Page 4 of Dalla’s Royal Guards (Second Chance #3)
Musad had never known how to explain it to him. The concept was so self-evident, how could one possibly explain it ? He could lead only by example.
But the worst part of all was that… Nasser’s love, his certainty, it made Musad wonder, sometimes, if his own inability to form lasting relationships or feel more than a familial bond was… a bad thing, even with the example of their mother’s desertion and later death to teach him better.
Helena Stockman-Al-Rashid hadn’t looked back when she packed her bag with the precious jewels of Narva and slipped out without telling her husband or three children that she was running away with a playboy tourist she had met.
Cianna, of course, was an innocent child, and their loyalty to her demanded her rescue, but Nasser’s love for her was a threat to this mission.
It was a weakness that Musad could do nothing about right now.
Nothing except worry. He didn’t like the plan of leaving Nasser’s side.
He didn’t like the plan of having Nasser be the one to meet Cianna.
But he saw that it made sense. Cianna’s trust in Nasser may be instrumental in the mission’s success.
Children could be unfathomably unreasonable.
Just like Nasser, really.
The faint echo of footsteps on stone warned him that his brother had finally arrived. Nasser was muttering to himself. Musad grinned and shook his head.
“What’s so funny?” Nasser asked.
“You. Either my hearing is getting better or your feet are getting heavier. It sounded like a herd of elephants approaching,” he teased.
“How would you know? The only elephants you have ever seen were in a zoo,” Nasser retorted.
“Not true. I rode several while I was in India and Indonesia. What were you muttering on about? You looked like you had just been to the dentist.”
Nasser snorted, and Musad smirked. The dentist was his brother’s one and only Achilles heel that he knew of—besides the obvious. It was a good thing Nasser had never had a cavity in his life. He would probably faint at the sound of a dentist drill.
“Be warned. Father is sending us off,” Nasser declared.
“Ah, ‘the battles of old’ lecture again?” he chuckled.
“Worse. I think he spent the night in the library,” Nasser replied.
The ‘library’ was another name for Narva’s hidden treasure vault. Their father was a firm believer that in every mission, they must carry an artifact that had been passed down from one pirate to the next.
The last time Musad had gone on a mission with the United Nations, his father had given him a set of pearls that he could have used as a rope to propel from a helicopter.
They could stretch impossibly far with impossible strength, allowing the device to condense small enough to wrap a few times around his neck if he hung it low on his torso under his shirt.
But as incredible as that was, they had still seemed silly, and he hadn’t wanted to remind his father what some of those long pearl necklaces had been used for—or where! He had discreetly hidden the fortune in his room before he departed.
“I see you have all your equipment in order,” he teased when Nasser placed his black duffle bag next to the one Musad was packing and he noticed a small unicorn head hanging out of it. The white plushie had a rainbow-colored mane made of yarn.
Nasser brushed his palm over the unicorn’s soft mane. His brother’s tender touch reminded Musad of the last time they had seen their niece.
“Don’t forget my unicorn, Uncle Nassy!” she had insisted, all toothy smile and wild curls.
His jaw tightened when he remembered Nasser’s fond response. “ I won’t forget, little one.”
Nasser must have been remembering the same moment because he looked up at him with a grim expression.
“I promised Cianna I would give her a unicorn,” Nasser murmured.
“I thought she had outgrown the unicorn and wanted a longbow,” he said.
“She wants both. She said she could ride the unicorn and carry the bow at the same time. Mario was telling her about the mythical Warrior of the Sands and how she saved both the kings of Kashir and Narva… all on the same day,” he dryly replied.
“Nasser, Musad.”
They turned in unison when they heard their father call them.
Hari descended the steps, his presence exuding all the qualities that made him the King of the Pirates.
Out of the corner of his eye, Musad saw Donovan straighten to attention and execute a stiff, formal bow.
His father acknowledged the man with a clenched fist to his chest.
“I warned you,” Nasser muttered in a barely audible voice.
“Yes, you did. Father, you could have just texted us good luck,” Musad greeted.
“Text?! Text?! What kind of father, much less a king, texts his sons before they go off to battle?” Hari growled.
Nasser cleared his throat. “Mayhap one that refused to go to bed last night,” he said.
“Bah! I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I have something for you both,” Hari replied.
“Please not the pearls. Please not the pearls,” Musad chanted under his breath.
Hari frowned. “No, not the pearls. You think I know you didn’t take them with you? Plus, they are not what you need this time. This time… you both will need something very, very special.”
Before Musad or Nasser could say anything, their father pulled a short sword from his waistcoat. Musad stepped back when his father swung the blade in his direction, flipped it to hold it by the blade, and offered him the hilt.
“For you, Musad,” Hari said.
“I already have a knife,” Musad replied, patting the modern military-grade blade in the sheath at his side.
Hari scowled. “You have a fancy piece of metal. I have for you none other than the Seax of Dalla Bogadottir.”
“Are you serious? You are saying you have the Warrior of the Sands’ blade? The actual, real blade that she is said to have used killed a hundred men? Where did it come from?” Musad asked, reaching out to take the blade with reluctant awe.
“Look at the etching on the blade and handle! I can’t believe it is over a thousand years old,” Nasser commented, reaching out to stroke the carved bone handle.
“Dalla herself gifted it to our ancestor, King Gerold,” Hari said.
Musad stared back at his father with a doubtful expression before he stroked a finger along the blade. A sense of connection to his bloodline, the ancient pirates who had lived, fought, and died—and believed in the legends—coursed through him as he balanced the sword in his hand.
Every Narvian had grown up with tales of the Warrior of the Sands.
The legend said that a beautiful and mysterious woman named Dalla Bogadottir had ridden out of a ferocious sandstorm and slayed the thieves who had ambushed King Gerold, their great-grandfather a dozen times removed, and his best friend, Pascal Marchand—the two men who would one day become the rulers of Narva and Kashir.
“And for you, Nasser,” Hari said, pulling a large gold, silver, and jeweled pin from his coat pocket.
“You get a sword and I get a fancy brooch?” Nasser dryly commented.
“It is more than a brooch. It is the brooch worn by Dalla when she struck down an assassin sent to kill Pascal,” Hari said.
His brother glanced at him, and Musad shrugged one shoulder. They must have missed that story. Of course, their father and teachers had filled their heads with so many ancient tales of valor that forgetting one didn’t surprise him.
“Well, thank you for the brooch. I’ll wear it with pride,” Nasser hastily replied, taking the brooch out of his father’s hand. He turned it over, running his thumb along the worn edge.
A ridiculous part of Nasser wondered if the blood of the Warrior of the Sands still clung to the metal. The weight felt heavier than gold—it felt like destiny. Shaking off the odd feeling, Nasser looked up at his father and brother. “We need to leave.”
Hari nodded and sighed. “If I were a younger man, I would go with you and challenge Hannibal and Victor to a duel like in the old days.”
Musad pursed his lips. The last thing they needed was their father on this mission.
The ‘old days’ would end up getting them all killed.
Today’s duels involved automatic weapons.
A seax and a brooch were no match against a M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, a SAW M24 Sniper Weapon System, or a M240L 7.
62 Medium Machine Gun—and those were just a few of the weapons their special ops were carrying.
That didn’t even touch the explosives or military vehicles.
Yeah, a horse and a sword would just get us killed, he mused.
Hari’s gaze lingered on the sword in Musad’s hand, then shifted to Nasser. “Strange, isn’t it… how some bloodlines refuse to fade?” He gave a soft grunt, waving them off. “Go—make your own legend. Just… be safe. Mario and I will follow along in the command center,” he added in a gruff voice.
“May Dalla protect us,” Musad said with a nod to his father, the old saying automatically rolling off his tongue.