The Pledge
Page 73

When it all became too much, I opened my mouth to take it back, to undo what I’d started, but all that emerged were silent screams, unheard cries for help. I could feel the queen’s Essence smothering me, as her thoughts—not just her memories—began to take root and spread. It was she who stopped me from calling an end to this madness.
From outside, the sounds of gunfire, bombs, and the shouts of men grew louder. Closer. A full-scale battle was now underway. For what, I did not know.
I tried to concentrate, but the queen’s memories lingered amid my own, taking them over, making it difficult to distinguish reality from illusion.
There were other things I sensed now too. Things the queen could no longer hide from me. She was older than any of us could have imagined. Her spirit was ancient, having survived centuries and spanning the ages. Now that she was within me, she was unable to mask her secrets, even behind languages that were long since dead and forgotten.
I heard them.
And in those silent whispers, she unwittingly revealed the key to my survival.
Time. I had only to endure the transfer. I must resist the overpowering desire to surrender to her, to let go.
It was harder than it seemed. My grip grew weaker and my resolve faded.
A detonation shook the walls, and the ground beneath us quaked. I fell to my knees, and a chandelier exploded as it struck the polished floor, sending pieces of crystal rocketing all around me.
A second blast, coming immediately after the first, shattered a huge window, and shards of glass blew inward. Instinctively I reached for Angelina, wrapping myself around her as splinters of pain prickled everywhere over my exposed skin.
I felt the queen’s grip on my mind falter. But only for a moment.
And then she was back, black shadows moving around my soul, engulfing it like smoke, suffocating it until I felt myself—my true self—deteriorating.
Dy JHeame,g aring.
Max’s shouts grew more distant. I didn’t know how much longer I had, but I suspected there wasn’t much of me remaining.
This wasn’t a battle I could win, the one waging inside my own body. I knew, now that she was within me, that she was so much stronger than I was. I collapsed, feeling myself slipping away just as Angelina gripped my hands in hers.
At first my fingers tingled where Angelina touched them, and then they burned. And when I glanced up, I thought my eyesight must be failing me. Angelina’s skin glowed, softly at first, like a delicate, ethereal apparition. Then more intensely, like an inferno, raging and bright. Everywhere I looked—her skin, her hair, her blue eyes—smoldered.
And then I felt what she was doing. It was as if she was healing me, as if she was lending me her power—fusing it with mine and willing me to fight. And suddenly I knew what I wanted. It was all so clear.
I wanted the queen to die. I wanted to live.
In the hallways outside the throne room, there were more shouts, more rounds of gunfire. I could hear Brooklynn’s voice above all the others, and I knew that Xander’s forces were here at last.
Behind Angelina, Sabara rose from her throne, and I knew she was abandoning her body now, completing the transformation to inhabit mine.
Angelina squeezed my fingers as if she would never release me, and my entire body burned as if it had just been set ablaze. And then she spoke to me, her voice soft and childlike, just as I’d always imagined she would sound. “Don’t go, Charlie. I need you.”
I’d never heard anything more beautiful in all my life, and my heart soared as hot, wet tears dropped onto my cheeks. I didn’t know if they were hers or mine.
Across from me, I watched as the queen fell to the ground . . .
. . . and everything inside of me went black.
MAX
Max hardly noticed that Charlie’s skin was flickering where Angelina touched her. Tears streaked down the little girl’s cheeks as she clutched her sister’s hand, her eyes never leaving Charlie’s face, as if begging her to breathe, begging her to wake.
Everyone—guards and prisoners alike—stood motionless now, waiting to see which of the two women would die first. Max closed the distance in three long strides and knelt by Angelina’s side as he took Charlie’s other hand in his, pressing her icy fingers to his lips. His lungs ached, and his throat was tight.
Beside them all, at the foot of the dais, the queen lay equally still, with no one at her side beseeching her to live.
The gilded doors exploded open then, crashing so hard that they rattled the walls. Brook stormed in, followed by a coterie of soldiers whose weapons were as mismatched as their uniforms. Her face was lit by a triumphant grin.
She pointed the muzzle of her gun at the guards in the throne room. “Seize their weapons.” Her voice boomed as if she’d been born to lead. Then her eyes fell to Charlie, and JHea bla tri the victorious look crumpled. She rushed to her friend’s side, her eyes searching Max’s face. “Is she . . . ?”
Max shook his head, refusing to even consider the possibility. He bent closer to the lifeless girl before him as he released a ragged breath against her cool skin. “Charlie,” he whispered, begging her not to leave them . . . to leave him.
Tears scalded his eyes and his vision blurred; he couldn’t lose her. But the ache was already spreading like a disease through his body, ravaging him, deadening him.
He almost didn’t notice the tremor in her fingertips, but there was no mistaking the sudden, choking gasp that filled the space, echoing loudly throughout the room and filling his heart.