The Queen of All That Lives (The Fallen World Book 3) (17 page)

Chapter 33

Serenity

“You’re not going,”
the king says.

He and his men are equipping themselves in the living room.

A mercenary king. I hadn’t expected that from Montes. I don’t know whether I’m more surprised that he’s joining the unit assigned to the task, or that his men seem unfazed by this.

After all these years, the king has finally come down from his ivory tower.

“I am if you are,” I say, checking the magazine of my gun to make sure my weapons are fully loaded. My new gun isn’t. I haven’t had a chance to replace the spent bullets I fired off in Giza. I cross the room where box of communal ammunition rests. I pull out my own bullets and compare.

A match.

I begin to slide them into the magazine. The soldiers around me tense, their eyes darting between me and the king.

“Anyone have a spare magazine?” I say.

Just in case we run into any difficulties.

One of the soldiers lifts one sitting next to him and begins to hand it over.

Montes catches his wrist. “
Don’t
,” he says. “Serenity won’t be joining us.”

I finish loading my magazine and force it up into the chamber of the gun. “Who’s going to stop me?” I ask.

Many of these men saw me kill today, which means they saw my lack of hesitation, and now they’re seeing my lack of remorse.

Some of the soldiers look uncomfortable, but I also catch some suppressing grins.

Montes steps forward, crowding me. “Don’t force my hand, Serenity.” His voice has gone quiet.

“Then don’t force mine.”

We stare each other down. Us and our impasses. Montes knows just how easy it would be for me to lift my arm and point this gun at him, and I know how easy it would be for him to have his men detain me.

He knows I can hold my own if something bad should happen. I’ve proven that to him over and over.

“Let me into your world,” I say softly. My plea cuts through the tension in a way that none of my previous words could.

Montes’s nostrils flare and his lips press together. It used to be that the king couldn’t resist me when I got physical. Now it’s something else. Every time I tear down an emotional wall of ours, I make headway with him.

“If anything goes wrong—
anything
—I won’t be repeating this, and nothing you say or do will stop me.”

By the time
we arrive at the home of the woman who ran Kabul’s government, all that’s left are bodies and blood.

I step over one of the king’s fallen soldiers just inside the entrance of the home. His throat has been sliced open. I can still hear the slow drip of his blood as it leaves his body.

The king’s men who were on the scene first have secured the perimeter of the house and the surrounding neighborhood, but aside from them, we’ll be the first ones inside the home of Nadia and Malik Khan, the regional leader and her husband.

I have my gun out. Even though there are plenty of guards, some who were here before us and some who came with our brigade, it never hurts to be ready.

We move through the residence, our footsteps nearly silent. I take in the sparse furnishings. Even regional leaders live fairly humble lives, if this home is anything to go by. The furniture and decorations are faded, and the wooden tables have lost their polish.

Montes walks slightly ahead of me, his broad shoulders largely obscuring the hall ahead of us.

We head to the back of the house, where the bedrooms are.

More fallen soldiers lay outside the doors, their eyes glassy. These ones have gunshot wounds.

My eyes drift back to the door. Hesitantly, I step inside.

The reports never mentioned that Malik and Nadia had kids, but they very obviously do. Two beds rest against the far wall of the children’s room, both empty. The sight of those ruffled sheets is harder to look at than the dead soldiers. I grip my gun tighter.

Someone will die for this.

Once we scan the room, our group moves back out into the hall. We make quick work of the other rooms, until there is just the master bedroom left.

I don’t particularly want to go in there. For one thing, the closer I get the stronger the smell of raw meat and death is. The reason for that is obvious—four dead guards line the hall leading up to it.

But there’s also the less obvious reason for my reluctance. My intuition is now kicking in. Maybe it’s just the partially open door and the darkness beyond it, but my heart rate’s picking up.

We enter, and my eyes land on the empty master bed. There are several drops of blood on the sheets, but I have no idea what sort of injury caused them.

My gaze doesn’t linger on the bed for long, though.

Not when I catch sight of a crib.

My knees go weak.

Not a baby. Please, not that.

My chest tightens. I really don’t want to get any closer.

But, in spite of myself, I creep towards the crib with the rest of the soldiers. There’s a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth. The room is too silent.

In front of me, Montes stiffens. “
Nire
bihotza
—”

He tries to block my view, but it’s too late.

I catch sight of a tiny, unmoving body.

I barely have time to push away from my guards before I vomit.

I’m not the only one either. Grown men and women join me, people who I know have seen horrible things.

My stomach spasms over and over. I try to catch my breath, but I can’t.

Montes was right. We might be monsters, but we’re not evil.

Not like this.

My crown sits
heavy on my head as I stare out at the crowds the next day.

The first day I wore a crown, my child died. And that’s what it will always represent to me. Innocents dying for causes evil people uphold.

As heavy as my crown is, my heart is heavier.

“How badly do you want peace?” I open.

The people of Kabul roar in response.

This city has no official stadium, so I’m giving my speech on an open expanse of land, one where several old buildings once stood. Now all that remains are ruins.

There are cameramen both offstage and on, and I see them move closer as I began to speak. At my back I know there’s a large screen magnifying me. I wonder just how much they can see of my expression.

“Good,” I say, “because there are people out there that will make you fight for it. They will make you
die
for it.”

My eyes flick only briefly to the side of the stage, where Montes watches me.

“What I’m about to tell you—I was advised not to say. But you have a right to know.”

I see at least one officer begin to rub his temples.

“The leaders of each of the cities I’ve been visiting are being taken, one by one.”

Already we’ve begun to notify the other cities and put their leaders on high alert that the West is targeting them. Many have pulled out of the tour altogether. Others have gone into hiding.

Murmurs run through the audience. Up until now, the king has kept quiet on this. His greatest fear was that the news would spark aimless violence among the citizens of the East.

And it might. They still have a right to know. And if I’m to be some great savior of theirs, then I should be the one to deliver the news.

“Someone doesn’t want peace. Someone is afraid of what I am doing.”

I turn my attention to the cameras because what I’m about to say is for the representatives. “To our enemies, listen carefully: Pray I don’t find you. If I do, I will make you pay.”

My gaze moves back to my audience; the crowd is roaring with outrage and excitement. “If you are angry, you have a right to be. No one should live in a world where they must fear for their life. But I will also tell you this: death cannot avenge death, and bloodshed cannot avenge bloodshed. Justice must be served, but it shouldn’t turn good men into wicked ones.”

I take off the crown. I flip it over in my hands. My audience has gone quiet.

“I’ve also been told that I should wear this. That this is what you want to see.” I look up from the crown, towards the people watching me. “This,” I hold up the headpiece, “means nothing. I am not above you. I am one of you.

“The world is interested in telling you all the ways we’re different. You have the East and the West. Ruler and ruled. Rich and poor.

“But they lie.”

I was never a very good orator. But this is different. The words are coming to me, born from a fire in my soul. I’m angry and excited and so very, very full of life.

“I killed many men during my time as a soldier,” I say. In the past, admitting something like this would be a disaster. But these people already know I’m no idle ruler. “And I saw many men die. They all bled the same.
We
are all the same. And this,” I hold up the crown. “This can go fuck itself.” I fling the crown offstage, towards some of the king’s soldiers. Much as I’d like to give it back to the people, I fear something as precious as gold would be enough to draw blood between civilians.

The audience bellows at the sight. This is fervor. This
is
revolution.

“We are all the same,” I say. “Let’s end this war together. As equals.”

The crowd begins thumping their chests, the rhythm picking up pace until it’s one continuous sound.

My eyes cut to the king, who stands just offstage. He rubs his chin, his eyes glinting as he watches me. When he notices me looking, he inclines his head, and the beginnings of a smile form along his lips.

Our enemies should be afraid.

I am a bomb, and they’ve just lit the fuse.

Chapter 34

Serenity

We leave Kabul
shortly after the speech, our next stop, Shanghai. The pacing of our itinerary was brutal to begin with, but now that figureheads have been disappearing, we’re moving through the tour at a breakneck speed.

I fall asleep fully clothed on the airplane’s bed, my face smooshed against the sheets. I rouse only once, when a familiar someone covers me with a blanket.

Montes’s fingers trail down my cheek. My eyes open just enough to see him staring intently at me.

“I—” I almost say it then. Those three dreaded words that I’ve kept from the king for so long. It’s equally shocking how natural they come, and how badly they want to be let out.

The king’s touch stills.

“I’m happy you’re here,” I murmur.

“Always,” he says, his fingers moving once more.

I’m already falling back asleep, like I didn’t almost just surrender the last bit of my heart.

I’m jerked awake when the plane dips sharply to the left. I grip the edges of the mattress to keep from rolling.

The door to the back cabin is closed but on the other side I hear raised voices, their tones laced with controlled panic.

Quickly, I get up, shaking off the last of my grogginess, and stumble to the door.

When I open it I see Montes on the other side, heading straight for my room, presumably to wake me.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Three enemy aircraft share our airspace,” he says, his expression grim.

I glance out the window but see nothing.

“Are they armed?” I ask. It’s a ridiculous question. Of course they are.

“Undoubtedly,” Montes echoes my thoughts, “but they haven’t shot us down yet.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than I hear a distant hiss.

I’ve missed out on a hundred years of civilization, and yet in all that time weaponry hasn’t changed much. Not if the sound I’m hearing is a—

“Missile incoming,” the pilot informs us over an intercom. “Engaging the ABM system.”

It’s a fancy way of saying we’re going to blow that fucker out of the sky. That is, if it doesn’t hit us first.

The noise gets louder, and louder, and then—

BOOM!

The sky lights up as a fireball unfurls some distance away from us. A split second later the shock wave hits us, sending the plane canting, and throwing us idiots not belted in across the cabin.

I slam into the wall, my body dropping into the row of seats beneath it. When I look up, I see Montes on the floor nearby, crawling towards me.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. “You?”

“Yeah.” He exhales the word out. He jerks his head towards the seats. “Strap in. It’s going to get rough.”

I right myself and begin to do just that. The plane starts losing altitude rapidly. I grab my stomach as we plummet. An alarm goes off and the overhead lights start to flash.

Montes makes it to the seat next to me and straps himself in.

“Has this happened to you before?” I ask.

He grabs my hand, his face stony. “Yes.”

The king’s men follow our lead, scrambling into seats and hastily buckling themselves in.

“And how did that end?” I ask. He obviously survived it.

“I was in the Sleeper for a month.” He doesn’t elaborate, which means it was likely worse than what I might imagine.

I hear another distant hiss start up as our plane continues to drop from the sky.

“ABM system reengaged,” the pilot announces.

Another explosion follows the first, rocking the plane further. The people that still aren’t buckled go tumbling across the cabin once more. One of them is Marco, and he falls close to my feet.

Fighting my baser impulses, I reach out a hand and drag him up to the seat next to me.

He nods his thanks, buckling his seatbelt right away. I feel the king’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look over at him. I don’t want to see his gratitude.

Shrapnel pings against the outside of the plane. But it’s not until I hear the screeching sound of metal smashing into metal and the aircraft shudders that my eyes move to the window. Outside I see one of the engines catch fire.

How long does good fortune last for people like us? This is Russian roulette, and this might be the shot the kills us.

I squeeze the king’s hand and take a calming breath. I don’t fear the end. I haven’t for a very long time. This isn’t the way I’d choose to go, but there are worse ways to die than reclining in a plush chair, the world spread out beneath you.

The alarms are still blaring, the officers all have wide eyes. But no one screams. Montes brings my hand to his mouth and holds our entwined hands there.

I see his lips move. I can’t hear his words, but I know what he’s saying.

I love you.

I pinch my lips together. Only hours ago I almost said those very words right back to him.

His gaze meets mine. My mouth parts. I feel those words coming back, moving up my throat. They want out.

The plane hits some turbulence, breaking the spell. My gaze cuts away from him as my body’s jerked about. The moment’s gone, and if we die right now, we’ll die with him never hearing those three words fall from my lips.

I can’t tell if I feel relief or disappointment.

Both, I think.

Our seats begin to shake as our velocity increases. Above the shrill alarm I swear I hear the rumble of engines. Through the aircraft’s tiny windows, I catch a glimpse of fighter jets. If they’ve come to end us, they got here too late.

But as I watch, they accelerate past us, presumably towards the enemy, who I still haven’t seen.

The officers begin to clap and whoop at the sight, like we’ve been saved. All those jets managed to do was head off one enemy. But now gravity is our more obvious opponent.

Our aircraft continues to plunge straight towards the earth. I hate that I have enough time to feel my mortality slipping through my fingers.

I swear I feel the plane pull up, but I have no way of knowing whether that’s just wishful thinking.

The ground is getting closer and closer. Our angle is still bad.

I look at Montes one more time. If I’m going to die, it will be staring into his eyes. We were bound to go down together.

When I meet his gaze, I can see relief, but I don’t know what put the expression there.

It turns out that, whatever the reason, he’ll live to tell me about it.

The plane levels out at the very last minute.

My gaze is ripped away from him as we slam into the earth. I’m jerked violently against my seatbelt. Part of the ceiling pulls away from the metal frame on impact, cutting off my view of the front half of the cabin.

The world is consumed by an awful screeching noise as the plane slides across the ground. I hear plastic and metal ripping away from the underside of the plane. A few screams join the noise, some panicked, and some high-pitched cries that cut off sharply.

And then, miraculously, we grind to a stop.

For several seconds I do nothing but catch my breath.

I didn’t die.

“
Nire
bihotza
, my hand.”

I hear Montes’s voice, and my chest tightens almost painfully.

The king didn’t die either.

A choked sound comes out of my mouth as I face him and see that he is, in fact, alive.

I release his hand, a hand I’ve been squeezing the life out of, and cup the side of his face. I can’t put into words what I feel. But now the relief that was so blatant in his eyes earlier seems to be making a home for itself beneath my sternum.

I pull him to me and kiss him roughly. How horrifying that my heart has come to rely on this creature.

I feel his surprise—he still isn’t used to my affection, especially when I do it in public. But once his shock wears off, he kisses me back with a possessive intensity I’ve become familiar with.

Death will come for us both, sooner rather than later, but it won’t happen today.