had worked as tirelessly as everyone else to save lives. “The temperature has already dropped into the single digits. I’m guessing we’ll hit subzero levels before midnight. Forget trying to wander off and find the farmer. We need to activate the emergency beacon and take shelter here until a rescue helicopter arrives.”

  “Not yet.” Sander shook his head. “We’ve still got three hundred pounds of beans, rice and—”

  “None of which will do any good if we’re not alive to deliver it,” Mattias said, dark eyes serious and sober. He clamped a hand on Sander’s shoulder. “We’ve done what we can, brother. We’ve saved those we can save. It’s time to go home.”

  “No.” Sander turned glaring into the sideways-blowing snow. Why wouldn’t it stop? What was wrong with the world that the weather had taken such a drastic turn? He’d known before setting out that the winter would be a bad one—but this? This was beyond anything Latvala had ever experienced, beyond anyone’s imagination. He didn’t know if neighboring countries were still sending aid or if the Latvala coastline and Pallan Island had been closed off to outside help. It was possible that the entire region and all the countries in it were suffering the same fate.

  A shudder shook his spine. His pregnant wife was still on the island, running day-to-day operations in his absence. Holed up in Kallaster Castle was undoubtedly a better place to be than out here exposed to the elements.

  Still.

  At some point, the food would run out. If deliveries hadn’t gotten through, if the weather hadn’t permitted air drops or shipments or overland trucks, the reserves would only feed a castle full of people for so long.

  Movement near the back of the truck drew his gaze. Four guards dressed similarly in white and gray camouflage took up new positions flanking the vehicle, men chosen for their trustworthiness and loyalty to the king. Although the weather approached whiteout conditions, the guards remained alert and attentive to the surroundings. Sander reminded himself that he had a duty to these men, too, as well as his brothers and Leander. For their selfless sacrifices, he couldn’t make decisions that would put their lives in peril.

  “I know it’s hard,” Mattias said, stepping into view. “I know you want to press on, to spread the food as far and wide as you can. But we have to be careful that we don’t endanger the lives of those around us. These men will follow you until they drop. It’s up to you, and only you, to call a halt to the mission.”

  Sander knew Mattias was right. He knew they were at the end of their pro
verbial road, that the storm could turn into another blizzard that might last days instead of hours. Even now he couldn’t see more than fifty yards in any direction, as if a great white blanket was slowly being pressed closer and closer around them.

  Soon, Sander knew, he wouldn’t be able to see his own hand in front of his face.

  He loathed giving up. Giving in.

  “All right. Activate the emergency beacon. But we’re going to light the flares along that low ridge before we leave in the morning—if the storm passes quickly—so that anyone who comes looking will find the food.” After a moment, he added, “We’ll take shelter inside the truck instead of erecting the tents. We’ll be safer, warmer, even if we can’t stretch out.”

  Mattias squinted against a fresh gust of wind and snow, and nodded. “I’ll tell the others while Leander activates the beacon. You should get inside. Your nose looks like it’s seconds away from frostbite.”

  Sander couldn’t disagree. He’d lost all feeling in his nose and chin hours ago.

  Hauling himself into the backseat after moving the clipboard, he shed his damp coat in favor of a dry one. They had packed extra clothing under the cushions for emergencies, knowing in advance what kind of hazards they would be facing in the back country.

  An eerie silence existed inside the cabin, the kind of silence that seemed out of place with a violent storm whipping up beyond the windows. Sander huddled into the snow jacket and stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets, desperate for extra warmth. He watched Mattias send the guards into the rear of the truck to sit with the supplies; at least the men would be able to stretch their legs. Thick canvas covered the entire back of the vehicle, providing adequate protection from the wind and cold.

  Changing his mind, Sander withdrew his hands and pulled the damp gloves from his fingers. He created a cup-shaped barrier in front of his face and blew warm air into his palms so it bounced back against his frigid skin. It stung his cheeks and chin. Nothing happened with his nose—no sensation, no sting—and if he didn’t know better, he would have sworn his sniffer had fallen off some time ago.

  Mattias trudged past the window with Gunnar at his side. Leander brought up the rear, carrying a small black box tucked under his arm. Sander tracked the group with his eyes until the trio stopped near the hood of the vehicle and all stared down at the beacon Leander shifted into his hands. Undoubtedly, they were activating the device so that rescuers could find them once weather conditions improved. It was a crude method of communication, but effective when everything else failed.

  Disgusted with the situation and distressed that the remaining food wouldn’t make it to the next house, Sander yanked the hood of the coat down and raked his hands through his hair. Catching a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror, he discovered a gaunt looking man with bright red cheeks, a purplish-red nose and whiskers that had grown into a somewhat scraggly beard. His eyes looked as jaded as he felt, the vivid blue worn down to a dull color that reminded him of washed-out denim.

  The weeks of struggle had taken more of a toll than he realized. Sander estimated that he’d lost twenty pounds or so, judging by the loose fit of his pants. He’d simply applied a belt and tightened accordingly along the way. No amount of goading or cajoling had prompted him to double his rations. He had his share—no more, no less.

  Once, when he’d caught Leander sneakily adding dried beef to his portion, Sander firmly placed the exact amount back on Leander’s plate. A heated debate had ensued over the willful giving of food versus the stern decline of special treatment. Arguments of you’re the king, it’s my job to protect you had fallen on deaf ears. If nothing else, the two of them had generated enough adrenaline to warm their bodies through and through. And that was much appreciated—if silently—in the aftermath.

  Finding a new pair of dry gloves under the seat, Sander slid them on over his tingling fingers. Although the interior of the truck blocked the wind, it was colder inside than he’d expected it to be. He reached down between his snow-caked boots to pull a few Mylar survival blankets free and set them on the seat, ready to be used once they were settled for the night.

  Sander glanced out the window, wondering what was taking Mattias, Gunnar, and Leander so long. All they had to do was flip one switch. Yet the three men were huddled together, heads bent, as if stymied by what to do next.

  “Maybe I should get out and see if I can help.” Silencing his grumpy muttering, Sander slouched in the seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Five minutes later, the men still hadn’t returned to the vehicle.

  “What the hell?” Sander couldn’t fathom what the problem might be. The snow fell faster, reducing visibility to less than ten feet. He could barely see past the hood, barely make out the shapes of his brothers and Leander. Just when he reached for the door handle, prepared to get out and hurry the process along, the men appeared past the windows and climbed inside. Leander sat behind the wheel, Mattias in the front passenger’s seat, and Gunnar in the back with him. Once the doors were closed, a heavy silence fell over the cabin.

  Leander shoved his hood back and tossed the black box onto the dashboard.

  Mattias twisted around in his seat and met Sander’s eyes.

  Sander knew before Mattias said a thing that something was wrong with the beacon.

  “We can’t get the box to work. The signal won’t activate. We tried everything,” Mattias said.

  “Someone must have dropped it or jarred the wires loose,” Gunnar added. He unzipped his coat with a frustrated yank. “Or it was faulty from the beginning.”

  “I tested all three beacons before we departed weeks ago,” Leander said. “The last one that we left with the other crew worked fine. Maybe it’s too damned cold. Maybe the entire unit froze up, even though these things are supposed to be made for extreme conditions.” Wearing a disgusted expression, Leander stripped the jacket from his shoulders. Ice pellets tick-ticked off the dash and the seats.

  “We’ll try again in the morning.” Sander knew the device was out of order for good. If it didn’t work now, it wouldn’t work tomorrow. The silence that met his reply proved the other men knew it, too. The satellite phone hadn’t been able to pick up a signal in days, and it wouldn’t pick up one now with a blizzard blowing in.

  “Here. I got the thermal blankets out,” Sander said. “We’ll probably need them tonight.”

  “Thanks. I sweated so much working on the engine that I feel like I’ve got a sheet of ice for skin under all these clothes,” Leander said, reaching back for a fresh jacket and one of the Mylar squares.

  Sander helped the men get organized. Once everyone had shed wet for dry, he passed around a canteen of water and slouched against the door. While his body demanded rest, his mind ran a hundred miles an hour. He couldn’t shut down his thoughts.

  If Leander couldn’t summon an emergency extraction team, they would have to set out on foot and hope the weather would clear long enough to find the next homestead. Cell phones couldn’t get signals this far out in the hinterlands, and with power outages reported long before their departure, Sander held little hope he and his team would find a working landline.

  It might be days—weeks—before they made contact with the military or their loved ones, a thought that didn’t please him at all. He needed updates on his children and Chey, needed to reassure himself that they were okay. Kallaster Castle had been well stocked with supplies when he left, but that didn’t mean the occupants weren’t suffering ill consequences from the weather.

  Sander caught Leander’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He’d known Leander long enough to translate their silent exchange: We may be in trouble, but we’ll find a way out. We always do.

  * * *

  . . .

  * * *

  “I can’t be sure, Chey, but I think someone’s stealing food,” Wynn whispered.

  “What? Why would someone steal food? I thought the rationing was going well.” Chey paused halfway up the stairs to the sec
ond floor. She glanced ahead and behind to make sure no one was eavesdropping on the conversation. Then she directed all her attention to Wynn, best friend extraordinaire. A short bob of dark hair framed Wynn’s face, accentuating the concern in her expressive eyes.

  “It is. I mean, the rationing is going as well as can be expected considering the extra people that arrived last week. But this morning when I went into the storeroom, I noticed that someone had rearranged all the bags of beans, rice, and flour. They weren’t in their usual rows. I’m having one of the kitchen aides put everything back like it was, then I plan to do a recount. It seems—and maybe it’s because the bags are out of place—like some are missing.” Wynn chewed her lip and tucked a length of dark hair behind an ear.

  “I really hope that’s not the case.” Chey leaned against the banister and ran a palm distractedly over the swell of her stomach. She wasn’t so far along in her pregnancy that stairs were a problem, but a persistent twinge encouraged her to take a few seconds to rest. “We haven’t put a watch on the storeroom because I didn’t think we needed it. If your counts come back short, then we’ll have to start guarding the food.”

  “It might be best. Maybe even if the count comes back okay. I think it’s time we started looking ahead a few weeks. We had enough food for the original amount of people in the castle, but we’ve taken on two boatloads of citizens from the mainland and that’s an extra hundred and sixty-five mouths we didn’t expect to feed. Every day we think the weather will change, that spring will finally arrive and the ice will melt. We need to prepare in case we get more snow instead of less. There’s another storm brewing and it looks like it might be as bad—or worse—than the last.” The corner of Wynn’s mouth quirked after she delivered the news, as if she loathed passing on the information.

  Chey glanced down at the foyer on the main level, toward the tall windows flanking the heavy doorway. She couldn’t see much past the panes from this angle, only the same white glow that had been there for the past several months. No less than five feet of snow had accumulated just outside the castle doors from the constant shoveling to keep the pathway clear. She didn’t know if the castle could handle another severe storm. Not the castle itself, but the people trapped within. Several fights had broken out among the citizens who had arrived without notice, refugees who had risked life and limb to cross a volatile—if small—stretch of ocean to the island. In whiteout conditions, all manner of travel had become hazardous. As queen of Latvala and Sander’s wife, Chey simply could not turn them away. Kallaster Castle had the best means to house and protect those seeking shelter, so she’d absorbed the new additions with as much aplomb as possible.