The Queen's Choice

by Cayla Kluver

“Well, that was pointless,” Zabriel remarked.

  As I’d suspected, the Sepulchres were locked in a cage that filled the cylindrical room like a cork in a bottle. The sky iron from which the bars were made evidently subdued them, and they stared helplessly at us with pupil-less eyes. Zabriel stepped closer, and I snatched at his sleeve to pull him back. These Sepulchres weren’t like the others I’d seen, not even the ones that had attacked Shea and me in the Fere. These creatures were sickly gray-green, barely luminescent, and their eyes were a dull, watered-down brown. They pressed against the grillwork bars, reaching through with jaundiced fingers. Something unspeakable must have been done to mutate these creatures.

  We inched down a few more stairs, and it was then they started whispering.

  “Water,” the hollow voices said.

  I scrunched my forehead, perplexed. Was it possible these creatures were thirsty? Then a jolt ran through my core. They were all staring at me. As my stunned mind tried to process this, I remembered what Evangeline had said—Sepulchres could identify our elemental connections. They were doing the job they had been coerced to do, and announcing that I was, or had been, a Water Fae.

  “Fire,” they said next, in a chorus, and Illumina shivered. To my knowledge, she’d never seen a Sepulchre before, and if their malformed faces and bodies weren’t enough to fill you with fear, their voices were even more unsettling.

  The Sepulchres moved on to Zabriel, every pair of deadened eyes fixated on him. Unlike with Illumina and me, the creatures hissed and stretched their arms through the holes in their enclosure, reaching for him, whether to break him or beg for food and liberation I couldn’t tell. Considering the abuse they had suffered at the hands of nonmagical creatures, their reaction was understandable. But when they started whispering again, my body went cold at their collective words.

  “Save us,” echoed in my head. “Save us all.”

  In the grayish, fluid light that emanated from beneath the Sepulchres’ skin, I saw Zabriel’s jaw clench, and he stumbled back a pace. The plea issued to him was immense in its possible meanings, confusing and daunting. I knew, having heard the same request from the Sepulchres under Tairmor.

  Every blank eye beyond the bars was glued to Zabriel, every aching desire for deliverance thrust upon him. His own dark eyes wide and feverish, he moved away until his back was to the wall. Gone was his arrogance, along with every bit of certainty and flippancy he’d brought with him to Evernook Island. What remained was the boy from Chrior who had been afraid of expectation, who had run from controversy, and who had tried to lose himself in a criminal’s life in Sheness. His disguise lay broken around him because these creatures could see straight through it.

  Zabriel pitched toward Illumina and me, breath coming fast. Then he pressed his hands over his ears, struggling to shut out the hisses and pleading that besieged him. He shoved past us, but I knew he would not escape the memory of them so easily. Illumina and I hurried after him, making more noise than was probably wise.

  “Zabriel, wait!” I called, worried that the intensity of the Sepulchres’ need had reminded him of all the reasons he’d left Chrior, worried he would renege on his promise to return. “Zabriel, please!”

  “No,” he growled, footsteps echoing as he made his way down the next round of stairs. “We need to find out what’s going on here and stop it, so everything can go back to the way it was. You never should have come to Sheness, either of you.”

  “You can’t have that life anymore, Zabriel. Don’t you see that?” The words flew like barbs from my mouth, but our circumstances did not allow time for compassion. “The game is over. There’s only the future now, and there’s no running away from your heritage this time.”

  At that, he came about, pointing a finger dangerously close to my face, almost forcing me to retreat. “You don’t know anything, Anya. There were things I never told you, things I didn’t want you to—”

  He clamped his mouth shut, lips compressed into a thin line, eyes nearly manic. Then he looked to the ground, taking several deep breaths. When he once more met my gaze, the fire of anger had left him, revealing a sort of wretchedness.

  “Just be quiet, Anya,” he said, his wild reactions almost more frightening than the rest of our situation. “You’re not helping anybody right now.”

  The Prince was off again, delving deeper into the dungeon, but it took Illumina’s prod at my shoulder to get me moving. My mind was whirring at the prospect of the secrets hinted at by Zabriel’s words, yet I had no time to consider them. Instead, I was running to keep up with him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SKY IRON

  We entered another long corridor, leaving behind the glow of the Sepulchres, and Zabriel’s disembodied voice reached us from the far end.

  “There’s airflow behind this door.”

  Without waiting for us, Zabriel once more tossed caution aside. The corridor flooded with pale light as he threw open the door, and for a moment he stood in silhouette. Then he disappeared from view. By the time Illumina and I caught up to him, he had entered the room that lay on the other side. His mouth was agape, a condition that soon afflicted us all, and we slowly revolved as one while we took in the wonders that surrounded us.

  We stood within a forest. Plants, flowers, and trees grew from wall to wall, and what looked and felt like daylight grazed our shoulders, though we were far underground. Birds chirped, toads croaked, and water babbled in fountains buried amongst the flora. The atmosphere was rejuvenating, empowering. Above us, I caught a glimpse of the light source—bubbles or bulbs filled with an undulating golden liquor. As I stared at the floating specimens, they shimmered in that subtle manner that could only be associated with magic.

  “They did it,” I announced, pointing upward, half impressed and half aghast. “Nature, they found a way to infuse magic into objects.”

  “Nature has nothing to do with this.” Zabriel strode forward along a pebbled path, shoving aside plants left and right. “Why foster life in a brig?” he asked of no one in particular, frantic for answers. “Why make a garden in a pit? Why is this here?”

  As the three of us struggled through the mass of branches and leaves that crowded in on us, excitement and apprehension battled for prominence within me. We had to be close to finding an answer. But when we emerged into a clearing, I came to a dead stop, turned to stone by the sight that greeted us.

  “What is that?” Illumina breathed.

  Before us stood a gleaming, oval-shaped silver fountain, a massive work of art, and at its summit a platform upheld a box—one with a great door covered in poor imitations of Fae love-carvings. Zabriel tentatively stroked the lip of the fountain with his fingers.

  “A magician’s box,” I replied, struggling to spit out the words. I knew instinctively that this was what Shea’s father had been asked to build, what he’d refused to finish. Those involved must have found someone else to do the work even as they tried to silence Thatcher.

  Zabriel stepped back to examine the challenge, dropping his cloak on the floor, then hopped onto the fountain and scaled the tiers with intermittent help from his wings. I climbed after him, struggling at the last until he offered me his hand and pulled me up beside him on the platform. The beauty behind us was in stark contrast to the dark wood of the box, which had the deep vacuity of obsidian. The chirping of birds and other sounds of life seemed far away.

  “Stay there,” I warned Illumina, and she retreated a few paces. Zabriel kicked at the bolt, and the wood splintered loudly. Palms sweating, I reached across to help him tug open the door.

  Inside, machinery clicked and clacked like a music box, but there was no beautiful dancer among these cogs, only a person, suspended in profile, wrapped in loose garments that barely covered the body. I couldn’t even determine gender from the emaciated form or the head of short, scant brown ha
ir. Several needles punctured the person’s skin, which was so pale it looked bluish-green from thinly veiled veins. The machinery was somehow connected to the needles, monitoring and regulating Nature knew what. As my eyes traveled over the bindings that held him or her in place, I saw raw skin beneath the leather, and at the bare shoulder blades were great, swollen stitches, grafting to the bone a pair of wilted Faerie wings.

  My stomach lurched, but I could not move, could not look away. The sight was unholy, the smell of illness and infirmity spirit crushing. I wanted to reach out, but though it shamed me, I couldn’t make myself do so. I was afraid. Afraid that someone so afflicted could only be evil or violent, that its outward appearance was indicative of its putrid interior.

  I heard the cock of a pistol beside me, and turned toward Zabriel. He was intently examining the thing suspended in front of us, and a flicker of sympathy crossed his face. In the next instant, he raised his gun, aimed it, and shot the unconscious being through its exposed temple. Blood and brain matter trickled down the inside of the box, and it was several stunned moments until I noticed the same thick substances slithering down my face and arms. I raised my hands, studying the remains with appalled fascination, trying to come to terms with my cousin’s action.

  I locked eyes with Zabriel, seeing there a prince, a rogue, someone merciful, and someone vengeful, all underneath a layer of blood and sweat. I wanted to say something to him, to reach out and touch him, but in the end, I stood silently by, daunted by his courage.

  Illumina’s shout broke the trance that seemed to bind the two of us together. Past the fountain, water now tainted red, stood Hastings, a goodly number of men at his back.

  Zabriel’s shroud went up the instant he realized we were not alone, but it was too late.

  “No need for that,” Hastings called, spitting out a wad of tobacco, eyes only on Zabriel. “We already knew about you and your filthy Faerie blood, Pyrite. Some of the stunts you’ve pulled made things pretty clear.”

  Spex’s former keeper squinted at my cousin, and my mind raced. What was he doing here?

  Everyone with Hastings was heavily armed. We had lingered too long, and now were trapped by a man who was more than the lackey Spex thought him to be.

  Zabriel holstered his gun, not wanting to antagonize his adversary. Putting a hand on my waist, he guided me behind him, ironically shielding me with his body. This was wrong—it was my responsibility to protect the Prince.

  “You really are just a boy,” Hastings scoffed, running a hand over his bald scalp. “Some said so, but I wasn’t sure I believed them. You don’t have a damn scruff of hair on your face, do you?”

  “How does it feel knowing a boy had you and all the Constabularies in the Territory running in circles for so long?”

  Zabriel was taunting him, keeping his attention held fast so that Illumina could dart toward the side wall.

  Hastings grunted a laugh. “It feels good, considering the money it’s made you worth. The sailors have you talked up like you’re some sort of avenging sea spirit, but you don’t look like all that much to me. I’d keep you as a trophy just to show everybody how wrong they are, if you weren’t such a prize for my pocketbook. You are slippery, though, I’ll give you that. Almost thought I’d lost you when you weren’t with the raiders at the shore. Of course, once you started breaking down doors with bullets, you were easy to corner.”

  “If you thought you’d lost me, then you were expecting to find me.”

  The significance of his words hit me hard, and a moan that formed the word no escaped from my lips.

  “I won’t spoil things by saying how I came by the information,” Hastings went on with a grin. “But someone ratted you out—you can be sure of that. Not all your allies are so loyal.”

  One of the other men lurched forward, having spotted Illumina, but Hastings held out a hand to restrain him. Confusion gripped me. Why was he giving Illumina the chance to get away? He had to suspect she was Fae. Then a dreadful thought came to me. Was he leaving her alone because she was his informant? My heart pounded like a drum inside my chest, so forcefully I thought my ribs would shatter. Then my good sense returned. No, she couldn’t be responsible. She had always hated humans. She wouldn’t betray one of her own to help them. More likely he didn’t want to bother with her, for she carried no price on her head.

  “What’s all this?” Zabriel asked, ignoring Hastings’s attempts to rile him as he gestured to the evil contraption at our backs.

  “An experiment. But don’t worry—that fellow more or less volunteered.”

  “Like Spex volunteered?” I spat, peering out from behind my cousin, unable to hold my tongue.

  “Prisoners of the Territory bargain for what they can,” Hastings told me, examining the corpse hanging behind us with something akin to gratification. “This poor sap preferred the box to the plank. But he wasn’t treated so badly. Look around—the man lived in his own little oasis. I’ve been told it calms them down when they need a break from the pain.”

  “And what was the purpose of this experiment?” Zabriel pressed, his disgust apparent.

  “Don’t know for certain. But from the looks of him, I’d say whatever they were trying to do wasn’t working. Yours was a mercy killing, Pyrite, plain and simple. I won’t hold it against you.”

  “I would so hate for a little thing like that to interfere with our friendship.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, kid. I’m just here to arrest you.”

  Zabriel’s eyes narrowed, and he crouched like a wild animal readying itself to spring. “Try it.”

  He was carrying his usual weapons and was ready to fly, to fight, to do whatever was necessary by whatever means he had at his disposal. My spirits lifted and I moved away from Zabriel, preparing to make the descent to the floor. We three cousins would somehow make it out of here unscathed.

  A harrowing crack rent the air, and at first I couldn’t identify the sound, though I’d certainly heard it often enough. The bullet tore clean through Zabriel’s left shoulder and wing, lodging in the wood of the magician’s box. He slumped forward, blood pouring through his fingers as he clutched at his wound. I screamed and went to him, wrapping him in my arms, but I wasn’t strong enough to hold us both up. We fell hard onto the tiered fountain below, then crashed to the floor, my body breaking the worst of Zabriel’s fall. The pain of impact was intense and sent a shock wave through my frame that left me wondering how many bones I had fractured.

  I torturously raised my head to look at Hastings, whose pistol was stretched before him like a divining rod, steady and smoking from its report. I would never have anticipated such impeccable aim from that beast of a man. Nor could I have foreseen his action. I had thought he’d want to take my cousin alive.

  “Zabriel,” I managed once Hastings began to lower his firearm. I squeezed my cousin’s good shoulder. “Zabriel, we have to get up. We have to get out of here. Come on.”

  I glanced at Illumina, who looked ready to come forward, and shook my head. Our situation was already desperate. I didn’t want a bullet ripping through her, as well.

  “I don’t think he’ll be moving much,” Hastings jeered, sauntering toward us. “That bullet’s made of sky iron. It won’t make the wound any worse, but it’ll double the pain. I know—I’ve used it on Fae before. It’ll keep him from causing me trouble.”

  With a mighty effort, I scrabbled to my knees and wrenched Zabriel’s gun from its holster. I aimed it at Hastings, though I had no idea how to use it. He paused, thoughtfully chewing, then shot another greasy ball of spit at the ground.

  “Go ahead. Take your best shot.”

  Despite the shake in my hands, I tried to cock the weapon, knowing that much was necessary. Before I could make more progress than that, Hastings laughed and crossed the rest of the distance between us.

  “That
’s what I thought,” he sneered, tugging the gun from my hand.

  With no other recourse, I threw my body over Zabriel’s, forcing Hastings to pry my fingers free of my cousin’s quivering form. The Prince of the Fae, Chrior’s greatest hope, was dragged away from me by a brute, and I was too pathetic to prevent it.

  Hastings hoisted Zabriel to his feet, eliciting a closed-jaw scream that was brimming with fury and defiance, a noble sound that no one but a true prince could have mustered. It was at once terrifying and heartrending, and for a second Hastings hesitated, fear registering on his face. This expression, this moment, was the one I’d have to cling to for consolation.

  Slick with blood and water, I tried to stand, focused on stopping Hastings and his men from leaving with Zabriel. But someone grabbed me by the shoulders and yanked me backward.

  “Stay away!” Illumina shrieked, and in spite of the fact that she was keeping me from my goal, I smiled. I knew how foolish the men had been for writing her off as nonthreatening.

  Hastings’s followers made to close ranks around Illumina and me. Features so contorted they were almost unrecognizable, my cousin thrust forth her hand, and, in an elemental rage that would have outshone the Queen’s Blades, summoned a wave of fire that heaved forward and turned two of the men into human bonfires. They howled, their skin popping like fireworks. The others who had been intent on arresting us immediately retreated, spreading away from each other as though to create less appealing targets.

  Helping me to my feet, Illumina compelled me out the door and down the hall. The pain in my chest was temporarily blocked by the terror and exhilaration pumping through my veins. We retraced our path to the spiral staircase in the center of which the Sepulchres whimpered—the tumult Illumina had created was more than sufficient to keep the humans occupied—before I halted, reaching vainly for her arm.

  “Zabriel!” I gasped. “We have to help him!”

  My cousin whirled about, green eyes toxic. “No. We can’t save him. We need to get off this island.”