The Queen of All that Lives
Page 73
I don’t expect him to answer, but several seconds after I ask, he grunts something like an affirmation.
“Are they okay?”
Again, the silence draws out. Then, “You should worry about yourself,” he says gruffly. His answer leaves me more worried, not less.
The cell I’m led to is nothing short of medieval. What isn’t covered by bars is inset with stone. There’s fetid puddles in several locations, and the entire area reeks of shit and piss and death. There’s no bed, and a filthy bucket is the closest thing to a toilet I’m going to get.
You can tell a lot about a territory by the way they treat their prisoners. This doesn’t speak well for the men who depend on my loyalty. And it’s not endearing me to them.
“I’m sorry,” Collins apologizes. He sounds genuine.
I turn to face him. “You shouldn’t be.” I don’t elaborate.
His head dips, like he can’t bear looking at me. “I’ll be back later.” He leaves quickly after that, taking most of the guards along with him.
I pace for a while.
Kill the king.
I’ve never been able to accomplish this one task. And that’s exactly what the representatives want. What they’ve always wanted. All so that they can continue to torment the world without resistance.
Slavery, concentration camps, crippling poverty. What fearful lives Westerners must live.
All thirteen of those bastards need to die, even the one who wasn’t present.
I will end the war, and I will kill them.
Chapter 43
Serenity
After a while, I force myself to sit. I lean my back against the wall and rest my forearms on my knees, bowing my head over them. A shiver runs through me. My eyes land on that bucket.
Fuck prisons.
I haven’t heard a soul down here.
“Hello?” I shout, just to see if any other prisoners are down here.
Silence.
Not even the guards respond, if only to tell me to shut up.
I don’t know how long I sit there before I can no longer beat back thoughts of the king. Now that I’m almost sure he’s okay, I should feel relieved. That’s the last thing I feel. I promised the West his head.
If only I could return my heart to the way it was before I met him. Duty and love are often opposing forces. Now is no different. And it doesn’t matter what paths the king and I travel together. There is only one way this can end.
The only way it must.
I dread that ending more than I’ve dreaded anything in my entire life.
I’m dragged from my thoughts when I hear the whispers. Down the hall, up the corridor. Guards gossiping like the women of court.
I lift my head. That’s when I notice it.
A storm’s brewing.
There’s a heaviness to the air, like my captors are bracing themselves for the worst.
A grim smile stretches across my face.
He’s coming.
The devil is coming for me.
When Collins returns to my cell, I’m waiting, my back against the wall, my legs crossed at the ankles, and my arms folded across my chest.
“The representatives have come to a decision.”
And here I was almost positive they’d leave me to molder for at least a day.
He watches me as the iron bars slide back and the cell door opens. The guards come in and spin me around roughly, pushing my chest against the wall. They jerk my hands behind my back then cuff my wrists together.
I’m dragged out of the cell and marched back to the circular room where the representatives wait. I’m cold, I smell like a latrine, and I’m not feeling very diplomatic at the moment.
Just angry. Really, really angry.
Twelve representatives wait for me.
“We would like to work with you,” Tito says, his jowls shaking as he speaks. He says this as though they have the upper hand.
I might be in shackles, but the representatives are the ones with their hands tied. I die, the king wins. It’s as simple as that.
Nothing brings people together like a martyr.
I pretend like I don’t grasp this very obvious fact.
“You have thirty days to bring down the king,” Tito continues. “We will be monitoring you regularly. In case you have any misgivings, you should be warned: we have moles everywhere. If you decide to go back on your word, we will find out. You won’t like what becomes of you; traitors don’t receive clean deaths in this land.”
The irony of the king’s old advisor telling me this isn’t lost on me.
“Understood?” he adds.
I give a sharp nod.
“One of our men will seek you out. You will work directly with him.
I look down at my shackled hands.
“If I do this,” I say, lifting my head, “it will be filmed and distributed. I want this on record.”
For the first time since I met them, I see some of the representatives smile.
“It will be theatrical,” I continue, “and it will require your assistance.”
“You will have it,” Alan says. He pauses before saying, “We will need proof of the kill.”
A body. It’s the currency of conquerors.
The men look hungry for the king’s death.
“You’ll get a body,” I say, “but I want a peace agreement in return, one with equitable terms for my people.”
“That goes without question,” Rodrigo says.
Without question my ass. These men would rob an old lady blind if they could get away with it.
“Are they okay?”
Again, the silence draws out. Then, “You should worry about yourself,” he says gruffly. His answer leaves me more worried, not less.
The cell I’m led to is nothing short of medieval. What isn’t covered by bars is inset with stone. There’s fetid puddles in several locations, and the entire area reeks of shit and piss and death. There’s no bed, and a filthy bucket is the closest thing to a toilet I’m going to get.
You can tell a lot about a territory by the way they treat their prisoners. This doesn’t speak well for the men who depend on my loyalty. And it’s not endearing me to them.
“I’m sorry,” Collins apologizes. He sounds genuine.
I turn to face him. “You shouldn’t be.” I don’t elaborate.
His head dips, like he can’t bear looking at me. “I’ll be back later.” He leaves quickly after that, taking most of the guards along with him.
I pace for a while.
Kill the king.
I’ve never been able to accomplish this one task. And that’s exactly what the representatives want. What they’ve always wanted. All so that they can continue to torment the world without resistance.
Slavery, concentration camps, crippling poverty. What fearful lives Westerners must live.
All thirteen of those bastards need to die, even the one who wasn’t present.
I will end the war, and I will kill them.
Chapter 43
Serenity
After a while, I force myself to sit. I lean my back against the wall and rest my forearms on my knees, bowing my head over them. A shiver runs through me. My eyes land on that bucket.
Fuck prisons.
I haven’t heard a soul down here.
“Hello?” I shout, just to see if any other prisoners are down here.
Silence.
Not even the guards respond, if only to tell me to shut up.
I don’t know how long I sit there before I can no longer beat back thoughts of the king. Now that I’m almost sure he’s okay, I should feel relieved. That’s the last thing I feel. I promised the West his head.
If only I could return my heart to the way it was before I met him. Duty and love are often opposing forces. Now is no different. And it doesn’t matter what paths the king and I travel together. There is only one way this can end.
The only way it must.
I dread that ending more than I’ve dreaded anything in my entire life.
I’m dragged from my thoughts when I hear the whispers. Down the hall, up the corridor. Guards gossiping like the women of court.
I lift my head. That’s when I notice it.
A storm’s brewing.
There’s a heaviness to the air, like my captors are bracing themselves for the worst.
A grim smile stretches across my face.
He’s coming.
The devil is coming for me.
When Collins returns to my cell, I’m waiting, my back against the wall, my legs crossed at the ankles, and my arms folded across my chest.
“The representatives have come to a decision.”
And here I was almost positive they’d leave me to molder for at least a day.
He watches me as the iron bars slide back and the cell door opens. The guards come in and spin me around roughly, pushing my chest against the wall. They jerk my hands behind my back then cuff my wrists together.
I’m dragged out of the cell and marched back to the circular room where the representatives wait. I’m cold, I smell like a latrine, and I’m not feeling very diplomatic at the moment.
Just angry. Really, really angry.
Twelve representatives wait for me.
“We would like to work with you,” Tito says, his jowls shaking as he speaks. He says this as though they have the upper hand.
I might be in shackles, but the representatives are the ones with their hands tied. I die, the king wins. It’s as simple as that.
Nothing brings people together like a martyr.
I pretend like I don’t grasp this very obvious fact.
“You have thirty days to bring down the king,” Tito continues. “We will be monitoring you regularly. In case you have any misgivings, you should be warned: we have moles everywhere. If you decide to go back on your word, we will find out. You won’t like what becomes of you; traitors don’t receive clean deaths in this land.”
The irony of the king’s old advisor telling me this isn’t lost on me.
“Understood?” he adds.
I give a sharp nod.
“One of our men will seek you out. You will work directly with him.
I look down at my shackled hands.
“If I do this,” I say, lifting my head, “it will be filmed and distributed. I want this on record.”
For the first time since I met them, I see some of the representatives smile.
“It will be theatrical,” I continue, “and it will require your assistance.”
“You will have it,” Alan says. He pauses before saying, “We will need proof of the kill.”
A body. It’s the currency of conquerors.
The men look hungry for the king’s death.
“You’ll get a body,” I say, “but I want a peace agreement in return, one with equitable terms for my people.”
“That goes without question,” Rodrigo says.
Without question my ass. These men would rob an old lady blind if they could get away with it.
