Page 32 of The Phoenix (Spy Girl 6)
Her bright-eyed view of the future is catching, and I’m feeling more hopeful than I have in days.
She cheers loudly for Daniel.
And she needs to.
The race is way too close for my liking, but, thankfully, Daniel ends up getting into the finals that will take place later today.
“You barely won,” I say to Daniel when he joins me back at the villa between races. “Is the competition that much better here?”
“It’s called strategy, Huntley. No reason to win big until the final.”
“You’re a pool shark,” I tease.
“Yep. I’m a shark in the pool.” He laughs. “The goal for this morning’s heat was simply to make the final and get a choice lane.”
“Are some lanes better than others?” I wonder.
“From a swimming standpoint, no. I’ve won a gold medal in lane eight, which is supposed to be harder due to waves pushing off the pool’s edge. Really, being in the middle lane makes it easier to see where your competition is. All that really matters is, I made the cut. I can set a record in any lane.”
“You sound very confident. It’s quite sexy.”
He musses my hair. “I like when you flirt with me. It’s good for my ego.”
“You have an off-the-charts ego,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He gives me a wink. “I still like it.”
“When you get in the stadium, you ought to feel like your Grinch heart grows three sizes! People from every country are cheering for you.”
“They like to root for a winner.”
“And not only are you going to bring home the gold, but you’re also going to set new Olympic and world records tonight.”
He kisses the side of my face. “Keep thinking that,” he says, touching his neck. “My throat is feeling a little scratchy. I cannot afford to get sick. I got a B12 shot after the race, but do you have any lozenges?”
I pick up the phone and call down to the staff, who promptly delivers some to my room.
“Thanks,” he says, lying down on my bed. “I’m gonna take a quick nap.”
And then he’s out.
I decide it’s time to confront Royston about the ring he was wearing at the wedding. I ask Ellis for his whereabouts and find him on the main terrace. He’s standing at the railing, looking out at the harbor and the ocean beyond, lost in thought.
I’m right next to him before he becomes aware of my presence.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. “That ring you had on at the wedding, the green one, can I see it?”
“Have you seen one like it before?” he inquires. He tries to make it sound like a simple curiosity-type question, but there’s a slight desperation in his tone.
I squint my eyes at him. “Like, specifically? No,” I lie, “but it looked vintage, and I’m obsessed with a vintage emerald ring that this fashion blogger I follow has. She says she got hers at a flea market, yet it’s supposedly this real emerald, and I don’t buy it.”
“But you want to?”
I chuckle. “Exactly. I wondered if there’s some secret vintage emerald boutique out there. And trust me; I’ve Googled it.”
“Let me go get the ring, and I’ll show it to you.”
“Really? I’d love that!” I clap.
He returns a few moments later with The Echelon ring.
“Wow, this looks really old. And it’s interesting that the designer would cover up a stone of such magnitude.”
Royston closely studies me.
I tilt my head. “This design though—the cross with the broken circles—it looks very familiar.”
“Did you happen to see a ring like this in Ares’s belongings?” he asks, breathlessly awaiting my answer.
“No, but”—I snap my fingers—“I know where it was. Not long ago, I went on a castle tour here in Montrovia. A symbol like that was on a box that supposedly held Lorenzo the Magnificent’s nautical compass. We talked about the design in detail with the guide, and she said he took his Medici family crest and mixed it up to create his own.”
“I’d like to see that box,” Royston says. “Do you think tours are going on during the Olympics?”
“There are. After those men came into the castle with machine guns a few months ago, I’ve wanted Lorenzo to stop them. But, with the Olympics in town, it’s the next hottest ticket. He said they have been sold out for months.”
“You are friends with the king,” he says with a grin.
“Let me call him.” I pull Lorenzo’s number up on my phone.
“Hey,” I say when he answers. “So, long story, but Royston Bessemer has this cool vintage ring that I admired at Ari’s wedding. I got to look at it closely today, and I think the design on the top of it matches the scrolling on a box I saw on the palace tour. With the Olympics in town, all the tours are sold out, so we were wondering if we might be able to talk you into allowing us to sneak in the tour.”
“I shall arrange a private tour for you,” Lorenzo replies as I hoped he would. “When would you like to come?”
“Now,” I tell him.
“May I join you?”
“Um …”
“I’ll have our most tenured guide waiting for you when you arrive.”
“Thank you!” I say, ending the call. “Let’s go, Royston.”
We get to the castle and, thankfully, get the same guide Ari and I had. I introduce her to Royston and ask her specifically about the box in the Velvet Room, which she leads us directly to.
“I can’t recall what all you told us about it, but I remember it being about how some thought it was a symbol of a secret society, and others just believed it to be his personal crest.”
She holds the box in her hands. “That’s correct. Legend has it that Lorenzo the Magnificent created a secret society. Lorenzo was a master statesman. Who his heirs wed was very strategic. If you married off your children to countries who might attempt to overtake you, it would lower the risk. Same goes for his supposed secret society. If you gathered a group of like-minded men in places of power, you could effectively control the world—or so Lorenzo thought.”
I trace my fingers across the gold design.
“And this was thought to be their symbol?” Royston asks.
“Depends on who you ask,” the guide says with a grin. “While some believe the group survives even today, historians and symbolists suggest that this was simply Lorenzo’s personal signet.”
“And how does it relate to his family?” Royston asks.
“It’s believed that he took the five balls from the Medici crest and split them, symbolizing slashing his familial ties. Over them, he placed bands in the form of a cross, either referring to his religion or it could symbolize the defeat of the cyclical nature of the universe. In today’s world, we’d say Lorenzo dreamed big,” she says with a chuckle. “Throughout the world’s history, all great empires eventually fall. Some scholars believe that Lorenzo hoped to defeat that cycle in order to maintain a long-standing, peaceful society. Others suggest that the cross is the simple pagan sun cross, which represents the four directions, an early compass of sorts, tying into his love of the sea.”
“The same symbol is on Lorenzo the Magnificent’s tomb,” I mention.
“In all its glory,” the guide says, “which is why so many scholars believe there is no secret society. If there were, he wouldn’t have been so blatant in his use of the crest.”
“Makes sense,” Royston says and then thanks the woman for her time.
But, the second we leave the castle, he says, “I want to go see the tomb. Is it nearby?”
“Yes, he’s buried in the National Cathedral on the Plaza de Vallenta.”
The streets of Montrovia are crowded, and it takes us nearly twenty minutes to make the two-mile drive. Royston is very quiet during the ride, and I am not quite sure what to say.
Ultimately, I decide to leave him with his thoughts—at least until after our brief history lesson is over.
We g
