Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,55

for that. Gigi hoped Magnus was one of those giving orders, chasing down the man who’d done this, a man who probably had less time to live than Athaulf.

Something, a vague change in Placidia’s bearing, drew Gigi back. The queen leaned close to her husband, whispering in his ear, praying, saying goodbye. Gigi’s throat tightened when she saw a faint smile touch the king’s lips, and then the light in his eyes flickered.

Gigi tensed, sensing the moment.

“I love you, my Athaulf. I love you,” Placidia insisted, over and over.

Through her tears, Gigi stared as the light in Athaulf’s eyes flickered once more. For some reason she couldn’t let herself look away. It was important, vitally important that she witness what was coming. Somehow, it would be the ultimate act of respect, a way to honor an honorable man.

Another flicker, then a fading, a dulling of the once-brilliant light.

And then the light winked out.

Gigi watched as the face of the Visigoth king relaxed in a peaceful expression far beyond that of natural sleep. She closed her eyes and hung her head.

King Athaulf of the Visigoths, her friend, was dead.

Placidia’s resolve evaporated and she moaned, then collapsed beside her lost husband.

Fear, anger and despair suddenly surged, each fighting for supremacy, and Gigi realized time was of the essence. She needed to get Placidia out of there. They had to find the children.

The castle was in an uproar, Sergeric probably seizing power at this very moment. How long did they have before he went after the kids?

“Come on, Placidia,” Gigi implored.

The queen didn’t seem to hear her. With trembling fingers, she closed her husband’s eyes, and then fell onto his chest. “Gigi, give me your blade. I must cut my hair, as I did for King Alaric. It is my duty. It is expected of me.”

Gigi realized Placidia wasn’t thinking clearly. “Not yet, not now. We have to make sure Marga and the other children are safe.”

Placidia gaped, trying to focus on her words, and Gigi again urged her to stand.

“They have killed my husband, Gigi. They have killed my Athaulf.”

“I know.” Gigi pulled the queen to her feet and told Wallia, “Protect the king. Take him away from here. Guard his body.”

“On my life, I will do it,” he promised.

Taking Placidia by the hands, squeezing them to get her attention, Gigi leaned in and spoke forcefully, “Listen to me! We can’t stay here. We have to go to the children. Sergeric is behind this and he will kill them next.”

Placidia’s eyes went wide and Gigi yanked her away. Together, they ran to the nursery, arriving to find the door open, the room empty. Where were the kids?

Placidia just stared, her eyes vacant.

Gigi turned at the sound of hurrying footsteps and brandished her gun. Vana! She quickly put the gun away and hugged her. “Where are the children?”

“I heard the commotion and got them to the chapel for safety. The bishop was there, and he took them inside.”

The three women hurried to the chapel and found the entry barred. Gigi banged on the door and yelled, “Bishop, it is Gigi. I’m with Queen Placidia and Vana. You must let us in. We are not safe out here.”

The screech of the iron latch brought Gigi profound relief. The door swung open, and she hustled Placidia and Vana inside. As the bishop bolted the door once more, the children started screaming at the sight of Placidia’s blood-soaked dress.

The queen burst into tears as she looked down at herself. Vana ran to hold the smallest ones, who were hysterical.

Gigi did a quick head count. Seven kids. Thank God!

• • •

Frantic to reach the king, Magnus could not get the upper hand against Africanus. The man was his equal in strength and fighting prowess.

Victoria, I beg you! End this now!

He adjusted his grip on the knife and stepped sideways, keeping Africanus watchful, uncertain.

“Victoria strengthens this arm!” Magnus bellowed, desperate to get to Athaulf. He drove at Africanus again, this time connecting solidly with the man’s thigh, just as Africanus reeled and hit the side of Magnus’s skull with the flat of his blade.

Stars erupted before Magnus’s eyes. Dizzy and breathing hard, he collapsed, but immediately started forcing his mind, arms, and legs to obey. He rolled onto his side, and then struggled to his knees, commanding his eyes to focus, to no avail.

Africanus’s face was deathly pale, and he whimpered in pain. His leg wound was deep, blood spurting from a huge gash.

Magnus rose and stumbled toward