The Last Queen Book Five Read online

  Failure to appreciate reality is not a skill; it’s a life-threatening problem.

  Fortunately Spencer soon pulls his hand from mine as his phone rings.

  For the rest of the ride, he plays with it. That allows me all the time I need to settle my mind. And there’s only one thing I settle it on. Michael. He’s driving, and though, legitimately, he has to keep looking in his rear vision mirror, a few times, I can see him locking his gaze on me.

  And yeah, the suspicion is still there.

  Unlike Spencer, it’s damn clear that Michael can see reality and not just what he wants to.

  I wonder how long he’ll let his suspicions of me sit until he does something.

  Just as he’s keeping his eye on me, I’m gonna have to keep my eyes on him, because even though Spencer is blinded by me right now, if Michael gives him enough information and evidence, maybe Spencer will change.

  And who knows what will happen if he does?

  Wait. I know what will happen if he does. My arm knows what will happen if he does. I get a sudden itchy sensation through the remnants of the tracking symbol on my shoulder. I want to drive my fingers into it, play with the skin until I can eke out that tingle, but I don’t dare. Touching it in Spence’s presence will only draw his attention to me. So I grit my teeth and try to force my mind off it.

  But there’s only so long I can distract myself from reality. If Spencer suspects I’m gonna run for a single moment, he’s going to imprint me fully and make me one of his pieces.

  And then what?

  I’m suddenly reminded of the queen I was forced to fight. Beautiful but brutal, she was nothing more than the energetic equivalent of a robot.

  And though she was technically a shadow, and I’ll still be alive if Spencer turns me, what’s the difference? I won’t be able to do what I want to.

  I’ll be nothing more than a trapped bird.

  We ride to our destination in silence.

  Our destination is a construction site on the far side of town.

  I know how to get to that ancient gameboard – I’ve done it multiple times. This doesn’t seem to be a great place to start.

  Then again, with my ability to tunnel, does it really matter? As soon as we hit the flood tunnels, I’ll be able to find my way back to the board.

  If Spencer has a plan, he’s not about to tell me it.

  As soon as we park, he gets out of the car, stretches, and smiles. And boy is it a specific smile.

  Even a first-year psychology student would be able to tell you it’s the smile of an unhinged man with delusions of grandeur. Except, unfortunately for the world, this unhinged man has a queen at his fingertips.

  Literally. He walks over to me, grabs up my hand, turns it over, and flattens his palm against mine.

  I have to force myself to remain perfectly still so I don’t jolt back. That doesn’t stop my voice from wavering slightly. “What are you doing?”

  He smiles at me. “I’m calling up a queen.”

  “But why are you holding my hand?” I have to control my voice. My tone, my expression, my everything. I know I have to ensure I don’t give anything away in front of Michael.

  He’s only standing several meters to the side, and boy is he locking me in his full attention. His eyes look like two targeting sensors, and I know that if I let even a single emotional cue drop, he’s going to pick up on it. And if he gets any more suspicious, God, who knows, he might even attack me down in the flood drains.

  Still, you try not reacting as your nemesis cradles your hand and presses his hot palm against it.

  Spencer’s heat is unmistakable, but this time the imprinting process doesn’t act up.

  I continue to frown at him.

  He closes his eyes and doesn’t explain anything further.

  Then I hear him start to chant under his breath.

  If you’d asked me before I joined with him, I would’ve told you Spencer doesn’t know as much about magic as John. After all, John seems to actively seek out as much knowledge as he can.

  But that would be forgetting the fact that Spencer is a king in his own right and he’s been ruling over his own game boards in his own right, too. And there must be some knowledge that is simply basic to being a king.

  And maybe this spell is part of that, because as Spencer chants it, God, I get the sense that it’s deep somehow. No, I don’t mean it’s profound, as if I’m listening to Rome’s greatest orator. What I mean is… bear with me, but the words seem to be buried deep in reality, or at least they seem to be drawing something out of the deepest depths of matter.

  The air doesn’t exactly hum and vibrate around us, but I get this sense that something is being drawn right up from some bottomless well.

  I feel my back straightening and a tight race of tingles darting over the back of my head. Something zaps along my tongue, too, and my breath becomes short and sharp as I practically pant.

  That’s when I realize what he’s doing. He’s accessing something from me. He’s drawing up my magic.

  Though my first and only inclination is to push away from him, I stand my ground.

  Maybe he can appreciate I’m freaking out, because his fingers tighten around mine. “Do not fear. This is part of the process. In order to draw out this queen, I must have your power, too. Hold my hand and trust me,” he says simply as if that’s an easy equation.

  Hold Spencer’s hand and trust him? If I was in my right mind, the only thing I would do with his hand is slap it back.

  As it is, I have to really control how much I clench my jaw in case Michael’s eagle-eyes lock on me.

  It doesn’t take too much longer, and soon enough, actual magic starts to crackle over my body.

  I’m not doing it, though, and it comes from no conscious command from me.

  It reminds me exactly of what Antonio did to me, but I don’t feel any remnants of his spell tingling across my lips and racing down my throat.

  Plus, this is deeper, like I already said. It feels like it’s dredging my very soul.

  I’m now panting as if I’m running a marathon.

  Spencer has his eyes closed, and he keeps muttering that spell, over and over again. Even though he’s repeating it, I never catch the exact words. It’s as if they’re too elusive for my mind to grasp hold of.

  Just when I think I can’t take anymore, something rushes right out of the top of my head.

  My brains aren’t suddenly taking the opportunity to bash free from my skull.

  It’s energy. Magic. It’s crackling blue, and it’s as bright as all hell.

  It’s fortunate that Andrew is currently casting a reality-bending spell, because even though this construction site is deserted, every single building around would be able to see my magic. Hell, you might even be able to pick it up on the city limits as it blasts through the sky.

  Though I’m telling myself to stay exactly where I am no matter what he does to me, I can’t, and my knees suddenly cut out.

  Before I can fall flat on my butt, he leans in quickly, wraps a hand around my back, and locks me in place.

  That brings me up against his chest, and though that sends tight shivers down my left shoulder, I don’t pay attention to them.

  Instead, I stare at the blue shadow that starts to form just a few meters in front of me. It forms from my magic. It’s stopped discharging into the air, and it suddenly settles down, almost as if it’s too heavy, as if it’s no longer light, but matter instead and gravity has caught hold of it.

  It darts about several meters in front of me until it begins to form a body. And that body is a beautiful naked woman.

  Why the shadows of queens have to be naked, I don’t know.

  But even though this woman technically isn’t wearing any clothes, it almost seems not to matter. She has too much intensity to notice her nakedness.

  It’s not just in the way my magic buffets around her; it’s in the look she shoots me.

  Technically, her gaze is dead. He
r pupils are wide and blue and take up her entire eyes.

  There’s no expressiveness there, and yet, there is inherent power. A sense of regality, too. And if there’s one thing I have always lacked as the Last Queen, it’s that – the sense of grace and control that’s meant to come when you rule others.

  This woman has it. And she locks that intense attention on me.

  Spencer helps me to my feet and takes a swift step back. He brings up a hand, clamps it on his chin, and starts to walk around the queen. “Matrexia. One of Senator Rogers’ most powerful pieces. He was keeping her for you, you know,” Spencer suddenly points out as he stops circling around Matrexia and instead locks his attention on me.

  I’m still shaking slightly, and I have to keep my arms out wide lest a powerful convulsion take me down to my knees. Still, at that comment, I can’t help but yank my head over to Spencer. “What are you talking about?”

  “Rogers had plans for you. The same plan we’re going through now,” Spencer says, careful not to say the same plan that he has for me now. No, he always phrases it as if we’re going through this together, and if, ultimately, he’s not the one with all the power.

  I frown. “But Spencer already had control of the ancient board.”

  “I don’t mean the spell that we’re going to use Matrexia to teach you right now. I mean her and her knowledge,” he says as he flicks a hand toward her. It’s a dismissive move, and though he was admiring her seconds before, his eyes are now only for me.

  I’m not stupid enough to think that means that he loves me or cherishes me in any way other than as a weapon.

  It reminds me instead of exactly how a king behaves. Ultimately, a queen is nothing more than an object. The most powerful piece, sure, but not the most powerful player.

  “Matrexia was once the most powerful queen, and she has an imprint of that knowledge remaining. She will teach it to you, including the spell you will require to take and move the board.”

  “Move the board? How are we going to move it? I thought it was ancient?”

  “It will have to become embodied. You’ve seen embodied boards,” he says with a shrug. “The original one I showed you is one such example. You would’ve seen John’s, too.”

  I frown as I realize we’re entering into an area of game law that I have no idea about. I can appreciate that while some boards are just that – little game boards – the others are mapped out on a room.

  I have no idea of the process that separates the two.

  Spencer seems to enjoy my lack of understanding, and a truly wide smile spreads his lips. “All of that knowledge will come in time. For now, let us follow.” With that, he spreads his hand to the side and gives the queen a silent command.

  She pushes off.

  Her hair floats around her as she walks. She looks, in every way, like you’d expect a queen to. Okay, she’s not wearing any clothes, she doesn’t have a crown, and she’s hardly running around waving at people from carriages. Not the point. I mean the concept of a queen. Of hierarchy. Of people born into a family to rule. Not chosen for it, but given it.

  The way she holds herself is with such superiority, it’s almost as if I can’t help but fall into step behind her.

  Then I remind myself of my own worth. Oh yeah, and the fact that she is nothing more than a damn shadow.

  Me? I still have my power, and if I use it wisely, I’ll never be turned into her.

  We head further into the construction site until I find a set of old sandstone stairs leading down.

  As we reach them, Spencer lifts his arms up high. “Do you like my grand entrance?” he asks.

  Don’t you dare call me my dear, I whisper in my mind.

  I wince as he turns his head and smiles at me, adding, “My dear?”

  I manage to smooth a smile over my face. “This is your entrance? Is this your construction site?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I just purchased it.”

  “From whom?”

  “John. Not that he knows it yet.”

  At the mere mention of his name, adrenaline spikes, and I feel tingles rushing down my back. “What does that mean?”

  Maybe I can’t quite keep out the quick tone of worry from my voice, because Spencer pauses at the top of the stairs, angles his head toward me, and gets a calculating look on his face.

  He’s not the only one who stares my way. The queen does, too. Maybe she has her own intelligence – which I doubt, as she’s meant to be nothing more than a shadow. Or, more likely, she’s attuned to her king, and as suspicion rises in Spencer’s heart, so too does it in hers. Though Spencer promised me that this queen won’t hurt me, if I fall out of line, and Spencer has to capture me, she’ll be the one to do that.

  “I don’t really care about business,” I suddenly add, realizing I have to keep the conversation on track now before it can degenerate. “All I really care about—”

  Spencer releases his tension, tips his head back, and laughs. “Is acquiring power. I know. And that’s what I love about you,” he adds.

  Sometimes I wonder if Spencer learned how to be romantic from some kind of 50s pulp novel. From the things he says to the way he acts, he’s a caricature.

  … And yet, though it would be so easy to dismiss him for it, I can’t. Because the tingles that always race down my arm in his presence – no matter how much I’m hating on him at the time – tell me that there’s always been more to this man.

  Spencer, just like John, has always had to wear a mask. Because Spencer, just like John, has always been forced to play this game. He didn’t choose to. And in playing it, he’s had to make sacrifices.

  Once or twice, especially the first time I kissed him, I found myself sensing a different Spencer. One buried deep, deep under the surface. One who I know he tries with all his might never to reveal.

  Maybe thinking about this right now is the best thing I can do, because it probably softens my expression, which is exactly what I need.

  The queen turns away as Spencer’s suspicion ebbs completely. He reaches forward, clasps a hand on my shoulder, lets his thumb drag down my arm, then nods down the stairs.

  “They’re beautiful,” I force myself to add. And hey, maybe I don’t need to force myself to add it, because they are. It’s not just that the sandstone is carved perfectly and the character of the stone is there in every single step, it’s the feel of the place. It has this deep sense of… gravitas. Almost as if these are steps up into a palace.

  Or maybe down into a crypt.

  As I think that, I shiver a little. That’s when I start to pick up the faintest charge of magic coming in from the mouth of this entrance.

  It causes a deep frown to mark my lips as I turn my head toward him, a few stray strands of hair getting caught in a slight breeze.

  Though there’s been pretty clement weather up until now, as I tilt my head up slightly, out of the corner of my eye, I can see clouds racing across the sky.

  They look exactly like they’re being chased. Maybe that’s a metaphor for today. Because there’s one thing I can’t forget. Even now Michael has his eyes on me. Though he’s standing several steps back and is letting Spencer take the lead, I can feel his hot, angry gaze boring into the back of my neck.

  “You can feel something, can’t you?” Spencer asks, his voice quick, his smile quicker as it flattens his chin and pushes his lips high into his cheeks. “You are a true queen, after all.”

  He says that with pride in his tone. And though the old me – the one who loves to despise him – would point out it’s nothing more than covetous pride; the new me sees something in his eyes. Buried right deep down beneath all of that arrogance. Buried right deep down beneath all of that wealth and privilege.

  The fear. The complicated, contorted fear that has always been at the heart of Spencer. It marks his every move, from how he plays the game, to whom he chooses to sacrifice.

  Even though I try to stop myself, my heart softens as I recognize it.

>   Spencer is still looking at me, and he obviously expects me to say something. I catch my hair, hook it behind my ears, and stare back down the stone steps. “There’s definitely magic coming from this entrance. No,” I correct myself quickly as I tip my head back, half close my eyes, and tune into the natural order. You would think it would be hard considering I’m with Spencer, and he’s the least natural magic practitioner I’ve ever come across, but it’s not. It’s easier, you see. Every time I do it, it becomes quicker, as if it’s a skill that’s always been buried deep in my body, and it’s not one I’ve had to learn, just release.

  “Yes?” Spencer asks, his tone quick, making me realize that he’s waiting for me to figure something out.

  So I push all my attention into them – the tingles that race down my cheeks, that spread across my lips, that plunge down my throat. They remind me of the control spell that Antonio cast on me, and they irritate the last remnants of it. The body memory of being thrown around like a doll, with absolutely no ability to control my movements, is still there locked in every limb.

  And for some reason, right now as I tune into the natural ebbs and flows of magic in the world around me, it reignites that memory.

  And that’s important.

  Though in the old days, I would’ve pushed away that conclusion, now I open my arms to it.

  Because even if I didn’t ultimately join John, I accepted the most fundamental lesson he taught me. As a queen, the greatest thing I can do is use my attachment to nature to learn spells.

  It tells me that there was, once upon a time, some kind of control spell cast on this very entranceway.

  But at the same time, my sheer intelligence and suspicion of Spencer tell me that that’s not the answer he’s looking for.

  “I can’t be sure, but it feels like Senator Rogers for some reason. I didn’t have that much to do with the man, but his imprint was… strong,” I say carefully.

  After all, kings are jealous things. And no one is more jealous than Spencer.

  Fortunately he doesn’t pick up anything from my tone, though. He chucks his head back and laughs. He claps his hands. “That’s it. Even though you had little to do with Senator Rogers, you can still feel the leftover effect of his magic. Which is precisely what we’re going to need,” he says as his eyes sparkle.