The Last Queen: The Book of Kaels Vol. 1 (The Book of Kaels Series)

by Wendy Wang

  “Let me take him, Highness.” Gordon slung the chief’s arm around his neck, lifting his friend and leader against his side. Several Healers from the warden’s infirmary made their way out to the open-air theater, healing bags in hand. Healer Moran, who had taken care of her not once but twice, headed straight for them.

  “We need to set him down on the ground so I can take a look,” she said, glancing around. “Over here.” She pointed towards part of the stage that had somehow escaped destruction. Gordon half-dragged Cai. Neala kept her hand on his back to reassure him, although she thought it was probably more for her, to make sure he didn’t disappear. Gordon gently lowered Cai to the ground and healer Moran began to assess him.

  “What happened on the inside?” Gordon asked.

  “The wardens inside were able to drive the invaders out. There weren’t very many of them. But a few disappeared into the bowels of the building. There’s a search team looking for them now,” Healer Moran said, hovering over Cai’s misshapen arm. She unbuttoned his coat, revealing his leather breastplate. “Your Highness, can you help me?”

  “Of course.” Neala loosened the buckles holding the breastplate in place. Healer Moran leaned him forward and peeled his coat off his left arm. Cai moaned and his pallid face turned ashy. He grabbed onto Neala’s waist, burying his head in her shoulder.

  “Oh, dear,” Healer Moran said. The sleeve of his white shirt had turned muddy red with blood. The healer used deft fingers to rip the blood-soaked cotton. Cai’s fingers dug in to Neala’s side and she stroked his hair, trying to offer some sort of comfort. “The bone has pierced the skin. We need to get him inside immediately.”

  Gordon nodded and left to find some help.

  “Can you heal him?” Neala asked.

  “Yes. It’s complicated, but yes.”

  Another boom in the distance shook the whole city. It wasn’t over yet and it wasn’t quite time to count the dead and assess the living.

  “Neala,” Cai whispered.

  “Yes, my love.” She stroked his face.

  “Take my stone. Please. It will keep him out of your head.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t need it now.” He smiled weakly. She leaned in close and gently pressed her lips to his. He slipped the leather cord from around his neck and she bowed her head, letting him put it on her. “There. You’ll be protected now.”

  Gordon returned with four other wardens and a long plank with rope handles at each corner. Under the instruction of the healer, they laid Cai on his back with the plank beneath him. Healer Moran pulled a piece of jute from her bag, tied it around Cai’s wrist and gingerly folded his arm across his chest, fastening the jute to the opposite side of the board to hold it in place while they carried Cai into the building. The four wardens hoisted the plank into the air.

  Neala grasped Gordon’s forearm.

  “Highness?” he said.

  “We need to go to the palace, Gordon,” she said.

  “What about the chief? Don’t you want to be with him?” Gordon asked.

  “I want Peter Declan. That’s what I want,” Neala said. “Wait!” She signaled for the men carrying Cai to stop. She leaned in close and kissed Cai’s sweaty forehead. “I’m going to the palace with Gordon,” she said softly, stroking his hair. “Francie’s there.” Cai looked up at her with glassy eyes. Pain streaked his face and she wasn’t sure he even understood her. She pressed her lips against his, kissed him and whispered, “I love you Caius Declan. Forgive me.”

  When she straightened, Cai closed his eyes and she thought she saw a slight smile playing on his lips. She watched as Healer Moran and the four wardens carried Cai towards the building. The wind kicked up again and the movement of fabric from her mother’s dress caught her eye. She stared at her mother’s still body. Gordon sidled up next to her.

  “What do you want to do, Highness?” Gordon said.

  “Can I still count on you to cover me?” Neala asked.

  “Until my dying day. Or at least that’s how the oath goes.” Gordon managed a wry smile, and his eyes wrinkled, glinting.

  “Good,” Neala said. “May I see your knife?”

  Gordon didn’t ask why—he just reached into his pocket, pulled out the bone-handled folding knife and pressed it into her hand. Neala flipped open the blade and sliced across her thumb, drawing a thick line of blood.

  “We haven’t had enough blood today?” Gordon winced and grimaced.

  “I need your lifestone pendant,” she said. Again, Gordon didn’t question. Maybe he had just been in the wardens for so long or maybe he just trusted her. She didn’t know which, but she was grateful not to have to argue or explain. Gordon reached inside his collar and pulled out a long, gold chain. A braid of gold metal encircled a smooth, round red stone with a star on it. “Star ruby?” she asked. Gordon pursed his lips and nodded. She gave him a reassuring smile. “My mother once told me they’re rare. Marking only the bravest among us.” She had never seen Gordon look so serious. He blinked his dark green eyes. They looked a little wet. She grasped the pendant, rubbing her bloody thumb across the smooth back and closed her hand around it. The heat came from inside her, quick and without much prompting. The metal of the pendant began to thrum and she said her intention—instructing the elements to protect this man who would lay down his life for her. When she pulled her hand away, the pendant looked the same as it had before, but at its core was now another layer of armor.

  “Do I want to know what you just did?” Gordon asked.

  “Probably, but not today. Just know I’ve done everything I can to keep you safe while you’re with me,” she said.

  “Thank you, Highness. For the record, I’m the one supposed to be keeping you safe,” he said.

  “Maybe we should just keep each other safe,” she chuckled. “I cover you, you cover me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Partners.” He gave her a weary grin.

  “Partners.” She smiled and nodded. “Now, partner, let’s get to the palace and find out what damage has been done.”

  Gordon nodded and they headed inside the building to find the tunnel.

  Twenty

  Gordon held his baton up like a torch, a flame glowing from its tip. Neala walked behind him, alert, dagger in hand. Her breath sounded ragged in her ears. Another explosion above ground made them stop in their tracks. Dirt sifted down through the cracks of the brick lining the walls and ceiling of the tunnel. Neala’s heart hammered in her throat.

  “We’re getting close,” Neala said. Gordon nodded and reached his free hand out, fingers waving her closer to him. She closed the gap between them but the tunnel was too narrow to walk side-by-side. She held her dagger out, its blade glowing blue, and placed her hand against the center of his back. A moan came from up ahead and Gordon stopped again, putting his arm out to protect her. The circle of light from the flame stretched wider, fighting back the darkness, and up ahead she saw the familiar intersection of other tunnels, including the one that led away from the city. The one she’d collapsed when she returned home. Gordon slowed, inching forward with caution.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I closed the one leading into the city.”

  “Did you?” Gordon peered around the corner of the first tunnel. “Well, it looks like someone opened it right back up.”

  “What?” She pushed past him to take a look. Some of the debris had been removed but most of it had been moved to one side, making just enough space for people to pass through. Her stomach knotted and she muttered, “Sweet Jerugia.”

  “I don’t suppose you told the chief about this?” he said.

  “Does it matter now?” she snapped.

  Gordon held his hands up in surrender. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. But we’ll definitely have to work on closing them down, once this is done.” Gordon’s mouth disappeared into his beard and even in the dark she could see the disappointment in his eyes. An echo of a thought passed through her head – Just a kid. As if he had to remin
d himself of her age. As if it somehow explained why she’d kept the tunnels a secret. She scowled at him.

  “Fine. Let’s just keep moving,” she said.

  “As you wish, partner,” he said dryly.

  They moved away from the intersection, but not before Gordon closed up the tunnel leading to the mountains with the swipe of his baton. A trail of fire crossed the darkness and dust and dirt kick up around them, making them cough. Gordon grabbed her by the sleeve and pushed her away, towards the palace. The streak of flames floated in her field of vision, blinding her for a moment, and she placed her hand on Gordon’s forearm until she could see again. Another moan came from up ahead and the hair on the back of her neck raised. With the far-reaching flame from Gordon’s baton she could just make out the form of a man, pinned to the brick wall, his shoulders and body crumpled against a long spear jutting from his gut. Her stomach wrenched but she didn’t look away.

  “We can still go back,” Gordon whispered. She could hear his thoughts again—faint echoes, like Cai, he kept tightly reined in—Shouldn’t have brought her here. This is a mistake. Seeing what Peter’s men had done to the warden, she wasn’t entirely certain Gordon was wrong, but they’d come too far to go back now.

  “No.” She planted her feet. “The Queen is still at the palace. We don’t know if there are any other wardens left to protect her.” Gordon’s face crumpled. Of course—he hadn’t been thinking of Francie as Queen. Why would he? But she knew it as soon as she touched her mother’s dead hand. It was ingrained in her. The Queen dies and the heir rises. He blinked hard and she watched him come to the right conclusion. They were going to save the Queen. “Are you all right, Captain?”

  Darkness flitted across his round face and he glanced towards the tunnels behind them. “The Queen is dead,” he muttered.

  “Yes, she is.” A cold pang filled her chest and her voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, someone she barely recognized anymore. “Long live the Queen.”

  His eyes darted to her face and he nodded, quick and stiff. “Stay close to me.” He would get no argument from her.

  They walked in silence for the last twenty yards of tunnel. Finally, they came to the winding stone steps that led to her father’s study. Gordon placed his foot on the first step, his eyes cast upward.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “Peter likes to play games. There could be a trap.”

  Gordon stretched his long arm and craned his neck trying to illuminate any dangers. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Let’s see, then,” she said. With little effort, she pulled fire into her fingertips, forming a walnut-sized, flaming orb. It floated above her palm and she grabbed it between her thumb and fingers. She tossed it lightly, willing it to bounce up the steps. A moment later, a bright flash of light burst above their heads, shaking the ground. The sharp metallic smell coated the back of her throat and she covered her nose with the crook of her arm. Gordon coughed and waved away the white smoke.

  “All right, then. Since this is your house, I think you should take lead,” Gordon said. “Clearly you know better than I do.”

  Neala nodded and stepped forward. She circled the tip of her dagger, catching the smoke. It swirled into a long, vaporous tube.

  “Step back,” she said. Gordon moved just as she flicked her wrist, sending the smoke spiraling into the dark tunnel. Once it had cleared, she followed the circular steps to the surface. She clicked the lock and the bookcase covering the door swung open. She halfway expected to find Peter waiting, with a line of soldiers behind him.

  She stepped into the gloom of her father’s study. Everything was as she remembered. Two leather chairs by the fireplace with the game table between them. The carved ivory chessmen had been put away after her father died. Dust motes swirled and dipped in the gray light filtering through the sheer linen curtains covering the windows. The cold, stale air pressed in on her as she crossed the study. Gordon trailed close behind her.

  “Where will the Princess—I mean Queen be?” Gordon asked.

  Neala glanced at the delicate gold clock on the mantle. The room may not be used but it was still maintained and the clock ticked because someone had wound it this morning. It was nearly four o’clock. Tea time.

  “She usually takes tea about now in the Blossom room. I don’t know if she made it there, though,” she said.

  “Let’s do a quick sweep of the family’s rooms, in case she’s hidden herself away somewhere. Is there any sort of safe room—someplace no one knows about or couldn’t get too?” Gordon asked.

  Safe room. The tower came to mind first, with its guardian gargoyles. Had there been time for Francie to think of it and get inside its walls before the palace fell? There was the secret room hidden inside her father’s study, with the wall of forbidden books and the large leather chair. Her father had taken her inside when she was twelve and sworn her to secrecy, and she had buried the secret like treasure, pulling out the knowledge when she wanted to read about Nescien or the Bohrs or ideas about government without a Queen. Did Francie know about it? Did their mother? She had never asked because she didn’t want to know. She wanted it to be theirs.

  “Wait here.” She walked to the corner of the room closest to the window and found the fat, jade frog. She picked it up, rubbed its belly, and it sprung to life. It smiled up at her, croaked deep and low in the back of its throat before jumping from her hand to the shelves. It stretched its long, green limbs, its stony toes clinging to the wood as it climbed to the very top shelf where it pressed its nose against the hilt of the sword display. Inside the wall, something clicked, and the bookshelf swung open about an inch on a hidden hinge. She held her hand out and the frog leapt down from its high perch, landing on her palm and freezing into its normally stone form. She placed it on its wooden stand and dug her fingers into the hidden depression on the bottom of the shelf.

  “Wait, Highness.” Gordon moved in front of her, his baton aimed at the dark crack that ran the length of the bookshelf. Neala pulled the door open and Gordon ignited the tip of his baton. Her heart thundered in her ears as she watched him step inside. Empty.

  “Let’s check her room,” he said. He closed the door and she pushed the feelings of defeat deep, locking them away.

  Neala led him into the hallway towards her sister’s room. Blood drummed in her ears as they made their way through the empty hall and she gripped the handle of her dagger tighter.

  Neala’s heart leapt into her throat as the pale white apparition moved across the hall from Francie’s room to hers. Gordon touched her arm, making her jump a little, and he pushed to the front—his way of telling her he still outranked her, no matter what she might think. Neala glanced towards her sister’s door – the once beautifully enameled door with fluted trim and the relief of a rose in the center had split in two, splinters hanging like frayed fabric. The other half of the door was just gone – no remnants remained beyond a smattering of gold flecks from the paint. Gordon approached her door, which hung wide open. Neala peeked around his arm. The ghost turned out not to be a ghost at all, but a young woman. Her long, white gown hugged her tiny waist and flowed beyond the length of her short legs, dragging the floor. She stood with her back to them, on her tip-toes, looking over the paints and brushes, pens and charcoals on Neala’s desk.

  Neala tried to read the young woman’s thoughts – to find out what they were dealing with – but there was nothing. Just blankness, as if a thick, dark veil had been drawn over her mind. A buzz in her brain warned Neala there was something wrong with this girl. The impression wasn’t of a person hiding their thoughts but of someone damaged. Neala gently pinched Gordon above his elbow and pushed past him. She saw him grit his teeth from the corner of her eye but ignored him.

  “Hello,” Neala said. She let her arm drop to her side so the young woman wouldn’t be frightened by her dagger. “Can I help you find something?”

  The sound of rattling echoed through the room, followed by an exasperated sigh. �
�I was told there would be paints here. Paints I could use. But there is nothing,” the young woman said. The franticness of her tone made the hair on the back of Neala’s neck stand up. “Nothing!” The young woman threw the can of paint brushes across the room and held her head in her hands. She swayed back and forth a little.

  “It’s all right,” Neala said, using her most soothing tone. “I’ll help you find them.”

  Gordon grabbed Neala by the top of her arm, yanking her back. He thrust his thoughts towards her and they hit her with enough force to make her ears ring. Have you lost your mind?

  “No, I still have my mind,” the young woman whined. “I’m just trying to remember what Peter said, that’s all. Stop rushing me.” Gordon gave Neala a pointed look but projected no other thought. She shook him off her arm and moved out of his reach.

  “It’s all right,” Neala said, carefully approaching the woman. “No one’s rushing you. Let me help you find them.”

  The young woman suddenly dropped her hands and pivoted towards Neala. Her flaxen hair and skin were so pale she seemed to be almost transparent, disappearing into the shadows of the late afternoon as if she weren’t really there. Maybe she was a ghost after all. The woman’s crystalline-blue eyes narrowed, looking Neala over. Her child-like face changed from confusion to suspicion.

  “Who are you?” the young woman asked.

  “Who are you?” Neala countered.

  “I asked first.”

  “All right, I’m Neala. This is Gordon.”

  The young woman furrowed her brow, thinking this over. Her head began to shake back and forth, and her lips moved silently. Neala didn’t know who the woman was conversing with but her eyes became blank.

  “You came with Peter?” Neala said, trying to bring the woman back to here and now. “He must have thought it safe for you here.”