The Queen of Traitors
Page 40

My boots sink into the mud as I head towards the edge of the village, and I’m thankful that I decided today to wear boots and pants instead of another frilly dress. The place is muddy and it smells like open sewage.
In my peripherals, I can see the king’s guards begin to flank me, but they keep their distance, and I can almost pretend that it’s just me walking down the main road.
I don’t get very far. Dirty, mostly naked kids run up to greet me.
“La reina! La reina!” Some of them call.
Even out here they know of me.
Their exuberance pulls a smile from my lips. “Hola—hola,” I say to each of them in turn.
Already I can see signs of malnourishment and ill health. Some have distended bellies, others discolored skin from radiation burns. I’m almost afraid to touch them for fear that I’ll somehow hurt them.
“Someone take pictures of this,” I call to the guards. I want to show those contentious politicians what really matters.
“Tiene comida para nosotros?” one asks.
“Comida?” Other kids echo.
“Do you speak the common tongue?” I ask. “La lengua común?”
“Yes!” I hear some kids shout enthusiastically.
Despite all they must’ve endured at the hands of their government, they’re still happy to see me. The resilience of children.
“Do you have food for us?” asks a girl with stringy hair. Her eyes are far too aged.
Food. Water. I’m used to hearing these requests. They came up many times during my tour as a soldier. No one wants money. Currency means little in these areas when a single meal might be the difference between life and death.
“I will get you and your families some food,” I promise. For once I feel like my position as queen allows me to do what I’ve always wanted to—to save lives instead of taking them.
She jumps up and down at my words and translates for the kids that don’t understand English. Little squeals erupt from the small crowd.
Behind me, I hear the car door close. I don’t look back, but many of the children do. I can tell by their widening eyes who they see.
“It’s okay,” I reassure them, “he’s not here to hurt anyone.”
I can tell they don’t believe me, and why should they? We’ve all been spooked by tales of the undying king.
“Manuel!” “Esteban!” “Maria!”
I look up. The adults, who have been lingering outside their houses, now call their kids back.
It strikes me as odd—they’re obviously frightened of the king but not of me. I’d assumed that people hated me worse than Montes, but out here it appears they trust a former WUN citizen a great deal more than King Lazuli.
Some of the kids peel away. Others hesitate.
“Go,” I say. “Tell your parents I’ll be personally arranging for food and medical supplies to be delivered to your families.”
I watch them run off as the king steps up to my side. “This is why I fought so hard for medical relief in the negotiations,” I say to him.
“I can see that.” His gaze roves over the shantytown, and I can’t get a read on his expression. Right now, I would give a lot to know where his mind is.
The people head into their houses. I can see them still watching us through their windows, but no one else approaches.
The king’s hand falls to the back of my neck. He massages it as he says, “Your ten minutes are up.”
It’s a weak way to end the visit, but I doubt anyone would be willing to talk to us at this point, regardless. Not now that the king is among them.
If Montes is disgusted or unsettled by what he’s seen, he never shows it. We get in the car, and our caravan leaves the desolate encampment these people call home.
This is what my sacrifices are for—making sure settlements like that one get what they need to survive and, eventually, thrive.
I glance over at Montes on our way back. “Why did you let me do it?”
The king in his ivory tower; I’d imagine a visit like that is far down on his list of things to do.
Montes lounges against his seatback. He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “You’d find a way regardless, and the radiation levels aren’t too dangerous there. But most importantly, I want to get laid later.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“I expect I will too,” he adds.
“You are a terrible person.”
“I am terrible, and yet when I’m buried inside you tonight, you’ll have your doubts. And tomorrow when I send the food and water to the village, your carefully crafted hate will die.”
I glare at him.
“I wonder what will happen once we burn down all of it? What will be left of my queen when her fury no longer fuels her?”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. Already he’s uncovered a very real concern of my own: how to hold onto hate when there’s nothing left to feed it.
He leans forward. “I intend to find out.”
CHAPTER 21
Serenity
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, after reading a stack of reports on the South American territories, I head into the bathroom to change for dinner.
Another day, another dinner party. This one will be hosted back at the hotel where we’re holding the discussions.
I give the black lace dress hanging on the bathroom door the evil eye.
I unbutton my shirt in front of the mirror. As I slip it off, I notice—really notice—what a difference a few months of living with the king have made. My hips and waist are fuller and my stomach slopes gently out. I run a hand over it. The skin feels taut. I’m still not as soft as I would’ve imagined.
I could still be getting worse. The king believes in the Sleeper the same way some people believe in religion. I, on the other hand, only have misgivings about the machine. To me the only thing it does is remove scars and kill time.
I slide the dress on, along with a pair of heels. I run my fingers through the loose waves of my hair and paint my lips a dark red. I still haven’t gotten used to the type of grooming the upper echelons of society expect.
My hands move from the makeup set out on the counter to the neat case of pills I’ve been packed with. I hold one up to the light. This little thing is what keeps the king permanently young, and it’s partly what started his war.
I swallow it, despite my compulsive desire to flush it down the toilet. After all the killing and dying, it seems too precious to waste.