The Last Queen Book Two

by Odette C. Bell

  My head is starting to spin. If it weren’t for John’s arm around my middle, I wouldn’t be able to stand.

  Though the glow coming from my arm is still lighting up the otherwise completely darkened room, my vision starts to shut down, and the world around me descends into flashes and sparks. I catch a glimpse of Spencer’s wide open, desperate eyes. I see the side of John’s hand as he continues to try to shove through the force field protecting Spencer’s disembodied hand.

  I see my black glossy hair fan out around me as John takes a quick step back.

  “Dammit,” I hear John spit, his voice so hard and his breath so fast that it sends my fringe slamming over my cheeks.

  There’s power behind his voice, too – magic. Magic that snakes out in a circle.

  I feel something shift up from the floor beneath him. It presses in from the ceiling, too.

  It’s power – the likes of which I’ve never experienced.

  Something seems to expand inside of me – a feeling I’ve never felt before. Something... primal.

  Before I know what’s happening, my eyes blast wide and my lips jerk open.

  A circle of light forms all the way around John, encircling him like a halo.

  Something begins to shake the floor, then I hear something appear right behind us.

  There’s a snap.

  John somehow manages to keep a hold of my middle as something slams into his legs and knocks him backward.

  That something is a throne.

  It’s not the first time I’ve seen a true match begin – during my first fight with Spencer, I saw something similar happen. But this is the first time I’ve been close to John as he’s locked against his throne. He still doesn’t let me go, and his grip only tightens around my middle as I see strings of white magic lock him to the throne.

  “You want to fight me over this?” Spencer spits. “Fine,” he smiles.

  In a snap, I see a throne appear from nowhere behind him. It slams into his legs, and he’s forced to sit.

  A second later, those familiar charges of white magic lock him in place before they turn invisible.

  There’s now so much magic charging through the air that it’s as if I’m trying to breathe in an electrical storm.

  If it weren’t for the fact that John still has his arm locked around my middle, I would probably be a complete mess on the floor. As it is, I’m kind of half propped against the hard arm of the throne.

  From the look of it, it’s metal – but as my body is propped against it, I can feel that it’s something else entirely.

  It’s not... even matter. It’s almost as if it’s hardened magic. The effect of being pressed against it is like trying to touch the insides of a star.

  I wonder if John is going to keep me there, locked in place with his arm as he fights Spencer.

  I soon get my answer.

  With a single click of John’s fingers, something spreads between his throne and Spencer’s.

  Though their thrones are close – maybe two and a half meters away – as the magic spreads out from John’s fingers, Spencer is thrust back, all the way toward the opposite wall.

  As he is, a chessboard forms between them.

  I can see the black and white squares forming, but before they can touch me, suddenly, John lets me go.

  He doesn’t just drop me, either – he somehow twists his arm all the way around, locks it on my shoulder, and shoves me with a charge of magic.

  It’s enough to see me tumble behind him. I roll and strike the floor several meters away from the glowing chessboard.

  I’m panting, my hair is a mess over my shoulders, and my body is shaking, but that doesn’t stop me from planting two sweaty hands on the floor and shifting up into a seated position.

  My tangled hair is a fan in front of my face, and my clothes are all rumpled as I sit there and stare.

  Spencer keeps making eye contact with me, darting his gaze toward me every second, to check if I’m still there.

  There is desire behind his gaze – and yet, it is trumped by a far more’s violent emotion – fear.

  He doesn’t think he’s going to win, does he? And though that brings half a smile to my lips, I realize that if he loses, that means John will acquire me.

  “Get out of here, run,” John says, voice low. There’s a partially strangled quality to it, and I can appreciate where it’s coming from. For as that white magic locked him to his throne, I saw one of the ropes tie all the way around his throat.

  Though I’ve spent the last several weeks fearing what a king is and how much power he has, I need to appreciate something. John isn’t choosing to sit in that throne – magic is forcing him to stay seated. It’s the same with Spencer.

  ... Maybe, on some level, despite their power, both of these men are just as trapped as I am.

  “Run,” John says, and there’s a desperate quality to his tone, one that finally sees me push up.

  Though my body is weak, at least Spencer’s disembodied hand is no longer locked on my left shoulder.

  The second John began the game was the second Spencer’s hand disappeared.

  That doesn’t stop me from bringing my free hand up and clutching my shoulder, protecting my skin as best as I can as I take a jerked step backward.

  Spencer’s eyes only blast all the wider. “You have to stay,” he says.

  “Run,” John says, and this time he screams. There’s so much force behind his words that not only does the floor shake beneath me, but several of the glass windows to the side blast out. Halos of shattered glass fall into the room, scattering at my feet and dashing over the shoulders of my leather jacket.

  I finally take one more step back, turning hard on my foot, and I run.

  I don’t look back, even as I feel magic swell through the room, even as I see white light emanate from behind me.

  I know what it means. John is about to take his first turn.

  I can’t see any pieces – and I know none of his people came to this function. I also know for a fact that Spencer’s people are out on the streets. He too is alone.

  That doesn’t stop them – and they engage in a match.

  But I don’t hang around to see how it goes.

  I run, desperation pounding through my heart and giving me all the speed I need to throw myself down the sweeping staircase and to reach the atrium.

  I plow out of the door, rounding my shoulder and slamming it into the glass, forcing it open.

  I stagger out into the darkened night.

  Whatever spell John cast on the city is still in effect, and not a single light is on. I can’t even see the headlights of cars. It’s almost as if someone has set off an electromagnetic pulse in the atmosphere and it affected all forms of electricity.

  My mind boggles at that prospect – that mere magic can have the same effect as a nuclear blast.

  I don’t let my mind settle on that fact, though.

  I run.

  But I don’t say in my current form. Once I make it a block and down a tight laneway, looking over both shoulders, I quickly draw a hand up and press it over my chest.

  I feel a charge of magic race down my body and concentrate on my hair as it shortens right there in front of my eyes.

  A second later, I’m back in my original disguise.

  I stand there, back pressed up against the wall for several seconds as I try to breathe. But no matter how hard I try to force breaths into my lungs, they don’t calm me.

  Nothing can.

  For the surprise of that battle is still rattling through me. More than that, I can feel John’s grip around my middle. It’s as if it had a lasting effect on my body – as if it’s been imprinted there.

  As soon as I think of the word imprint, I shiver, draw up a hand, and clasp it over my eyes, forcing them closed.

  If John’s arm feels imprinted over my middle, then Spencer’s penetrating gaze is imprinted in my mind. The second he recognized me – the second I carelessly stared at him a
nd my disguise spell broke.

  The way he twisted me around. The way I fell against his chest and he clasped a hand on my shoulder. No matter how overcome I am and no matter how many more powerful experiences I have, I will never forget the import of that moment.

  It takes me a long time to pull myself away from the wall, and when I do, my entire body is shaking. From my head to the tips of my toes, it feels as if I will fall down with every step, and yet I still manage to stagger forward.

  It’s easier now that I’m in my disguise, and I tell myself that as long as I don’t make eye contact with Spencer or John or any of his men, they won’t be able to tell that I’m a queen.

  Clenching my teeth, I push into a run, but I don’t get far.

  Just a block – then I feel something.

  A familiar energy. One that feels as if it descends on me like a shroud.

  I take an immediate and violent lurching step backward, almost as if I think I’m going to be shot.

  A second later, I hear his voice.

  It’s the shadowy man. The so-called unattached piece that fought me on top of that magical wall outside of Rowley Tower when Spencer attacked Antonio.

  I haven’t seen the man since he disappeared in a halo of light, sinking right through the floor. And yet, though it’s been two full weeks, my body recognizes him. A memory of him has been burnt right into my mind.

  I can hear his voice, and I appreciate that he’s just around the corner of the building my back is pressed into.

  His voice is low, muttering, and it’s clear he’s speaking to somebody.

  Though I know I’m in no condition to fight and I should just turn around and run, I remain there, one shoulder pressed hard against the wall as I slowly bring a hand up and clasp it over my mouth, ensuring that my rattling breath cannot travel.

  Forcing away my desperate, circular thoughts, I lock my attention on the conversation, trying to pick up every word that’s said. And yet, though it is usually easy for me to push my magic into my hearing and make it acuter, I’m too disrupted.

  I only catch a few words here and there. King, game, and deal.

  Though I’m sure the shadowy man hasn’t felt me, abruptly, the conversation stops.

  I now force myself as hard as I can into the wall, almost as if I’m trying to meld right through it and disappear into the brick.

  I hear footfall, and before I can freak out that it’s coming my way, I appreciate that it’s headed in the opposite direction. It’s strong, loud, and has to belong to the shadowy man.

  I have just a second to relax, then there’s a snap. It sounds like a rubber band doubling back in on itself. There’s a rush of air, too, and the next thing I know, he’s standing right in front of me. Just several centimeters in front of my face, his body bent in half, one hand in his pocket, his hat touching my forehead.

  I jerk back so violently that my skull impacts the brick wall behind me with a crack.

  My eyes have just a moment to spring wide.

  “Clever disguise,” he says, tongue moving fast, sending violent pulses of air against my cheeks. “But your disguises cannot fool me.”

  He shoves a hand out, intending to pin me against the wall, but I finally move, slamming against his shoulder as I try to twist out of the way.

  But he gets there first.

  I feel a crack and hear something rush toward me. I appreciate it’s one of his disembodied whips, and I try to twist out of the way, but I’m not fast enough.

  It curls in from the side, moving so fast, it’s like a shot from a gun.

  I force all of my strength into twisting to the side, but the whip is faster. It follows my move, and the next thing I know, it wraps hard around my arm.

  I gasp as I’m yanked down to my feet.

  Something clicks in my head, and I realize I have to fight.

  I spread a hand to the side and try to call my swords to me, but again the man is faster.

  Though I’ve only seen him fight with one whip previously, now, they spring from everywhere. From every crack in the pavement, from every chip in the stone walls of the buildings around me, even from the sky. It’s categorically one of the most terrifying experiences of my life, and I have just enough time to let my lips crack open and a scream to bellow from my chest.

  Then they are upon me. They tie around my wrists, lock around my throat, wrap around my gut, and they pull me toward the nearest wall.

  The next thing I know, I’m tied to it, pressed there with so much magic, I can’t move, let alone shove a hand out and call on my swords.

  Pure terror pulses through me as I hear several footsteps from my side.

  The whips lock around my head, and there’s nothing I can do to shift my head around, to try to follow the shadowy man. But I don’t have to, because soon enough, he comes to a stop right in front of me.

  He’s tied me several meters up the wall, and I have to stare past my nose as I watch him casually shove a hand into one of the deep pockets of his long jacket.

  It’s still dark out, but that doesn’t matter, because not only can I see in the dark, but the man is encased by a faint glow of deep red magic. Though it plays over his entire body, his suit, his skin, even his hat, the shadow his brim casts over his face is still enough to hide everything, save for the grim smile that presses over his lips. “You didn’t learn anything from our previous fight, did you?” he mutters.

  Though the last thing I want to do is engage this man in conversation, I have no option.

  I let my lips jerk open, and I gasp. “What do you want from me? Are you going to... deliver me to Spencer?” I can’t control my voice – I can’t control my body. I shiver there on the spot at the mere prospect of being delivered to Spencer. And all I can think about is his gaze looming closer and closer.

  It takes a while for the man to react, but slowly the cruelest smile spreads over his lips and he lets out a dark chuckle. “We shall see. There are other bidders. You are a rare card. And I have no loyalty. I have been unattached for centuries, and I will remain so. For you,” he finally tilts his head up, but no matter how far it tips back, I still can’t see his eyes, “will buy me freedom.”

  There’s so much about what he’s just said that doesn’t make any sense. And yet, I focus on one fact – that I will somehow buy him freedom.

  He’s unattached. Though that is a word I now understand, maybe it’s a concept I need to delve deeper into.

  Despite the fact he has me trapped and I’m totally at his whims, I take a hard breath. It punches my chest out against the whips holding me in place, though there’s nothing I can do to shift them. I feel like I’ve been encased against the wall by a shell or a carapace. “How will I buy you freedom? Why are you unattached? Why hasn’t Spencer simply claimed you as a piece?”

  This makes the man chuckle. It’s deep, it’s hard, and it’s truly unpleasant. I swear even the buildings don’t like it as the wall behind me gets yet colder. “Because he doesn’t have the power to take me.”

  “... But he’s a king. And you’re a...” I trail off. I’m still only starting to appreciate that every player in this game has its own role. Though I can discern pawns easily enough, when it comes to other higher players, I still have no idea how to figure out what position they play.

  “I’m a haortz,” he says.

  I blink hard, trying to figure out what he means. Then it strikes me. Horse.

  No, this guy doesn’t look like a carved horse’s head. But the words are similar enough that I start to get an idea of what position he plays.

  He smiles. “You know nothing of this world. A rare find indeed.”

  I stiffen defensively. “Is that why I have so much trouble fighting you?” Something clicks in my head, and I lock my gaze on him.

  He tilts his head to the side, but no matter how far it goes down, his hat doesn’t shift. It’s either a part of him, or it’s glued to his head – or, like the rest of him, it’s controlled by magic. “Yes. Though
you can copy the moves of every other player you meet, you cannot copy mine.” As he says that, he brings his hands up wide, spread his fingers, and suddenly commands the white whips holding me in place.

  They lock me harder against the wall, wriggling against my flesh, feeling like steel wires that have come alive.

  I don’t do him the pleasure of screaming in pain. I clench my teeth and fight past the agony as I keep my eyes wide and my gaze locked on him. “Don’t underestimate me,” I spit.

  This elicits another one of those dark, cold chuckles. “Trust me, I won’t. And unlike those two foolish kings, I have no connection to you. Though you can confuse them with your mere presence,” he says, his lips moving hard on the word confuse, “you can have no such effect on me. So they won’t save you. Nothing will now.”

  I feel cold all over, and yet, something tells me I can’t recede in on myself – I can’t surrender, yet. Even if this situation looks hopeless, at least I’m getting one thing – information. It’s coming at a helluva cost, but it’s still giving me a chance to figure out more about this world, and I need that more than anything. “What happens now?” I demand.

  “As I said, we wait.”

  “For the highest bidder to come?” I spit through clenched teeth. “There are other kings out there, aren’t there?” I say, and I shiver. A hard, darting shiver. One that, if I weren’t attached to this wall by magical ropes, would knock me out.

  This brings another smile to his stiff white lips. “Indeed.”

  “How exactly will that buy you more freedom?” I demand.

  “I have no obligation to answer your questions. Nor am I stupid enough to do so. You are weak as long as you are uninformed,” he states flatly.

  My stomach kicks, but I don’t give up.

  Fine, if he wants to play hardball, then we play hardball.

  “You’re assuming I can’t escape,” I say.

  For just a second, there’s a flicker of suspicion behind his gaze. I see his eyes dart from left to right as if he’s assessing the quality of the whips locking me in place. I also watch as he spreads a hand out wide, his fingers darting this way and that. With every snapped movement of his hand, the white whips holding me in place tighten.