seemed to be focused on something else and was already rushing off with a last, unfathomable look at her, his bodyguard in his wake, following closely.
“This way.” Morin was certainly determined to obey his boss. He dialed his cell phone, his lips tightening. “The line’s busy. He might be outside already, investigating the explosion.”
She assumed he was talking about the chief of palace security.
Morin called for an armored car next. “We’ll go out the back entrance,” he said as he hung up.
She barely had time to process that before they neared the back door normally used by stage staff, where people were rushing out, then rushing right back in.
The secretary cast her a concerned look. “Do not worry, Madam. I’ll investigate what’s going on out there and arrange for you to vacate the premises. I shall return as soon as possible.”
Honest to goodness, he talked like that, like some old-fashioned manual.
People rushed through, bumping into her.
She moved closer to the wall to keep out of the jostling flow. The last thing she needed was for her gown to be torn just before she went on stage. “I’ll be in my dressing room,” she called after Morin, but wasn’t sure if the man heard her.
The hallway was clogged, people elbowing each other, some speaking languages she didn’t understand. It seemed like the entire staff was back here for some reason, even the lighting assistant they’d passed earlier. She gave up fighting to get to her own dressing room and stepped inside the nearest storage room instead.
She closed the door and turned the rusty key in the lock. Her dressing room had looked brand-new, but this place didn’t look renovated unless one counted the fresh coat of paint on the walls. She supposed all budgets had their limits. Money had probably been saved on out-of-the-way storage areas. She listened. If Morin called her name out there, she would be able to hear it.
Five minutes passed. She unlocked the door with some effort—the key was sticking—and, looking out, could see her dressing room. Morin wasn’t there.
She pulled back in. Everything was going to be fine.
There had been some unrest in the country the year before, but peace had been restored. Since most of the royal family were to attend tonight’s performance, security in and around the opera house was top-notch. Craig, her agent, and she had already discussed security concerns.
According to the tour she’d been given on arrival, the building had withstood three hundred years of turbulent history, including two world wars. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. She would be safe in here.
Small bottles of mineral water stood in a crate by the door. Looking at them made her realize how dry her mouth had gone from all the excitement. She grabbed a bottle and twisted the cap off, but didn’t get a chance to drink before another explosion shook the building, this one closer than the first. Jars of stage makeup rattled on the desk.
She put her drink down, then stepped to the door and pushed the purple Bombay chest—must have been a prop at one point—in front of it, barricading herself inside. The din out in the hallway was disconcerting. Maybe the rebels were trying to fight their way in through the back entrance.
Craig was in the audience. She wished she could talk to her agent, but her cell phone was in her own dressing room. She wished Benedek hadn’t left her. He would know what was going on, at the very least. His people would keep him informed.
She stayed near the door, listening. She was fine. Everything was fine. In a minute or two, Morin would be back.
“HOW SERIOUS IS THE situation?” Benedek asked again as he scanned the wall of monitors.
The director of security for the opera house was of the opinion that the peaceful protest at Liberation Square had been a ruse by the Freedom Council. The enemies of the monarchy had gathered as many of their people as possible in the vicinity of the opera house to sabotage the opening, perhaps even capture the royal family who were supposed to be in attendance.
Except that the Queen had felt unwell earlier in the evening, and Benedek’s brothers lingered by her side, running late. She’d taken to her bed over a year ago, her condition fluctuating since. So when the crowd attacked, the princes were still safely at the palace. Benedek, who’d been here since early morning, making sure opening night would be a resounding success, was the only member of the royal family currently in the building.
“How many rebels are we talking about this time?” he asked, tacking another question onto the first before the director had a chance to answer.
“About two thousand is the best we can estimate from the upper windows, Your Highness.”
He nodded. At least Rayne got out in time and was inside the palace by now, under heavy guard. He barely had a half dozen royal guards here. The rest were supposed to arrive later, with his brothers. “Who’s their leader?”
“A very angry young man, Your Highness. Goes by the name of Mario and fancies himself a freedom fighter. The palace just sent over a security report on him. Supposedly, he’s not associated with the Freedom Council.”
Maybe he hadn’t been before, but Benedek had a feeling the Council had gotten to him and were using him now.
The three nameless men who ran the council were ruthless in their quest to dethrone the monarchy and break up the country, along ethnic lines, into small republics they would have full control over.
“Should I initialize lockdown?” The director waited for his answer.
The opera house had a massive security system in place. A computer program handled the entrances, all of which could be sealed at the push of a button. But if they locked down, it would be viewed as a step toward conflict, the crowd outside would be provoked and might lay siege to the building. He didn’t want to risk the damage, not while they still had other options. “I’ll try negotiating first.”
The director paled. “I beg you to think of your safety, Your Highness. I shall go out there immediately. ”
“You stay here and keep people from panicking.”
“Your Highness—” The man tried to stand in his way and stop him while remaining respectful and deferential, not an easy task.
The royal guards stepped closer as well. His new bodyguard didn’t seem amused either.
“This is my opera house.” Benedek gave them a level look. “Anyone wants to lay a finger on it, they answer to me.”
Two bombs had already exploded outside.
The rebels, whatever they wanted, needed to know that he wasn’t as easily intimidated as that. He hadn’t started fighting yet. Before the evening turned into night, he would have the rebels gone and Rayne back on stage. Or else.
“THERE ARE THREE BOMBS in the building,” the voice said on the other end of the line, playing his trump card over and over again, sounding triumphant and frustrated at the same time.
The call had come in on a red cell phone someone had left in the security office. Nobody there now knew who it belonged to or how it got there.
The
