He’s looking right at me, and I’m looking right back.
Except... he’s not imprinting me, is he? Or maybe I’m not imprinting him. Point is, this is different.
For the first time in my life I’m having an actual conversation with a king. It’s not being overshadowed by my desire or fear. I’m just... finding stuff out.
“And I was right. I knew I would have to keep an eye out for you. I bolstered my magic, ensured I’d be able to pick up anything,” he adds. “It was enough that when I saw you, I realized you weren’t real. And then? Then I looked into your eyes. And I saw it. Exactly what you were looking at. So you need to get away,” he suddenly cuts in, voice quick. “Because it’s a trap.”
I don’t believe him, but at the same time, I can’t not believe him. Maybe this is manipulation magic, but I don’t think it is. John has never truly tried to manipulate me. So I clench my teeth together. “What do you mean? I...” I trail off, stopping myself just in time before I tell him why I’m down in these flood drains.
Sure, I’m trusting him a little, but I’m not about to tell him about the gameboard. Do that, and I’ll be handing over my only chance of escape.
He looks at me, and again, I’m overtaken by the penetrating quality of his gaze. It’s damn obvious that he appreciates I’m holding something back. He gives me a few more seconds, obviously waiting for me to volunteer the information, but when I don’t, he shakes his head. There’s a subtle disappointed quality about it. “I’m not your enemy. I can help you. You have to trust me.”
“Trust?” my voice twists up high. “You will acquire me and use me as a piece. I don’t call that trust.”
“There’s so much about this world that you don’t understand. You just need to trust me long enough so I can explain,” he says, and again his voice is husky. There’s a weariness about it, too. The same weariness that’s been hanging around the usually strong John Rowley ever since I met him.
It’s kind of like a cloak over his face and body, a heavy one that’s dragging him down.
I want to turn away, now more than ever, and yet, something still holds me in place. It’s not my treacherous heart – the same ridiculous feelings that kept me locked in Spencer’s car three days ago.
It’s my mind.
It tells me that when I strip all my emotions away, reason dictates I should listen to him.
It’s not like he can do anything to me, after all. I’m just a body double. He can’t put me under one arm and drag me back to his tower.
So I hold my ground.
“Senator Rogers is not a fool. He came here for you. What’s more, when the horse auctioned you off,” John says, and I can’t deny that when he uses the word auction, he gets a disgusted look – the same disgusted look I do as I hear it, “he didn’t just sell you to Rogers. He would’ve given Rogers an imprint of you to make it easier for Rogers to find you.”
I can’t stop myself from shivering at that word – imprint. It’s so damn visceral, it shakes right through my shoulders. “What... what do you mean? I thought... thought I could only imprint a king when I’m staring into his eyes?” I say, and goddamn, my voice has never been more vulnerable.
John picks up on that vulnerability, and I can see it in his eyes – this confusion. “Imprinting is technically what holds a piece to its master. But it’s... it’s different between the queen and king.”
“Why?”
“Because a king requires a queen but a queen does not require a king,” he admits flatly. Maybe I’m mistaking his tone for flat. It’s lower than that, isn’t it? Kind of defeated, too.
But that doesn’t take away from the words he just said.
He’s just admitted what I’ve known all along. That kings require me, but I’m fine on my own.
Before my expression can harden, he brings a hand up. “There’s more to understand in this world. Please, just hold on for a few more seconds before you reject us.”
“Who’s us?” I snap, lips moving viciously around the word. In my head, I assume he’s talking about the other kings, almost as if I’m worried John’s going to gang up with them to capture me.
He brings up both hands and spreads his fingers wide. “Us refers to the other magical pieces under a king’s command. They require protection. That’s what a king gives them. If they don’t have protection, they can easily be used by other kings. Killed, drained of their magic – you name it. Or maybe the game itself will destroy them. This is a brutal world,” he says, voice echoing all the way down low.
My lips are open, as seconds ago, I was getting ready to bite his head off. But now, I just can’t close them as I stare at him.
“That is the responsibility of a king. He acquires pieces to protect them from the viciousness that is The Game. But to do that, we need power,” he says, voice becoming almost silent on the word power. That’s nothing to say of what his gaze does. It locks on me.
Because I’m the power, ha?
I don’t know what to do. So I do nothing as I stare at him.
“I know you’re scared of this world. You have every right to be. I know you’re sickened by it, too,” he puts more effort into saying the word sickened. “Believe you me, we all are.” He won’t make eye contact now, and he chooses to stare at the branches of the willow instead. “But being disgusted by the game doesn’t change it. Especially for the smaller pieces who can’t protect themselves on their own.”
“If this is you asking me to fall at your feet and use my power, that is not going to happen,” I spit, and anyone would be able to hear the savage vehemence in my words.
John’s obviously well skilled at dealing with people, because rather than bite back, he shakes his head, and there’s a compassionate quality to his expression. The kind of compassionate quality that just begs you to listen that little more.
And there’s nothing I can do – nothing I can do to turn away. I’m riveted to the spot as I listen, even if the cynical part of me doesn’t want to.
“A king does not use power. They simply... direct it,” he says.
I bare my teeth. “By direct, do you mean direct me to my death? That’s what happens to queens, isn’t it? That’s why I’m the last,” I say, and there’s nothing I can do to keep my voice even on the word last. It twists in the wrong direction, making it sound as if someone has just latched a hand around my throat. And hey, rather than someone – why not every last king in existence? Because while there seem to be plenty of kings, there’s only one me.
He doesn’t appear to know how to react for several seconds, and he no longer makes eye contact. But then, in a flash, he does, locking his gaze on me with so much force, I almost want to stagger back. “I can’t explain this in a way that forgives the actions of those in the past. Because there is nothing that can forgive the actions of those in the past. Queens are the most powerful players, and they always have been. And as such, they are the most coveted,” his voice is guarded on the word coveted, but his gaze isn’t. Just for an instant, it locks on my body. But it’s not the same passion as I’ve seen in Spencer’s eyes. It’s much more controlled than that. And though you’d think that controlled passion is a misnomer, you’re wrong.
At least, when it comes to John Rowley, that is.
“I don’t want to be coveted. I want a normal life. I want to tap out of this game. Just like the horse wanted to do,” I say, not knowing why I’m admitting this to him.
His brows lock together. He couldn’t look more confused. “You can’t.” From the honesty in his tone, it’s obvious he’s not lying.
I pale. “Why not? The horse said that with the permission of a king, he could end the game. Why can’t I?”
“Because no king would ever let you,” he says.
This makes me clench my teeth all the harder. “Here you go asking me to trust you, and yet you’re admitting that under no circumstances would you ever give me what I want. Why not?”
“Because you can save people,” he says. “
You can save far, far more people than I ever can. And yes, maybe I would try to give you everything you want,” he says, voice only awkward when his gaze darts over my eyes, “but I still can’t give you that. Because you’re only one piece, but you can save so many.” He brings his arms up wide and gestures his fingers to the side, indicating the city. Or, hey, not just the city – the world.
After all, I have no idea how many people are in this vicious game. It could be hundreds; it could be millions.
“You have the power to save so many people. You have the power to protect them from other kings. But more than anything,” he looks right at me, and I’ve never seen his gaze more direct, “you have the power to destroy gameboards. Nobody else can do that. Not even a king can do that. Not even if they... cooperate together. Only queens can destroy gameboards. In destroying the gameboard, it releases all players that were attached to it,” he adds.
I’ve never received so much information in one hit. I don’t know what to do. I’m just staring at him. Way to go to hide my ignorance. If it wasn’t damn obvious to John Rowley before that I’m a complete ignorant idiot, it is now.
He takes the subtlest step forward, not drawing a hand up fully, but keeping it at his side, his fingers stretching toward me. “I can explain everything. You just need to give me time. But before that, you need to concentrate and get out of there. You can’t go into that room.”
I clench my teeth, suddenly remembering why he brought me here. “What do you mean it’s a trap? There’s... there’s a gameboard down there, and I’m going to acquire it,” I say.
What?
Why?
Why the hell did I just admit that?
The gameboard was my ticket out of here.
So why the hell did I just tell him about it?
He gives me such a crushed look. It’s not for him; it’s for me. “Acquire a gameboard?” he says. He shakes his head. “You can’t.”
I pale.
I feel like falling over.
I feel like running back home and screaming into my pillow.
I want to tell myself he’s lying, just to undo me, but he’s not, is he?
“I played with your board,” I say, voice shaking, almost as if my throat’s going to crack up from the sheer pressure of the situation. “Why can’t I acquire my own board?”
“Because you’re not a king. If you try to acquire that board, it will simply acquire you. That’s the trap,” he says, voice hard. “And Rogers set it up.”
“... What do you mean?”
“You fought Rogers three days ago, didn’t you?” John’s speaking quicker now, appreciating we’re running out of time.
I’m done hiding things from him, and I just nod.
“My spotters saw him chasing someone through the city, and I assumed it was you. That’s why I assumed you have the ability to split your body. Congratulations. If you hadn’t learned that spell, you would never have gotten away from him.”
I bring a hand up, lock it on my brow, and massage my temples so hard it feels like my fingers are going to burst through the skin. The problem is, this body is magical, and no matter how much I try to push away my tension, it won’t work. As for my real body, it’s still locked there on the spot in front of that doorway. “Yeah, I fought Rogers. Yeah, I learned how to split myself up. But why would this be a trap? I... I learned about that gameboard on Walter’s phone,” I say, and there’s nothing I can do at all to keep my voice even when I speak about Walter. I also dart my gaze up to John.
I need to gauge his expression.
It’s even.
Wait, no, it isn’t. It hardens.
And that makes me bite back. “You know, I heard you? I heard you when you were talking to Antonio. You think I killed Walter, don’t you? You keep telling me to trust you, but what the hell—”
He puts up a hand, and it’s quick. “We don’t have time for this. But you want to know why I don’t trust you? Because I don’t know anything about you. It’s because even though I keep offering you a chance, you keep pushing it away. I don’t know if you killed Walter. I want to doubt it, but I don’t know what happened. We haven’t had more than a two-minute conversation about it, and I need more.”
I expect him to brush the comment off. You know, fall down on one knee and say that he’ll do anything for me because I’m the Last Queen. But his words are hard, and more than that, they’re... reasonable.
I’m not prepared for that.
I’m not prepared for the fact that John Rowley is a real person with real emotions.
I shake my head.
I go to take a hard step back.
That’s when he reaches a hand out. There’s an alarmed look in his eyes now. “Look, you just don’t have the time for this. You have to get the hell away from that gameboard.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Like I said, I found out about that gameboard on Walter’s phone. You unlocked it for me, remember? Yeah, well it turns out he had suspicions that... I dunno, some kind of war was going to start because of this gameboard. He said it’s ancient, under the city. I used the location data on his phone to track where he’d been, and realized he’d been hanging around the flood drains a lot. So I went down there. And yeah, I found a gameboard,” my voice twists, “and I found Rogers. We... fought.”
John doesn’t look pissed off anymore. He looks... I don’t know anymore. I thought I did. Before this conversation, I thought I knew everything I needed to about John. A complex guy. Sometimes kind, sometimes confusing. But at the end of the day, not someone to trust.
Now I just don’t know anymore.
He’s sharing key information with me, and though I want to pretend he’s lying, I know he’s not.
“There’s been a rumor about an ancient gameboard under Rival City for years. I sent Walter to look into it. Rogers would already know about it, too.”
“You said getting me to go down there was a trap, though. How was it a trap—”
Again he brings up a hand. There’s such a gentle quality to it. I don’t feel like he’s snapping at me to shut up. From the entreating look in his eyes, it’s clear he’s telling me we don’t have the time to bicker. “That part wasn’t the trap. This part is,” his voice twists on the word this. “After you fought him and found the gameboard, Rogers figured that you’d come back. He would’ve changed the game.”
I stiffen. “What does that mean?”
There’s a kind of deadened look in John’s eyes now. “He wants it to attach you to the board.”
I jerk back. “What?”
“He probably realizes you’re... a little too strong now to fight head-on. It’s easier and would take a heck of a lot fewer resources to just trap you. And the easiest way to trap a Queen is to a board.”
I shake my head. “What does that mean?” I hate the fear in my voice. More than anything, I hate the fact that I have to ask this.
Every time I think I know what’s going on, I don’t.
And it’s goddamn excruciating. It’s enough to shred someone’s soul into a thousand pieces.
“Listen to me,” John begins.
Except I can’t.
I suddenly jerk my head to the side, eyes blasting wide as my attention is driven back into my real body.
Magic suddenly sails into me. It pushes me toward the door.
It’s such a goddamn mind-bend to be staring at John underneath the willow one second, then to have my attention snapped back into my real body as pain explodes over my face and arms.
“No. Shit, no,” I can hear John’s voice, but it seems far off.
I suddenly feel his grip around my wrist, too, but again, it’s like nothing more than a distant memory.
I struggle to try to figure out what’s going on.
I see the gaunt man.
He’s attacking me.
He has some kind of long pike in his hand. The end of the pike is electrified, glowing so brightly, it looks as if I’m staring at a pit of pure fire.
I take a staggering step back, but that’s when I feel the darkness behind me.
I hear John scream, “No,” again.
I can feel him right in front of me, too. His hands are on my shoulders, his face close to mine. He’s looking into my eyes, isn’t he? He’s using the reflection in my eyes to figure out what’s going on here.
I shake my head in confusion.
The gaunt man twists the pike around and shoves the pointy end right at me.
I have one more step between me and the open doorway behind me.
I can feel the blackness. It’s beckoning me. And as for that flickering candlelight in the center of the darkness? It feels like a hand. One that’s reaching out. All I have to do is reach back, wrap my fingers through it, and then give up.
No more fight. No more confusion. No more nothing.
The gaunt man screams and shoves the pike harder toward my stomach.
At the last moment, I finally react.
I shift to the side. Not backward. I flip right past the door, drop down to one knee, lock one hand into the floor, and flip again.
I leap right over the guy’s head, land behind him, and finally allow my body to electrify with magic.
“Get out of there... get out of there,” I hear John.
But he’s so damn faint now.
The guy goes for me with the pike again. His eyes are so wide. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a look like his, either. It’s like pure fanaticism. His pupils are burning, too. And that’s no overemphasis. I can actually smell them. I can see them, too. This magical fire that’s rupturing his irises and flowing along the side of his face.
It’s ghastly.
It’s also terrifying.
He jerks toward me, slashing the pike at my stomach.
At the very last moment, I twist aside. I don’t get out of the way completely, though. Instead, I shift along the side of his pike, finally clutching a hand on it, intending to wrench it from his grip. As soon as I wrap my fingers around the pike, blistering heat blasts through my palm, sinks up my arm, and jolts hard into my jaw.
I scream.
The problem is, I don’t just scream with my real body – I scream with my body double, too.
The Last Queen Book Three Page 12
