by Keary Taylor
She takes two quick breaths through her pursed lips, collecting herself, and finally nods.
I don’t have time to make sure she can actually handle this. I just have to hope she can be the leader she’s always been.
“Any grand ideas on how to clear them out of the castle?” I breathe to Larkin as we go back to the door.
“With them spread throughout the castle, there’s no quick way to do it,” he says, his eyes scanning the narrow sliver of hall we can see. “Our best bet is to go room by room, as quickly as we can, and stick together. Then we pray we find individuals and can take them out between the two of us.”
I swear under my breath. “It feels like a shit plan.”
“It is,” Larkin agrees. “But it’s the only option at the moment.”
Without waiting for my confirmation, Larkin slips out the door, waving me after him.
We slip down the hall, hooking to the central space of the fourth floor: the kitchens.
The main cooking area is clear, as is the walk-in refrigerator and freezer. As we round a corner, Larkin holds up a fist, halting me for a moment.
I hear it, too. The sound of someone inside the pantry.
Larkin darts inside. Whoever it was doesn’t even get half a second to make a cry. I can only see Larkin’s back. Then I hear the wet sound of a blade sinking into a body, and then that body hitting the ground.
With the kitchens cleared, we move deeper into the fourth floor.
Two great ballrooms are set on the north and south sides of the stairs. The first is clear. But in the south, we find an all-out brawl.
In the chaos, I see Edmond Valdez, locked in a sword fight with a man who has half his face sliced off. Edmond is back-to-back with two other Royals I don’t recognize. Five of Moab’s men appear to be winning.
There’s three dead people on the ground.
Neither Larkin nor I hesitate. We’re both across the ballroom in a fraction of a second. I lop the head off the man Edmond was fighting, and Larkin slices two women through in one clean sweep.
With the tides turned, the other two are swiftly killed.
“Apparently today is going to be a day of timing,” Edmond says, breathing hard. He pushes his hair out of his face, leaving behind a streak of blood. “Thank you.”
My eyes go to the two others at Edmond’s side. I recognize one from the House of Ng, but I can’t place the other. But almost immediately, my eyes go to the two dead on the floor.
“Ines and Adele,” I breathe, kneeling down beside them.
From the House of Emile, in France.
“They were the last of the Emile family,” Hector breathes. He shakes his head. “The line ended when their father produced two daughters. What…what will become of their House now?”
My throat is thick. So, so tight. Emotions stab the backs of my eyes as I look at the two women.
Their faces are so peaceful looking now, like they’re sleeping. Except there’s so much blood.
“We will have to worry about that later,” I say. The words sound all wrong coming from a throat this constricted. “We have to go help others.”
“Stay together,” Larkin instructs.
I have to leave. I have to look away from the Emile girls. Because my brain wants to spin out.
One whole House now is destroyed. The ramifications will be huge for their area.
A whole House.
But I can’t think about that right now.
There are dozens of personal quarters on this level. As a team, one by one, we go through the rooms, checking for anyone.
We find the body of Siobhan O’Rourke in one of the bedrooms. Another House leader, dead.
There are also the bodies of five Born scattered throughout the rooms, their heads removed, or stakes or blade holes through their hearts.
Sure the fourth floor is clear, as a group of five, we ascend the stairs to the main level.
The carnage is so much worse here.
I spot no less than seven Royals lying dead on the floor just from the stairs. There are another twelve Born dead.
But a battle rages at the front gates.
We don’t wait. We react. We jump into the battle.
I swing this sword like I’ve never fought in any other lifetime.
I have a cut down the middle of my back. Blood is pouring down my chin from a slice on my cheek. I nearly lost the fingers on my left hand, and now have a huge gash down the back of my knuckles.
But I keep swinging.
I take two of Moab’s soldiers down.
And scream in regret as a man from the House of Ng goes down, instantly turning ashen gray.
With a war scream, I thrust my sword, burying it in a woman’s chest.
“Where is Moab?” I bellow, to anyone who may hear me.
Find Moab. End this. The words chant through my head.
But I don’t get a reply.
Our battle spreads throughout the entry of the castle. I go back-to-back with Larkin, swinging and slicing and bleeding all over the place.
I see Edmond out of the corner of my eye as he cuts the head from a soldier, only to catch his heel on something and trip backward.
There’s a choked off scream that doesn’t fully escape his lips. “Raphael?”
I dare a look in his direction for just half a second.
Edmond is crouched on the ground next to a body. Through the blood, I recognize the face of Raphael Valdez.
“Raphael?” Edmond cries in horror.
I lose the rest of the words he cries as I strike at the soldier before me. Again and again I blow. I slice through the air, dart out of the way of his blade. And when he doesn’t take a big enough step to the side, I bury my sword into his side, sinking the tip all the way to his heart.
I hear a skull crunch against stone behind me and know Larkin has slain the betrayer.
I take one breath, two, nearly deafened by the pounding sound of my own heart. And the quiet.
Looking around, I see that we’ve cleared the entry.
Every soldier now lies dead.
Still standing are six Royals, me, Larkin, and a grieving Edmond.
A voice, muffled and barely audible trickles to my ears. And my body instantly feels hollow.
“He ordered the extermination sixteen years ago.”
Very quietly, I hear her voice.
No.
I take a step toward the hall. My footsteps echo on the stone floor. Bloody boot prints follow after me.
“And did all these Houses instantly obey?”
Another voice floats to my ears, one I don’t recognize.
“It…” she falters. “It wasn’t an active execution of the order. It more came about as they caused issues. At least in my area. We took them out when they stepped out of line. A few of my House members were more…assertive whenever they came across them. But it took years. A decade, really, before finding any of them became a real challenge.”
The massive doors stand before me, and beyond them, there is the soaring space of the Great Hall.
“Sevan?” Larkin says, a question and a request to come back in his voice.
I take the final four steps, and enter the Hall.
The great table is still set in the middle of the space. Fifty chairs surround it. But only three people are seated at it, on the end furthest from me.
The moment I clear the doors, they slam shut behind me, sealing me inside. I don’t have to turn and look to know that there were two soldiers waiting inside, prepared to close them as soon as I walked in.
Instantly, I hear Larkin and others at the door, pounding on it, yelling my name.
At the noise, three pairs of eyes jump to my face.
There’s a woman there, she looks familiar, but I can’t quite place her. She’s pretty, I’d guess in her mid-forties. Her blonde hair is cut short and blunt, accentuating her sharp but balanced features.
Sitting across the table from her, in front of the camera set up on the t
able, is Alivia Conrath. She looks at me with horror, her eyes begging me to run.
Because seated at the head of the table, just beside her, is Moab.
My heat stops.
It literally stops beating in my chest for a couple of seconds.
Because it is Moab, but just as his name means, of his father, he looks just like his father. Just like the Blood Father. Just like my son.
Dark green eyes. Like Cyrus’. A slightly too-full upper lip. Like Cyrus’.
Curly hair falls onto his forehead. Like his father’s hair. Just like Sevan’s hair. A square jaw, just like his father’s, just like his grandmother’s.
I may not have the same face anymore. I may look entirely different from when I was born as Sevan in the country that is now known as Armenia.
But our son was the perfect blend of Cyrus and I. And Moab looks just like him.
“Hello, All Mother,” he says.
Chapter 12
My brain is screaming over and over and over.
Too much.
Too much to process in here.
The camera.
Alivia.
Moab.
This mystery woman.
And, oh shit…the pile of decapitated bodies on the floor just five feet to Moab’s right side.
If I were human, I’d turn and throw up, all over the floor. Because there’s a pile of…hair. Scalps. Just to the side of the pile of bodies. And every one of those bodies, those dead Royals, is missing theirs.
“Why don’t you come join us, grandmother?” Moab invites.
The sly smile on his face and the soldiers behind me who step up and tighten around me tell me this is not an invitation. It’s a command.
I cross the room, holding my head high, my lips pressed in a thin line. I tighten my grip on my sword, which still drips blood to the floor. My eyes meet Alivia’s momentarily, and she does nothing to hide her terror. Her eyes are wide and wild. There’s sweat on her upper lip. She grips the arms of her chair so hard she’s splintered the wood.
“Please, sit there,” Moab requests, pointing to the chair just beside Alivia. “And give the viewers a little smile.”
I sit in the chair he indicated, but I certainly don’t give the camera a damn smile.
“Sevan, this is Jersey Adams,” Moab says, shifting his green eyes from me to the blonde woman across from me. “She’s a news journalist from the country I hear you were reborn in. America. When I contacted her, she jumped at the story, but I don’t think she quite knew what she was getting herself into.”
He gives a little laugh, deep and dark. He smiles, looking her over appreciatively.
Of course. The second he says her name, I know exactly who she is. She’s one of the most popular journalists on one of the most popular national news channels.
Jersey Adams looks terrified. She’s stark white. She sits still as a statue. I’m pretty sure she’s going to be sick at any moment.
“Jersey, I’d like to introduce you to the legend herself,” Moab continues, sitting up straight. He’s in the camera’s sight, it’s focused to fit the three of us in the frame. “All these stories we’ve told you, and this is the woman who was there to witness all of it. The resurrecting Queen herself, Sevan.”
Jersey swallows once, and I can see fear all over her face and smell it on every inch of her. “It’s…a pleasure to meet you. The stories I’ve heard…they’re quite incredible.”
I don’t say anything. I haven’t gathered enough information, I don’t know what they all know yet. I need to wait and gather more intel before I make a move.
Or try to murder Moab in front of possibly millions of viewers.
Shit.
My organs are gone. Ash.
This really is it. The end.
The whole world will know now.
Come morning, the time for quiet and secrecy will be over.
“It has been a very, very educational hour,” Moab continues. He leans forward, resting one elbow on the table, pressing two knuckles to his chin. “The interviews are fascinating. Hearing everyone’s take on our history…” He shakes his head and smiles. “It has been enlightening to see how different individuals paint the history.”
Moab sits forward, and my stomach does a jolt when he reaches forward and takes a lock of Alivia’s hair in his fingers, twirling it back and forth. He studies her, his eyes trailing up and down her neck.
I don’t love Alivia. Not yet.
But I want to pluck every one of his fingers from his hands as he touches her.
I want to peel his flesh from his body and turn him inside out.
Alivia sits there, breathing hard, her nostrils flaring.
But she’s frozen. Staring right at the camera.
“Your mother…” he suddenly stops speaking and looks directly at the camera. “Yes, they may look the same age, or within a few years, but this woman,” he turns back to Alivia, I swear, eye raping her as he continues to play with her hair, “is biologically Sevan’s mother.”
Moab’s eyes flick back up to mine. “As I was saying. Alivia was granting us a very, very interesting interview concerning the Bitten. How they’re made. The Debt of slavery to their creators. How they nearly overran her region. And how the King ordered the extermination of their entire kind. How many of them would you say he had killed, throughout the world, Sevan?” He nails me to my seat with his dark gaze. “How many deaths is your husband responsible for?”
“You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you, Moab?” I seethe between my teeth. “After all these years, you’re finally accomplishing your goal of ruining the world.”
“After all these years, I’m finally executing my father’s vision,” Moab says calmly. He drops Alivia’s hair finally and sits back in his seat, locking me with his molten hot vision. “A vision you and my grandfather could never comprehend.”
“The lack of foresight was not on our part,” I counter. “But congratulations. It only took you two thousand years to accomplish it.”
I can tell that hit the mark. Moab’s mouth snaps shut.
I look away from him, and my eyes lock directly on the camera.
For a very long moment, I just stare at it.
I’ve said too much already. I don’t know what Javier of the House of Badillo already said in his interview. I don’t know what Yuuto of the House of Himura said before Moab killed him.
But after this much coverage…the truth is out there now. The damage has been done. Our world will never look the same.
“I know some of us are watching this, or will watch it later,” I say. My throat is tight. The words don’t come out easily. I have to fight for each one of them.
In the background, I hear something slam into the huge and solid wood door. Larkin attempts to break it down.
“It was never supposed to come to this,” I say to the camera, shaking my head. “I’ve lived in the world where others knew what I was, what my husband was. People who are different, until the world understands them, are feared. And fear makes people do violent things.”
I shake my head again, fighting the sting at the back of my eyes. I can’t cry. Not now.
“I know this may seem like an exciting, new time,” I continue. “But unless you have had to run, unless you have been hunted, you cannot understand. And if you do not understand, do not go trying to change the world.”
I can’t fight it any longer. Tears well in my eyes as I imagine it in my head. When the most powerful governments in the world realize the truth. When they get ahold of us, when they rip our bodies apart, when they see our supernatural strength, and when they realize that we must feed on their blood to survive. When the powerful confirm the truth, I can see it: how we will have to run and hide. Or how we will fight for our survival against the entire human race.
“I beg you to lay low,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper. “I beg you to try to repair the damage done. Don’t let it escalate.”
Beneath the table, I f
eel Alivia reach for my hand and squeeze it tight in support.
“After all these years, you still hide in fear?”
Moab sits forward, resting his forearms on the table, glowering at me. His dark green eyes spark with red embers. “With everything we are capable of, with everything you can do. With all the numbers we now possess, you still wish for them all to hide?”
I look away from him. I fix my eyes on a tapestry that hangs from the wall across from me.
There’s nothing, absolutely nothing I can say that will make a difference to Moab.
“I truly do not understand how you and your husband remained in power this entire time, when the both of you have lived in such fear,” Moab seethes. I feel it. A monologue coming on. We’re in for a long speech. “The world does not respect cowards.”
There’s an even louder whack at the door, and I hear wood splinter. Moab’s guards at the door stand in front of it, their swords held at the ready.
Moab hasn’t stopped talking, though. He continues his speech. Ranting on and on.
There’s another crack against the wood, and a two-foot long splinter goes sailing across the room, narrowly missing one of the guards.
I tighten my grip around the sword.
I look at the camera.
Can I do it?
Can I take advantage of his distraction and kill him on live TV? Because I know there are people watching. I know millions will see it.
Can I slaughter him in front of the camera?
There’s another shattering boom, and I hear the air rush as it sucks into the Hall.
Moab shoots to his feet, drawing his sword, watching the door.
I don’t see anyone. But someone tosses some kind of…device inside. It hits the stone floor with a metallic tinkle. My stomach drops when there’s a beep, followed by three others.
And then it explodes.
Not with fire and shrapnel.
Gas.
It billows out of the device, filling the air, filling the hall at rapid speed.
It has a faint green hue to it, and the air instantly has the smell of toxic fumes.
Two seconds after it detonates, the very last person I ever expected climbs through the destroyed door.