The Last Queen Book Four

by Odette C. Bell

  “I warn you, she is strong. Despite the fact I have kept her locked in that history spell, she may still be capable of fighting,” the castle says, his memorable voice still sounding like a rasp over metal. Or maybe that’s the wrong analogy. Maybe he sounds like two bricks being grated against each other, like a wall that’s trying to walk.

  Spencer clenches his teeth and breathes hard through them. “She is in a category 10 holding spell. Even she won’t be able to break that. Plus, by the time our conversation is over, she won’t want to.”

  There’s a long pause. “As you wish, my liege. Though I wish to advise you that this is not how Senator Rogers would have fought.”

  Spencer makes a hard movement, obviously turning to face the castle directly. “Indeed, because Senator Rogers is dead, and I’m still alive, and you are now my piece. Now wake her up.”

  The castle doesn’t complain again. I hear the unmistakable sound of him spreading his hand wide, then the slosh of liquid.

  Something lifts from my mind. It feels like somebody has removed their hand from my eyes. I blink one eyelid open, then the other. I can finally see the room around me in full.

  I don’t know where we are, but the place is old, and the floor beneath me is made of worn sandstone. My body is still weak, and I only just manage to tilt my head to the side. The room we’re in is large, and the walls are made of the same carved sandstone. There are high windows and a door behind the castle, but that’s it.

  “This was Senator Rogers’ primary headquarters,” Spencer reveals. He pushes toward me again, leaning down until he is as close to the barrier spell as he can get.

  Slowly, languidly, I shift my gaze until it’s locked on him.

  His face runs through a gamut of emotions from passion to fear to frustration then back to desire. He reaches a hand forward, his fingers extending toward me, then jerking back just before they can reach the outer limit of the barrier spell.

  He sighs, locks a hand on his leg, and smiles.

  I know that smile. Half of it is desire – for me and no one else. The other half of it is the wretched confusion of a man who has always been too weak to do the right thing.

  “It’s okay. You have nothing to fear. I won’t hurt you.”

  “... Then why am I behind this barrier spell?” I surprise myself when my voice is even. I don’t sound like I’ve just been dragged across the city. I sound like the kind of woman who cannot and will not be contained.

  “To keep you safe.”

  “From whom?”

  “John,” Spencer answers flatly.

  My stomach twists as a new wave of guilt plows into me. John... I just... I just hope that wherever he is he’s okay.

  “But beyond that, yourself. You’re still confused. Which is natural.” I can tell he’s itching to reach a hand through the barrier and clasp my cheek or lock it on my shoulder. He looks like an animal that’s being held back from its food. “You’re the Last Queen, and you were never given true knowledge of your power and your destiny. John has done nothing but feed you lies so that he can use you and ultimately get you killed. But don’t worry,” Spencer does it again, reaching forward until he pulls his hand back at the last moment, “I will let you know the truth.”

  “... What truth?” Maybe I shouldn’t be saying a word. Maybe I should be lying still and silent as I turn my mind from this man and lock it on the hope of escape. But what’s the point? Plus... I can’t deny that my heart reacts at the promise of more information. John also promised to tell me the truth, but he always held back.

  Will Spencer be any different?

  “You are meant to change the game. Once and for all. That is the fate that has always awaited you.”

  Despite my weakened position, a thrill chases up my back.

  “Yes,” Spencer speaks through a sharp breath. He pushes to his feet, the move fast. “I have acquired the means to finally change everything. And with your help, all this will change forever.”

  There’s something about his promise. Something that bypasses my anger at being captured and reaches into some deep part of my soul that I never knew existed.

  Over the past several months ever since I was drawn into the game, I’ve discovered a side of myself I didn’t know existed. From my anger and passion to my drive. But this is different. I think Spencer’s words, and most importantly his promise, reach into the side of me that has always been a queen.

  “I am on the cusp of acquiring the most important part of Senator Rogers’ collection, and when I do—” Spencer doesn’t bother to finish his sentence. He shoves his hands into his pockets and tips his head back. Though I’m still on the ground and I can only catch a glimpse of his face, I can see from the underside of his chin and how ropelike his neck muscles have become that he’s staring at the ceiling like a man searching for heaven.

  “John will come for you,” I find myself saying out of the blue. “He knows you’re on the cusp of acquiring Senator Rogers most important boards, and he won’t let you do that without a fight.”

  There’s this snapping twang of muscle and joints as John tugs his head down and looks at me. “John Rowley has always been an overcautious player. Maybe it has kept him alive until now, but without the ability to risk, he cannot win. Isn’t that why you left him?”

  That probing question comes out of nowhere, and if I wasn’t already lying down, it would floor me. Instead, I squirm, grinding my hands in, letting my broken fingernails snag over the rough sandstone floor. They sound like someone taking a knife to a blackboard.

  Spencer lets out a harsh breath that’s halfway between a chuckle and frustrated disappointment. “Don’t worry, I understand even if you don’t.”

  “Understand what?” I demand.

  “Your feelings brought you here, even if you can’t appreciate that.”

  “Tracking that castle down to stop him from hurting any more innocent civilians brought me here,” I spit.

  Spencer pauses. Maybe he wants to reach a hand through the barrier to try to clutch me again, but he stops himself as he takes a step back. “It’s the imprinting process. It always has been and always will be. You can’t hide your true feelings from me.” He brings up a hand, forms it into a fist, and taps it lightly on his chest. “And you never will be able to. For I feel what you do – that is the true nature of the connection between a king and a queen. Maybe a king can survive without a queen, but it is not living. It is mere survival. But together,” he takes a quick, snapped step toward me which echoes around the room, “we can flourish.”

  Something ignites in my gut at that promise. It dances through me, racing up my back and sinking into my heart. It’s a promise that has no words and instead calls to you with passion alone.

  I curl my fingers in hard, snagging my nails over the rough stone and cutting my skin.

  I don’t care.

  “You take risks to find me. You attack, not to defeat me, but to get closer.”

  “... You’re crazy.”

  “No. I am the sane one. You are the one who is driven crazy by your desire. At least I understand what’s going on between us.”

  I shake my head, my sweat caked hair dragging over the stone and picking up the dust that cakes it.

  “There is no need to fight it anymore. Give into your true feelings and you will find all the torture slipping away from you. Fighting this,” he brings that same fist up again and taps his chest, louder this time until it rings through the room like the clarion call of a bell, “will only bring you pain. Surrender to your desire,” he begs, his voice pitching down a full octave lower, “and you will finally feel release. And power,” he promises with a whisper.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You felt it in our kiss. There’s no reason to lie to yourself about that. The passion you feel around me is your fate trying to pull you to the one future where you will flourish the most.”

  A part of me wants to spit and rally against his words, to fight and sh
out. The rest of me wants to melt. Whether it be into his arms or into a puddle at his feet, it doesn’t matter. The rest of me, you see, is sick and tired of fighting. Not just of putting her body and mind on the line, but of the uncertainty that has marked my life ever since I was drawn into this game.

  I’m sick of looking for answers. I’m tired of being drawn on by questions. And most of all, I hate not knowing what the right thing to do is.

  I once thought that the world is a black and white place, at least when it comes to ethical decisions. There are those decisions that will harm others, and those decisions that will benefit them. Choose to do good, and you will be a good person.

  But how does that simplistic moral equation fit to this twisted game? John may be a good man – better than Spencer – but in not acting, he becomes negligent. In failing to risk to acquire Senator Rogers’ boards, John has left them to other kings. Is that the actions of a good man?

  Or is that the action of a man who has learned that it is easier to soothe one’s mind if you stand back and do not become involved?

  My thoughts... stab at me. They’re like swords carving away great big chunks of my ego like I’m some leg of lamb on a rack.

  “Trust your feelings. They are the most important asset you have. Not your thoughts, not the twisted lies John has told you – but the sensations in your heart. Follow them,” Spencer’s voice becomes a long, soft breath as he brings up a hand, flattens his palm against his chest, and taps twice.

  For some reason I get the impression that the tap of his hand is like a defibrillator trying to restart his heart. Because apparently in my presence his heart keeps stopping.

  I stare up at him through one open eye, my hair caked over it. Staring at him through the strands of my fringe is like seeing a man who’s been chopped into several layers. And that is a terribly apt way to see Spencer Gates.

  On one level, he should be pitied, on another, he should be fought. But which level matters most?

  “All I ask is that you start to feel and that you stop trying to figure this out. Follow what’s inside, and not the lies you’ve been taught, the lies that are mere bars holding you in place.”

  I didn’t know Spencer could speak this poetically, nor passionately. But that’s a stupid statement, isn’t it? Because, from the beginning, the one thing that has marked Spencer’s actions as different to John’s is his fire.

  In many ways, they are two sides of a coin. John’s coldhearted rationality and risk-averseness to Spencer’s passion, fire, and heavy-handedness.

  And then there’s me, stuck in the middle, half frozen by John and half burnt by Spencer, half cradled by John’s kindness and half rocked by Spencer’s desire.

  “You don’t need to make your mind up yet. Soon, though. Soon.” Spencer takes a step away from me.

  I want to reach a hand out to him to make him stop. I want to tell myself that it’s simply because he’s sharing information with me that could be valuable, but I know the truth. A part of me doesn’t want to see him go. A part of me understands that on some level both he and John were correct – all the decisions I’ve made have been marked by my conflicting desires for both men.

  “I’ll leave you here with the castle. He will watch over you. I simply ask,” Spencer takes a hard breath, “that you take this time to strip yourself of your confusion. Center your heart, and your mind will follow. Then... then you’ll be ready.”

  “For your future?”

  “No, for ours. Now rest, my Last Queen.” With that, Spencer finally walks away.

  I find myself listening to his footfall until he’s out of earshot.

  My confused mind threatens to pull me back into unconsciousness, but I hold on. I gather my strength, shift my head, and lock my gaze on the castle. He’s standing several meters away, his glass always in his hand. I wonder briefly if his arm ever hurts, then I remind myself that he’s such a strong piece, he even has the power to defeat me.

  He’s watching me now, his presence contained but menacing. It puts me in mind of a dam held back by a cracking wall.

  And the cracks in that wall must be Senator Rogers.

  “It was easy to kill him, you know,” I say out of nowhere.

  The castle doesn’t react.

  “I thought Rogers was meant to be one of the most powerful kings in the world. He wasn’t,” I say with finality.

  “I will not trust the assessment of a queen who was so easily defeated.”

  I don’t smile at the fact that I’ve finally drawn him into a conversation – I just keep drawing, luring him in like he’s a fish on a reel. “You got lucky. I’ve been fighting my ass off for the past week. If I was at full capacity, I would’ve killed you just like I killed Rogers.”

  “You required the help of another king to do that,” the castle growls.

  “You mean Rowley? I guess he helped. But most of the raw magic came from me. Even if Rowley hadn’t appeared, I would still have defeated Rogers.” It’s a lie, but that’s the point.

  I see the castle’s lips tick up hard and frame his clenched teeth. “I would not gloat, Last Queen. You are in no position to.” He tilts his head down and obviously stairs at the barrier spell.

  “How exactly did Spencer acquire you? Or did you come begging at his front door? Does the possibility of being unattached drive you insane? Some pieces can’t manage it. Some pieces are too weak to make decisions for themselves.”

  He snarls now. There’s a seriously menacing edge to it, one that tells me to back off. But I’m not being rational here, and that’s the point.

  I smile. I may still look bedraggled and weak, but I put all of my energy into making that smile as snide as I possibly can. “Spencer didn’t acquire you, did he? I’ve fought him, and I know the capacity of his other pieces. They simply wouldn’t have had the power to match yours. No, you asked to be acquired, didn’t you? What does it feel to swap someone like Senator Rogers – with his power and drive – for a man like Spencer?”

  “Shut up,” he says bluntly.

  “Why? You’re not going to harm me. Your remit is to capture me, and now you belong,” I emphasize that word, “to Spencer, you cannot afford to go against his orders. I wouldn’t know – as I’ve never technically been attached – but what happens when a piece goes against the dictates of his king? Does the game punish you?”

  “I told you to shut up.”

  “Yes you did, but now your bite is worse than your bark. So answer the question, castle – what happens when you go against your king’s orders?”

  He takes a jerked step toward me, and though he’s usually careful to keep his glass steady, it shifts in his hand, the liquid sloshing slightly.

  The floor tilts. Not completely, and not dramatically. It’s not the same thing that happened in that bar or at the park. I don’t feel the sandstone slip from beneath me as it’s pulled to an acute angle. It’s just a rumble, just enough to know that my ploy is working.

  The castle hisses. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “You were told to watch me. And considering you won’t breach this barrier spell and you can’t shut me up, then yes, you do have to listen. Plus, what’s stopping you? My words would only hurt if they’re true.”

  “You are nothing but a trapped animal.”

  “Incorrect, I am nothing but a trapped queen. You may be a castle, but my power eclipses yours.”

  “I defeated you,” he snarls. “What does that tell you about your power and mine?”

  “And yet I am here and you are there, and Spencer will do anything to keep me and to ensure that I do not get hurt. What does that tell you about my power and yours?”

  He snarls again. Every time I continue to goad him, his reactions become sharper.

  My ploy is working.

  I don’t bother to sit up – it would be a waste of energy. All I need to do is to keep finding his pain points and pressing like I’m an acupuncturist. “You know you’ll never be able to enact revenge
for Senator Rogers’ death? Your new king won’t let you.”

  “I will no longer listen to your bleats, broken little lamb.”

  “Then stand there and block your ears. But you do understand that I won’t be a broken little lamb for long, right? As soon as I gain Spencer’s trust, I’ll become his queen. And even if I don’t completely gain his trust, he’ll still want to use me. With power like mine, he won’t be able to resist the lure for long. What will happen then? Tell me, where exactly will you fall in his command once I attain the position of his queen? How far below me will you be?”

  “I told you to shut up.”

  “You did. But as I have told you many times, your wishes no longer matter. If you had wanted your anonymity, I wouldn’t have signed up with Spencer. You’ve sealed your fate now.”

  He growls. He also takes a jerked step forward. It’s fast enough and unstable enough that his hand unconsciously tips to the side.

  The floor grates. It slants to the left.

  It’s finally a strong enough move that I feel myself rolling.

  I manage to dig my fingers in just in time before I’m pushed against the edges of the barrier spell. I may have never faced a spell like this before, but I unconsciously know that if I slam up against that invisible barrier, it will burn me, doing untold damage.

  So you would think I would stop goading this idiot in the hopes he’ll tip his drink. Wrong.

  You see, sandstone is porous stuff. It shatters easily, too, if you hit it in the right place.

  “Senator Rogers was 100 times more powerful than Spencer. If only he was still alive, you wouldn’t be in this position. But he’s not, and you’ve been forced to pathetically hand yourself over to the weakest king in town. You will never be able to gain revenge on me, and you will always be in my shadow.”

  “Bitch,” the man screams. He takes one final step toward me, and as he does, his glass tilts all the way to the side.

  The floor slants, and as it does, it cracks. Massive hairline fissures rush up the sandstone, joining until the section beneath me shatters. The symbols around me are broken.

  And the barrier spell breaks in turn.