She looked at the pile again.
Had they been eating the flies?
“It’s alright now.” Sarah reached for one and they all scurried away. As far as they could, at least.
“I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”
The cell had become nothing but uneven, shaky breaths.
“Do you have any food?” a tiny child whispered.
Sarah found her in the cell. “Not on me at the moment. But where you all are going, there will be plenty of food.”
“We don’t have to go to the healer, then?” she asked, a high pitched hope in her voice.
“There’s a healer here?”
The children nodded, their eyes turning upward.
Sarah followed their gazes. Like the small hovel they had seen outside, another addition to the tower was in view, as well. And there was a light on.
She shuddered.
Looking back at the children, she said, “I’ll be back. I need to…I need to see what the healer is doing.”
A particular curiosity, a particular knowing clawed at Sarah.
She leapt from the ladder to the small cliff, which housed the healer’s room. As she grabbed the handle, the door flew open and Sarah stumbled inside. Her chin scraped against the stone floor.
Graceful.
She was moving to rise when shuffling footsteps caught her attention. Looking up, she saw a woman cowering in the room’s corner.
The woman wore a long robe. Her silver hair was cropped above her ears, and noticeable wrinkles detailed her small frame.
“Please, leave me alone,” the woman pleaded.
“What? No, I’m here to—”
“I only wanted to know,” she interjected. “I only took a dozen. No more than a dozen, I’m sure.”
Sarah blinked. “A dozen what?”
“It was all for the good of science,” she stammered. “We have to learn.”
“I’m not sure what you mean but if the h—”
Sarah pulled her hands back from the woman whose own hards were covered in blood. She glanced from the crimson hands to the woman’s dainty face.
For the first time, Sarah noticed a table placed in the center of the room. Rising from her knees, she peered over the items laid across the table.
The pieces. Of people.
Bile rose in her throat, which she released across the floor. All at once the rancid smell of the tower hit her again. Sarah pushed away from the table, narrowly missing the opened door and instead falling against the wall just beside it.
She tried to inhale. She tried to take in clean air, to clear away the horror she was experiencing. But there was no clean air to be had. Her head spun.
Sarah’s hands moved sporadically across the wall, hoping to find something to anchor her. She grasped the edge of a shelf. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the wood. When she opened them again, she had to catch the scream in her throat.
Four eyes floated in a jar, staring back at her.
Sarah moved away from the accusatory eyes, gulping hard. Peering around her, she realized they were not alone. Jars filled with fingers, hands, wings, and parts Sarah didn’t recognize were all around the room, soaking in a green liquid.
Sketches with a variety of anatomy hung on the walls. “Half-breed” was written at the top of each drawing.
Sarah knew she was trembling. She didn’t feel it though. She knew tears were pouring down her cheeks, yet her eyes did not burn.
“W-we had to know how to defeat our enemy,” the woman, the healer, stuttered. “There were no more than a dozen. I’m sure.”
Sarah drew her sword. And then she plunged it into the woman’s gut.
“No, please!”
“Did they beg?” Sarah heard herself say.
She twisted the sword and watched as the emotions flashed across the healer’s eyes. Her mouth moved with unspoken words.
Sarah pulled the sword free, then plunged it in again. Each time, the woman cringed, her body gasping for a relief that would be slow to come.
“Did they beg?” Sarah repeated.
The healer could only whimper.
Sarah slashed the sword across the healer’s chest. Like a fish fresh out of the sea, she convulsed this way and that. Had the sudden pain jolted her senses?
Had she cared when they were on her operating table?
Crimson spilled from the gaping wound, along with pink, twisted organs.
Sarah couldn’t look at them. She found the healer’s eyes instead.
“Sarah?”
Serwa stood at the room’s edge. Her eyes filled with horror as she looked at the shelves. Then, she found Sarah.
The young woman began to breathe again. She could feel the sword in her hand, feel the burning in her eyes, feel her entire being tumbling.
The sword fell to the floor with a clank. Sarah followed after it but Serwa pulled her into her arms.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered.
Sobbing, Sarah held onto her.
“I can’t, Serwa,” she said. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it all.”
A warm hand moved across her face, blocking her vision. But the images were in Sarah’s mind now, as if they had been done with a branding iron. As if they were a part of her now, a part she’d never be rid of.
Serwa sat comfortably atop her throne. Though the design was not at all what Sarah remembered, it was difficult not to picture Queen Isabella sitting in the very same spot. Her pulled skin and sharp features, all of the old queen looming over Sarah…but even that had been better than the healer’s room.
Grabbing her stomach, she swallowed down the vomit. Everything about Sarah felt off balanced. She was still queasy, and her head was lost in a fog of the tragedy she had seen. Nothing seemed certain or stable.
She peered up at Serwa. The witch and Nettle were speaking with one another.
I need to listen. If we’re going to end this war, I need to listen.
A hand lay against her lower back. She looked up, expecting to see Klara, Jacob, or Skuntz.
Emry tried to smile when she realized it was him. The effort had little result.
“You’re not feeling well.”
She was too tired to be stubborn, so she nodded.
“You saw inside Leonna’s Tomb.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “And you lived. It’s a miracle after the tales woven about that place. There was a time I thought they had Thobias there.”
He added some pressure to her back.
“It was horrible, wasn’t it?”
Bobbing her head, Sarah could feel herself swaying. He kept her upright.
Emry chewed on the ends of his thumbnail. “We’ve done ghastly things. All I wanted was to raise my son somewhere safe, somewhere where he wasn't a half-breed.”
“Thobias is n—”
“I know,” he interjected. “I hate that term, too.”
Jacob, Skuntz, and Klara entered the room. They were freshly washed, and the scent of lavender wafted off them. Sarah had bathed as well, but she somehow still felt dirty.
Emry patted her shoulder before moving to stand beside Jacob. Serwa met each of their stares.
“What are our numbers?” she asked.
“We only lost twelve during the attack. Twenty injured,” Nettle replied.
Serwa clicked her nails against the throne’s armrests.
“How many children were there?” Skuntz looked between Serwa and Sarah. At the sight of Sarah, he did a double take.
The witch pulled his attention. “We found fifty. They’re being cared for in the infirmary. We’re not certain how many passed through the tomb.”
Jacob narrowed his brows and looked at Klara.
The dwarf met his gaze, apparently having the same confusion.
“What do you mean passed through, Serwa?” she asked.
A moment.
Was Serwa blinking away tears, or was Sarah imagining it?
“Many.” She coughed. “Many were killed.
We’re not sure the number. It was a…mess.”
Sadness. Sarah could sense it rolling from the witch in waves. It smoothed and coiled around her, ensnaring her like the images in her mind.
Skuntz cast a brief glance at Serwa, then stepped out and turned to face Sarah directly. She avoided his stare.
“What did you see, Sarah?”
Don’t ask. Don’t ask what you don’t want to know.
“Sarah.”
The green liquid.
“You don’t look well,” Klara added.
The healer’s hands were so delicate. But they were covered in blood.
“Serwa, we need to know what you saw, so we can be prepared. Or at least so I can help, Sarah.”
Eyes floating in jars.
“I want to—”
“Enough, Skuntz!”
Nettle’s glimmering figure huddled in front of Sarah.
“Let them rest,” she stated, a warning in her tone.
Skuntz glared at the fairy. She crossed her arms, giving it right back to him.
Releasing a deep sigh, he stepped back and nodded to Serwa. “I’m sorry. I let my my emotions get the best of me.”
“No need. It’s been a long day,” she said. “And we need to discuss our next course of action. At this point, Ellen and Emma have control over Leonna’s body. Based on the low number of soldiers here, I’d say they’ve already started reorganizing the forces. We’re next to move.”
“To the human kingdom?”
She nodded. “They’re expecting us in four days. We need to leave early tomorrow to start making our way. Nettle will remain here to see to our home. The rest of you will be coming with me.”
“How are we going to slice them down this time, Serwa?” Klara patted the axe which hung on her back.
The witch straightened. “From the top down.”
Chapter 27
(Queen Leonna, Day Fourteen)
“Your Majesty, why are we sending so many troops east?”
“We need to find more half-breeds, don’t we?” Leonna trailed her delicate fingers along the beading of her dress. The dragon tears were emmaculate against her creamy skin. “How else are we to do that if we don’t send more of our own?”
The men around the table stole looks at one another.
Leoona leaned forward. “Do any of you gentlemen have a concern? If so, you may speak.”
They were silent which is how she always preferred them. Subjects, even those with high rank, were to be seen, not heard except when she was demanding a response. It was a miracle her father had ever managed any of the council and an even greater miracle she had not jailed the entire entity. They dirtied her air with their aging and backwards thinking.
She pivoted in her chair, so she fully faced the withering gentlemen she had allowed in her presence. She made eye contact with each of them until they cast their gaze downward. Keeping those below her in line was a game Leonna had played since childhood. She still remembered the game even when she was not in control of her body.
“The war is won,” she said. “We have the blood-sucking king, his witch bride is our prisoner, and we have conquered the north. It’s time we altered our trajectory.”
An old bearded man shook his head.
“Speak, Winston.”
His eyes were still locked on the table.
“I said speak. And look at me when you do so. Do not make me repeat myself,” she ordered.
The old man’s brow furrowed and his mouth contorted like that of an ungrateful child. Leonna nearly gagged. Even from feet away, she could see the dry skin which decorated his face. No doubt his beard was full of dead skin, as well. How does one not care for oneself? Revolting.
“I do not wish to offend you, my queen, but you celebrate too early,” he started, then scratched at his cheek. Leonna covered her mouth, not wanting t breath in any part of him.
He continued, “There are still enemies to be conquered. The half-breeds are the least of our worries at the moment.” He sighed. “Your father would not approve of these juvenile tactics. Perhaps your recent illness…maybe it clouds your judgment, my queen.”
There was a collective intake of breath. Winston’s Adam’s Apple bobbed as Leonna’s gaze raked over him.
She crossed her arms and rested her elbows against the top of the table. Her generals scooted away from her.
“And where is my father now, Winston?”
His chest rose and fell quite rapidly, she noted. Leonna was certain if she scared him enough, Winston’s heart would give out of its own accord. No need to call the hangman.
“He’s passed on, my queen.”
“And who was his only heir?” She arched her brows at each of them.
Winston’s shoulders sagged. “You, of course, Queen Leonna.”
“And so it is I you all will obey.” She sat up in her chair, tilting her chin and gazing around at the men for any sign of defiance. “Do not forget, gentlemen. It was also my strategies, my tactics which drove us to victory thus far! How dare you question me?”
“I meant no offense, qu—”
“Yet offend me is all you have done.” She waved him away. “That and waste our time. The evening grows late. I wish to be alone.”
Leonna pushed back her chair and stood. Her generals mocked her movements, adding repetitious bows to her departure. She didn’t bother to thank them. She didn’t need to, after all. They served her.
Two guards posted at the door greeted her when she left, though they did not follow. She had made it clear over the last two weeks she wanted no one’s company. After all, she didn’t need any witnesses when Ellen and Emma left her body, finally allowing it to rot. Having been captured was embarrassing enough. Nonetheless, she was still a queen. Queens did not cower under any circumstances.
Yes, she had tried to fight. She wanted control over her body once more, yet it was no longer hers. She had accepted the fact with as much dignity and grace as one could. Being royal born, she had infinite amounts of both.
Ellen and Emma moved her body as they willed. The long, slender form of the worm acting as their strings.
She had nothing left to fight with. She was simply watching the days go by, almost like reading a picture book at an increased speed.
Even her consciousness lived in a limbo, but only for a few more hours.
Serwa, the witch bride, was due to arrive. What Alexander could ever see in such a heathen woman was beyond Leonna. The day would come when he would regret not accepting the offer to feed from her. Royal blood was pure blood, of course.
As Leonna turned the corner, heading toward the throne room, she flung her right arm outward. The stationed guards marched down either end of the hallway, leaving her in peace.
She closed the throne room door behind her. Then, her consciousness began fading as it always did. The retchet twins were ready to leave her. She had no choice but to let the darkness take her…
Leonna’s body slumped against the wall as the twins emerged from behind the tapestries. They had wanted to hide in Leonna’s personal chamber but her maids were vigilant. The women were constantly present in her chamber cleaning, fetching laundry, leaving flowers, and other servant activities. They insisted on dressing her as was custom, though Emma thought a royal’s word would overturn such social expectation.
In this particular situation, a royal’s word was void compared to that of persistent elderly women. It seems they had cared for Leonna since birth which gave them a matriarchial status. Emma concluded this was why their word was superior to the queen’s.
It was only in the throne room the sisters had managed to find some peace.
Alexander looked over the nearly dead queen. “I have to say, that’s the best I’ve seen her,” he remarked, wiping away at the rabbit blood on his chin.
“She’s accepted her fate now,” Emma replied, moving across the throne room and peering out the window. Observing the guards and servants was educational for their upcoming attac
k. If Serwa showed mercy, the sisters would suggest who it should be granted to.
She gave the queen’s body a quick look. “The human knows she will not be returning to the living.”
Ellen remained by the door, glancing down at the nearly dead queen. “Her arrogance would have killed her eventually. Better to go this way. More dignity.”
“When do you think Serwa will come?” Charles asked. He examined his clothing. “I’d like to get out of this filth, and get a proper meal in me.”
“My wife will come, Charles. Has she ever failed us before?” Alexander gave the young vampire a pointed stare.
He shook his head. “No, she hasn’t. I’m just eager to get out of this damn room.”
“Patience,” Alexander said. “We all have our roles to play. Ours, currently, is to wait.”
Leonna’s body slid from the door to the floor. It gave a satisfying thump when it landed.
Emma squatted down and stared into the dead woman’s eyes. She searched for life in them. When she found none, she nodded. As predicted, their spell was working without error.
“You have the key now,” she said to Charles without looking at him. Her gaze was still locked on the dead queen. “When you hear the screams, you should leave.”
Emma added, “We’ll be on our way now. Sister, will you stand guard while I walk her around the courtyard?”
“Of course,” Ellen replied. “Our one last mercy.”
Emma made her way behind the tapestry, sending tendrils of her magic out to coax the worm. As it had done several times before, the beast riggled inside the queen’s corpse, gradually pumping her cold heart.
Her own heartbeat slowed to match Leonna’s. Soon Emma’s vision blackened around the edges, so she could only see a small patch of light…
Leonna rose from the floor and dusted off her clothing. She didn’t bother meeting the witch’s stare. Initially, when they had taken control of her, she had wanted to meet the eyes of her enemy. To let them know she was not afraid, that she would not cower. And she had, except neither of the women cared.
While she had forced all of her frustration and rebellion into one scolding glare, they had returned it with simple indifference.
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