The Last Queen Book Five Page 7

It’s made of some of the richest wood I can imagine. And it is filled, absolutely packed with books. Not just any books. Magical books. The reason I can tell that is that I can feel them.

  Hell I can practically hear them.

  And for some reason, they sound like a forest. A forest alive with a rushing wind. Each book creaks like branches being thrown against each other, like a forest collectively breathing.

  Though the curious part of me wants to push forward, pluck up some of the books, and see what’s inside, I stand my ground. The reason I stand my ground is I’m just a few meters back from Matrexia, and I’m watching her with everything I have.

  I’m staring at her face, waiting for her to show more emotion, but either what I saw out in the corridor wasn’t really there – which I doubt – or she’s regained control of herself.

  “Though I’m sure you would love to explore, unfortunately we don’t have the time. What I need you to do is get a sense of Senator Rogers. You should be able to do that by tuning into the natural magical energies of this room. You seemed to recognize Senator Rogers’ energy earlier, so that should make this process easier. Take a seat in his chair over there,” he says as he gestures toward a relatively simple red-backed chair. “Then close your eyes and simply draw in his energies. Matrexia will kneel beside you and tell you what to do.”

  I don’t question. I walk over to Senator Rogers’ chair and sit down in it.

  As soon as I do, I half close my eyes, and I get a distinct vision of the man. The greed in his gaze, the permanent grimace of hatred locked over his lips.

  I keep saying that Spencer is the diametric opposite of John, but that was Senator Rogers, wasn’t it? Because while John was a man who held onto his kindness to get him through the game, Rogers was a man who held onto his anger, instead.

  And it marks the energies of this place. More than anything, it’s imbued in the chair. With its plush back pushing against me, I close my eyes and swear I can practically feel each dark thought Senator Rogers ever had here.

  Though it would be easy enough for me to point out that Senator Rogers wasn’t in the city for that long, and he should not have had the time to think too many dark thoughts in this library, I already know the answer to that. He would’ve brought this library with him, just as he brought his game boards.

  I hear the soft sound of footfall, and soon enough, I feel as Matrexia shifts. I don’t need to open my eyes to confirm that. My senses as a queen can pick her up.

  Though I’ve never met another queen – considering I’m the last – there’s something I’ve never bothered to really think of. In chess, the real game, at least, queens are often there to take each other out. As the most powerful pieces on the board, they are either kept in reserve until the end, or used to take their opponent queen out.

  So there should be natural animosity between us, right?

  There is. But there’s something else, too. Pity. The kind of pity that dredges itself up from the depths of your soul. The pity you have for some other poor wretch because you know there’s nothing more than circumstance separating you from them.

  And maybe, maybe this shadow of a queen can still somehow engender that emotion, because as she gets down on her knee beside me, I swear there’s something strange in her gaze.

  Something that definitely shouldn’t be there if she’s meant to be nothing more than an automaton.

  “Close your eyes, my dear,” Spencer says, a purr in his voice.

  Fortunately the bastard doesn’t come over and rest a hand on my shoulder. If he did that, I would be certain to screw up the spell.

  So far, Matrexia hasn’t said a word, and I wonder if she is even capable of it, but now I get my answer as she opens her lips. “Follow the light in your mind,” she says. Her voice is one of the strangest I’ve ever heard. It sounds… like a faint echo. Even though my eyes can pick up the fact that she’s speaking as her lips move and her throat vibrates, at the same time, it sounds as if there’s something between her and me.

  When I don’t immediately do what she says, she looks at me sharply.

  I close my eyes. I can’t help but appreciate that Spencer did not do as he promised. He didn’t provide any more information about this process. I have no idea what will happen if we screw up. I just hope we don’t.

  And hey, maybe we won’t, because the only sense I get from Matrexia, other than anger, is coldhearted efficiency.

  “Follow the light in your mind,” she says.

  The next thing I know, she settles a hand on my arm. Even though my eyes are closed, I know it’s her hand. Because it feels nothing like a hand. At once, it feels like collected light, then something as solid and hard and cold as metal.

  It keeps shifting between both processes until the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

  I don’t dare to jerk out of her grip.

  With a deep, driving breath, I finally start to concentrate.

  At first, I want to protest that there is no light in my mind, but as soon as I think that, I start to pick up flickers. Here and there, right at the furthest reaches of my consciousness. They dim in and out as if somebody has their hand in front of a flame and they keep flicking it about chaotically.

  It’s mesmerizing.

  “Follow them. They are the source of magic. They will lead you on. They will show you where power comes from. Keep his image in your mind,” Matrexia says, and for the first time since I saw that flicker of emotion out in the corridor, I pick it up once more. It’s tight, it’s small, but it’s there. I doubt Spencer’s men would be able to pick it up. I can only because I’m so close and she has a hand on my arm. I can discern the slight muscular tension that runs through her fingers as she speaks of him.

  Just what did Senator Rogers mean to this shadow of a queen?

  Though that thought is distracting, as it once again makes me question just how much of a shadow this woman is if she can feel emotion, I tug my mind back to the task at hand as I start to see more flashes of light behind my eyes. At first, they are chaotic, but the more I follow them, the more they start to group together until they lead toward an obvious path.

  Though I’m still aware of myself as I sit in Senator Rogers’ relatively plain chair, that awareness starts to pulse in and out, almost as if my attention is now a heart.

  The only thing I’m aware of other than the light in my mind is Matrexia’s grip. It’s firm, and it’s getting firmer. Her fingers are also flattening out, making full contact with my skin. She’s transferring some kind of magic into me, isn’t she?

  It’s sharp, biting, and reminds me of picking up a static charge.

  The next thing I know, that path in my mind suddenly becomes brighter.

  The light grows in brightness once more, until it’s unmistakable. I’ve never had such a sharp vision in my life. It’s all-encompassing. Even if I open my eyes once more, I wouldn’t be able to see the library or Matrexia in front of me. The only thing I’d be able to pick up is that light.

  It pulses through me, shaking my muscles in place.

  Either Matrexia has stopped speaking to me, or that light has blinded out the sounds I can pick up. Until I’m alone with just me and that path.

  Once upon a time, people used to accuse me of being the kind of person who hated to lose control. Back when I had friends – back when I had time and I could afford the liability of drawing other people into my life – I was well known for being the kind of person who hated sudden changes to my plans, who couldn’t abide living without a set of rules.

  So this – following with no idea where something will lead me – is hard.

  It grates against my damn personality.

  And it reminds me of one thing. The damn imprinting process. For the imprinting process is yet another path that wants to drag me forward. And one I will resist up until my last moment. And yet… as I follow that light, it has some kind of dulling effect on my personality. It’s almost like it’s not light at all, and I’m followi
ng some kind of pure magic. One that’s going to burn through everything, including my sense of control.

  I think I’m faintly aware of the fact that Spencer is talking, but I have no idea what he’s saying. Maybe Matrexia’s speaking, too, because I can pick up light vibrations of sound close by me. I can’t tune in to them. The only damn thing that matters is this magic.

  Far back in my mind, at the furthest reaches of my consciousness, there’s a stab of fear. One that tells me I’ve been lured into a trap. Spencer’s casting some kind of spell through Matrexia, and he’s going to use it to control me, to turn me into a piece without my permission.

  But just as that fear reaches a crescendo, I feel something.

  This… sense opens out in front of me.

  And what is it a sense of?

  Space.

  This invisible mesh laid over reality. Kind of like a web through which all experiences and objects are intertwined.

  It snaps into my mind with such sudden force, I could have fallen out of my chair, if, indeed, I could feel the damn thing anymore. I am connecting fully to this sense of space until I seem to be indistinguishable from it.

  That’s when I become aware of her grip once more. Matrexia’s stone-like fingers seem to be dragging into my skin, and I’m faintly aware of the fact that she seems to be moving my hand. She’s got her hand clasped around mine, and she’s forcing my fingers to bend in as if she’s trying to grasp something.

  There’s nothing I can do to stop her. I don’t seem to have any muscular tension. But if I do, my body is holding itself without a single command from me.

  And yet, as she twists my fingers in, I feel something. Something reacts to the move.

  That sense of intertwining space in my head suddenly shifts as if someone has grasped it with all the ease of a person locking a hand on a door handle.

  I’m not so far gone and taken by this spell not to appreciate what’s going on. This is the warp spell that Spencer spoke of.

  Somehow Matrexia has guided my body and magic, and is using them both to latch hold of frigging space-time.

  That thought finally strikes me as Matrexia keeps a hold of my hand and curls my fingers even further in until I can feel the joints protesting.

  I am remotely accessing space. I’m grasping hold of it with all the ease of someone picking up a simple object.

  Power… power like this simply shouldn’t exist. It contravenes every single law of nature. And it’s just plain wrong, on every level. Because if one person has the power to do this, it practically makes them into a God.

  I can feel as Matrexia drags my hand backward, and my sense of space is dragged with it. Though I can’t hear anything, boy do I feel it. I swear everything is shaking around me, vibrating faster and faster, faster and faster. It’s also twisting and shifting to the side, lurching as if it’s just been yanked.

  The next thing I know, I can feel something begin to form in my lap. There’s pressure against my legs, and with every passing second, it gets heavier.

  I hear someone taking a breath as my awareness of the sounds around me become sharp once more. Sharp enough to tell that it was Spencer. Sharp enough to hear the covetous greed filtering through his voice. “Finally. You did it. You did it. We have the board.”

  It takes me several seconds to open my eyes. Because it takes several seconds to convince my addled brain that I still have eyes.

  As my lips slowly part back, I look down to see a game board in my lap.

  It’s ancient, and it appears to be made out of stone, which would account for its horrendous weight on my legs.

  I instantly get drawn in by the checkered pattern. It speaks to my damn soul, reaching in and igniting every fear I’ve ever had as the Last Queen.

  And that fear is not the fear of my own power, but the fear of what others will do once they control it.

  As I stare at this game board and appreciate its inherent power, I instinctively know that this game board is powerful indeed.

  Spencer must be right, and with it and the original board, surely he’ll be able to win the game once and for all.

  I look up and appreciate that Matrexia is still there. She still has her hand clasped around mine, my knuckles pushed all the way in, almost to snapping point.

  She doesn’t release her grip even though the game board has appeared. She looks deeply into my eyes.

  I see it again. And I know I can’t be mistaken this time. Loyalty for her old king. Maybe greed, too. For my power. For the fact I’m still alive. And maybe, somewhere deep, deep under the surface she has compassion too. The compassion of one trapped queen for another.

  Spencer can’t hold himself back anymore, and I feel him racing over.

  He gets down to his knees in front of me, presses his hands forward, and lets them hover over the board. “This is it. With this, we’ll finally be able to go through with the ceremony.”

  “I thought you needed to access the ancient site this game board was located at?” I ask. “Not the game board itself.”

  “The site is now trapped within the board. We will take it back to Senator Rogers’ headquarters, back to the room where the original board lies,” he says, and whenever he speaks of the original board, he does so with utter deference as if he’s facing the Emperor of the Universe. “There, we will be able to expand this board and regain control once and for all.”

  I still have absolutely no idea how I managed to secure this board in the first place. It’s impossible to wrap my mind around the power of the spell I just cast. I can appreciate one thing, though. The look in Spencer’s eyes. It’s covetous greed. But not the greed of somebody who wants everything because they have nothing. The greed of somebody who is on the cusp of getting everything because they hold all the cards.

  I look up into Matrexia’s eyes. And I see it once more. Buried underneath that hatred. That grain of compassion.

  But it’s small. And if I hope it will save me, I’m wrong.

  Because the end is here.

  Chapter 4

  Spencer doesn’t let me carry the board. He does that himself.

  He doesn’t keep it tucked under his arm for convenience sake, and instead carries it before him, his concentration locked on it as if it’s a newborn.

  It must be a hell of a strain on his neck muscles. Then again, judging by the glazed look he’s shooting it, he doesn’t care. He looks like a man who’s just taken the most effective drug in the world. And that drug is impending victory. Complete victory.

  For a fleeting second, I allow myself to imagine what that would look like. If somehow Spencer really does go through with his plan, and completely wins the game once and for all, then what?

  Will he rule over the world like some kind of glorified emperor? Will he finally reveal magic to everyone?

  Or will the game find a way to continue?

  I shiver as we walk out of the library and into the tunnels. I realize it’s the former. It has to be. Because if there’s one thing following that light taught me, other than how much I hate to lose control, it’s of the sheer power of the game. It’s like a river. The most powerful river in existence. It will find a way around obstacles. And over time, it’ll simply whittle them down to dust. The point is, it’s more powerful than anything that can stand in its way.

  I’ve thought of the game as a parasite before, but now I truly comprehend that thought as we stand in the tunnels and Spencer starts to chant. The concrete starts to compress around us once more, but this time, I don’t allow myself to be drawn in by the sight, and I manage to keep my perfect balance as I half close my eyes and concentrate on my thoughts.

  John explained to me the origins of the game. But he couldn’t explain to me where the power of the game specifically came from. Aliens, some unknown race that has lived beside humans their entire existence? Who knows.

  It was clear that, though that was a curious fact to him, it also didn’t matter. He was more concerned about winning and keeping his
pieces alive. For me, right now, I shiver as I consider it with all my attention. You see, what if I’m right, and the game is a parasite of magic? Of nature itself.

  That would explain how abhorrent it feels. Though I’ve tuned into the natural order multiple times and I’ve felt the sheer majestic power of magic when I’ve done so, the game has always seemed like some twisted caricature laid over the top. Like a prison. Like a cage of rules somebody else devised to keep the power trapped where they wanted it.

  So what if sitting at the heart of that cage is… I don’t know, some kind of intelligence? Bear with me, because it’s a bit of a crazy thought, and yet it’s one that I can’t push away. What if the game was created to absorb the magic of its players? To distract and constrain them so they could never figure out the hell they were in and never try to destroy it, while whatever intelligence lies at the heart of the game absorbs all of that excess magic?

  I’ve seen game boards absorb magic, after all. I’ve felt it, too. Their incredible sapping capabilities.

  Then again, if I’m right, what the hell kind of enemy am I dealing with?

  What kind of creature could conceivably have created this game and be reaping its power right now? I don’t allow my mind to get drawn in by crazy thoughts of world-destroying monsters or superhero-type villains that have been manipulating history from the day dot.

  Instead, I think about what I know of magic. And, most importantly, players.

  What if at the heart of the game is the ultimate player?

  The original king who created this world and continues to play in it using others?

  Before I can pay too much attention to that thought, I hear a crack. It’s only slight, and it’s only there at the edge of my hearing, but it’s enough to see me twist my head around violently.

  I’m aware of the fact that Matrexia does the same.

  The tunnels haven’t finished compressing yet, and they’re still shifting and undulating around us as if reality is a piece of paper someone’s trying to scrunch up.

  Though Spencer has his eyes half closed as he concentrates on casting the spell, he picks up the violence of both mine and Matrexias’ moves. “What is it?” he demands.