The Last Queen Book Three Read online

  I don’t know where to go.

  I don’t know where the new king is.

  But I can still feel the wind. No matter where I run, it’s there, tugging at me, trying to pull me backward toward some unknown source.

  My teeth are bared, my breath barely effective as I lose all track of everything but getting away.

  But wherever I go the wind follows.

  My desperation mounts and mounts. Though I can stop those groping invisible fingers from latching hold of me as long as I pelt forward with all my magic, there’s a limit to how long I can do that, even for me.

  I need to get somewhere safe. And I need to do that now.

  As my fear threatens to pulverize all my reason, I finally realize something. A thought that spins into my mind with all the power to knock me sideways.

  There’s only one place in Rival City that I feel truly safe.

  Rowley Tower.

  For a fraction of a second, I contemplate running into it blazing with magic and in my original form, but I quickly realize I don’t need to.

  I suddenly hook a left and down an alley that’s close to the tower. In a seamless, smooth move, and with a reality-bending spell in place, I change my appearance.

  I make myself into an elderly tourist.

  I exit the laneway and run right through traffic before I finally drop my reality-bending spell a few meters away from Rowley Tower. I’m sure to do it while I’m in a thick crowd, and even then I let a little manipulation magic spill out of my hand to ensure no one around me balks at the sudden sight of a tourist popping out of thin air.

  The wind is still around me, tugging at me for all its worth. In fact, I can feel its mounting desperation, almost as if it knows what I’m about to do.

  Which just pushes me on faster. Because it tells me I’m right, and Rowley Tower can protect me.

  I can’t afford to run now, and I have to slowly walk up to the tower, even though the wind is now trying to drive me back with the combined power of a semi-trailer.

  I make sure I don’t grit my teeth. I make sure I don’t use my magic. I just rely on my inherent strength as I pull a hand up and lock my gnarled, arthritic fingers on the old-style camera around my neck.

  The two magical bouncers at the door barely look my way. I would be a zero when it came to potential threats.

  With one last ditch effort to grab hold of me and pull me backward, the wind howls in my ears. I almost hear something. Maybe a muttered curse along it. Maybe a warning that he’ll be back. But finally I make it through the doors and into the atrium of Rowley Tower.

  The wind cuts out immediately.

  I almost stagger forward as I have to redistribute my weight and I no longer have to use all my muscular strength to stop myself from being dragged backward.

  A man walking out the door shifts over and politely grabs my arm. “You okay, ma’am?” he asks with a worried flick of a smile.

  I smile back, and boy is it relieved. “Thank you. Not as strong as I used to be,” I mutter as I shift past him and nod.

  That’s a lie.

  Not as strong as I used to be? I just managed to outrun the new king.

  All I want to do is run straight back to my old room in the bowels of the building, close the door, and fall face-first on my bed.

  It’s so damn tempting that I deliberately have to walk myself over to one of the exhibits instead.

  ... I wonder how long it would take John to notice if I just walked into my old room and hung out there for a while? Would he even notice? It’s just a store room, after all. And now I’m not using it, he has no reason to keep tabs on it.

  Then again, maybe he’s boarded the place up. I can’t forget what I’ve put him through. The Last Queen sleeping under his nose for several weeks without John even noticing would have turned his mind.

  One thing is for sure, I can guarantee he’ll never let his guard down like that again.

  Which means that no matter how tempting it is to slip through the service door and have a kip in my simple but safe bed, I have to bite my lip and ignore that desire.

  I wonder how long I’ll have to stay in the tower before the new king will stop casting his spell.

  I also wonder if he’ll be able to see through a new disguise if I put one on.

  ... I sit with that thought, obsessing over it from every angle as I stand there and stare dead-eyed at a case full of old Roman swords and denarii.

  There are other tourists around me, but no one bothers me and no one jostles me. One of the advantages of disguising myself as an elderly person, I guess. I’ll have to remember that for next time.

  If there’ll be a next time. Because I still have to get out of this damn tower without the new king figuring out who I am.

  I force myself to walk around the exhibit, knowing it will be way too dodgy to just stand in front of the same exhibit for an hour.

  Though I methodically check the items on display, there’s one I don’t even dare to head near – the alcove with the chessboard.

  I haven’t seen it since I used it. And just thinking about that sends a particular and undeniable charge of nerves and yet excitement zipping hard up my back into my jaw.

  I remember the throne forming behind me. I remember those powerful invisible magical ropes forming around me and locking me to the throne with a force that even I couldn’t break.

  And, more than anything, I remember... feeling connected to John. To his magic, to his pieces, to him.

  When I used his chessboard, I felt... like I was an extension of him. No. Wait. Like we were an extension of each other.

  The one thing I can’t stand about this world is that the so-called kings have the assumed right that they’re not just better than their pieces, but that they have the right to use them as they see fit.

  I hate the idea that people can be considered as mere tools.

  And as for being the Last Queen, it’s worse. So much goddamn worse. It’s like I’m some glorified weapon, like a nuke or something. To the kings, I’m not a human. I’m not even a woman. I’m a really big gun.

  And though that twists my stomach, I can’t forget what I felt when I commanded John’s chessboard. I felt like we were equals. Far from being the one piece that was coveted the most, I could make my own destiny.

  As I concentrate on that feeling, I almost take a step toward the chessboard before I realize what I’m doing. But that’s when I feel him.

  About 30 seconds before the lift arrives, I freeze. My eyes widen, and my hand stiffens around the strap of my camera, my fingers looping through it and turning to steel.

  The elevator on the far end of the room pings, and I hear footsteps. Strong. Rhythmic like waves rapidly pounding a shore.

  And coming this way.

  I can’t move. Not a centimeter. I just stand there and feel his energy as it approaches.

  But John Rowley does not walk up to me, settle his hands on my shoulders, turn me around, and look deeply into my eyes.

  He walks right past.

  As he does, I force myself to blink and actively break the spell holding me in place.

  I subtly shift my head to the side. That’s when I notice a familiar face. Antonio. He’s striding beside John, and they’re both talking in low, muttered tones.

  I came into Rowley Tower to save myself, but I suddenly realize that this could be an opportunity, too.

  And though the last thing I should be looking for are opportunities, considering how badly getting in Spencer’s car went, I assure myself that there’s no way that John will be able to recognize me.

  I pivot on my foot, wait until John and Antonio stop in front of an empty section of the reception desk, and then I walk toward the closest exhibit. I go through all the motions of bringing up my camera and pretending to take photos as I lock all the rest of my attention on their conversation.

  I extend my magic into my hearing until I can pick up their words.

  They’re casting manipulation magic s
o their exact words can’t be heard.

  I hear them clearly.

  “We need to make a bold move, John. We hold back, we’re done for. Though it pains me to admit this, Senator Rogers is more powerful than you.”

  ... Senator Rogers? That’s the second time I’ve heard that guy’s name today.

  John takes a moment and shakes his head. “No, you really don’t need to tell me that. Rogers is a different player, too. More willing to break the rules.”

  “He could make a move on you at any moment,” Antonio says, and there’s real fear behind his words. It’s not for himself, though. I don’t even need to turn to clap eyes on Antonio’s face to realize his terror is for his king, not himself. Though that could turn my stomach at the fact one of John’s pieces loves him more than they love their own goddamn life, I can appreciate that John is different to Spencer. Spencer demands loyalty; all of John’s pieces seem to freely give it.

  Is that enough to see me walk over, change my appearance, and fall at John’s feet?

  Hell no.

  Hell no.

  I refuse to be acquired. And even though my stupid lustful body almost allowed me to be acquired when Spencer kissed me this morning, I tell myself I’ll never let that happen again. I keep underestimating what my heart will do around these men, but I will find a way to control it. Even if I have to build a cage around it that will never be broken again.

  “Senator Rogers will not make a move on me. Not yet...” John trails off.

  “How can you be so sure?” Antonio challenges.

  “Because Rogers won’t run the risk of attacking anyone head on. He does that, he might run the risk of Spencer and me teaming up to get rid of him. And though Senator Rogers is one of the most powerful kings in the country, if Spencer Gates and I were to align momentarily, we would be able to pacify him.”

  I don’t know what to think at the prospect John would combine with Spencer. Before today, I would have told myself that there was no damn way that John Rowley would ever help Spencer out. But I’ve underestimated him again, haven’t I.

  Shit. I keep doing this.

  I seem to wear rose-colored glasses whenever I look at John. There’s a part of me that wants to believe he’s fundamentally different to Spencer.

  But he isn’t. Maybe the color of John’s magic is different to Spencer’s. Maybe his management style is different, too.

  Maybe John’s smile is so much warmer. Maybe his energy doesn’t make me lustful, but opens my heart like it suddenly has the wings of an angel.

  But that’s not the damn point.

  The damn point is that at the end of the day John Rowley is a king. And he will ultimately serve his interests as a king, and not mine as the Last Queen.

  I feel sick to my stomach as I stand there and force myself to take another photo of the rings lined up neatly in the display cabinet in front of me.

  I’m not paying any attention to the expensive, ancient jewelry. I’m staring with a defeated gaze at the reflection of John and Antonio in the glass of the case.

  Though a few of the reception staff at the main desk walk near them, I can still feel that John is casting manipulation magic. It makes me wonder just how many secrets he flaunts right under the noses of his staff.

  “Maybe you’re right, sir, and maybe Senator Rogers won’t make a move on you, but he is making moves. Our runners in the city confirmed someone attacked Spencer’s men this morning. There was a fight several blocks away. A messy one.”

  My mind spins as I wonder if they’re talking about me.

  John takes a few seconds to answer, and even though I can only see him through the reflection in the glass before me, it’s enough to make out the distant look he gets in his eyes. He brings up a hand and latches it on his jaw, smoothing his thumb and forefinger down the stubble. “That’s an assumption,” he finally manages.

  “What?” Antonio says.

  “That it was one of Senator Rogers’ players that attacked Spencer’s men.”

  “It’s a pretty safe one considering we didn’t attack him, and we’re the only other players in Rival City.”

  John pauses. That pause sucks me right in. Though I can see his reflection in the glass, it’s suddenly not enough, and even though I try to stop myself, I turn around.

  I need to see his expression.

  And I do. I turn just quickly enough to see that particular look welling in his soulful gaze. The look I saw when I straddled him during our fight several weeks ago.

  That moment is seared into my mind and my body. The tightest of darting tingles zip down into my stomach and dart all the way down my legs and pelvis until they make me want to wriggle about on the spot.

  I stand my ground, and I stare at him out of the corner of my eye as I pretend to fix my camera strap.

  “It could be her,” John finally spits out his words. They’re just as low as I expect them to be. Just as raw. As if talking about me strips away all his confidence, let alone self-control.

  I don’t pay any attention to my stomach. I absolutely can’t afford to as I force myself to turn once more.

  Antonio opens his mouth, but stops. He obviously doesn’t need John to expand.

  “The... Last Queen?” Antonio asks. And though his voice is raspy, it’s through tension, not the complex emotions John feels for me.

  John nods. The move is hard and all wrong, as if momentarily his neck muscles don’t belong to him.

  Antonio looks to the side sharply. I haven’t turned fully around, and I can see him right out of the corner of my eye. He looks confused.

  Fair enough. For a time there, he hated me.

  Then I saved his life twice.

  I still wonder if he hates me a little as he tilts his head up and looks right at John. “She’s a risk the more she stays unattached. An incalculable one. The damage she’s doing...” he sucks in a sharp breath.

  My hackles rise.

  Antonio is not the first person to tell me I’m doing damage by remaining unattached. It makes me want to whirl on my foot, spring over to him, and shove him against a wall. I want to scream in his face that this isn’t fair. That allowing myself to be ‘acquired’ is far frigging worse than doing ‘damage’ by remaining on my own. Yeah, maybe I’m making mistakes, maybe some people have been hurt because of me, but I refuse to believe that being used by someone else would be better. They’d make worse mistakes, I just know it.

  I have to clamp down pretty hard on my jaw as I force myself to turn fully away from them. Stare too long into Antonio’s judgmental gaze, and maybe I’ll really start shouting at him.

  John takes a long while to reply to Antonio. I wonder if it’s because he’s insulted himself. But when he finally answers, his tone is perfectly controlled. “She’s doing what she needs to to survive.”

  “Tell that to Walter,” Antonio spits.

  “We still don’t know what happened to Walter,” John says, his tone no longer controlled as sadness flies through it. It’s quick, but it’s there.

  ... I told John what happened to Walter. I damn well told him that I did everything I could to save Walter, but I wasn’t quick enough. And if I hadn’t come along, Walter’s bag would have been stolen as well as his life.

  I curl a hand into a fist as I stand there, no longer capable of controlling my face. It’s all twisted as if I’m trying to crack steel with my brow.

  John keeps telling me to trust him, but why the hell should I do that if it’s clear he doesn’t trust me?

  I want to run from the building, but I know I can’t.

  Hold your damn ground, I say to myself. I’m finding out so much, and I can’t let my emotions rob me of that.

  “The garden party is in three days. We need to prepare ourselves,” Antonio said abruptly. “If you’re right, and that damn Last Queen is stirring trouble with Spencer’s men, then she’s just going to leave Senator Rogers an avenue to attack Spencer. If we’re in trouble, Spencer is worse. And though I would never us
ually say this in an ordinary situation, we can’t allow that bastard to fall. Not until we deal with Senator Rogers, anyway.... Sir?”

  I suddenly realize that John is no longer paying attention to Antonio. No. John is looking at me.

  Oh god. Not again. Has he seen through my disguise? Or is he, quite rightly, just suspicious because I haven’t moved a muscle for several minutes as I stare at the display in front of me?

  I force myself to move, cracking my back and pretending I was just in pain.

  I shift toward the closest exhibit, cracking my back again. When I reach it, I push a hand out and lock it on the glass as if for support.

  That seems to do the trick, and John finally shifts his attention back to Antonio. “The garden party will be key. But I can’t split my forces. I still need to look for her with every resource I can.”

  Antonio takes a sharp, obviously disappointed breath.

  Me? I momentarily forget all the shit in my mind about how much I hate John. I soften.

  For a single frigging second.

  Then I see the doors open to the street and one of the bouncers suddenly springs inside. He’s moving so fast, he looks like he’s been shot from a sling.

  None of the tourists react, though, so I don’t turn around and stare.

  I feel a quick, prickling sweat slick across the back of my neck.

  Something’s happening.

  “What’s going on?” Antonio snaps, turning hard on his foot and taking a jerked step toward the man as he skids to a stop in front of John.

  “Rogers. He’s on his way here. Just pulled up across the street.”

  I’m locked to the spot with fear. I can’t move a frigging nanocentimeter as terror pulses through me.

  Rogers.

  The third king.

  He’s here. Now.

  And he followed me.

  Crap, he followed me.

  That realization slams into my head and sees me take a quick step backward.

  I stupidly thought that coming into Rowley Tower would protect me, but I clearly underestimated Rogers’ determination.

  His spell would have tracked me in here.

  And now he’s coming to trap me.

  John’s warning runs riot through my mind. Rogers is stronger than John. So John will have no chance as Rogers makes a move for me.