The Last Queen Book Four Page 5

I remain in a crouched position, head angled toward John, two fingers pressed into the floor, and my lips all the way around my gums as I hiss. “Unless you want me to rip through these mats and destroy this room, I suggest you tell me what the hell you want me to do.”

  John lets his hands relax, and he ticks his head to the side. There’s a clearly disappointed quality to his gaze as he brings up a hand and scratches his chin in thought. “I would have expected you to dodge that.”

  “I can dodge if you want. But like I said, it will probably cost you this room. Now do you mind telling me exactly what you want me to do?”

  “Feel. I want you to feel.”

  “What?” Even though I want to keep hold of my anger considering John is being a dick, I can’t deny the thrill of energy that shoots up my heart, expanding through my chest like a warm kiss.

  There’s something... a little seductive about the way he said feel. Or is that just my overactive imagination reacting to the imprinting process again?

  John brings his hands up wide. Though he’s not that much of a demonstrable man, not compared to the over-the-top passionate Spencer, I can tell that right now John is trying to make a point. “The greatest asset of the queen is that she is... far more aligned with the natural order of things than a king – than any of the other pieces, in fact. It’s not just her raw, inherent power,” he says as he brings a hand up and closes it into a loose fist. “It’s her ability to understand and follow magic. It won’t simply allow you to learn the spells of other pieces – it will allow you to predict what’s about to happen.” On the words predict what is about to happen, he attacks.

  I’m not expecting it. I’ve been completely drawn in by his words – by his stance and his expression as he stares into my eyes.

  So I don’t get out of the way in time.

  The mats below me curl around my ankles and yank me backward. I fall flat on my ass, conch my head on the now bare floor, and see a flash of stars bursting through my vision.

  “Hey,” I bark, “that hurt.” I shove up, kick the mats off, and rub the back of my head.

  I expect John to apologize. To lean down on one knee, his compassionate face pressing close to mine as he begs me for my forgiveness. You see, John has always looked out for me, hasn’t he?

  Now?

  He stays exactly where he is, his expression impassive. Hell, it almost looks haughty, too. And out of all of the kings I’ve met, John has always looked the humblest.

  Now he shakes his head again, draws up a hand, locks it on his chin, and presses his fingers against his stubble lined skin. “You shouldn’t be holding back,” he concludes as he lets the hand drop.

  My stomach kicks. Though my brain tells me he’s speaking about this training session, my heart tells me he’s talking about our relationship.

  With those confused stupid thoughts and feelings swirling around my body, I stumble as I stand, almost slipping and thumping back against the floor.

  This elicits a rumble from John.

  Fine, he doesn’t want me to hold back?

  I can play that game.

  As quick as a sprinter, I launch at him, really leaning into the move, almost overbalancing until I launch into a flip instead.

  I leap right over his head, sailing through the air, feeling it as it grabs up my loose exercise clothes and flattens my fringe against my forehead.

  I land behind him, lock an arm around his waist, and haul him over.

  I expect him to put up some defense, even though he should be surprised by my quick move.

  He doesn’t attempt to defend it all. He’s as limp as a rag doll as I shove him onto the ground and pin him to the mat with one knee pressing against his chest.

  I’ve been close to John. Close enough to stare into his eyes and feel the imprinting process take hold of my soul. Close enough that every part of me – from my skin to my heart to my lips – tingles with him.

  But this is different.

  I can feel the hard line of his chest beneath my knee, appreciating every time he takes a breath as the muscles push against my leg. I can even feel the heat coming off his skin from here.

  Just when my heart flutters and my lips open all of their own accord, I hear a creak from behind me. The next thing I know, I’m clocked on the head by a flying mat.

  My brain was elsewhere – thoroughly engaged by the prospect of John’s body – and there’s nothing I can do as the mat wrenches me off him and pinned me against the floor.

  Fuck this.

  It’s time for magic.

  This time as I shove into the mat, I let magic enshroud me. It leaps across my skin, powering over my body with enough light to illuminate a house.

  The mat can’t resist. As I punch it, it sails all the way across the room and slams into the wall a good 30 m away. The wall shudders, and I spring to my feet.

  “I’m not testing your force,” John warns in a low growl as he too stands, though slowly. “I’m testing your ability to sense your magical environment and to tune into the natural order.”

  I want to scream at him that that’s bullshit. He clearly brought me here to see what I can do. But more than anything, I want to plow into him again. Not because I’m particularly fond of physical violence, but because... shit, I just want to get him on the floor again.

  And yeah, that is such an inappropriate thought considering he brought me here to teach me magic so I can save the whole goddamn world.

  Though my hands have formed stupidly tight fists that probably look as if I’m trying to pop my knuckles, I don’t continue the fight. Magic is still leaping over my skin, but it’s nowhere near as bright, and slowly ebbs until it’s nothing more than a dim outline of illumination.

  John takes a hard breath. “I know you can fight. I know you can win.” As he speaks, his gaze ticks over my eyes. “I’ve seen it. But what I need you to learn is... subtlety.”

  “Subtlety?” I can’t keep the derisive note out of my voice. “How exactly will subtlety help me win against men like,” I stop myself from saying Spencer in time, “Senator Rogers?” I default to saying. “I don’t know if you remember, but he wasn’t exactly the subtlest of men.”

  “You don’t need to remind me how Rogers fought. But I clearly need to remind you that it is not always the mightiest that win. It is often those who hold back and look for opportunities that are victorious. You have a lot of power, but you must temper that with knowledge in order to become a true queen.”

  Why does my back ignite with nerves on the term true queen? Why do I suddenly feel as if I’m Cinderella who’s wandered in front of the Prince?

  For God’s sake, I know what the word queen means. My entire life for the past several months has been destroyed because of that god-awful word.

  But why do I feel... I don’t know, special when he says that?

  The answer is because of the look in his eyes. That gentle, tender, barely-there look that tells me John has been waiting for me his entire life.

  “Subtlety,” he continues the argument as he brings up a hand and taps a finger on his temple, “is what sets a queen apart. Yes, you have more power, but unlike some of the other powerful pieces, you can also measure your force. Though it may sometimes feel like you have unlimited magic, you don’t. You must be judicious in how you use it. And, wherever possible, you must,” he suddenly brings his hands up and sweeps them wide as if he’s a preacher about to proclaim that God’s return is imminent, “tune into the natural order and allow it to help you.”

  My anger is ebbing away faster now. My hunger for knowledge is disarming it. I click my jaw to the side and run my tongue quickly over my teeth. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you’ve felt it. And I know you’ve tuned into it before. It’s how you’ve been able to keep on the run so successfully for so long.” He dips his head down and looks at me from under his arched eyebrows. “In the mythology of this game, the king has always stood for the masculine power of making decisive decisio
ns. That force which brings one victory.”

  I arch my eyebrow on the term masculine power. The patriarchy always likes to believe that women are too damn simple and stupid and hysterical to make decisions. Without men, we’d simply crumble and civilization would crumble with us.

  Before I can point that out, John continues, “And the queen has always stood for... the raw force of nature.”

  I bring up a hand and scratch my chin. “What’s your point?”

  “Though the mythology behind the game may not interest you, take it as fact that as a queen you have a far greater capacity to tune into the natural order of things. The game is... unnatural,” he says as his jaw clicks to the side, his teeth momentarily clenching. “It is an abomination. And the spirit of nature understands this.”

  I’ve always been a pretty rational soul. I’ve never sought out superstitious explanations for patently obvious phenomenon. So I can’t help but snort as he talks about the spirit of nature.

  Which is pretty stupid considering I’m the most powerful magical piece in a game of real-life chess.

  “You don’t need to agree with what I’m saying,” John says through a sigh that clearly indicates he’s getting irritated by my defensiveness. “Simply try it for yourself.”

  I frown. “Try what for myself?”

  “Listening,” he says pointedly.

  I frown harder. “Just because I don’t always agree with you, doesn’t mean I’m not listening.”

  He brings up his hands and spreads them wide. It’s a move that’s half pleading and half commanding – which pretty much sums up John Rowley completely. “I’m not talking about listening to me. I’m talking about listening to this.” He spreads his hands wide again, indicating the room.

  I keep that frown locked over my lips as I turn over my left shoulder then my right. I arch an eyebrow. “There’s no one else in here. Just you, me, the mats,” I thump them with my bare feet, “the walls, the ceiling, and air.”

  John looks at me blankly. “Are you sure?”

  I open my mouth to tell him to stop playing, but I pause. You see, I keep forgetting one very important fact. I’m magical, and so is this entire room.

  Feeling a little sheepish, I bring a hand up, scratch the back of my neck, and finally close my eyes.

  I don’t pull all of my senses off John – I’m not that stupid. He is obviously trying to teach me a lesson, and I’m not going to make it easy for him.

  But even with only half of my attention locked on the room, I do start to feel it. I have accessed it before. John’s right; the reason I managed to keep on the run so long is that I have always known how to connect with nature. Maybe I don’t believe it has a spirit or anything so grand, but the natural charges of energy in the world – in the ground, in the sky, in water, you name it – they have helped me in the past.

  As I follow them now, it’s like allowing my mind to empty out into a twisting, winding, babbling brook.

  I sigh.

  And John chuckles.

  Immediately, I open an eye. “What’s so funny?”

  “Despite the fact you can sometimes seem... a little obtuse,” he says diplomatically, “you are clearly powerful. It took you approximately,” he looks at his watch, “a second to access the natural order.”

  “So is the lesson over?” I don’t know why I’m being so defensive. For the love of God, I chose John. I know he has a lot to teach me – and there’s so much I want to learn. But for some reason that’s not translating into me being a good pupil. And the reason is that deep down I can’t shake the suspicion that if I drop my defensiveness I won’t be able to fight the desire to fall into his arms.

  “The lesson will be over when you never lose track of your environment.”

  He attacks.

  This time the entire floor bucks, and though I try to hold my stance, it’s a powerful move. It whips me off my feet.

  I lurch back up, and the fight continues.

  It lasts a full hour, in fact.

  Though John has told me not to hold back, of course I don’t fight him with my full force. Because, like he said, he knows I’ve got raw power.

  It’s time to learn subtlety, apparently. And if there’s any man that can teach me how to be gentle and yet firm, it’s John.

  Once the training session is over, John’s called away. He has a company to run, after all.

  He leaves me to continue to train, even gives me access to several magical books. I pore over them, copying the moves, learning and practicing what I can.

  That’s my life for the next week and a half.

  It’s almost a holiday.

  But the holiday doesn’t last.

  Not in this world.

  Chapter 5

  I’VE LEARNED WHAT I can. But even though I feel there’s so much more to learn, there’s no time.

  For the past few days, I’ve seen the fear marching across John’s features, shadowing his every move, dragging at his body like a weight from heaven.

  He’s in a precarious position – I know that. Spencer is still out there, still trying to gather the last of Senator Rogers’ power. And more than that, he’s still after me.

  According to John, he’s been attacking John’s pieces at every opportunity these past few days.

  To have a chance, John desperately needs to figure out what’s going on.

  So this is why I’m here right now, out and about on my first night as an asset of John Rowley.

  As soon as I think that, I half frown and half smile. It’s the strangest of moves as it curls one side of my lips hard into my cheek and drags the other down toward my chin.

  The night is cold, and I’m dressed in a large but not too heavy winter jacket. It gives me all the anonymity I need as I keep to the back streets of town.

  I don’t need to tug my phone – or at least, the expensive magical phone that John gave me – out of my pocket to know what the time is. I can tell that naturally as I tilt my head back and stare up at the cloudy night sky. It’s not that there’s a massive clock painted between the stars or anything – it’s simply that as I tilt my head up and stare, I... connect.

  With a deep breath, I do exactly as John taught me, and I push myself further into the natural order of things. As soon as I do, that half of my mouth that had ground down into a frown ticks right up and pushes harder against my cheek until it feels as if I’ll cram my eyes right off my face.

  The reason I smile is twofold. The first is at the... intimate memory of John teaching me to attune to the natural order. The other reason is that I made the right decision.

  I push forward and cram my hands even further into my pockets.

  Joining with John – even though we still haven’t formalized our pact beyond a verbal agreement – was always going to be the right thing, wasn’t it? To think, I wasted all that time....

  I’m keeping to the shadows, really pressing my body into the dark, letting it hide me as I press further through the back streets. I keep my mind sharpened to a point as if it’s a dagger I’m holding before me.

  It takes another few blocks before I start to pick anything up.

  John sent me out tonight for one specific purpose and no other – to track the magical flows through Rival City. Nothing else. I can still remember the deep, penetrating way he looked into my eyes as he reiterated that under no circumstances am I meant to initiate an attack. And if I am attacked, I’m to run away.

  I get it – John doesn’t want me to use my powers out of hand. He wants to keep them in check for the inevitable fight that’s brewing with Spencer. And I do too, because Spencer....

  I saw it in his eyes. This time, he’s not going to let me go.

  I finally draw a hand out of my pocket and latch it on my chin, really grinding the fingers in and gripping my jaw until it feels like I’m going to wrench it from my face. It’s that or admit to the sensations climbing my chest and sinking into my lips.

  “Come on, focus,” I spit to myself
as I wrench my other hand out of my pocket and draw it around me in a circle. As I do, I sharpen my mind even more. I press it all around me as I search for any evidence that magic or a player has been through here.

  At first, there’s nothing. But just when I convince myself of that fact and go to leave, I stop. My feet grind into the ground, to be specific, as I slowly tilt my head to the left.

  There’s a closed door that leads into the old drab brick building beside me.

  As I cast my gaze up the side of it, I realize it has no windows. Nothing but this door, in fact.

  Before thinking it through, I reach a hand out and lock it on the handle.

  The door is locked, but that really doesn’t matter to someone like me. With an audible click and a buzz of magic, it opens.

  I have no idea where the door will lead, but my gut tells me it will be somewhere important. And hey, my gut is right, because as soon as I open the door, I feel an absolute wave of magic strike me as if it’s been shot from a gun.

  However, my gut failed to mention one fact – this place isn’t empty.

  I stare up into the face of a very surprised man. “What the hell? I thought the back door was locked.”

  I blink and think quickly. Scanning the man with half a mind, I instantly ascertain that he doesn’t have any magic. The building, however, is inundated with it.

  “Oh, wow, sorry about that,” I say as I clumsily but hopefully cutely bring up a hand and rub the back of my neck, looking like a ditz. “I heard there was a party going on here. I didn’t realize this is the back entrance. I got a little turned around.” I twist on the spot and point in every which direction.

  Maybe it’s my stupid, innocent act. Or maybe – judging by the glazed look in the guy’s eyes – he’s just too damn drunk and tired to care. He shrugs. “The entrance is off Hook Street.” He goes to close the door.

  As quick as a cat, I dart my foot in and shift forward. I wave my hands about clumsily. “Can’t I just come in this way? My friends are in there,” I lie smoothly, “and I really don’t want to be any later than I already am.”

  The guy begins looking at me calculatingly, but it soon becomes apparent that he doesn’t have the brain power to care anymore. He brings up a hand, whacks it on top of his head, scratches his scalp for a bit, then shrugs again. “Whatever. It’s against regulation, but whatever.” He ushers me inside with a flick of his wrist.