by Jeanne Allen
None of us give him the benefit of a reaction except for Raul, who almost never reacts, glaring at him.
Ignoring them, I watch as Captain Damarae raises his hand and places it on the wall. A few seconds later, a human-sized oval appears. It glows a dark-orange, the color solid and unwavering throughout the shape. We can see nothing beyond what I assume is another entrance hole.
Beside me, Sarah gives a low whistle. “Impressive.”
My eyebrows raise as I look to the Captain for an explanation.
“Another one of our commissioned projects. This one is also very old, but do not worry. It still works.” It takes a moment to realize the man is joking. His humor may be even drier than Jackson’s.
Out of politeness, I offer a small smile. My heart may not be as heavy and my legs are holding strong, but it will be a while before I laugh again.
“Is it what I think it is?” Sarah asks.
When I turn to look at her, I find her regarding the glowing orange cut-out suspiciously.
“If you thought it a portal door, then yes. The Queen’s Seat is several hours walk away from the entrance, under the Qualibou.”
“The volcano,” I whisper.
It’s the thing Soufrière is famous for, and why the French gave the town a name that literally means “Place where sulfur gathers.” The Qualibou is an active volcano just outside the city. I’ve heard that it provides locals and tourists with hot mud baths and sulfur springs.
The captain nods. “A fitting place for the Fire Queen.” He grins before gesturing to the portal. “Please, go through. I promise it won’t hurt.”
His promise must be enough of a guarantee because no sooner does he say it then Lakshimi pushes her way to the front of the group and marches through the portal.
Raul and Kieran follow suite, each disappearing.
When they don’t come back, and we hear no cries of pain, Sarah turns to me and offers her hand. “Shall we?”
I take her hand and we step through the entrance together.
It’s like when Cathal teleported us. I feel nothing, and the only thing I see is the bright-orange light of the entrance. In a blink, it’s over and we stand on ornate flooring with intricate patterns crafted from black and white marble woven across the chamber.
Looking up, I notice that it’s a large, circular room. The roof is dome-shaped with the top made with some sort of black material. My breath catches as my eyes are drawn downward to the walls.
At first, I think it’s some sort of LED projection, but a closer inspection reveals the walls are, indeed, made with streams of bright-red and orange lava. The low heat that comes off the moving liquid proves its legitimacy.
Awed at the spectacle, I’m tempted to touch the wall closest to me, but I dare not. Whatever Gift allows the lava to run vertically and produce almost no heat may not protect me from burning a finger off.
Stepping away from the lava wall, I look toward where we came through. Sure enough, it’s made of moving lava and fire; the same as the others, but there’s a faint outline of the portal we stepped through before it disappears altogether.
Swallowing slowly, I try to breathe through my rising panic. There’s no way we can escape this room without knowledge of where the portals are or the help of a Fire-Gifted Kladí.
Determined to ignore our dire situation, I force myself to admire the rest of the chamber. The large room is completely bare of furniture except for a throne that sits at the other end from where we stand.
Just as ornate as the floor and the walls, the throne is made out of gleaming wood, with gold details placed strategically to accentuate the craftsmanship of the decorations carved into it.
As we follow Captain Damarae and shuffle closer, I make out a figure sitting on the throne. Her hands are placed daintily in her lap, and a gleaming crown of gold set with what looks to be hundreds of small rubies rest atop thick black curls.
Queen Njay.
Chapter 17
Hastily, I follow Sarah’s example and fall into a deep curtsy.
We stay in this position, our heads bowed until she speaks softly. “Well met, Aporthètos and friends.”
Rising, I meet Queen Njay’s striking gray eyes. Despite her small frame, the Queen is oppressively regal, perched on her ornate throne and flanked by her Consorts. She wears a loose gown made from red silk. The yards of flowing fabric spill out over the throne and down the steps leading up to the small platform it rests on.
She must sit all day or be very good at not tripping.
Although, she is a Phósopoi Royal, so she could just have a Bonded Knight whose job it is to carry the Queen’s train. Anyone else of her stature and youthful face would look like a child sitting on such a large throne surrounded by fabric, but Queen Njay effortlessly commands the room. To her right stand two Kladí, each bearing the red and blue sash of Region Twelve and what I assume is the Region Twelve Royal medallion.
The one closest to her is as small as the Queen and just as beautiful. Her hair is also a mass of curls, but the hue is cotton candy pink. Her skin is also much, much paler than her monarchs’. Soft blue eyes complement the pink-haired Consort and accentuate her dainty and doll-like aura.
Catching my wide-eyed stare, she wiggles her fingers at me in greeting, a sweet smile on her face. I watch, mesmerized, as the bright-red mist of her Gift gathers over her fingers, dancing and playing like my own does.
A waft of burning odor hits my nose, making it twitch as I look for the cause. Smoke hits my eyes before the heat does.
Screaming, I frantically bat at the ends of my hair, trying to extinguish the fire.
“Mara, put it out,” the Queen calls out calmly.
As soon as she says the words, the fire vanishes. The smoke lingers in the air for a moment before that, too, dissipates. The only thing left are the dripping wet, charred ends of my hair.
Luckily, my hair has grown long enough in the last few months that I’m far from bald, but I still can’t stop myself from shooting the Queen’s Consort a glare.
She shrugs.
Her Agora answers my unspoken accusation. “That was Consort Saia’s way of saying hello. We don’t let her out much, I’m afraid.”
“I can see why,” I mutter.
Next to Consort Saia stands the girl Queen Njay called Mara, who put out the flames. The bright-red of her Gift still lingers on her hands. She’s taller than the other two women, and her shaved head shows off her elegant cheekbones and deep complexion.
Thankfully, when she smiles at me, no fire follows. Or, I suppose, water.
Moving my attention away from the women, I look at the other two of Queen Njay’s four Consorts. Both of the Consorts on the other side of the throne are men. One of them looks like he took away all of the food rations from the other. They both stand tall, but the one with the bright blond hair and dark gray eyes is twice the size of his companion, whose build is slim and elegant. The slim one’s face is on the feminine side. Long eyelashes complement his slanted eyes and trim hair.
Sarah ignores the entire encounter. “Well met, Queen Njay. We come in peace, offering only our loyalty for safe harbor and help to escape those who pursue us.”
Njay doesn’t look particularly surprised at Sarah’s request. “I see. Before we discuss the details of this exchange, perhaps I can offer the services of Consort Katsuo”—she gestures at the slim man to her left—“in reparation for your friend’s hair.”
“And what services can he offer?” Sarah wears her court mask, so I can’t read her thoughts.
I sincerely hope he has a hair growing Gift, but I get the sense that’s not the case since Sarah keeps glancing at the rest of our companions. Lakshimi is silent, her eyes glazed over. Both Kieran and Raul, however, eye the man with suspicion.
Their eyes widen when Queen Njay responds. “He is a Truthseeker. You know, as I do, that your earlier encounter was no mere coincidence.”
Suddenly, it clicks. The ambush. There’s no way our e
nemies could have found us so easily. I would have said it was Cathal, but I don’t believe it.
Besides, Cathal didn’t know where we were going until the last moment, the back-of-my-mind voice adds.
The rest of the group, however, knew. Queen Njay thinks we have a mole, and Sarah agrees. I feel sick to my stomach at the idea that one of my new friends betrayed me. In almost morbid fascination, I watch as Consort Katsuo slinks over to our side of the room as bright-red mist—the same color as the other Consorts’—gathers over his fingers.
He grabs Sarah’s hand first.
“Did you call for the ambush?” he asks, simple and direct.
His voice is sweet, the lilt of it as soft as his eyes. Though he uses his Gift to force the truth, I don’t think he enjoys doing it.
“No,” Sarah says, her voice clear and strong.
The mist in Katsuo’s fingers glows brighter for a second, then he nods and moves on to Lakshimi. He asks the same question.
She gives the same answer and he nods.
When he moves to Raul, the Consort freezes. Raul’s face has grown white, the natural tan of his complexion turning blue, especially around his mouth, which he keeps closed.
Before Consort Katuso can even touch him, he crumples.
Sarah, Lakshimi, and I rush over.
Sarah rolls him over, but it’s too late. Like with Birdie just a few hours earlier, there’s no life left in his body. Another friend gone.
Lakshimi cries out, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. Her body leans against mine, the long length of her braided ponytail slapping against my back as I try to support her.
Gently, I bring us to the floor, gathering as much of her shaking body into my arms as possible.
Turning away from Lakshimi, I question Sarah. “What—”
“He used his Gift,” Kieran answers, completely serious for once. He eyes the body of his friend with a mixture of sadness and anger.
I can recognize the look because it mirrors what I feel. Raul had an ice Gift like Daisy. He must have frozen himself from the inside to avoid Katsuo’s accusations.
It looks like we found our mole.
And now our little party is down to four.
I wrap a soft, cashmere blanket around my shoulders.
It’s been about two hours since Raul outed himself. For safety reasons, Queen Njay wouldn’t let us leave the throne room, but she had some Domestic-class Knights bring in pillows and blankets, along with food.
We camped out on the ornate floor, surrounded by the magma walls. Despite the low heat coming off the walls, I shiver and pull the blanket even closer.
“Do you think the guys made it there safely?” I carefully lean back against the tower of pillows behind me. Kieran and Lakshimi rest further off in their own pillow-mound.
Sarah does the same, the tall stacks making a little alcove for us to talk privately. “I think so. You would know if something had happened.”
“I would?” I’m confused for a second before it clicks. Oh.
“The Bond.” Sarah nods, eyeing the way my hands tremble as I clutch them in my lap, the knuckles going white with my effort to keep them still.
“It’s all the nerves from the battle and, you know—” I can’t even voice all that happened in the last few hours. I lost two people I considered to be friends. Even after growing in confidence and learning about my heritage, it’s still not easy for me to make friends, so the loss hits me hard.
Sarah frowns. “No, it’s not. Or maybe it is, but that’s not the only reason.”
“What?”
She sighs and lays her small hand over mine. She leans back to look up at my face, her eyes the same cerulean Sebastian’s turn whenever he’s serious. “It’s the Bond. An Agora isn’t supposed to be away from their Kladí for very long. We thought we’d have a few days, but I guess, since your Bond is so new—”
I vaguely remember the guys talking about how much time I’d have before I “need them.” I thought they were talking about my tendency to be dependent on them for emotional support. It’s no secret that most of my confidence and well-being comes from the presence of my Kladí.
But now, I’m not so sure that’s what they meant.
“What’s going to happen?” I try to swallow the dry ball of panic that threatens to push its way into a full-blown freak-out.
Sarah’s eyes soften, and she squeezes my hands, waiting until they still for a moment before answering. “Nothing. Not for a while, anyway. You’ll just feel jittery and uncomfortable, and maybe a little cold. But nothing much will happen as long as we head toward the meeting point soon.”
“And if we don’t?”
Sarah says nothing for a moment. Her eyes wander to stare at the flowing molten basalt around us, at the massive chandelier I failed to notice when we first walked in the room, and at anything but me. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll deal with it if it comes.”
If what comes? is what I want to ask, but I don’t.
Sarah can be incredibly stubborn when she wants to be. I won’t be able to get more out of her today. Instead, I glance over at the stern faces of the Warrior Knights stationed around the room. I don’t know if they’re here for our protection or to make sure we don’t try to leave the room. But the presence of these powerful men and women, in their long tunics and bright-red and blue sashes that display both swords and guns openly, is intimidating, to say the least.
Queen Njay and her Consorts left to talk to her steward about our transport to the meeting point. I’m not sure why she agreed to help us so readily, and Sarah hasn’t volunteered the information, either. If I was a lot less tired, physically and mentally, I would care more about what I’m missing from their exchange. But between the battle, the betrayal, and the stress I now recognize as the Bond trying to pull me toward my Kladí, I don’t feel up to any more revelations or secrets.
Instead, I lay back against the pillows, close my eyes, and listen to Kieran and Lakshim’s quiet murmuring from nearby.
Feather-light hands stroke my hair, and Sarah’s soft humming pulls me into slumber’s dark embrace.
I wake to voices. The soft timbre of the words brings a small smile to my lips. Opening my eyes carefully, I look around for my big Mother Hen. Instead, I’m faced with the bulky body of Zhdan, who was introduced to us earlier as Queen Njay’s Consort from Region Ten. He stands next to Sarah and me, speaking quietly with his Bond brother.
After a few moments, I realize how stupid I am for mistaking him for Lyle, since Zhdan speaks in his native tongue. The two converse so quietly that I only make out a few words, but I stay still and listen hard.
Two years of my Russian language elective at the U of M will finally be useful.
Unfortunately, two years of a Russian language elective means the only words I catch are “girl” and “today” and “uncle,” which doesn’t give me anything to work with.
Zhdan speaks with Katsuo for a few more minutes before they both move to the other end of the room where Queen Njay walks in, flanked by her other two Consorts.
I sit up just in time to catch Saia smiling at me like my new, weird haircut isn’t totally her fault. I scowl at her, never taking my eyes off the demon while I shake Sarah awake.
Sarah is still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes when the Queen reaches us, so I hop up to curtsy in greeting. “Well met, Queen Njay,” I offer, praying I got it right.
I’ve only just started to manage alone at court functions in Phóspolis, and at Queen Jacqueline’s Seat, everyone is nice to me because I’m Jackson’s Agora. Here, I’m just a nameless Agora with the Aporthètos; not nearly as impressive.
Thankfully, Queen Njay offers me a small smile. “Well met, friend of Lady Taylor.”
She pauses, her expression expectant.
I know I have a choice: either give a false name or tell the truth and hope for the best.
Normally, I’d go with logic and keep up with the fake name on my passport, but this time, I go
with my gut. “Rose. You can call me Rose. Princess-Agora Rose.”
Queen Njay smiles without a hint of surprise. Instead, her face softens, as if she let go of the tension she held there.
Behind her, Consort Amara, whom she called Mara before, visibly loosens her shoulders.
Saia keeps the same manic-looking smile she had on the whole time.
I don’t think she cares who I am or what’s going on.
I’m starting to see why they don’t let her out much.
“Thank you for trusting us,” Queen Njay says, her gray-brown eyes shifting past me to include Sarah in the conversation.
My friend steps up beside me, but I don’t look at her face. She most likely thinks I made a big mistake. She went to the trouble of getting my passport, then I blow the secret the first chance I get.
But the look in Queen Njay’s eyes is worth it. I have a strong feeling she’s truly our ally now. Loyalty is important for most people, but it’s especially important amongst those who just came out of such a brutal, internal war.
“Can you help us reach our destination?” Sarah asks, placing a reassuring hand in the crook of my elbow.
I chance a look over and am surprised to find Sarah giving me the same look the guys do whenever they’re particularly proud of me. Mary used to give me that look, too.
Sarah’s trust gives me the boost I need to ignore the shaking in my hands, straighten my back, and turn toward Queen Njay, who’s now flanked by all four of her Consorts.
While Katsuo and Amara regard me with curiosity, Zhdan’s face is shuttered. The blank court mask I often see on Jackson at official functions blocks me from guessing at his thoughts. Consort Saia, in contrast, is an open book, and that book is titled Dangerous and Crazy.
“We can offer assistance. There are no Kladí with the Gift of Teleportation amongst my people, but you can use one of my personal jets,” Queen Njay offers, like letting us use her private jet is the same as letting a friend borrow her car. She doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest about how much it will cost to fly us to London.