The Last Queen Book Three Read online

  For a split second, nothing happens, then the very ground shakes.

  The gameboard bucks, but it’s not like mere ground shaking under an earthquake. Hell no, in an instant, it feels like a hand. One that’s rushing up to claim the blood that’s spilled from my neck.

  I manage to push to my feet, then I duck down, roll, and spring out of the way. I’m now several meters away from my sword, but at least I put a little distance between me and the bishop.

  As for the board? It’s now glowing so brightly, I can finally see the room in full. I even catch a glimpse of the mezzanine level above. I know that if only I can get to it and scrounge enough magic, I can blast a path out of the flood drains and up into the city above.

  Then I can scrounge every last scrap of magic, do another body-splitting spell, and get out of here, right?

  Fat chance.

  Both the bishops fly toward me. One’s closer, and he slashes the pike at my neck. I’m forced down onto my knees, and I tip my head back as I see the pike sail right above my face, barely a micro centimeter away from my nose. As for the other bishop, he reaches my side, lurches down low, and slashes at my knees. I’m forced to roll to the side, but it’s not quite in time, and the electrified, glowing tip of the pike slashes across my legs. Dammit. It cuts the skin, and yet more blood splatters out onto the board.

  The board greedily laps it up, glowing brighter now. And as it glows brighter, I become duller.

  My head’s woozy now, and there’s nausea picking up from my stomach and blasting against me in waves.

  But I can’t afford to let it affect me for a single second. Because the bishops do it again. Rather than round on me with their pikes and try to slash at me like I’m some cornered animal, they leap high into the sky. I have just enough time to see them cross their blades.

  Then they attack.

  This time, I have no hope. I’m just not quick enough.

  Realization that I’m about to die slams into me, but even that can’t affect me.

  It’s over.

  But just at the last moment, as that red light blasts toward me, so does something else. I feel a powerful set of arms wrap around my middle, and the next thing I know, I’m on the opposite side of the board. Someone leaps so high and so fast, it’s like I’m in the arms of Superman.

  We land, and I stagger back against them, finally tilting my head up and looking into his eyes.

  Because I already know who it is.

  John.

  He has just enough time to convey a somber, saddened, and yet gentle emotion, then he jerks his head up, his eyes narrowing wide.

  I don’t want to tear my gaze off him, but I can still hear the bishops on the other side of the room, their magic charging.

  But that changes.

  “I know I can’t tell you to do this – but now more than ever, you need to trust me,” John says as he shifts down, guides my body to the ground, and takes a step back. He’s still looking at me, his head directed down, his face lit up by the unholy glow of the white squares of the checkered board below him.

  Never breaking his gaze on me once, he finally sweeps his hand to the side.

  He activates his throne.

  It appears right behind him, the gold just drawing itself out of the darkness. Then it slams against his legs, tipping him backward. He falls with a thump, his hands landing against the carved, ornate armrests of the throne.

  Those white ropes appear instantly, tying his body down, weighing him against the throne with so much force, even from here I can tell it would take the combined energy of the universe itself to break him free.

  He still doesn’t look away as the ropes turn invisible.

  For the first time since I was forced onto this gameboard, the feel of it changes.

  It’s no longer like it’s trying to suck the energy out of me to feed itself. No.

  It’s got a memorable energy, now – it feels like John.

  “Do whatever you have to do to pick yourself up. And go find your other sword,” John says.

  It’s not what I expect him to say. From that tender look in his eyes, I think he’s going to tell me to run away like he always does.

  He doesn’t.

  And that underlines something I already know – I’ve never faced a situation more serious than this.

  Though the very last thing I want to do is continue the fight, I can’t stop myself. It’s not just the entreating look he shoots me. Nor is it the fact that the feel of the gameboard has changed. It’s that I can’t stomach running away anymore.

  I can’t stomach letting John save me.

  I want to fight back against these bishops.

  So I push up.

  Yeah, god yeah is my body aching. It doesn’t just feel like I’ve run a marathon – it feels like I’ve been beaten up for the past week. Every single muscle is weak like jelly, I swear my bones have turned into honeycomb, and the rest of me is a wobbly mess.

  But I stand.

  I don’t want to accept commands from John Rowley, but I know I have no option.

  The two bishops pause, obviously rethinking their strategy. Though they both face me as I scuttle across the floor to collect my other sword, they also don’t attack.

  So far, John hasn’t called on any of his pieces. That changes now. Out of the corner of my eye as I race across the board with every last ounce of my strength, I hear him let out a breath and I see him spread his hands up wide.

  He can’t actually pull his arms off the armrests of the throne. But that doesn’t matter as his fingers spread as far as they can.

  Suddenly, things start to align behind him.

  I’ve really only met three or four of John Rowley’s pieces. From Antonio, to Walter, to some of his other senior members of staff. And of course, I can’t forget his building.

  But now I finally see his pawns.

  They align behind him. It’s almost unending – I honestly can’t see where they stop.

  I want to turn right around and stare, but John doesn’t give me that option. He looks right at me, and it doesn’t matter that he’s on the opposite side of the room – his eyes seem to bore through my very skull. “Get your last sword and be ready to defend.”

  Like I said, I don’t want to take orders from John Rowley, but I don’t have a choice.

  His voice is different. Pregnant with warning. One that bypasses my head and all my doubts and sinks right into my limbs. No, before you ask, this isn’t the same effect that Spencer has on my body.

  This is a lot deeper than that. I know I can trust it, too.

  I finally make it over to my sword. I scoop down to my knees, shove forward, and latch my hand around the blade.

  It charges with the faintest zap of magic. It’s really nothing more than a shadow of the power I once had, and yet, even though it’s small, it gives me hope.

  So does John.

  I promptly stand, turn hard on my shoes, and stare at him, my hair flaring around my face.

  He’s looking at me, but at the same time, he’s commanding his pieces.

  He stretches a hand forward, and suddenly three of his pawns jump onto the gameboard.

  As soon as they land on the white squares, the squares light up as if they’re candles that have just been lit.

  John’s pawns are different to the other pawns I’ve seen.

  They don’t have the same dark expressions.

  They also don’t look as mindless.

  I don’t exactly have time to make a complete comparison, though. Because the bishops attack.

  Yeah, like I’ve said on so many occasions, I don’t know that much about chess, but even a complete beginner would appreciate that pawns aren’t nearly as maneuverable nor powerful as bishops. Three pawns, in other words, have no chance of defeating bishops.

  So before I know what I’m doing, I start running. Not away from the bishops and toward relative safety on the opposite side of the board – no, toward them.

  “Save your s
trength,” John begins.

  I ignore him.

  Like I said, I’m not about to take orders.

  Plus, there’s something very important happening inside me as I choose to fight and I’m not pushed to defend myself. I’m accessing my magic again. Once more, I’m bypassing the insidious effect the board has on my magic and body.

  Just as John’s three pawns engage the bishops, I leap into the air. I’m not about to blast at the bishops with all of the magic I’ve scrounged. I’m not that stupid.

  I’m just giving them a distraction. Because as I leap over their heads with my swords in my hands, they predictably follow me, not the pawns.

  John’s pawns have limited magic. They all have stone swords, and while they have faint white-blue glows, they certainly aren’t as bright as the pikes the bishops are holding.

  That doesn’t matter. All three of the pawns gang up on a single bishop and manage to knock it to the ground.

  “Be careful, for God’s sake. If you have to fight, be careful,” John says.

  I land behind the bishops.

  Though I want to take the time to jerk my head up and make eye contact, to point out that I know what I’m doing, I slash to the side instead.

  I keep the other bishop occupied while the three pawns go to town on the guy’s friend.

  For the first time since this awful fight began, I finally accept the prospect that I might actually win and make it out of here.

  But that would be when the ground shakes.

  A chunk of the wall right behind me is blasted off, too.

  I don’t really have time to react. I hunker down, force my knees onto the ground, and bring my arms up. But massive chunks of electrified stone still slam into my shoulders and arms, smashing me forward.

  As for Rowley’s pawns, there’s nothing they can do. A huge chunk of the ceiling suddenly peels away and pins them to the spot.

  Rowley screams.

  I’m knocked onto my back, and I open my eyes to see a huge chunk of ceiling hail down to squash me flat.

  Just in time, I plant my hands behind me, let go of my swords, and leap to my feet. I dash to the side as the rock slams against the gameboard and scatters into chunks. So much magic dashes along it that it spreads across the floor like a hot coal crushed underfoot.

  I scamper to my feet, jerking back, my sweaty, rock-dust-covered hair slashing around my face.

  My eyes lock on my swords. I can just see their handles peeking out through the destroyed dirt.

  Just before I get the desire to rush forward, I finally see him.

  Sauntering right through the wall. One hand in his pocket, his feet barely touching the ground as if he’s only going through the motions of walking without actually having to put up with gravity.

  Senator Rogers.

  He looks right at me, and his expression is unreadable.

  Wait, it goes beyond unreadable. For a fraction of a second, he has that same deadened quality that his pieces did in the rose garden. The look of a man who was never truly alive. Or maybe the look of a man who doesn’t seem alive, because he’s never had to put up with the same uncertainty and pain as ordinary mortals.

  He walks right toward me.

  I back away, reluctantly abandoning my swords.

  “Dammit, I thought I would have more time,” I hear Rowley spit from the other side of the room.

  Rogers darts his gaze toward Rowley for a split second, then locks his attention back on me. He smiles. It’s a slow affair. It’s almost as if his lips don’t understand how the move works, and it takes them a heck of a long time to curl high into his cheeks. It doesn’t reach his eyes, though. Those blazing pits of darkness still lock on me.

  As he strides over the stone where my swords have been buried, he sweeps his hands down and plucks them right out. He catches them by the blade, and despite the fact they’re not his weapons, they don’t injure him. With quick moves, he throws my swords in the air, and they twist around until he can catch them by the handles.

  He purses his lips together and whistles as he slashes the swords experimentally through the air.

  Meanwhile, my skin is crawling. It doesn’t just feel like there are spiders escaping through the skin. It’s a far more horrible experience than that. It feels as if in touching my swords, Rogers has reached in and grabbed my spine.

  I can’t even stagger back anymore.

  Rogers walks right toward me, and there’s not a thing I can do.

  But fortunately, I’m not in this alone.

  I hear Rowley scream.

  Then something happens to the chessboard.

  Rogers darts his head to the side, and there’s just enough time for his eyes to blast wide. “Begin a game with me, and you will lose everything,” he hisses.

  But it doesn’t matter. Whatever John has done to the board obviously initiates a game, and though Rogers is still the most powerful king I’ve ever met, even he doesn’t have power over the game. Because the next thing I know, the throne forms behind him, knocks him into it, and those ropes lock him to the armrests.

  He hisses, and his lips are all pale and thin as he stares at me. He tries to reach a finger or two toward me, but he can’t escape his throne.

  Finally Rogers jerks his attention away from me and locks his murderous gaze on John. “Fine. I was going to deal with Spencer first, but fine,” his angry voice echoes out with the punching, blasting quality of artillery fire, “I’ll end you first. You were a fool to begin a game with me over her.” His voice is so angry, it blasts through the room. “I will kill you and take every damn piece you have. I’ll suck the souls right out of them and put them on the front line.”

  When Rogers was pulled into his throne, he lost hold of my swords. They’re right by his knees.

  I take a sudden chance, letting my courage well within me as I force myself to dart forward.

  Before anyone can stop me, I skid to a stop by Rogers’ knees, grab up my swords, and dart back. As I do, I lock my gaze on him, and he locks his on me. I don’t even want to begin to describe the covetous quality in his eyes. It’s on a completely different level to when I look into Spencer and John’s gazes. Rogers isn’t just greedy – he’s malevolence embodied.

  Now I have my swords in my hands, I finally feel strong. Not stupid, though. I’m not about to take both kings head on. But the swords give me the single reminder I really need – I’m the queen here.

  I keep backing off over the board. As I do, I appreciate that now Rogers has joined the game, his bishops seem to be stuck. It’s almost as if now he’s here, they have to wait for his explicit order to move.

  I feel John’s gaze on the back of my neck, and I have just enough time to turn and make meaningful eye contact with him before the game starts in full.

  Neither Rogers nor John directly attack me. As pieces assemble behind their thrones and they command them to enter the game, it’s like I’m stuck in a war zone but not in the war itself.

  Pawns and bishops and horses furl around me, attacking each other, but nobody dares to venture too close to me.

  I’m all the way on the opposite side of the board, staring, completely mesmerized and confused and overcome by what I’m seeing.

  Magical light fills the room, and for the first time, it’s brighter than the board itself.

  No, wait. That isn’t entirely true. Because as I jerk my head down and focus on the board, I can tell that every single time magic is used, the board glows subtly and more brightly.

  ... It’s almost as if it’s absorbing the excess power from the fight.

  It... it reminds me of some kind of parasite. One that forces its host to expend a specific kind of power to feed it.

  I don’t have the time to shiver at that awful thought.

  An errant charge of magic sails toward me.

  The next thing I know, I’m defending. Not dodging. I bring my swords up, and I finally allow them to charge with magic. It’s more than enough to protect against the a
ttack.

  As the excess magic discharges around me and sinks into the board, I stare from my swords, to my hands, to the checkers below me.

  ... The more I learn about this board, the less of an effect it’s having on me, right? Yeah, maybe I’m making that up. And considering the awful hell I’ve put myself through by thinking I know an answer when I don’t, I really should stop making any more assumptions. But this particular assumption feels right. Because it’s the only thing that can account for my rapidly growing magic.

  It’s more than enough that it sees me leap into the air, a trail of magic escaping over my legs as I dodge yet another blow. There are now so many pieces on the board from both sides that it’s pretty much impossible for me to find a quiet corner and just wait this fight out.

  So it’s time to be drawn into it, isn’t it?

  I have no intention of letting Rogers win. It’s not just that John has put his life on the line to come here and save me. It’s that men like Rogers just can’t be allowed to live in Rival City. The longer he sticks around, the more danger everyone else is going to be in.

  So I finally, finally go on the offensive. I’m not stupid enough to leap up and start to attack the board. I tried that once before, remember? And though it’s a revelation to me that a queen can destroy a board, I also appreciate that I don’t have nearly enough power to try. Try, and the board is just going to greedily accept all of the power I give to it and suck me dry.

  So I attack Rogers’ stronger pieces, instead.

  I was never the kind of girl who got a kick out of military movies. I’m not one for strategy. And as my life to date has pointed out, I don’t really work well with other people. But that all changes as I... kind of seamlessly fit into the game. I seem to know what John is thinking, what moves he’s going to make next, and I capitalize on them, protecting his pieces where I can. Offering defense, and where that doesn’t work, offering attack.

  I’m not as powerful as I usually am, not yet, anyway. I have a long way to go before I’m fighting completely fit. But that doesn’t really matter. Because even on half energy, I’m still the strongest piece on the board by far.