The Queen of All that Lives
Page 4
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
The light blinks green, and then the sealed off entrance hisses open.
I step into the narrow hallway sandwiched between the rooms of the palace, the cold air already settling into my bones. Above me the overhead lights flick on.
I used to believe that secret passageways were the things of spy novels, but during the course of my long reign, these hidden features have saved my life and land a time or two.
My shoes click against the stone floor, and I slide my hands into my pockets as I pass room after room on either side of the hall. One-way mirrors expertly camouflaged as decorations allow me to catch glimpses of my guests.
All those years ago, Serenity taught me a valuable lesson: trust will earn you a knife in the back and a shallow grave. This is my insurance policy against that.
Tonight, the rooms are all empty. I’ve been gone for a while.
Too long.
I’m drawn down the passageway like a moth to a flame. Even in sleep, Serenity calls to me.
The lights flicker on, one after another, as I gradually descend into the lowest levels of the palace.
It’s when I get to the entrance of her mausoleum that I feel the first stirrings of unease. One of the doors hangs slightly open.
I stop, my eyes studying the inconsistency.
This has happened before. There have been times in the past when I’ve forgotten to close the door tightly. A bad habit borne from the fact that no one but me accesses this place.
I push it open, all senses on alert.
More than a hundred marble steps lie between me and my wife. I take each one slowly, letting the peace of this place soothe my nerves.
The lights here are already on; they’re always on. I can’t bear the thought of Serenity laying here, alone in the darkness.
As I head down the stairs, the rest of the room unfolds before me. Grotesquely large marble columns hold up the cavernous ceiling, a domed roof at its pinnacle. Gold and indigo tiles are embedded into the walls of this place. And finally, the pool of water, the walkway, and Serenity’s golden—
All my breath slips out of me when I catch sight of her sarcophagus.
The lid sits askew.
I can’t move for a second; all I can do is stare. I’ve come here a thousand times, laid my eyes on that Sleeper a thousand more. Never once has the image changed.
I begin to move again. First I walk, then I run.
I reach her sarcophagus, her empty sarcophagus, and my worst fears are confirmed.
Serenity’s gone.
Chapter 3
Serenity
“So what are you planning to do with me?” I say, assessing the six soldiers from my bed.
As far as I can tell, these men didn’t wake me to let me go. The camera is proof of that, the weapons are proof of that. Hell, the way this situation is unfolding is proof of that. No one’s treating me like I’m a victim. They’re treating me like I’m an acquisition.
I give them hard looks. These men might be my rescuers, but they’re also my captors, no matter how agreeable they’ve been.
Jace leans back against the metal wall of the vehicle. “Right now,” he says, “We’re trying to lose the king.”
I lean back against the partition that separates the back of the vehicle from the front, getting nice and cozy myself. “And once you lose the king?” I ask.
“We’ll take you to our compound.”
Just as the Resistance did when they captured me. Yes. This is all very familiar.
“And then?” I ask.
The car rumbles and shakes in the silence.
“And then, once you’re ready, we’ll hand you over to the West, where you belong.”
“Where I belong,” I muse.
It rubs me raw to hear these men talk like they have my best intentions in mind. They have no idea where I belong. I have no idea where I belong.
The only reason these men are even mentioning the West is because they’ve either been hired by them or they’re going to get money from them when they hand me over.
I don’t bother asking if I have any say in these plans. I already know I don’t. Of course they didn’t factor in the possibility that their slumbering queen might not agree with their schemes. That I might, in fact, violently oppose them. I’m sure they didn’t consider that I might have an opinion at all.
But I do.
From the moment my father and I arrived in Geneva all that time ago, I’ve been passed around between men. The king, the Resistance, and now these men. How cruel must I become before people will begin to see me as a formidable opponent?
“One problem with your plans,” I say.
Jace and his men wait for me to speak.
“Every time I’ve slipped from the king’s clutches, he’s retrieved me.” I meet each soldier’s eyes. “Every. Time.”
Perhaps it’s my imagination, but I swear the men shift a little uneasily in their seats.
“With all due respect, Serenity,” Jace says, “we are good at what we do.”
“I don’t doubt that.” The fact that they were able to retrieve me from the king’s Sleeper is proof enough. I’m sure Montes hid me somewhere secure. “But the king I knew never did like it when people took away his toys.” And I am his toy. I always have been.
“Maybe King Lazuli is not the same man you knew,” Jace says.
That, I am certain of. A single year can change a person. A hundred is enough to evolve a man into whatever thing he wants to become. I can’t even fathom the weight of all that time.
“Maybe,” I agree.
I step into the narrow hallway sandwiched between the rooms of the palace, the cold air already settling into my bones. Above me the overhead lights flick on.
I used to believe that secret passageways were the things of spy novels, but during the course of my long reign, these hidden features have saved my life and land a time or two.
My shoes click against the stone floor, and I slide my hands into my pockets as I pass room after room on either side of the hall. One-way mirrors expertly camouflaged as decorations allow me to catch glimpses of my guests.
All those years ago, Serenity taught me a valuable lesson: trust will earn you a knife in the back and a shallow grave. This is my insurance policy against that.
Tonight, the rooms are all empty. I’ve been gone for a while.
Too long.
I’m drawn down the passageway like a moth to a flame. Even in sleep, Serenity calls to me.
The lights flicker on, one after another, as I gradually descend into the lowest levels of the palace.
It’s when I get to the entrance of her mausoleum that I feel the first stirrings of unease. One of the doors hangs slightly open.
I stop, my eyes studying the inconsistency.
This has happened before. There have been times in the past when I’ve forgotten to close the door tightly. A bad habit borne from the fact that no one but me accesses this place.
I push it open, all senses on alert.
More than a hundred marble steps lie between me and my wife. I take each one slowly, letting the peace of this place soothe my nerves.
The lights here are already on; they’re always on. I can’t bear the thought of Serenity laying here, alone in the darkness.
As I head down the stairs, the rest of the room unfolds before me. Grotesquely large marble columns hold up the cavernous ceiling, a domed roof at its pinnacle. Gold and indigo tiles are embedded into the walls of this place. And finally, the pool of water, the walkway, and Serenity’s golden—
All my breath slips out of me when I catch sight of her sarcophagus.
The lid sits askew.
I can’t move for a second; all I can do is stare. I’ve come here a thousand times, laid my eyes on that Sleeper a thousand more. Never once has the image changed.
I begin to move again. First I walk, then I run.
I reach her sarcophagus, her empty sarcophagus, and my worst fears are confirmed.
Serenity’s gone.
Chapter 3
Serenity
“So what are you planning to do with me?” I say, assessing the six soldiers from my bed.
As far as I can tell, these men didn’t wake me to let me go. The camera is proof of that, the weapons are proof of that. Hell, the way this situation is unfolding is proof of that. No one’s treating me like I’m a victim. They’re treating me like I’m an acquisition.
I give them hard looks. These men might be my rescuers, but they’re also my captors, no matter how agreeable they’ve been.
Jace leans back against the metal wall of the vehicle. “Right now,” he says, “We’re trying to lose the king.”
I lean back against the partition that separates the back of the vehicle from the front, getting nice and cozy myself. “And once you lose the king?” I ask.
“We’ll take you to our compound.”
Just as the Resistance did when they captured me. Yes. This is all very familiar.
“And then?” I ask.
The car rumbles and shakes in the silence.
“And then, once you’re ready, we’ll hand you over to the West, where you belong.”
“Where I belong,” I muse.
It rubs me raw to hear these men talk like they have my best intentions in mind. They have no idea where I belong. I have no idea where I belong.
The only reason these men are even mentioning the West is because they’ve either been hired by them or they’re going to get money from them when they hand me over.
I don’t bother asking if I have any say in these plans. I already know I don’t. Of course they didn’t factor in the possibility that their slumbering queen might not agree with their schemes. That I might, in fact, violently oppose them. I’m sure they didn’t consider that I might have an opinion at all.
But I do.
From the moment my father and I arrived in Geneva all that time ago, I’ve been passed around between men. The king, the Resistance, and now these men. How cruel must I become before people will begin to see me as a formidable opponent?
“One problem with your plans,” I say.
Jace and his men wait for me to speak.
“Every time I’ve slipped from the king’s clutches, he’s retrieved me.” I meet each soldier’s eyes. “Every. Time.”
Perhaps it’s my imagination, but I swear the men shift a little uneasily in their seats.
“With all due respect, Serenity,” Jace says, “we are good at what we do.”
“I don’t doubt that.” The fact that they were able to retrieve me from the king’s Sleeper is proof enough. I’m sure Montes hid me somewhere secure. “But the king I knew never did like it when people took away his toys.” And I am his toy. I always have been.
“Maybe King Lazuli is not the same man you knew,” Jace says.
That, I am certain of. A single year can change a person. A hundred is enough to evolve a man into whatever thing he wants to become. I can’t even fathom the weight of all that time.
“Maybe,” I agree.
