by J. C. Nelson
“End this quickly. Please.” Kyra’s plea turned me back toward her.
“No.” I looked around, wondering where Mikey went. The pile of gore that once housed Irina Mihail still oozed onto the grass, but the wolf and his piper were gone.
“You promised.”
I threw her sword away, and mine after it. “I’m not a killer.”
“My queen will save me.” The crazed smile on her face couldn’t come close to knowing the truth. Too late I realized what she meant to do, grabbing the golden bracer on her arm. “Come to me.”
In that instant, Isolde was there, a vision in black, her face so majestic it made me want to kneel, her eyes so deep they contained the secrets of the universe. She looked at me, and at Kyra.
I waited for the rage.
Instead she smiled. “So the culling happened after all. An army for an army. A handmaiden for a handmaiden. It makes no difference to me.” Then she looked over to me. “Finish it.”
Kyra’s mouth fell open in shock, gasping, as the certainty of her doom took hold. “My queen.”
“The next words shall be your last.” Isolde looked down on her like a dying dog. “Kill her, Marissa.”
“Do it yourself. I may be your handmaiden, but I’m not your assassin.” I turned to leave, and the compulsion seized me.
“My second command to you is given, darling. Finish the culling with her death.”
My hands and feet moved without my prompt. I stumbled to where I’d thrown the sword and seized it. I fought the compulsion, making the tip waver, but my gaze darted to the Black Queen, and the shock, surprise on her face. Grimm was right. She’d meant to order me to kill, but calling me darling, even Isolde knew that wasn’t right. She mouthed the words to herself over and over, her gaze distant.
Seized by the compulsion, I stepped forward and drove the sword through Kyra’s heart.
Her body arched up as much as the blade would let it, pain driving her eyes wide open. Then she slumped against the ground. Her eyes gazed upward, vacant, her limbs limp.
“Now you may take your army and finish what she could not.” Isolde spoke behind me, and I spun, my blade ready to claim her life, and my own if need be.
The Plain of Agony contained only monster corpses, a few dead wolves, and an overturned mail truck. “I have no army. And neither do you.” I’d demanded my army desert me for exactly this moment, and this reason.
Now anger twisted her face as she understood the depths of my deception. “You planned this.”
“I did.”
“You’ve accomplished nothing. I will still rule Kingdom, and see it burn. Tonight my pawn settles the matter, and I will take her oath of fealty.” Her face said one thing; the tone in her voice, the quaver, betrayed the lie.
Gwendolyn. And with her name came another. Ari. I couldn’t let the Black Queen attack her again. “No.”
Isolde’s eyes lit up. “Fear. I feel it in your words. What is it you fear? My triumph? No. Trust me, girl. I will find what you fear, and use it to mold you into my tool, my weapon.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” And in that moment, it was the truth. “You promised me anything I wanted, for a simple answer.”
As she looked at me again I almost fell into those eyes, that face that seemed unearthly.
“Of course, handmaiden. At your leisure, you may guess.”
I gathered my courage. “I know what the first lie you told was.”
“Really? Are you sure? Tell me, handmaiden? What were the words with which I knew my power?”
I looked at her. An educated guess, Grimm had said. But I thought about what she’d done to Kyra. About what she’d done to me. Now I knew. “Your first lie was to yourself. You said, ‘I am beautiful.’”
Twenty-Eight
ISOLDE TURNED HER back to me, hiding the shock I’d already seen. “What is your wish, handmaiden?”
“I have your signet ring. Let me be your proxy to the court and receive the oath from Gwendolyn.”
“You desire the court. And here I thought the lust for power had no hold on you.” She paused, and the manacle on my arm hummed. “No, you think you can challenge my plans by doing so. You are mistaken, so I honor your request, and you will visit in my stead. The final challenge begins in less than two hours. Do not be late, my murderer.”
My blood boiled at the word, though the stains on my sword condemned me. I gritted my teeth, hissing at her. “I’m not a killer.”
When she turned back toward me, the serene smile on her face made me want to tear it off her face. “It seems I’m not the only one lying to myself. You’ve killed for me twice. I can’t compel anyone to do anything. I can give you reasons, but I can’t take away choices.”
Before I could answer, before I could act, she summoned a portal around herself, and faded into nothing. Could it be that she truly had no idea of Fairy Godmother’s power? If so, it might be the key to her undoing.
The Plain of Agony became the Plain of Despair as I forced my sore muscles to stand, and limped back toward Middle Kingdom. It wasn’t until I crossed the stream dividing it that I became aware I wasn’t alone.
At the corner of my eye, something moved to and fro, never quite in focus. I closed one eye and looked through the veil. A surge of blinding light hit me, causing me to flinch.
“I didn’t expect you to look for me that way, Marissa,” said the harbinger Death.
I walked on, limping. “Leave me alone.”
Death stepped into being alongside me, and slipped his arm around my shoulder. Though he appeared as an eighty-year-old Chinese man, he supported me like I was made of rice paper. “I’m finishing up. Collecting souls. Listening.”
“Listening to what?”
“Stories. Sometimes when people die, all they really want is to know someone will remember their life. So I listen while they tell me. Some have only a few words. Some talk for what you would call years. Then they go with me.” Death opened his right hand, where an orb of light like a firefly rested. “I collected Irina Mihail for you.”
“Then drag her straight to Inferno.”
Death stopped, forcing me to as well. “I can’t. If I take her back that way, people will know she was missing. I’m going to give her to you. You can give her back to the Adversary next time you see him.” Death pressed his palm to mine, and the globe of light stuck to it.
Despite my best attempts, I couldn’t shake it off. It was just like the time I had a live lobster glued to my palm, only more disgusting.
“Marissa,” said Death, “do the same thing to her son, and you’ll have the Adversary off your back.”
I pushed Death away, throwing his arm off me. “Gnomes died. Wolves died. Beth is missing.”
“Ah, the piper. She took a stroll with me a few minutes ago.”
I’d held out against all hope that maybe she’d only been injured. That Mikey had rescued her. As the thought of yet another death sank in, my anger rose. “Don’t talk about this like it’s some simple errand.”
“Marissa, for me, this is. You should know, the piper liked you a lot. Couldn’t stop talking about how you helped her.”
“I have to help Mikey arrange a funeral service.” A tear rolled down my cheek, followed by another, and a river.
Death reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “I wouldn’t worry about that. The wolf did what she wanted and fed the piper’s bones to her dogs. Honestly, I don’t think she would have gone with me otherwise. She really loved them.”
I looked around, and found myself at the edge of the plain just outside of Middle Kingdom. “How did we—”
“Don’t ask.” Death pressed a business card into my palm, an address in Middle Kingdom. “A princess choked to death on a cherry stone a few hours ago. Her closet door is still connected to the court.”
�
�I’m not going to the court. Ari and Liam should be somewhere here.” I tried summoning Grimm again and again, to no effect.
Death put his hand on my wrist. “I cleaned up after their mess earlier. You know those two think they saved the city? It’s all a matter of perspective, I suppose. Anyway, your princess friend is preparing for her return to the Court of Queens. If you don’t hurry, you might miss it.”
I almost said thanks. But I hesitated one moment, and Death was gone.
The corpses of building smashers lay scattered throughout Middle Kingdom, along with purple stains where the occasional gnome met their crushing end. People peeked out of windows at me from time to time, but most of them had the good sense to hide.
Though I called to Grimm over and over, he still wouldn’t answer. I imagined him guiding Ari through a ceremony meant to give her the power to tear apart her challengers, and found the strength to run through the streets.
When I finally found the address, thank Kingdom, Isolde’s creations hadn’t reduced the entire building to rubble, or finding a fourth-floor closet would have been difficult.
I knocked twice on the apartment door, then kicked it open. Inside, the stench of sour milk combined with death, a smell I followed to the bedroom. There, carton upon carton of vanilla ice cream, and a mound of banana peels remained as evidence.
She’d eaten herself to death on sundaes and shakes rather than answer the summons to court. I picked up the silver scroll and read her name. “Jardain, Princess of Cream.” All the whipped cream in the world hadn’t protected her when it was time to choose a new High Queen.
Ari warned me throughout the years that I’d never seen the court at its worst, and I’d never understood why she feared it. The only thing Ari feared more than the Court of Queens was her credit card bill. So, sword in hand, I stepped to Jardain’s closet. A mountain of empty ice-cream containers cascaded out when I opened the door.
With a kick and a shove, I cleared the doorway and smashed the door shut.
For one moment, I stood alone with the hum of flies in the darkness and the smell of ice cream gone bad. Then the door in front of me swung open, and the doorman of the court stood, waiting.
“Handmaiden, will your queen participate?”
“It’s just me.” I stumbled, stepping out of the closet, but the doorman caught me.
He nodded over his shoulder. “The arbiter’s booth is open, though none remain neutral. I’ll just tidy this up.” He produced a trash bag and began to gather cups and spoons from the floor, but stopped to grab my hand as I stepped away. “You may observe, but not interfere. This is no longer a place of peace.”
I emerged from the tunnel to the main amphitheater in the court, where princesses and queens engaged in a combination catfight and debate. Gwendolyn’s faithful used magic, muscle, and a fair bit of hair pulling to make the last few resisters submit. The entire ceiling had transformed into a thundercloud, which threw flashes of lightning to illuminate the war below.
Taking the stairs to the arbiter’s booth, I caught Gwendolyn’s eye. She couldn’t intimidate me. I held up my fist. “Gwendolyn, I was sent to receive the oath of the High Queen. Not a pretender.”
Gwendolyn looked over at me and pulled back her hood. Her face drooped like she’d had a bag of strokes for breakfast, her wrinkles had wrinkles, but her eyes still shone with magic. “The last of the court will kneel in moments. Bear witness to my ascension, and carry my oath of loyalty to our queen.”
The gallery filled with raucous laughter where the witches watched, but they had no say in the matter. Gwendolyn’s followers dragged a young girl to the center of the court. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, but Gwendolyn’s faithful beat her until she collapsed.
“Do you acknowledge me as High Queen?” asked Gwendolyn.
Blood dripped from the girl’s mouth as she nodded. “I do. Just stop.”
“Are there any other challengers?” asked Gwendolyn. She looked to the Witches Gallery and to the broken and beaten who lay on the floor of the court.
The door of the Court of Queens blasted open, sending the doorman flying. Liam, in dragon form, threw the guards into the wall so hard their bones snapped like breaking branches. Beside him came Wyatt, carrying a rapier that glowed with purple light.
I glanced to the doorman, waiting for him to eject Wyatt and Liam, but a glint of silver on Liam’s claw caught my eye. And Wyatt, too, wore a band of white gold. I supposed there wasn’t technically a law against having male handmaidens.
Behind them, a figure wrapped in white came through the door. She threw back the veil on her head, letting red hair spill out, and stepped to the front. Directly into the storm, Ari walked, without fear. “I challenge you for High Queen, Mother.”
“Ari,” said Gwendolyn, “I am surprised to see you here. You have no standing to challenge me. You have been cast out of my family. Indeed, it is curious that you can enter Kingdom at all. If Fairy Godfather were not interceding on your behalf, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Ari walked toward her stepmother. “I’ve lived my life afraid of what I was. Afraid of what you might make me, or what I might become, Mother. No longer. I’m ready to be what I am.” Ari drew back a sleeve to show her golden Agency bracelet. “Grimm, I quit.” She threw it on the floor and it disappeared in a flash of glitter.
I waited for her to fade from view, since her stepmother’s banishment stripped her of her right to enter Kingdom without Grimm’s assistance.
She didn’t. “I am not a frightened girl anymore, Mother. You will call me Arianna. You will kneel before me.”
Gwendolyn gestured, and the storm struck with a thousand bolts that poured down on Ari like rain. “You are worthless. So suffer like the rest.”
I was blinded for just a moment by the lightning. Then as my eyes cleared I saw her, standing at the center of the court. The lightning had burned her train away, but it hadn’t touched her. “Really, Mother? I was Princess of Clouds before you disowned me, but no longer.” She held up a hand, where a golden band shone. “Wyatt and I got married a few minutes ago.”
Gasps rang out across the court, and even the Witches Gallery fell silent.
“My name is Arianna Pendlebrook, Queen of the First Royal Family.” She looked to the doorman.
He bowed. “Your Highness, I will record it. Arianna, Queen of Clouds.”
Ari laughed, that same laugh she’d always had, but it came from deep down inside. “No. My stepmother was right about one thing. Let it be recorded, doorman. I am the Witch Queen.”
The court gasped. My chest ached from how long I’d been holding my breath. Above us, the Witches Gallery moved in unison. They kneeled, and then rose with a raucous cheer.
If I’d been Gwendolyn, I’d have figured out how to kneel. Or how to run. Anything but stick around and fight it out with a woman who had just won the loyalty of every witch in Kingdom with a single sentence.
Instead Gwendolyn invoked a subtle spell that made me shiver. Shadows blossomed beside her, and then she looked up to the hulking mass of flesh now standing at her side. Prince Mihail, whose abomination body sprouted thorns like a cactus. Gwendolyn croaked out her command. “She is unworthy to die by my hand. Slave, kill my daughter.”
He lumbered forward, his jaw hanging to one side in a disgusting grin. “I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time.”
Ari stumbled backwards, then ran, hiding behind the hulking dragon who happened to be my fiancé.
“What’s the matter, Ari?” Gwendolyn’s taunting voice echoed. “Did you not bring a decent monster of your own? Dragons are so four years ago.”
Liam roared in answer, and slithered forward. Over the years, practice had given him fine control of his lizard body. Each step coiled and uncoiled his body, allowing him to lunge forward and slide out of the way without pause.
Prince Mihail, at last the monster on the outside he’d always been deep down, ran for Liam. Unlike the building crushers, Mihail could leap and turn with deadly precision.
Liam dodged one blow, then snapped back, his teeth gleaming white.
And whipped his head away, hissing in pain. Blood bubbled from the edges of his jaws where the thorns covering Mihail had slashed through Liam’s scales.
I’d seen steel blades break on Liam’s scales.
Seizing the opportunity, Mihail swung with both arms, flailing like a pinwheel, trying to dice the man I loved more than anything into hunks of meat. I lunged forward to jump over the railing, and hit a barrier like invisible concrete. Cold as ice, hard as stone, it sealed me into the booth.
I could only watch as Liam slithered back and forth, whipping his body in circles to avoid blows that barely missed. Mihail charged, swinging his fist overhead, and Liam surged forward, taking the blow full.
I cried as the thorns cut into him, knowing what it meant to be torn by them. And he belched fire, a gush of living flame, straight into Mihail’s face, engulfing his eyes.
Prince Mihail staggered backwards. The thorns on his palms tore flesh from his skull as he clutched his head. The problem with being a living cactus was that taking out a contact had to be near impossible. Liam limped away, each step leaving bloody claw prints, and sagged to the ground.
I pounded on the barrier, screaming, and hurled myself against it over and over. Though it bruised my fists, I might as well have struck it with a plastic fork.
Then Mihail rose and, with a rip, tore the skin from his own head. His skull stared back with inhuman eyes as he rose, ready to reengage. With two lumbering strides he closed the distance between them, ready to tear Liam apart.
Mihail drew back one foot to kick Liam.
And fell over, clutching his knee. Beside him, Wyatt stood, his rapier bloody. “Violence is rarely an acceptable method for resolving conflict.” He walked along Mihail’s thrashing body, stabbing carefully at elbow, shoulder, and knees. “However, I must concede that this is an exception.”