by Della Roth
“Weeks,” I answer. “Months, even.”
“When did he send you to me?”
“Three days ago.” I no longer see the need to keep up the lie.
Then he asks me a question I’ve been asking myself for two days.
“Whose side are you on? Mine or his?”
Eleven
ROLAND’S GORGEOUSLY SCARRED FACE searches my own for a reaction. It was only a couple of days ago that I came into his life under the pretense of freeing him from those scars. In the process, everything else became flawed. Seriously flawed. The way I saw him, the kingdom, and my own future.
“Neither side,” I answer, thinking about what Dev told me. “I don’t know how else to explain it, but there are no sides. In my heart—my soul—it feels bigger than two sides. Bigger than us.”
He smiles, liking my answer.
“So, what do we do?” he asks me.
My mouth drops open. “What can we possibly do? There are so few of us and so many of them.” I glance again at the marching torches. Way too many to count.
Roland clears his throat and gently puts his hands on my cheek. The newly injured, soon to be scarred, cheek. I wonder, at the end of all of this, if we are still alive, if we’ll be two damaged and flawed souls clinging to each other for survival.
“I think you underestimate your citizens, my Queen,” he says slowly as his fingers glide over the stitches. My entire body tingles at his touch. “Surely by now you’ve noticed the shadows. A Queen must have her monk warriors. We will fight to the death for you.”
Monk warriors?
“I don’t want anyone to die for me.”
“That’s exactly what it means. We fight for you. For what’s in here.” He places his hand over my heart. “Whether you like it or not, you are the heart and soul of this continent.”
“I will not be manipulated into leading a suicide mission.”
“You know what the Grandfather is capable of, Rahda. You know the level of devotion he inspires in his subjects. It’s a seriously flawed loyalty, but loyalty, nonetheless.”
I understand that cult-like mentality all too well. I still felt the pull toward the man who saved my life. Conflicted, even. But, then again, he didn’t necessarily save my life. He made a deal with Roland in return for…
What was the favor in return of?
“Yes, I know what he’s capable of, and I know he never makes a deal with someone unless it will greatly benefit him. I…” I hesitate, not sure what to say. How can you thank someone for saving your life, especially if you’ve been in love with them most of your life? “I have to ask,” I say. “What was the bargain you made with the Grandfather?”
He opens his mouth to respond, but in that moment, we’re no longer alone. Citizens scramble around us, some hitting us with their shoulders.
“Wot’cha still standin’ there for?” one yells at us.
“Are you afraid of a little fire?” I ask them loudly. Several stop running altogether. Not many, naturally, but some.
Roland snaps his head around and stares at me. What are you doing? his expression asks.
“They’ve got more’n fire, miss,” a boy of about fifteen says. “Crossbows and guns, too.”
“Is that so?” I say calmly. “I wonder what our new queen would say about you running away from a battle?”
“That’s who they want, miss,” the boy answers.
More and more citizens come through. Rather than passing around us, the group grows larger until at least one hundred men, women, and young adults stand around, wanting to hear what’s being said.
“I saw her earlier,” a heavyset man declares in the middle. “The queen, I mean,” he clarifies. I remember his name is Tomoko. “She came this way, I saw her, I did, and she wasn’t as beautiful as I thought she’d be. But she be kind. She got this large bloody gash on her cheek and all. I say if she came this way, I go this way, too.”
The group agrees.
“We go were the queen is,” a middle-aged woman shouts.
Roland leans into me. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says in my ear.
“I suppose I have you to thank for that, now don’t I?”
He smirks at me.
Then I speak up. “If the queen were here right now, what would you want her to say?”
“I’d want her to tell us what she be doing about the invaders,” the boy says.
“Bet she’d order us to fight to the death,” an elderly man answers.
“No, no!” Tomoko rejoins, moving more into the center and closer to me. “She wouldn’t order us to do anything. But she’d give us her plan.”
“What if she didn’t have a plan, Tomoko?” I ask him. “What if she were open to all suggestions?”
The man shakes his head just as Roland nudges me in the ribs. “How on earth do you know his name?” Roland asks.
Tomoko continues, “Queen Rahda would have a plan,” he adamantly answers, finally looking at me. His eyes go round and his beefy fingers raise up, pointing at me incredulously. “Oh my dearest goddess, it be her, everyone. It be her, the Queen!”
“What are you saying, man?” a woman asks, joined by many others. “Stop being so fussy. We need to get on with it.”
“The woman’s correct,” I say, loudly. “We need a plan. And other than heading into the city and becoming target practice, I wouldn’t mind hearing your ideas.”
“Tomoko,” someone says, “Did you say the queen had a gash on her face?”
Tomoko, still in shock and still in the same pointing position, nods. “It be her,” he declares. “She be the one talkin’ to us, too.”
The boy raises his hand, as if asking for permission to speak. The group is now silent and Tomoko has regained a normal stance and posture. I glance around once I realize Roland’s no longer by my side, but I don’t see him anymore.
“Yes,” I point to the tall, lanky boy with curly blonde hair.
“I’ve got an idea, ma’am.”
I smile for the first time in several hours.
“Let’s hear it, young man.”
Twelve
“ME GRANDDAD USED TO talk about the royal revolution in his sleep,” the boy starts. “He said—”
“So?” Tomoko says. “Who cares what your granddad used to say?”
“I do,” I say kindly. Tomoko turns a bright shade of red. I have a feeling he wants to impress me by keeping the crowd in check. He’s moved closer to me, acting as sort of a bodyguard, as if this crowd is the threat to me and not the Grandfather’s army. I see a swarm of bodies, side to side, front to back, all around, and not one sight of Roland. I wonder what he’s up to and why he decided to leave me.
I spot Wren and Gilly Iddon, the grandmother and granddaughter duo I met earlier in the day, weaving in and around everyone and coming into the inner circle. I wave at Gilly, who also turns a bright spot of red, too, the shade clashing with her orange fabriskin robe.
“They’ve blocked of the northwest side of the mountain path,” Wren announces without an ounce of concern. In fact, she seems to have grown taller, her voice stronger, and she looked years younger. “Same with the southern roads.”
“Trapped,” Tomoko thunders loudly. “We’re all trapped!”
I touch his shoulder. “Calm down, friend.” I return my attention to the boy. “Please continue.”
“Granddad was a scholar. Said they all surrendered at the same time and overloaded the royals, who weren’t expecting it. During the confusion, they charged them damn royals, pardon the word, ma’am, no offense meant, and overtook ‘em.”
“Not a bad strategy and I know that it worked then,” Wren said, “but we are not dealing with royals here. It’s a mercenary army, from Hades Rocks no less, bent on destroying the palace and the city and—” she looks at me deliberately “—Queen Rahda at any cost. Best thing to do is escape the city, head south or north over the mountains and weather the storm until it’s over.”
“You’re
free to leave the city,” I state clearly over the now-bickering crowd. Someone tugs on my elbow. I turn and spot Roland. I feel very relieved at seeing him. “You will not be forced to stay and fight.”
“What are you going to do?” someone shouts. I think it is Gilly, but I can’t see her.
“I will stay and fight, as I should.”
Roland leans into me. His arm is warm and familiar and I almost want to sink into it. But I don’t. Tomoko gives him the evil eye.
“Lead them to the building we went into,” Roland whispers rapidly and urgently. He sounds like he’s out of breath. “Go down, not up, and you’ll find me and Mr. Underwood at your service.”
I nod at him, he returns the nod, and then he quickly disappears.
Tomoko watches him go and then starts to commandeer the ever-growing crowd.
“Who will fight for the queen?” he questions everyone around him. A large roar erupts. The ground rumbles under my feet. “Who will fight for the queen?” he asks over and over.
“No,” I say. That’s it. Just that one word and everyone and everything around me becomes quiet. Hundreds of faces peer into mine. It would take me years—maybe a lifetime—to know them all individually. And yet each one of them is so precious to me, just like each drop of water is precious to the ocean. Otherwise, it is nothing but a bunch of drops of water.
“What do you mean, ma’am?” the boy asks. “You can’t fight by yourself.”
“I won’t let you fight for me,” I tell them. “You can fight with me. This is our home. Our families. Our kingdom. The devil knocking on our gates won’t play fair and he won’t show kindness. But we have an advantage over him. I’d like to introduce you to my weapons master, Mr. Underwood.”
Thirteen
MR. UNDERWOOD’S MAIN WEAPONS room is two floors below the basement floor of three abandoned warehouses that have been combined. I can see where Mr. Underwood—or perhaps his predecessor—cut into the mountain rock, extending the warehouse an additional one hundred feet. Around the perimeter of the space, smaller rooms house Mr. Underwood’s deadliest creations.
“Blueblood Tree roots?” I ask Roland as I stare into a perfectly squared chamber. Not just blueblood roots, but blueblood roots topped on metal spikes. Curved, shiny hooks, angled in every direction—to catch onto an opponent from any position—jutted out beautifully below the spikes.
“Leave it to Mr. Underwood to create a weapon everyone is virtually unable to recover from,” Roland states without conceit. “Everyone but you, of course,” he adds as an afterthought. “I wouldn’t recommend testing your chances, just in case.”
I smile grimly, remembering the intense pain from the blueblood spikes embedded in my leg earlier today. And the searing torture as Cat removed them.
“How many blueblood tree roots are there?” I mentally count the citizens invading Mr. Underwood’s private bunker, selecting their weapons of choice. I figure about five hundred citizens followed me down here, and, give the size of the bunker, they barely filled the space. Mr. Underwood has so many weapons that each person can take several pieces and still not make a dent in the arsenal.
“Two hundred, I think,” Roland says.
I spot Mr. Underwood assisting Tomoko and a small group of teenage boys.
“Okay,” I say absently as I take one of them. Roland, mostly watching me, also grabs one of the blueblood spikes. I notice a thick dagger at his waist. It matches mine, only it’s bigger.
“Alright, everyone,” I call out. “Make your choices. We head out in five minutes.” I turn to Roland. “What does Mr. Underwood say about the current situation?”
“Dire,” Roland confides, “but not completely hopeless. We’ll suffer casualties, but—”
“So will they,” I interject. “What’s the Grandfather’s plan?”
“You know him better than anyone else here. What do you think?”
“Personally, I don’t think he’ll get his hands dirty. If his army is from Hades Rocks, then he will count on us surrendering or dying quickly. However,” I pause, thinking, “if you knew about the attack in advance and if he knows you know, then surely he’s expecting something out of you.” I look at him expectantly. “So what is it?”
“Infiltration and strategic choke-points,” he says casually, as if it is no big deal.
“What was the bargain, Roland?”
“It’s time to go,” he says. “There’s an underground shortcut we can take. Mr. Underwood won’t be happy about that, but I feel confident the situation warrants its use.”
I sigh. “You know what I don’t like about you?”
“Everything?”
“You don’t trust me.”
“You’re wrong about that.” Roland grabs my free hand and urgently pulls it to his chest. “I trust you with my life, Rahda. I like what you said out there.” I stare blankly at him. “About them fighting with you and not for you. It’s an important distinction—one that I would have botched up completely—and why your citizens are down here with you. Even that elderly man who can barely walk. They want to make you proud of them. That’s all I want, too.”
“You confuse the hell out of me,” I say.
Alben Underwood limps up.
“Count me in dat statement, too, mizzy,” he says gruffly, his white whiskers barely moving an inch, but it’s his hands I watch as he stashes and pockets no less than eleven weapons on his person. “Is we gonna git goin’ or are we gonna rot to death down here? Got a bunch o’ younguns reddy ta be heros fer ya, mizzy.”
“Lead the way, Weapons Master Underwood,” I answer. He moves the shelves from a wall inside one of the chambers to reveal a hidden door. “Everyone with a free hand grab a blueblood root spike,” I announce to the forming line. No sense in letting such a great weapon go to waste when it’s desperately needed.
I turn to Roland, who stares at me as if he’s never seen me before, and we enter the dark underground passageway together. Alben lights torches ahead of us, illuminating the uneven floor, ceiling, and walls.
“How long did it take Mr. Underwood to collect all these roots and make the spikes?”
“A long time,” he says and pauses for a long while. Just when I think he won’t say any more, he says, “I knew this day would happen, Rahda. That’s why.” There’s a sad tone to his voice. You want to know about the bargain I made with him? My life for yours,” he says finally. “To save your life, I offered him mine. He’s come to collect.”
“I won’t let him.”
“It’s not that simple. I let him mark me. He owns my soul, Rahda. There’s nothing I can do.”
“He burned you, didn’t he? Is that how he marked you?”
Roland nods. The older burn scars. I will kill the Grandfather for this.
My throat constricts, my eyes sting, and everything turns red. Anger thrashes through me and all I can think about is ripping the heart out of the Grandfather’s chest. I want to destroy everything, just like I did when I ingested some of The Pale Waters. My body vibrates and then lurches forward.
At first, I think my anger’s getting the best of me, but then I realize the ground moves and shifts like an earthquake.
Fourteen
EVERYONE SCREAMS AND, SOMEWHAT humorously, Mr. Underwood falls backward, and I catch him easily.
Then, almost instantly, the earth groans and all movement ceases.
“She not be a happy continent,” Mr. Underwood states ominously, straightening himself and peering at me from behind his little glasses. “Hold dat anger until we be topside, mizzy.”
“You’re an odd creature, Mr. Underwood. Is everyone alright?” I yell down the tunnel. After everyone is placated and all issues resolved, we continue on.
The underground path reminds me of the tunnel I took when I left the Old City. Which reminds me of Dev Osta. I wonder if I have any new messages from him. Granted, Dev is on the Grandfather’s side, but he doesn’t know I’m not. Or, maybe he does… I’m not really sure about any
thing anymore.
I hand my blueblood root spike to Roland, who takes it without question, and I pull the communicator tablet from the back of my trousers. I can feel Roland’s interested stare. Not bothering to hide what I’m doing, I log in and he watches me but says nothing.
A red dot blinks. I click on it. It came in two hours ago.
22 June 2512, 10:44pm. \Message sent from encrypted server X\ Untraceable… Routing… Routing… Server found… Five hundred dispatched. En-route Palace Skyscraper. D.
“Who’s that from?” Roland asks. He glances over.
The path dips and I almost drop the tablet.
“A friend,” I say, knowing it won’t be enough of an explanation for him. Hopefully, he doesn’t see some of the heat from my face as I remember the details of my encounter with Dev yesterday. “From the Old City,” I add. “My friend says the Grandfather’s army is five hundred strong.”
“A friend, huh?” he asks. “Doesn’t seem like much of an army,” he says mostly under his breath. “I’d say this friend of yours is lying.”
I also considered this. “It’s possible. I don’t think he and I left on good terms yesterday.”
“He? You went to see this friend yesterday and yet he lies to you?”
“I don’t know if he realizes the Grandfather is against me now.”
Roland scoffs. “If he does know, then his aim is to mislead you. If he doesn’t know, then—”
“He wants to help,” I interrupt.
His eyes glitter at me. “I was going to say that if he doesn’t know, then he’s an idiot. Not exactly someone you’d want on your side.”
“I’m not exactly sure who’s on my side, Roland, or if there are even two distinct sides out there about to fight each other. It feels diluted, muddy. Friend against friend. Neighbor against neighbor. Whatever happens,” I add quietly, “I don’t think anyone wins.”
Roland doesn’t answer, and silence encapsulates us.