The Queen of All That Lives (The Fallen World Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

  “I don’t bleed for the West,” I resume speaking. “And I don’t bleed for the East. I have and always will bleed for freedom, and I will always fight those who seek to oppress you.”

  The crowd roars.

  High above us, something glints, catching the light of the noonday sun. It jogs my memory. Hadn’t I watched something like this back at the king’s palace?

  My breath catches.

  Oh God.

  Now I remember.

  Optical camouflage, the material that made the enemy all but invisible.

  I turn to the officers. Their fingers are at their earpieces. My own hand goes to my gun reflexively.

  Then I hear it. The horrible whistling sound of a bomb being dropped.

  It’s already too late.

  BOOM!

  The first one explodes to my left, in the middle of our audience. Concrete and metal and flesh blast into the air in a hundred different directions as a rotted-out building is ripped apart. A hundred people die before my eyes, all in an instant. Just like my mother had years ago.

  A second explosion follows the first, this to my right. The bomb unfurls like a strange and terrible flower, and the sound that accompanies it is so loud it seems to move through my bones. I can feel the hot breath of it already, though I’m far, far away.

  As I watch, several armed soldiers begin rappelling from an aircraft that’s still all but invisible.

  My eyes find Montes’s. He’s fighting his guards trying to get to me.

  A third explosion hits, just off to the side of the stage.

  BOOM!

  My gaze rips from the king as I’m thrown back, my hair whipping around my face as I tumble through the air. Fire and heat unfurl, and this time, for a split second, it feels as though I’m being boiled alive. And then my body slams into the ground and the intensity of the explosion retreats.

  For several seconds I stay down, dizzy and disoriented. I can’t seem to suck in enough air.

  I push myself up. I can taste blood in my mouth where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek. I spit it out, then run my tongue over my lower lip.

  The air is thick with smoke and debris. But even through the haze, I manage to see the king’s guards now vehemently trying to force Montes off the stage. He’s thrashing wildly against them, and I can’t hear what he says, but he only has eyes for me.

  I turn my attention to the crowd beyond the stage. Bombs are still being dropped, and I notice a sick symmetry to it. They’re roughly outlining the perimeter of the amphitheater and arena, corralling us in. The enemy is now amongst the civilians. I see small flashes of light scattered throughout the crowd where the soldiers are now firing their weapons.

  This isn’t a battle. It’s a massacre.

  I spot the microphone I used not a minute ago; it lays on its side some distance away from me.

  No one is dying today without working for it.

  I stand just as the king’s soldiers turn their attention to me.

  Unholstering the firearm stashed at my side, I flick off the safety and run to the fallen microphone, swiping it from the floor.

  The cameras have shifted their focus to the audience. If the site wasn’t already horrific enough, it’s being projected around us. Their screams are a chorus in my ears, and thanks to the video footage, their agony is intimately on display.

  “Citizens of the East!” I shout into the mike. The skeptic in me figured the sound systems would be down, but they’re not—not yet, anyway. My voice echoes through the speakers, harmonizing with the roar of the fire.

  At my words, I see the cameras pan to me. The whole thing is macabre, especially since several of the large screens projecting my face have caught fire. “If you’re going to die today, let it be on your terms, not theirs.” I raise the hand holding my gun. “And let it be at my side.”

  I drop the mike and run to the edge of the stage.

  “Serenity!” the king shouts from far behind me.

  I don’t bother looking back, and I don’t hesitate. I leap into the crowd of bodies.

  Down here it’s bedlam. Madness. People are screaming as bombs continue to drop. The ground quakes, each explosion like a drumbeat.

  There are people on fire. People missing arms and legs. People getting crushed underfoot. People bleeding and dying.

  I cut my way through the crowd, my eyes pinioned to the enemy soldiers rappelling down from seemingly nowhere, their aircraft invisible to the naked eye. They slide down their ropes and drop into the crowd.

  I aim my weapon at one of them and fire.

  Even at this distance, I can tell I clipped them on the shoulder by the way their body jerks. Their hold loosens on the cable, and then they’re falling. As soon as they reach the ground, the crowd swallows them up.

  My eye catches the large screens. It’s a close up of me. My hair is wild, my lip bloody, and cold determination glints from my eyes.

  Savage justice.

  The footage pans out and I see the king’s soldiers cutting their way through the crowd, trying to get to me.

  I rip my gaze away to aim my weapon at another enemy soldier descending down the ropes. I pull the trigger again, and again I hit my target.

  Say what you will about the future, their guns have improved.

  I begin picking the enemy off one by one.

  The crowd parts for me, and I get to see exactly what hope looks like on their faces.

  Amongst the chaos, something shifts.

  I sense him before I see him. And then he’s up there on the screen, his dark, ageless face blown up for us all to see.

  The king strides through the crowd, straight towards me. I turn away from the screen, and look behind me just as his soldiers reach me.

  As they surround me, I see Montes, in the flesh, a gun brandished in his hand.

  I’ve never seen him like this, walking amongst chaos and danger like he’s striding down the halls of the palace.

  This is not the king I knew. This is not the ruler cloistered away in his ivory tower, nor is it the killer who fought at my side in South America.

  He’s something else. Something more.

  The sounds of battle rush back in. I’m no longer feeling so irreverent about jumping into fray. Not now that the king is on the battlefield with me, prime for the plucking. There are no Sleepers nearby, nothing to save him if he gets mortally wounded.

  He reaches me then. This close, I see the vein in his temple throbbing and the hard set of his features. “There is no winning this, Serenity.”

  I know. I knew it before I leaped off that stage. It’s just not my nature to run from danger.

  The king’s eyes leave mine to focus on something over my shoulder. His whole demeanor changes.

  I turn in time to see enemy soldiers rushing towards us. They shoot my guards. I hear a grunt of pain as a soldier to my left falls to his knees, clutching his chest.

  Next to me Montes growls, and then he lifts his gun and begins shooting at the enemy. I follow his lead, shooting more soldiers converging on us.

  “Men, cover the queen!” Montes yells. “Let’s get our asses out of here!”

  I don’t have time to marvel over the king before his men surround us, clearing a path towards the stage.

  It takes less than a minute for the enemy to gun down those soldiers covering mine and Montes’s front. I don’t have time to check their vitals now that the king is exposed.

  He won’t die.

  Not here. Not now.

  Turns out, however, that the king is pretty effective at defending himself.

  Montes and I back up as we fire. Every target Montes shoots at goes down. His accuracy is even better than mine.

  “You’ve gotten good!” I yell
over the noise.

  His lips draw back from his teeth as he fires off three more rounds, his arm barely jerking at the gun’s kickback.

  “I’ve had a hundred years to practice!” he shouts.

  “Not taking a compliment?” I say, pulling the trigger twice more. “How unheard of.”

  “If we live through this,” he says, “I’m spanking you for that.”

  I smile gruesomely. He’s still good at battle-talk.

  “If we live through this, I might just let you.”

  He grins.

  Slowly, we make our way through the melee, our guards covering our flanks. When we get to the stage, we have to turn our backs to the fighting.

  Gunfire lights up the ground around us. One of the soldiers ahead of me jerks as a bullet tears through his arm, but he doesn’t slow. Whoever these soldiers are, they’re made of tough stuff.

  We cross behind the curtains, and the shots cease now that our enemies no longer have a visual on us.

  Up ahead, our motorcade waits for us, and the soldiers guarding me and the king now hustle us to one of the vehicles. Montes and I are barely inside when the door slams behind us and the car skids out. Now we’re moving targets. Any enemy in the sky could get a bead on us.

  I wait for the next explosion to come. The one that will kill me and Montes.

  It never happens. One second bleeds into the next, and the sounds of fighting gradually fade away.

  “Nire bihotza.”

  I swivel just as Montes gathers me to him. He holds me tightly in his arms, like I might evaporate.

  “We made it,” he murmurs into my hair, “We made it.”

  I let out a breath. Things are not processing, not the way they will once the high wears off. My brain moves sluggishly.

  For several seconds we sit there in silence, our car careening down the streets.

  “Are you all in one piece?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I whisper against him. “You?”

  “Yeah.” A beat of silence passes, and then, “Don’t fucking do that again.”

  There is my cold, cruel husband.

  I don’t respond.

  “Marco and your officers?” I ask instead.

  He sighs, knowing I’m evading the topic. “They’re already on their way to the aircraft.”

  I nod.

  Montes leans his head back against the seat rest. “No more, Serenity. No more.”

  Speeches, he means. Speeches and visits.

  I nod again.

  I might be determined, but I’m not suicidal. We’ll figure out another way to sway the people, one a little less deadly.

  The drive to the airfield is more than a little eerie. No one shoots at us, no one even seems to notice us.

  And that damn tingle skitters up and down my back again.

  Not right. Not right. Not right.

  This isn’t unfolding as it should.

  The airfield comes into view, as does the hangar where our aircraft waits. A minute later, our vehicle pulls up to it, the rest of the motorcade filing in around us.

  Soldiers hop out, several jogging over to our car. They usher us out, and Montes and I, along with his officers and his men, head towards the taxying aircraft.

  We never make it.

  I see the pool of blood first, near one of the rear wheels of the aircraft. It doesn’t draw attention to itself, but it’s shiny, fresh.

  My steps falter.

  Ambush.

  It barely has time to register before the men and women loitering about the hangar withdraw their weapons. The enemy has camouflaged itself to look just like us.

  The king’s enemies knew that we would fly out of here.

  They begin to open fire, and Montes’s men go down one after another.

  I unholster my weapon for the second time and begin to fire. Two shots in, the chamber clicks empty.

  And now I am a sitting duck, no better than a civilian.

  Ahead of me, Montes is busy shooting the enemy, his movements fluid. Practiced. My mercenary king is a strange and glorious sight.

  The guards that surround us—those that still live—are also firing. I can see some of them calling in for backup, but by the time anyone else arrives, the fight will be over.

  None of us are leaving here until the enemy is gone.

  Or we’re dead.

  The bullet takes me by surprise.

  My body jerks back from the impact. I don’t feel the pain. Not immediately. The itch and burn of the bullet’s entrance and the sickening tug of its exit are merely uncomfortable.

  I hear the king’s shout amongst the barrage of bullets. How loud he must be yelling to cut through all that noise.

  I swear seconds slow to a crawl as I stare out blindly at my surroundings. My hand falls to my stomach. I actually feel my insides as I press my palm against the wound.

  I stagger, then drop to my knees.

  Now I feel the pain. Oh God, now I feel it.

  That agony is so acute I’m nauseous. The only thing that stops me from vomiting is that the pain closes up my throat. I can barely swallow in air.

  I need to move.

  I’m hurt and soldiers are still attacking.

  I suck in a breath and then another. Sheer force of will has me crawling across the cement. Scattered around me are several bodies, both friend and foe. I hiss in a breath as I grab a gun lying a foot from one of them.

  Gritting my teeth, I force myself back to my feet. An agonized cry slips out as the movement tugs at the injury.

  My eyes search for Montes.

  When I find him, he’s mowing the enemy down with his gun, making his way towards me. He holds his bloody left arm close to his side, and I realize I’m not the only one injured.

  That is enough to invigorate me.

  Someone hurt my monster.

  I begin to shoot the men attacking the king, baring my teeth as I do so. I welcome my bloodlust like an old friend.

  Enemies go down, one right after the next.

  Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire. I’m screaming as I shoot, from rage and from pain.

  The gun clicks empty.

  I’m breathing heavy. I’ll have to bend down to grab another, and I really don’t know if I’ll make it back up.

  I’ll shoot from the ground.

  I collapse more than kneel onto the cement, and I cry out as my entire body radiates pain.

  At the sound of my shout, Montes’s head snaps to me. He falters, his eyes burning, burning as he takes me in.

  Lately I’ve seen the king wear many new faces. This is another I’ve never seen. His nostrils are flared, his mouth parted and his chest heaving.

  His mouth moves. Nire bihotza.

  Seeming to forget about the fight still raging around us, he staggers towards me.

  I’m shaking my head.

  I’m just grabbing another gun, I want to tell him.

  He doesn’t stop. One tear falls down his cheek, then another.

  A dozen different gun blasts are going off every second, but Montes doesn’t hear any of them. He’s forgotten about the fight.

  I lick my lips. “Mont—”

  A bullet rips its way through the king’s neck.

  Tha-thump.

  Tha-thump.

  Tha-thump.

  My heart palpitates in my ears. And I’m choking, choking.

  I try to scream, but nothing comes out.

  Montes reaches a hand to his throat. Instantly, his blood envelops it. The king sways on his feet, his gaze locked on mine, then his legs fold out from under him.

  A hundred years of war, a hundred years of fighting and waiting, and it all comes to this—a messy
death in a hangar.

  Montes. I mouth his name.

  He’s still staring at me, even as his body jerks. Death throes. I’ve seen them often enough.

  This is my last fear, and just like all the others, I have to live through it.

  Pain and anguish and rage all gather below my sternum.

  I’m falling, falling back into that abyss that I’ve tried for so long to crawl out of.

  I welcome the darkness.

  Now a brutal cry tears from my throat. I grab a gun from the nearest dead man, my lips curling back, and then I begin to fire. I kill the closest people in a matter seconds, smiling terribly as blood and bone explode out the back of their bodies.

  Freedom or death. It’s an apt slogan. I will either live by my own terms or die by them. And I’ll take as many of these fuckers with me as I can.

  Someone clips me in the arm. My torso jerks back, but it only takes a moment to recover. And then I’m pulling the trigger once more.

  I can feel the pain screaming across my body; it harmonizes with the screams inside my head. And still I shoot.

  The enemy falls, one after another.

  My gun clicks empty, but now the ground is full of scattered bodies. I crawl to one of them, pausing to vomit from the pain.

  Just as my hand reaches for another weapon, a booted foot kicks the gun away.

  Lightheaded and cold from blood loss. I reach a hand down to brace myself against the ground.

  I sense more than see the soldiers swarm around me.

  Something heavy slams into my head, and the world goes dark.

  Chapter 40

  Serenity

  The sound of beeping wakes me.

  I come to in a narrow hospital bed.

  For a girl that hates doctors, I end up in quite a few hospitals. Of course, that’s assuming I’m in one at the moment.

  It smells like a hospital—that antiseptic smell hasn’t apparently changed in the last hundred years.

  The moment I try to move, I hear the jangle of metal, and the sharp edge of handcuffs digs into my wrists.