The Lost Princes: Darius, Cassius and Monte. Raye Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ where everyone could immediately note the resemblance between them and begin to ask questions. So as he waited for the right chance, he began to color his hair a bit darker and grow a mustache. There was no point in making identification too easy.

      His highly placed social intimates came in handy, and very soon he obtained an invitation to a reception where Mark Stephols could be approached. Despite the hair dye, despite the mustache, the moment the introduction was made—“Mr. Stephols, may I introduce Mr. David Dyskstra of Dyskstra Shipping?”—their gazes met and the connection was made. There was instant—though silent—acknowledgment between the two of them that they had to be related.

      They shook hands and Monte leaned close to whisper, “Meet me in the rose garden.”

      A few minutes later they came face-to-face without any witnesses and stared at each other as though they each weren’t sure they were seeing what they thought they were seeing.

      David started to speak and Monte put a finger to his lips. “The walls have ears,” he said softly.

      David grinned. He was fairly vibrating with excitement. “How about the shrubbery?”

      “That’s possible, too, of course. Don’t trust anything or anyone.”

      “Let’s walk, then.”

      “Good idea.”

      They strolled along the edge of a small lake for a few minutes, exchanging pleasantries, until they were far enough from the house and from everyone else, to feel somewhat safe. They looked at one another, then both jockied comments back and forth for another few minutes, neither knowing just what to say, neither wanting to give the game away, just in case what looked true wasn’t.

      Finally, Monte said out of the blue, “Do you remember the words to the old folk song our mother would sing when putting us to sleep for the night?”

      David stopped where he was and concentrated, trying to remember. Did he? What had that been again?

      And then he closed his eyes and began to murmur softly, as though channeling from another time, another place. In his head, he heard his mother’s voice. From his mouth came the childhood bedtime song in Ambrian. When he finished and opened his eyes again, he turned to his brother. Mark had been still, but tears were coursing down his tanned cheeks. Reaching out, he took David’s hand and held it tightly.

      “At last,” he whispered. “At last.”

      Chapter Five

      AYME didn’t sleep for long, and soon she was up and reacting to the beauty of the countryside.

      “I don’t know why I haven’t come to Europe before,” she said. “I’ve just been so wrapped up in law school and starting a new career and being there for my family.”

      Her voice faded on the last word and she had to swallow back her feelings. Every now and then it hit her hard. She had to hold it back. There would be a time to deal with sorrow and pain. The time wasn’t now.

      “And boyfriends?” David was saying. “I’m sure you’ve got a boyfriend back home.”

      She settled down, shaking away unhappiness and trying to live in the moment. “Actually, I don’t,” she admitted.

      “Really.”

      “Really.” She thought about it for a moment. She kept meaning to get a boyfriend. So far her life had just been too busy to have time for that sort of thing. “I’ve been going to college and going to law school and working, as well. There just hasn’t been time for boyfriends.”

      “You’re kidding.” So it was just as he’d thought. She was a workaholic who needed to learn how to be young while she still had the chance. “Most women make time.”

      “Well, I didn’t. I was so set on doing the very best I possibly could and succeeding and making my parents proud of me.”

      “Your adoptive parents, right?”

      She nodded, biting her lip.

      “Ah.” He nodded, too. So it was a classic case of overcompensation. She probably spent all her time working frantically to prove it was a good decision for them to have chosen her. “You’re the girl driven to bring home the As on her report card.”

      She smiled fleetingly, pleased he seemed to understand.

      “And your sister Sam?”

      “Sam not so much.” She winced, wishing she hadn’t said that. She didn’t ever, ever want to say anything that even hinted at criticism of her adoptive sister ever again. She put her hand over her heart, as though she could push back the pain.

      “I came over to Texas with a bunch of kids who’d lost their parents in the rebellion. We were all adopted out, mostly to American families with Ambrian roots.”

      “So it was an organized rescue operation.”

      “Sort of. I’ve told you all this, haven’t I? I was adopted by the Sommers of Dallas, Texas, and I grew up like any other American kid.” Her parents’ faces swam into her mind and she felt a lump in her throat. They were such good people. They should have had another twenty or thirty years. It didn’t pay to expect life to be fair.

      “You don’t remember Ambria at all?” he asked after a moment.

      She gave him a look. “I was eighteen months old at the time I left.”

      “A little young to understand the political history of the place,” he allowed with a quick, barely formed grin. “So what do you really know about Ambria?”

      “Not much.” She shrugged. “There were some books around the house.” Her face lit up as an old memory came to her. “One time, an uncle stopped in to visit and he told Sam and me about how we were both really Ambrian, deep down, and he told us stories.” She half smiled remembering how she and her sister had hung on his every word, thrilled to be a part of something that made them a little different from all their friends.

      Ambrian. It sounded cool and sort of exotic, like being Italian or Lithuanian.

      “Other than that, not much.”

      He thought that over for a moment. He’d had the advantage of being six years old, so he remembered a lot. But when you came right down to it, the rest he’d learned on his own, finding books, looking things up on the Internet. His foster parents had taken him in and assumed he was now one of the family and Dutch to boot. No need to delve into things like roots and backgrounds. That just made everyone uneasy. They had been very good to him in every other way, but as far as reminding him of who he was, they probably thought it was safer if he forgot, just like everyone else.

      And if it hadn’t been for one old man who had moved to Holland from Ambria years before and lived near their summer home, he might have done just that.

      “Too bad your parents didn’t tell you more,” he mused, comparing her experience to his and wondering why such different circumstances still ended up being treated the same way by the principals involved.

      “They were busy with their jobs and raising two little СКАЧАТЬ