The Queen of All that Dies (The Fallen World Book 1) (10 page)

Our driver makes another quick turn. “I’m going to pull into a garage in about thirty seconds. Once I do, get ready to jump out. You’ll be entering a nondescript blue car, which I’ll pull up next to. Got it?”

“Yes,” I say. The men next to me grunt. They’re even quieter than me.

The SUV fishtails as our driver takes a turn at breakneck speeds. The chopper makes a beeline for our car.

“You must’ve been some kisser,” our driver mutters under his breath.

The wheels of our car squeal as our driver makes the tight turn into the parking garage to our left. As soon as we enter, the car accelerates to the other end of the structure, where a beat-up blue car idles.

Our driver slams on the brakes once we’re almost upon it, and the WUN soldiers and I pile out of the vehicle.

“Thank you,” I say over my shoulder, my voice hoarse. I push down the emotions. I need to hold out just a little longer.

Our driver nods. “Stay safe.”

The helicopter doesn’t
notice the dingy blue car that leaves the garage. Instead its attention is focused on the black SUV we were in a minute ago.

I swallow down my worry for our previous driver as I watch his car careen down in the opposite direction, drawing attention away from us. As soon as the king’s men realize I’m not in the car, his life will be in danger.

The rest of our drive is quiet, and the trip stretches on and on. I have no idea where we’re going or what we’ll find when we finally stop. To be honest, I don’t really care at this point.

We move out of the city and pass through several more. As I stare out at the foreign landscape, a hand lands on my shoulder and then one of the soldiers pulls me into his arms and squeezes me tight. Only then do I realize I’m crying. I press my face into his chest, and heave great sobs.

So many people died today—some at the hands of the king’s men, some at the hands of me and mine. So much death. The emotions are welling up; I can hear the keening sound work its way up my throat.

The soldier rubs my back. He’s older—closer to my father’s age than my own—which only makes the ache inside me hurt more acutely. His actions are so much worse than the usual tough guy act soldiers love to play, because at least aloofness separates us from the pain. This is the exact opposite. I can’t avoid, can’t suppress, can’t hide from it anymore.

I sob harder into the soldier’s chest as the events replay over and over through my mind. I feel anger, pain, regret, and pity. Gruesome images play alongside sweet memories. I’m being torn apart and restitched into something awful.

“Shhh, it’s going to be alright,” he says.

But it won’t be. Not ever.

Chapter 11

Serenity

I stand in
front of the jet’s staircase. The engines are still slowing down, and the pilot won’t let me exit the aircraft until they come to a complete stop. It’s a comical precaution in light of all I’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours.

Outside I can hear the crowd of WUN citizens waiting. Whereas my send off had been rushed and private, my arrival looks to be a bit more public and celebratory. The crowd sounds excited, but it’s unclear what they know. Do they think a peace agreement has been reached? Do they know one was never signed? Do they know my father is dead?

I glance down at my blood-soaked body. The men I was with wouldn’t let me and the other soldiers change or wash off. The world would need proof of what occurred in Geneva for the story to be as believable as possible.

And what then? Even if the image of me covered in blood sparked one last great push to fight against the king, we are doomed to lose the war.

The pilot’s attendant shoos me away from the door so she can lower the staircase. My heart pounds in my chest. I know I’m about to cause a riot, and I’ll be expected to talk. After all, I am now the WUN’s emissary. The thought has me choking back a sob.

The attendant clears her throat to get my attention. I can tell she doesn’t want to touch me—not that I blame her. “Whenever you’re ready, you can go.”

I look behind me at the three WUN soldiers, all that’s left of our original entourage. Just like me, they are still covered with gore.

The soldier who comforted me hours ago now nods to me. I take a breath and walk out of the jet.

I screamed and cried my last tears several hours ago. I’ve got a good hour or two of respite before the grief swallows me up all over again.

Now is not the time for weakness. Now is the time to show my strength. So I square my shoulders; I need to send the message that I am not scared. If the king is my country’s worst nightmare, I’ll be his.

I step into the doorway and stare out at the crowd that waits. Once people catch a glimpse of me, they go quiet. The posters some hold wilt in their hands. Whatever their expectations were, it’s clear that this is not it.

I descend down the stairs and touch my country’s soil for the first time since I left. It’s the first time I’ve ever set foot in my homeland without my father.

People holding cameras rush at me. I already knew this would happen. The woman locking lips with the king two nights ago is now covered in dried blood; this is as sensational as it gets.

My eyes find the representatives. They’re all here, along with Will. They’ve decided to temporarily lift their safety precautions and leave the bunker all to welcome my father and me back.

I breathe heavily through my nose and walk to them, ignoring the WUN soldiers holding the crowd at bay and the ancient-looking cameras that follow my every movement.

I’m not a part of this moment; I’m seeing this all through a long, dark tunnel. The representatives’ stoic expressions, the horrified screams of the crowd, which are now mixing with the increasing cheers by those who thirst for enemy blood.

Will looks shell-shocked. I can’t get over how strange the sight is when he’s usually so unruffled.

The general pushes his way to me. “What happened?” His brows are furrowed, and his nostrils flare. He can smell the death on me.

I lean in to him. “I’m only going to retell the story once,” I say. “If you want this to go down in WUN history, you’re going to have to give me a microphone and make a show of it.”

He looks me over, his face grim, and he nods to the side. “We already have a makeshift stage ready.” I glance to where he indicates. Sure enough, there’s a small podium set up, probably meant for my father. But now it’s there for me.

“Are you sure you want to record this?” the general asks. “It could be used against you once the war is over.”

“I will be killed for my crimes, regardless,” I say. This is the sick truth I’ve known since I could think properly on the flight over. There’s no other alternative for what I’ve done.

The general stares at me for a long moment; I can see the morbid curiosity behind his eyes. “This footage is not going to appear to the public until we’ve okay-ed it—
if
we okay it,” the general says. 

“I understand.” I approach the stage with the general at my side. Will appears on my other side, hovering but not touching me. I can see his concern etched into his crinkled brow. Underneath it I see fear, but I can’t tell if it’s fear for me or fear of me.

When the crowd sees what I’m doing, they creep closer to the stage.

I stop when I reach the podium. The microphone—probably one of the few still in existence on this side of the world—is angled for someone much taller than me—my father. That’s why the king’s men shot him in the head—because he was that much taller than everyone else.

I try to blink away the memory of my father cradled in my arms, but when I look down, I see his blood—now dried—still discoloring the skin of my forearms.

The crowd is staring; everyone’s waiting for me. Time to get this over with.

I take the microphone from where it rests. “Over a dozen men and women of the WUN left for Geneva—only four of us have returned.” I pause to collect myself. “This blood,” I hold out my arm, “is the blood of my father, who was shot before my eyes because he would not agree to the king’s peace treaty. We know this is how the king deals with dissension.

“This is also the blood of our fallen soldiers, who died trying to help me escape.” I pace the stage. “And it is the blood of my enemies, whom I killed when they tried to capture me.”

The crowd roars. Without meaning to, I’ve worked them up into some kind of frenzy.

Fatigue sets in. I haven’t eaten or slept since we fled. “I want peace, and I was willing to pay the highest price—my own freedom.” The crowd quiets. “If you watched the negotiations, then you saw me with the king. You saw me kiss the king. You saw a traitorous woman doing what traitorous women always do, right?” There are uncomfortable murmurs in the crowd.

“Wrong,” I say. “The king has killed every one of my family members. He’s taken my friends and family from me. I hate him with every fiber of my being.

“The king wanted me—so much so that he changed his peace treaty on my behalf. He thought he’d keep me in Geneva with him. And when my father refused to let that happen …” I close my eyes and breathe slowly, “the king had him killed.”

There’s angry murmuring. People are confused, and I don’t have it in me to clarify the situation more. In fact, I don’t have much of anything left in me, period.

I place the mike back where I found it and walk off the stage. There. I’ve done it. Said what I needed to say. And now I can quietly fall apart.

The rest of
the day blurs. Will is beside me for most of it, except while I bathe. I’m actually afforded a real bath, not just a basin of water and a washcloth like usual. It has nothing on the king’s showers, and it’s still not enough to wash off all the blood, but it is familiar. And familiar is what I need at the moment.

Since I returned to the bunker, the representatives—minus me and Will—have been locked inside that room of theirs, no doubt trying to figure out what to make of this mess.

Once I finish bathing, I return to my room. Will’s already there, waiting for me. I walk right into his arms and allow myself this closeness. I rub my face into the rough material that covers his chest, enjoying the feel of a body.

The sensation reminds me of the king’s skin pressed against mine. The dark promise in his gaze.

I pinch my eyes shut. The last thing I want is to remember him fondly.

Will’s arms encircle mine, and we stay like that for a long time, saying nothing. I can feel Will shaking; the situation bothers him too.

I finally pull away from him. “I need to sleep.”

“I’ll stay with you,” he says.

I shake my head. “No. I want to be alone.”

Will frowns. “You’ll be okay?”

No.
“I promise.” I give him a small smile to further convince him.

He looks torn.

“Seriously Will,” I say, “the representatives need you more than I do.”

He flinches at my words; I hadn’t meant them to sting.

“Please,” I say, “find out what’s going on with them so you can tell me when I wake up.” Which might be never.

Reluctantly he nods. “If you need me, you know where to find me,” he says. He hesitates, and I can see he’s trying to figure out whether he should kiss me.

“Go,” I say, giving him a push; I don’t want anyone’s lips on mine in a long, long time.

I don’t know
how many hours I lie there, locked somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Long enough to hear my roommates come in and whisper to one another as they get ready for bed. Long enough to hear them leave sometime later, and long enough for several people to crack open the door and poke their heads in only to quickly retract them and leave.

At some point I realize I’m no longer sleepy, merely weary. I haven’t eaten in a while, though someone has left a plate of food and a glass of water next to my bed. A sick part of me wants to never again eat. I want to waste away until I join my parents in death.

Eventually someone comes in, and they don’t leave. I feel a hand shake my shoulder. “Serenity, wake up,” Will says from behind me.

I’m too tired to even tell him to go away, so I merely lay there.

“Serenity, the representatives need you. They’ve made contact with the king.”

I burst into
the conference room, feeling more alive than I have for the last day or two. The king’s face is plastered on the enormous screen. He looks tired, his eyes sad.

“You haven’t eaten,” he says. I don’t know how he can tell over the screen.

The representatives glance between Montes and me. They know that something happened between us, but they don’t know what.

Behind me Will puts his hand on my shoulder. The king’s eyes flicker at the movement.

I shrug Will’s hand off and approach the camera set up in our conference room, just so that the king can see my anguish more clearly.

“Why?” I whisper.

He watches me with solemn eyes but stays silent.

“I was willing to do what you asked, so why did you have to take the one person that mattered to me?”

His face is stoic.

“Why?” I ask again, this time louder.

When he doesn’t answer, I scream like a wild animal. “Answer me!” I shriek. Hot tears snake down my cheek.

Instead of doing just that, the king’s attention returns to the general. “Do we have an agreement?”

I follow the king’s gaze to the general. “An agreement?” I ask. How could the WUN and the king agree to anything at a time like this?

I glance at Will. Only now do I notice that his eyes are red rimmed. My gaze darts back to the general, who’s rubbing his eyes. He drops his hand and looks at me for a moment before returning his attention to the screen.

“We do.”

My heart patters away in my chest.

The king’s eyes find mine, and he stares at me for several seconds before moving his gaze over the room. “Congratulations ladies and gentlemen. The war is officially over.”

My mouth is
gaping long after the king’s image disappears. The room’s quiet, abnormally so.

I’m the first to speak. “What just happened?”

My eyes land first on Will, who looks like he’s only barely holding it together. Then they move over each of the representatives. None of them will meet my gaze.

My breathing speeds up, and at the back of my mind I worry that I might pass out from anxiety. I’m weak enough that it’s a distinct possibility.

“Why won’t any of you look me in the eye?” My voice rises.

No one responds.

“What. Just. Happened?” My voice cracks.

Still no response. I put a hand to my head; I’m feeling faint.

“Sit down, Serenity.”

“No,” I snap. “Not until someone tells me what’s going on.”

A muscle in the general’s jaw twitches. “The king approached us with a peace agreement.”

“And you accepted it. In the wake of what happened, you still accepted it.” I am a hair’s breadth away from losing it.

“The king gave us everything we wanted and then some,” he says.

“Uh huh.” I can feel more hot tears cascading down my face. People are shifting nervously in their seats. The last time they saw me, I was covered in blood. I’m a wolf amongst a flock of sheep.

“Serenity,” the general says, “this peace agreement will save the lives of millions. It’s better than anything your father saw up until the day of his death.”

I let out a strangled cry at the mention of my father. “Why didn’t you include me in the decision making?”

“You weren’t in a sound state of mind.”

I nod, because he’s right. I choke down my pride and vindictiveness. The representatives did what they had to do to ensure the well being of the western hemisphere.

“Tell her,” Will says.

I look away from the general to his son. Will’s hands are balled into fists, and he’s crying as well. Only now do I realize that there might be a reason Will hasn’t tried to comfort me like he would’ve a day ago. There might be a reason why the representatives can’t look me in the eye and why there’s an agreement at all in light of recent events.

“What is it?” I ask, returning my gaze to the general. Dread coils at the pit of my stomach.

The muscle in General Kline’s cheek jumps again. “The king had one condition in the agreement.”

“No,” I whisper. The king wouldn’t—the representatives wouldn’t. There must be one decent person amongst the remaining leaders of the world.

The general’s face is grim. “In return for peace, we’re to deliver you to the king.”