Everlasting - Iris Johansen [53]
“Stefan is safe. Which is more than I can say for you. Everyone in the palace must know you've returned by now.”
“Safe? Why shouldn't I be safe? This is all very irregular, Sandor.”
“Revolution has a way of being irregular,” Karpathan said dryly.
“Revol—” Kira's eyes widened in shock. She felt a wave of panic wash over her. “Where is Stefan?”
“That's what we'd like to know,” a deep baritone voice said from behind her. “He's been most elusive, hasn't he, Sandor?”
She turned to face the short, bull-chested man who had entered the library. There was no question of not recognizing him. That strong, deeply grooved face was completely unforgettable. “Naldona!”
He smiled a trifle unpleasantly. “I don't believe we were introduced at that meeting two years ago, but I recognize you as well. Your photograph caused me a good deal of trouble, Your Highness.”
“It merely escalated your plans,” Karpathan said smoothly as he rose to his feet. “It may even have helped your cause by creating a martyr image.”
Marc Naldona strolled forward to stand beside Karpathan. “It's very difficult to remember that, when I recall how uncomfortable I was hiding in the hills those first few weeks.”
“I didn't mean to hurt you,” Kira whispered. “I only wanted to help. I admired you very much, Mr. Naldona.”
“Well, it's fortunate that I'm going to be able to give you the opportunity to make amends.” His smile was hard and slightly menacing, “We're going to make good use of you.”
Kira shivered. The whole episode was wildly unbelievable and everything was topsy-turvy. Nothing was as she had thought it was. Even the two men facing her appeared to have changed places in some subtle manner. Naldona, whom she had only seen in rough work clothes and who had always seemed totally of the earth and the people, was faultlessly dressed in an expensive-looking, dark blue business suit. Karpathan, on the other hand, had shed his fastidious elegance and was dressed with utmost simplicity in black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. It should have detracted from his forceful presence but somehow only served to magnify it. That force was charging the room with electricity at the moment. There was an air of antagonism between the two men that was nearly tangible. She felt as if she had been thrown into a cage with two rogue tigers and couldn't be sure if they were going to rend her or each other.
She lifted her chin. “I object to being used by anyone, Mr. Naldona. I think you'll find it's more bother than it's worth to try to force me to do anything.”
“You're very brave,” Naldona said silkily. “Perhaps you think that because your brother indulged your little pranks, we will do the same? We will use you as we please. I think a princess might do as well as a king under the circumstances, don't you, Sandor?”
“You know what I think,” Karpathan said curtly. “It's the height of madness. You can't get away with that kind of barbarism today. We're not in czarist Russia and she's not a Romanov.”
“But an example is needed to make the world take us seriously.” Naldona's dark eyes were burning feverishly in his hollow-cheeked face.
“That was Idi Amin's philosophy and I can't see that he earned any great amount of respect or admiration,” Karpathan said dryly. “Butchery seldom earns you anything but an eventual one-way ticket out of power.”
Butchery. Romanovs. Kira felt the blood freeze in her veins. They were talking about assassination. “Murder,” she whispered.
“Justice,” Naldona corrected.
She shook her head. “Stefan may have been guilty of oppression and of allowing certain inequities, but he wasn't a murderer.”
“Autocrats like your brother murder hope and initiative among the people,” Naldona snapped. “It can amount to the same thing.”
“An action like the one you're contemplating would foster sympathy and support for Stefan from countries outside Tamrovia,” Karpathan said. “We don't want that.”
“Not if it's handled correctly.” Naldona shrugged. “A mob is the easiest thing in the world to arouse if one knows how to go about