Wicked Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  Amethyst folded her arms and glanced around the courtyard, but no one else wandered in the night. Not even an animal rattled the vegetation.

  “I took Randolph and fled,” Clara continued. “I could not allow such to befall a babe. I went into hiding, and eventually I turned him over to an orphanage. I claimed poverty and called him my dead sister’s son. They wouldn’t force me to keep him then. I visited him, though, and seven other boys to keep my trail clear.”

  Hadn’t the fortuneteller—Randolph—claimed to have gotten to the orphanage himself? Amethyst rubbed the corner of her forehead. What exactly had he said? “Why did he want me to find you?”

  Clara parted her lips, but no sound emerged.

  “Miss Larkin?” Titles won more favors.

  The ghost shook her head. “Leave it be, Amethyst. The past will remain as such. He should have never given you my name.”

  “But he did. I owe him a debt…” Talking to Clara Larkin fulfilled that debt. If she didn’t want to tell Amethyst anything, so be it. She’d completed her half of the bargain. “Good luck to you then, Miss Larkin.” If ghosts needed luck.

  “He wants you to save his sister,” Clara said.

  Bloody gears. “Where is his sister? Is she the other baby?”

  “Yes. I didn’t get her, only Randolph. I would never tell him about his twin, but he foresaw her in visions. He knew she suffered.”

  Clara Larkin had left a baby girl to suffer. Not a baby any longer, but a teenager, like Randolph. “Well then, where is she? I’ll get her out.”

  Clara Larkin turned her head toward the moon that showed through the clouds above. “Let her live alone, Amethyst. He had a vision that if the twins were together, the government would crumble.”

  “Bah. What a stupid fortune.” Amethyst stepped toward her before she remembered she couldn’t shake the truth from a ghost. “We can’t just leave her.”

  “The government would crumble,” Clara Larkin shrilled, “and Clark Treasure would reign.”

  Like a whisper of wind, the ghost vanished, stirring the bush nearest her spot.

  “Bloody gears,” Amethyst whispered.

  “What?” Clark pulled Amethyst into the hallway and pulled the door closed enough to block their voices from disturbing Jolene.

  “She said you would rule the country,” Amethyst hissed.

  Clark blinked at her, a tiny grin in one corner of his mouth.

  She slapped his arm. “If we can reunite the fortuneteller with his sister, you can be king.”

  “Sweetheart, am I going to be king or president?”

  Was he joshing her? “Don’t make fun of me! That’s what Clara Larkin said. Don’t you want to rule?” Her husband could be king, or president, or whatever title he chose.

  Clark stroked her lower lip with his thumb. “Am, there’s more to me ruling than just finding a lost twin. We don’t know the rest of it.”

  “But Randolph was right about locating Jolene.”

  “Randolph.”

  “The fortuneteller!” Amethyst stomped her foot, but the slipper muffled the noise against the wooden hallway floor.

  Quick footsteps sounded on the stairs and she glared over her shoulder at whoever happened by and disrupt the conversation.

  Zachariah. Perfect.

  Zachariah knew it would be a marvelous conversation as soon as he spotted his sister’s scowl. His heart beat against his ribs as he jogged, but he kept the steam weapon against his shoulder, muzzle facing upward, as the army drill-practice had taught him.

  “I did it,” he panted.

  “Congratulations,” Amethyst snarled.

  Clark rested his hand on her shoulder as if afraid she’d leap at Zachariah. “What did you do?”

  “I caught the gator. It was an alligator. What a huge beast.” Zachariah attempted to show the size by holding out one hand and comparing the length to his other hand, held close to his body to support the gun’s barrel. “They called me a hero!”

  “You killed an innocent animal. What a hero.” Amethyst wrinkled her nose.

  “No, you don’t understand. It was attacking this man and I shot it. I saved him.” Their wide eyes and gaping jaws lingered in Zachariah’s mind. He was their hero.

  “Good job,” Clark said. Just those two words sent Zachariah’s mind whirling. He had done a good job.

  “Did you get us in to see the prince?” Amethyst smirked.

  Dang it all. “No.” Zachariah fought to keep smiling so she wouldn’t see him deflate.

  “Then let me know when you accomplish your mission.” Amethyst shoved open the door to their bedroom and flounced inside.

  Clark held out his hand for a shake, and Zachariah blinked to hide his disappointment as he accepted.

  “Good job,” Clark repeated.

  Zachariah glared into his coffee mug while Amethyst prattled about the fashions of the south. It might make them look nonchalant, sitting in the café attached to the hotel, but lace on dresses didn’t hold a candle to saving a man’s life from an alligator.

  Alyssa leaned over to close her hand around his where he gripped the ceramic mug. “I’m proud of you, Zach.”

  How nice. That didn’t mean his sister was.

  “Thanks.” He took a drink, mumbling the word into the rich liquid.

  The door to the café, leading to the street, opened to a man in a red jacket with polished brass buttons. A crisp seam had been starched into his linen slacks.

  “What a dapper outfit,” Amethyst said, a bit too loud in Zachariah’s opinion.

  The man removed his black hat and laid the brim against his belly as he studied the crowd, his gaze lingering on Zachariah. With a nod, the newcomer headed toward their table by the café’s only window.

  “Brass glass,” Clark muttered. Jeremiah’s words were lost into his fist, whatever they might have been.

  “Hey, stranger.” Amethyst batted her painted eyelashes at the man as he approached them.

  “Which one of you is Johnny Mitchells?”

  None of them.

  Wait, he was Johnny Mitchells in Summerhaven. “Um, me. That’s me, sir.” Zachariah coughed.

  The man extracted a folded paper from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table toward Zachariah. “My master wishes your presence at his plantation for supper tonight. This is in thanks for saving his personal manservant from an alligator last night.”

  By all the steam! Zachariah’s hand trembled as he opened the letter. “Can I, um, bring my family?” It felt natural to ask. They could hear him be praised as a hero, and Amethyst wouldn’t have to complain about Zachariah messing anything up if they were with him.

  “The invitation extends to your immediate family,” the messenger said.

  “Who is your master?” Jeremiah asked just as Zachariah read the signature on his letter.

  His stomach twisted. No…

  “My master is the Prince Dexter.”

  arth studied the daguerreotype of his wife, the brass frame polished and the glass dusted. She smiled at him from the picture, that calm confidence that had enabled him to succeed in the west.

  He lifted his gaze to Eric across the desk. “This is serious.”

  Eric spread his hand over the stack of papers. “I know, but this catalogues the water quality. The facts are plain, Garth.”

  “I’ll take it with me to the president.” Garth pushed back his chair, but paused when Eric opened his mouth.

  Eric closed it, drumming his fingers against the mahogany arms of his chair.

  “What is it?” Garth asked. It didn’t seem fair that their relationship still felt strained when they finally had each other back.

  It didn’t help that Garth looked his age and Eric appeared twenty-three. Had that been his age when he died? Eric could have been mistaken for being one of Garth’s sons.

  “Do you want to come with me?” Garth smiled; his wife would want that camaraderie back. “It’ll be like the old days. You, me, and the country w
aiting to see what we do next.”

  Eric wiped his hand over his mouth. “What do you think about what our kids are doing?”

  For once, Amethyst didn’t decorate the news. The others would keep her grounded, especially Jeremiah, and Jolene would be safe with three men around her, three men who weren’t afraid.

  “They’re doing what they have to,” Garth said. “Just like we did.”

  Clark had seen some fancy places in his years, and he had to admit even to himself he was still a young’un. He’d worked at ranches with five stables just for race horses – the Treasure Ranch ranked up there with the fanciest —and he had a mansion that had belonged to his father. Clark had been across the country, and the strength of New Addison had made his head whirl with gilded statues.

  He hadn’t expected the prince’s plantation to be Heaven. The wrought iron gates opened on soundless hinges to reveal a paved road lined with yellow tulips. Beyond the tulips stood bushes trimmed to appear as animals, with ropes of pears and bells hung over the vegetation, chiming when the wind blew. Parts of the statues moved with clockwork bits so that the animals seemed to face the steamcoach as they passed through.

  “Remarkable,” Zachariah said. “I’ve never witnessed something like that.”

  “We need those,” Amethyst whispered.

  A trimmed yard stretched along the gate, more tulips lining that passage to the outside world. A palace of white stones rose up at the end of the road, nestled amongst poplars and flowering cherry trees. The roof sparkled as if it had been inlaid with diamonds.

  The driver stopped outside the wide veranda and a ramp extended from where the steps would have been to lay against the pavement.

  “This shall be fun.” Amethyst reached across the space to squeeze Clark’s hand and he lifted her knuckles to his lips.

  Jolene made a sleepy sound, but nestled fiercer into Zachariah’s arms. They’d decided it would be the safest if Zachariah held her.

  Amethyst needed to make her grand, socialite entrance, and a baby would subtract from that.

  If the prince did want Jolene —Clark ground his teeth —then he’d never think of it as Zachariah’s motherless baby. Jolene with Clark and Amethyst, maybe. Unknown baby with hero Zachariah, never.

  The driver opened the door and Clark stepped out. From somewhere on the porch, a recording of a fanfare played, the music skipping, but only slightly. Jeremiah whistled as he jumped out next. Clark lifted his hand for Amethyst, and her fingers trembled, but only until she tightened them around his.

  “How horrendous here, wouldn’t you say?” Amethyst flicked her feather fan open to stifle a yawn, but kept it low enough for the servants lined up along the porch to see. “This is a plantation? Where are the shops? It is hideously boring here.”

  Clark eyed the servants, each man dressed in a blue satin suit. A few winced at Amethyst’s ringing comment, but the others remained stoic.

  No one appeared edgy or bored, the first signs of disgruntled employees. They stood straight, with shoulders back and chin lifted, as if they cared about their jobs.

  A woman in a dress the same shade of pale blue strolled down the ramp to meet them, white lace gloves upon her spread hands. “Welcome to the Blooming Flower Plantation. Which one of you is Johnny Mitchells?” Her painted smile appeared genuine, and the only thing about her painted. The warmth of a suntan touched her gaping neckline and cheeks. Amethyst, on the other hand, had painted her skin with white powder, and Clark had helped her on the back of her neck and the part of her spine showing at the back of her dress.

  Zachariah stepped forward with a sharp nod of his head. “I’m Johnny Mitchells, ma’am.” Jolene wiggled in his arms when he moved, and Clark fought back the urge to grab his daughter.

  “And your guests?” She continued to smile, wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

  “Um, yes.” Zachariah coughed, his gaze on the ramp.

  “Please come this way.” She swept her hand toward the building. “A spot of tea in the parlor with your host, a tour of the gardens, and then supper. There will be music afterwards. When we visit the garden, the time of day will be perfect, for there are prisms to reflect the light.”

  Zachariah nodded. He needed to say something. He didn’t make a move toward the woman, only clutched Jolene tighter.

  Clark stepped forward and bowed. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Zachariah coughed.

  Amethyst brushed past them, her yellow skirt sweeping the ground like a broom. “Please show us the way. This heat is dreadful. You’ve been to New Addison City, haven’t you? How I miss those cool breezes!”

  The woman frowned before she touched her corseted bodice, as if seeking something to do. “Yes, it is hot. This way.”

  Clockwork fans rattled from the ceiling of the hallway. Prisms hung from the centers, rainbows dancing across the white walls. The breeze drove away the humid heat; Clark tugged at his black cravat to allow some of the air against his perspiring neck.

  The woman led them past a room with an open door, revealing a patio with open windows and white lace curtains. A Bromi man polished a piano.

  Clark found his steps had slowed. The president needed to make Bromi slaves illegal. Even those who paid their Bromi servants gave them less than what livestock earned. The food was usually the worst scarps, the shelter leaking and drafty. He clenched his jaw and strode on, resting his gloved fingers against the small of his wife’s back. She never turned her head, her painted lips pursed.

  Jeremiah and Alyssa ogled like Clark. Fake crystals formed the door handles, and flowered wreaths decorated each of those doors. Floral wallpaper trimmed the tops of the walls beside the ceiling.

  The group turned the corner, and the woman opened two mahogany double doors into a large parlor, with sheer gold curtains and throne chairs.

  “This décor is breathtaking,” Alyssa whispered.

  The woman nodded. “Much of this came from the palaces before they were… converted.”

  “What happened to the palaces?” Clark had never considered their fate before. The country lost a king and gained a president, and the rest had seemed minute. Life involved food, shelter, and fighting, not architecture.

  “Many of them were converted into cathedrals.” She seemed to recite, her words emotionless. “A few were torn down. The queen and prince saved as much as they could to create their own haven.”

  High backed chairs with claw feet ringed a table with an oil lamp as tall as Amethyst. Zachariah dropped into one of the seats and bounced Jolene on his knee until she giggled and leaned back against his chest. Clark slid into one of the chairs beside his brother-in-law so he could watch Jolene.

  “I will return anon with your hosts.” The woman curtsied before she backed from the room, closing the doors behind her.

  “This room is incredible.” Alyssa lifted one of the curtains. “Oh my, is that the garden? Jere, look at this. So many statues!”

  Amethyst dropped into the seat on Zachariah’s other side. “Too much potpourri. What are they trying to hide?” She reached out to hold Jolene’s hand.

  The mansion felt too warm to belong to kidnappers. Something about it didn’t ring true. Clark stilled his leg when he realized he jiggled it. Instincts kept him alive on the prairie; he couldn’t neglect his feelings.

  The door opened again and a man entered, an elderly woman on his arm. He had to be around thirty, dressed in a brown suit and crimson cravat, a silver pocket watch protruding from his breast pocket. Short black curls around his face, stubble upon his chin and upper lip. Clark scratched at his own chin. Amethyst had insisted he shave clean as was “proper in high society.”

  The man lifted his gaze and grinned. “Welcome to Blossoming Flower.” The tip of his lips wavered and he stiffened. The woman at his side stumbled at his sudden halt.

  “Clark?” The prince rocked back on his heels and whistled. “No. Clark?”

  Clark’s stomach clenched and he stood. I
t couldn’t be… the man he thought of had been on the run with him years ago. “Jas?”

  lark couldn’t be in a Southern plantation owned by the ex-royalty facing down Jas the Black-Hearted. The nickname had been a joke from the gang, thanks to Jas’s black hair, but he’d earned it, too, with his fighting. The slightest look, a scowl, a sneer of the lip, and Jas punched his fist through the man’s face. If it were a woman, he’d bark out a retort that would leave her simpering.

  Jas laughed and clapped his hands. “Clark Treasure. Can’t believe it’s you. What are you doing here? Last I saw you, you were heading off, heard the army was getting too close.”

  Clark swallowed. When had that been? He and Jas had found a ranching job… before that, they’d been gambling, each of them at a different table. Jas could palm cards better than anyone; the gang credited it to his charm. “Jas, no, you’re not the prince.”

  “Do you remember that ranch?” Jas continued. “The fellow who owned it wore all those chains. Those huge, gangling gold chains with all those rubies.”

  And he’d whipped at them if they didn’t do their work perfectly. He would’ve laughed at the chance to turn Clark over for a reward.

  “You two know each other?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Seems a little obvious,” Amethyst snapped.

  The old queen looked from her son to Clark, and blinked. “Jacob?”

  “Mother, this is Clark Treasure! He and I were pals back in Hedlund.”

  Could that be why Jas kidnapped Jolene? He had something against Clark? He grinned to match Jas, adopting the poker face, an old friend without malicious thoughts.

  “Jas!” Clark slapped hands with the prince. “I never would’ve thought you came from the likes of this. What were you doing out there in Hedlund?”

  “Come on, come walk with me and we’ll catch up.” Jas clapped his shoulder and laughed.