The Last Queen Book Five Read online

  It reeks of destruction.

  I want to curl my hands into fists, but I don’t.

  I want to cry – God do I want to cry – but I don’t, too.

  Fortunately Matrexia is still between Spencer and me, and he can’t see me unless he cranes his head. He doesn’t bother. It’s clear he now thinks I’m loyal to him. Or at least, loyal to the game.

  He takes a step forward, claps his hands together, and stares at John.

  As soon as he claps his hands together, magic pulses around them, spreading into the air.

  It shifts this way and that and turns into smoke, then slices toward John.

  Before I can gasp in fear that Spencer is going to kill John on the spot, the magic punches up John’s nostrils and parts his lips, forcing itself into his body.

  Though John was comatose several seconds before, he suddenly takes a gasp, jerks his head back, and stares at Spencer.

  But his gaze won’t stay on Spencer for long. In an instant, he shifts it over to me.

  The blood continues to drip down his brow from a massive cut just above his eye that is swelling like a golf ball, and yet somehow he still manages to stare my way.

  If it weren’t for the fact that Matrexia is blocking me from Michael, everyone would be able to see my fragility.

  Including John.

  Does he say anything? Does he take the opportunity to Hammer home how much of an idiot I’ve been?

  No. Slowly but deliberately, he stares back at Spencer. “Congratulations. You’re about to get everything you desire.”

  … Was that comment for him or me?

  Or maybe both of us?

  I’m clenching a hand into a fist, and even though my nails are about to draw blood, I don’t damn well care. The tension in my body is too much.

  All the arguments I’ve been agonizing over about whether I’ll save John or the world have been cerebral up until now.

  Now? When he’s just a few meters in front of me, they are physical.

  Visceral.

  The kind of arguments you feel in every single centimeter of your flesh. The kind of arguments that drill down into your damn bones and threaten to shake you apart from the inside out.

  Sweat slicks my brow, my eyes are wide, and blood now drips from my hand.

  “Yes. I now have everything I desire, or at least I’m close.” Spencer shifts and turns to me.

  Just before he does, I manage to take a hold of myself.

  Fortunately my hair has shifted over my shoulder, and it hides my sweaty brow.

  I force a smile over my lips.

  Any fool would be able to tell it’s fake, but Spencer isn’t concentrating on me. He turns back to John. He takes a step forward, latches a hand on John’s shoulder, and brings his face close.

  Though John is taller than Spencer, the pole holding John in place bends him down, angling him forward until his bare, bloodied, bruised feet drag across the ground.

  Despite the fact Spencer has a grip on John’s shoulders, and that grip looks deadly considering how much magic is crackling through it, John doesn’t blink or wince.

  He stares right into Spencer’s eyes. “This won’t end how you think it will.”

  … Again, is that comment meant for Spencer or me?

  Has John figured out what I’m planning?

  And is it a warning? A warning that I’ve sacrificed everyone, but I’ve already failed?

  I hold onto my nerve. And I goddamn hold onto it hard. But it seems to be slipping through my fingers like rain through a cupped hand.

  “It will end exactly how I wanted to. You have the knowledge I need, John. I know that,” Spencer says as he turns and looks directly at me.

  When John explained to me what an eater was, he also told me that he himself had knowledge that other kings didn’t have. And if people found out about that, they would want to turn him into an eater, too.

  But does John suddenly look at me, betrayed, suspecting I told Spencer about his power?

  No. John doesn’t even look at me. He keeps all of his attention for Spencer. And his attention is strong. Very few people can actually pull off strong under fire. They tend to pull off fearful determination. The kind of monkey grin you give when you realize you’re screwed but you have to keep trying anyway.

  John? Is calm. Or at least a measure of calm. He doesn’t look like he’s so detached from the situation that he can’t value what’s going on here anymore. But at the same time, he has a quiet reserve about him, almost as if he knows what will happen next, and is somehow comfortable with it.

  There’s one thing I haven’t really appreciated until now. What if John has a plan?

  What if in attacking us back in the tunnels, and in letting me flee, it was all part of some greater purpose?

  What if I don’t have to save him – what if he’s here to save me?

  … Again that thought is so damn seductive. It’s the kind of thought that just beckons you to fall into it. And if you fall into it, you’ll be free. You won’t have to grapple with your worries; you won’t have to manage your fears. All you’ll have to do is wait for someone else to protect you.

  … I can’t do that. If I stand here and wait for John in the hopes that he’s in control, I’ll lose my only opportunity. And I did not come this far and give up so much to do that.

  I tilt my head back.

  I’m aware of the fact that Matrexia is watching me out of the corner of her eye.

  Though I’m pretty sure she can’t read minds – and telepathy is not one of the spells a queen can master – you don’t need telepathy in order to figure out what someone’s feeling. You just need a fine control and awareness of nature. From the way somebody’s skin tightens around their eyes, to the exact size of their pupils, to the tension in their shoulders. If you become a student of anatomy, then you also become a student of the mind.

  So she’d know, right? Or at least she would guess what’s going on in my brain.

  I still don’t know if she’ll help me save John. I suspect she won’t, but I hope she will. But even if she does join me, nothing will matter until Spencer starts the magical rite and reveals the original board.

  If I jump the gun too quickly, all of this would’ve been in vain.

  “You may think you’re in control – you may think you know something I don’t. But that doesn’t matter,” Spencer says as he grins, his lips tugging over his teeth with a wet slap.

  There’s a long pause, and it becomes apparent that Spencer wants John to ask why.

  John does not. He simply continues to stare back into Spencer’s gaze with that same calm composure.

  You know before how when Spencer became aggressive and confident, my tracking symbol acted up and made me want to throw myself into his arms?

  Yeah, my mind is acting up now. Because there is something truly attractive about somebody who can maintain that level of composure in the face of this much stress and danger.

  Your biology may tell you to go for the biggest, strongest mate. If you trust your mind, go for the smartest.

  And as I stare into John’s fiery gaze, I realize he definitely has a trick up his sleeve.

  But the question is, will it be enough?

  Spencer is still chuckling, and the low, awful tone fills the room.

  It does something else, too – because I swear as I tune into the room, I appreciate it’s reacting to his vibrating tone.

  It’s not my imagination, is it?

  As I tear my gaze off John for several excruciating seconds, I let it flick down to the white-and-black checkerboard.

  And I see it. Just at the edge of my awareness, just at the furthest reaches of my sight, the tiniest crackles of magic.

  … Though at first I could easily confuse myself into thinking that it’s Spencer’s control of the board, I get the distinct impression that it’s the board’s control of Spencer.

  “I want you to know that your worthless life will finally have a purpose,” Spencer
continues to intimidate John as he presses his face close to John’s.

  John still has that look of total calm detachment. Or at least, he’s detached when he’s staring at Spencer. Whenever he methodically ticks his gaze toward me every 30 seconds, the passion rolls back in. Albeit muted. Albeit behind a wall.

  For now.

  I get the distinct impression that at any moment that wall could crack, and John’s passion will flow through once more.

  Matrexia is still blocking me off from Spencer, and she takes a quick step forward. As she does, she tilts her head down, and I see that she glances at the board. I instantly wonder if she can pick up the same charges of magic that I do.

  “My king, it is time.”

  “I’m busy,” he says dismissively as he waves an equally dismissive hand at her.

  Matrexia’s back straightens. I can only tell that because I’m standing right behind her and my eyes are locked on her naked shoulders. The line of them drops as her neck angles up.

  … If I think it’s bad for me, it has to be worse for her, right? She’s just a spell for a king to bandy around like some kind of toy. She has no choice in who she is loyal to. But worse than that? She did this all for him, didn’t she? The king she gave up her life for.

  It’s tragic and sad and pathetic and awful all at once.

  But hey, maybe my story will be worse.

  “My king, magic is building in this room. You must take charge,” she says simply.

  Spencer stands, rolls his eyes, pulls his lips back, and gets ready to snap at her.

  Then he stops. He obviously tunes into the board, yanks his head down, and frowns at it. “I didn’t request this magic to build—”

  “And yet it is building. You have begun the process, and now you must end it,” Matrexia says smoothly.

  Spencer looks thrown. It’s only for several seconds, and he hides his expression from John by showing his back to him.

  Me?

  I see it. I have an unrivaled view of Spencer’s gaze, and I watch as the little boy returns.

  He blinks, clenches a hand into a fist, then turns. I can tell he wants to take his time and enjoy torturing John. I can equally tell that now he’s tuned into the energies of the board, he realizes that the spell, regardless of whether he started it, is now gathering.

  And that reminds me of my conclusion from before. That nobody is in control. The only source of control is the board and the game beyond it.

  Though I’m not about to completely excuse Spencer’s every decision, I appreciate once more that despite the fact he is technically the most privileged player as a king, at the end of the day, he’s still playing a game he didn’t opt into.

  And though it seems that he has chosen this path, it’s also clear he had no choice but to do this.

  And worse?

  He can’t back out.

  A fact that’s proven as he takes a step back, little sparks of crackling magic escaping out from underneath his rubber-soled shoes as he does.

  I can sense chaos building. Waiting. Getting ready. But ready to do what?

  Liberate more power.

  As I conclude that, I round a hand into a fist and take a step forward.

  This brings me clearly within John’s view. It brings me clearly within Spencer’s view, too.

  Both kings stare at me.

  I know the content of their gazes. I don’t need the imprinting process to realize what they’re both thinking.

  I’m their last hope, right?

  Maybe that’s not an explicit thought for either of them, but it’s there in their bodies, locked in their eyes.

  Everything, and I mean everything, will come down to what I do next.

  Though it would be tempting to get lost in John’s gaze once more, I force myself to turn to Spencer. “Why is there magic building in this room? I thought you were in control?” Though it probably isn’t the wisest thing to question Spencer only several minutes after I gained his trust, this is a conscious move.

  I need to see it again. And I do see it again.

  What am I talking about? The fear in Spencer’s eyes. It’s right there. It’s not even deep anymore. It’s on the surface, and it’s as tense as all hell.

  Michael growls from behind me, taking a step forward.

  Before he can say anything, Spencer lifts a hand, though he never yanks his gaze off me. “This is a complicated, old rite. And I must admit,” he says through clenched teeth, “as I have already admitted, “that there are certain facts of this rite that I’m lacking. But don’t worry, my dear,” he says, “it is knowledge I’m about to attain.” With that, he turns smoothly and faces John. “You’ll make a fine eater.”

  John has dropped his gaze. He’s staring at the ground. But slowly, as if his neck has been attached to the sun and it’s being dragged across the sky, he tilts his head back, and he stares right at Spencer.

  “This was always how you were going to end,” he says. “You could never play the game.”

  “That’s rich coming from you,” Spencer spits. But if he is attempting to be defiant, it isn’t working. His tone is shaking with fear. A fear that marks his features, that drags down his face, that puckers his lips, and that, more than anything, draws attention to the cold, pallid wash of his cheeks.

  “You could never play the game,” John repeats. “You let the game play you.” With that, he looks at me.

  It feels like my intestines do a loop around my stomach. It feels like my spine tries to punch out of my back. It feels as if someone grabs their hands on my shoulders and rattles me. Because that is what John is trying to do with his eyes.

  … I’ve made a mistake, haven’t I? I’ve risked everything for nothing.

  But before that thought can settle in, Matrexia takes a smooth step back. She twists on her bare foot and faces me. “In order to turn this king into an eater, you will require both your queens’ power.” As she says that, she does not talk to Spencer.

  Spencer grits his teeth, pulls himself away from John, and faces Matrexia. “I don’t need to be told how to do this ceremony.”

  “Then I suggest you hurry up and do it, sir, because more chaotic energies are entering the room.”

  Spencer looks sharply to the side, tilts his head up, appears to attune to them, then, just as quickly, dismisses them.

  “Bring me Senator Rogers’ knife,” he growls.

  No. This is it.

  If I think it will take Michael time to go get this knife, I’m wrong. He reaches a hand around his back, appears to access some kind of magical pocket, then pulls it out. He hands it to Spencer.

  Spencer stares down at John. John stares up.

  Spencer takes a step toward him.

  “It’s too late for you,” John tells him.

  Spencer stops just in front of John. “That’s ironic. Because that’s exactly what I was going to say to you.”

  It finally comes down to this. The decision I’ve been grappling with.

  To save him or to save everyone else.

  That’s when Matrexia shifts forward. She has time to open her mouth and say, “If you are a true queen, you can do both. Promise me this one thing. Promise me that you will destroy this game. I may hate your king, and I might want revenge. But you are right. Seeking revenge on other kings will only keep us locked in this game. To be free, you must destroy the game. And you will destroy the game. I will bring you the chance,” she says.

  Though Matrexia says all of this to me, no one else apparently hears. It’s a hushed whisper that I can only pick up right by my ear.

  I don’t have time to reply to her. She shifts forward and stops right in front of John.

  Just as Spencer takes a looming step toward him, he stops, doubling back. “What are you doing?”

  “You do not have time. The energies are gathering too quickly.”

  “Get out of my way,” he barks.

  Instead of getting out of his way, Matrexia points her finger up and one finger d
own.

  That’s when I see the game board starting to shake. The roof is starting to shake, too.

  With the knife still gripped in his hand, Spencer makes a face as he stares at both. “What the hell is happening?”

  “The energies have become unstable. You called forth this magical board and began the spell. You must draw the original board here to complete it, or the room will break itself apart.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Spencer begins.

  But that would be when the floor starts to truly shake. It gives such a hell of a lurch, Spencer is thrown to the side. He almost slashes himself across his arm, but Michael is too quick, and he grabs his boss’ shoulder and shores up his stance.

  Spencer doesn’t bother snapping at Matrexia again. He drops the knife, takes a step back, closes his eyes, and appears to tune into the board.

  It doesn’t take him long to come up with some kind of conclusion.

  He opens his mouth and eyes and spits harshly.

  He looks right at Matrexia. “Bring me the board.”

  Matrexia nods down low. She gets onto both knees and spreads her hands wide. Magic pushes from them.

  As it does, I feel the chaotic energies in the room as they are swept aside. They part, almost as if somebody has sliced through them with a sword.

  The next thing I know, the original board appears spinning above her hands.

  It… is terrifying.

  You wouldn’t think some simple stone game board would have the power to make fear pulse through me. You’d be wrong. It’s not the board itself. It’s the promise. It’s the energy it brings with it, too. It’s so dense, so terrifying.

  So complete.

  Maybe Spencer can actually feel it, because he shudders.

  He does not, however, waste any more time. He presses forward, grabs the board, concentrates, then throws it up into the air.

  He’s not about to destroy the damn thing. I’m not going to be that lucky.

  As he throws it up into the air, the chaos in the room swipes toward it. It forms twisting black smoke that surrounds it from every angle. It spins and spins and spins around the damn thing, until it starts to charge with electricity. Little strikes of lightning sink into the board and enliven it. They aren’t bright, blinding white, though. They are black. And they are terrifying as all hell. If the hair wasn’t already standing up on the back of my neck, they would probably have plucked themselves out by now.