The Queen of All That Lives (The Fallen World Book 3) (21 page)

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.

I tug on them again and find each hand has been locked to the metal frame of the bed I lay on.

Imprisoned to a bed. This is going to make going to the bathroom interesting.

I sit up the best I can, ignoring how the metal rubs away skin.

My last memories come rushing back. The explosions, the shootout at the hangar. My stomach was torn open, and then …

Montes
.

I can’t catch my breath.

Dead
.

The grief is instant, unfurling within me. My heart is shattering, just the way I feared it would.

A tear slides out, and my throat works. I lock my jaw to fight back the anguished cry I want to let loose.

It’s unfathomable. My monster can’t die. My nightmare can’t be over. Not when I was just beginning to enjoy it.

My body shakes as I fight to keep myself together. I know better than to fall apart now. Not now when I’m clearly my enemy’s prisoner.

I
will
kill them all. Every single person.

The girl who hates games needs a game plan.

By the time they come for me, I have one.

A single man
enters the room. He’s some sort of ex-military, even though he wears civilian clothes.

I glare at him. I can’t help it. I want to gut him and savor his screams. The killer in me begins to hunger.

Because Montes—

I cut the thought off.

The game plan
, I remind myself.

“Your Majesty,” the man murmurs, dipping his head.

I’m surprised by the show of reverence.

He closes the door behind him and approaches me.

“You treat all your prisoners this nicely?” I ask, jingling my cuffs as I speak.

“No.” He pulls a chair up to the bed. “Just queens, I’m afraid. I’m Chief Officer Collins, head of the Western United Nation’s Security Department.”

“And you’re here to interrogate me?”

Collins gives me a wan smile. “I’m here to talk with you.

“Pretty words,” I say.

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “You’ve done this before,” he states, settling himself in.

My eyes wander to the suit he wears. The pleats of it are crisp, but the material has a faded look. “How many items of clothing do you own?” I ask.

He follows my gaze and self-consciously smooths down the material before he returns to looking at me. “We’re not here to talk about my wardrobe.”

“I bet not many,” I continue. “And I bet you’re still better off than most of the WUN’s citizens.”

He gives me a bored look, like he’s only listening because he must.

“It was not always like that,” I say. I draw in a deep breath and look around at my surroundings. There’s not even a window in this closet of a room. “Where am I?” I ask.

“You’re in the West,” he says carefully.

I figured that much.

“And when am I?” It’s an odd question, but judging by the lack of pain, I’m guessing I’ve recently been removed from a Sleeper.

He threads his fingers together. “You were injured a week ago.”

I only lost a week this time.

“Injured by your people,” I clarify.

Collins nods. “But you weren’t killed.”

“How benevolent of them. And where was their compassion when they bombed thousands of innocents that day?”

“Some sacrifices needed to be made—”

“Then
you
die.” I snap. “If you think sacrificing any life is necessary, then I want to see you give yours up first.”

Collins mouth tightens. “I didn’t give the orders for the West to bomb a city block.”

“But you’re defending them.”

I’m not sure why I’m even engaging in this conversation. This man doesn’t care.

He leans back in his seat. “The representatives want to work with you.”

“Of course they do,” I say.

Wars are often based off of ideological differences, and I have become an ideology that can win the war. And I am one that both sides can look to. After all, I was an emissary of the West before I was Queen of the East. Never has such an easy solution just fallen into the laps of so many powerful people.

“Give me one good reason why I should work with them.”

“The king is dead.”

My nostrils flare and my muscles tense, but other than that, I don’t react.

Collins cocks his head. “No words?”

He doesn’t want words. He wants me to weep or cheer or give him something that he can take to his bosses to manipulate me with.

Instead, I say, “Montes has cheated death longer than anyone else. I’ll need to see a body before I believe it.”

“You think highly of him.” It’s not a question, and Collins doesn’t state it as though it is, but I’m expected to answer nonetheless.

“Is there a point to this?” I say.

“From what I hear, he’s the one that hid you from the world for all this time.”

“And?” I say it like I don’t give a damn about the betrayal.

“It seems like something unforgivable,” Collins elaborates.

I’ve been in enough of these rooms and talked to enough of these men to know they are always trying to dig under your skin. I’m sure the tactic works when someone can be caught off-guard. But what could I possibly be surprised by at this point? I have lost everything I ever loved.

“And you’re assuming I forgave him,” I say.

He raises his eyebrows but inclines his head.

“That is not the worst thing the king has done to me.” I tilt my head. “What are you trying to do, create dissension between me and the king? He’s dead.”

But then, as I stare at him, my heart begins to beat faster and faster. Because creating dissention appears to be exactly what he’s doing. That would only be useful if …

I feel my shock wash over me. “The king
is
alive.”

Chapter 41

Serenity

Collins shakes his
head. “I already told you, he’s dead.”

Now that I’m looking for it, I can see the WUN officer’s uncertainty.

He doesn’t
know
, which is good enough for me. If Montes could be alive, he likely is—one doesn’t survive a century and a half by sheer luck alone.

A surge of hope moves through me.

“Serenity, I urge you to weigh my next words carefully,” Collins says, settling into himself. “The representatives are willing to work with you. They want to end the war.”

I reign in my excitement. My plan—I’ll need to change it now that the king is likely alive.

“If you agree to it, I will take you to them straightaway,” he continues.

I narrow my eyes. “And if I refuse?”

He hesitates. “If you refuse, you will be transferred from this military hospital to a work camp.” His face softens and his voice lowers, “You don’t want that. It’s not a good way to go.”

I never did well with ultimatums, and I don’t want to go along with this one. I’m tired of bad men getting their way.

I’m tired of being used.

“From what I’ve seen,” Collins says, “all you want is peace.”

I lean forward, my arms pulled taut against the handcuffs. “Men like the representatives will never give you peace. They will only ever give you tyranny.”

I lean back against the metal headboard. “But, you’re right. What I most want is the war to end.” I draw in a deep breath and try to recall all the tricks my father used as an emissary. I’m going to need them. “So long as what they ask of me is reasonable, I will work with them.”

What can only
be a handful of hours later, I’m being escorted out of the hospital room, my hands bound behind my back.

Collins is by my side, along with several guards that look like they’d have no problem killing me if I so much as moved wrong.

I’m escorted out of the building. The sky above us is a hazy white, like the air has been sapped of its vibrancy.

A swarm of people, most wearing dirty rags, press against the chain-link fence that runs around the perimeter of the property. The moment they see me, they begin to shout and reach for me. I can’t tell if their excitement is borne from love or hate.

The guards posted on my side of the fence train their firearms on the civilians. One person out of the crowd, a young man, begins to climb the fence.

The soldiers shout at the civilian, but he’s not listening. He’s staring at me, yelling something. I never get the chance to find out what he’s saying.

A gunshot goes off, and the man is blasted back.

My body jerks at the sight. Now people are screaming for an entirely different reason, and they look angry.

“Come, Serenity,” Collins says, pressing me forward. I hadn’t realized I stopped to begin with.

I let him lead me forward, tasting bile at the back of my throat.

An armored car waits for us. Collins shoves my head down and into the vehicle before following me inside.

I adjust myself, letting him strap me in, my eyes drifting back to the crowd. They are all so skinny, so malnourished.

God, how they are suffering.

I lean my head back against the seat rests. “The West has a problem on its hands,” I say.

For all the king’s terrible qualities—and there are many, even now—his people never looked that close to death.

I want to weep. Those are
my
people. They might be several generations removed, but they opened their eyes and drew their first breaths in the same land I did.

They deserve more than what they’ve been given.

“We do,” Collins says, his eyes lingering on the people swarming the vehicle. “But you can help us fix it.”

I fully intend to.

It doesn’t take
long to get away from the crowds. Once we do, the land opens up, stretching out for miles in every direction. Every so often, we pass relics of old cities. Judging by the size of the buildings, they were nothing grand to begin with. The West’s biggest metropolises were leveled by the king long ago.

These are just remnants of the land this used to be.

Eventually, those too fall away, and then there’s nothing left but long stretches of dead, wild grass.

“Where in the WUN are we?” I ask.

“Northern hemisphere. West Coast.”

I can’t decide if I’m relieved that we are far away from my hometown or disappointed. I want to see it again, desperately so, but I fear it would look nothing like what I remember. And then I’d have to face the reality that there really is no place for me in this new world.

We drive for a long time. Much longer than I expected. Long enough to leave the grasslands behind and enter a mountain range. As our elevation increases, scraggly brush gives way to trees.

As the car ride passes, I toy with the grand plan I settled on back in the military hospital, a plan I’d been forming even before then. I use the hours to alter it, now that the king likely lives. It puts me in a darker and darker mood.

What I must do might break me.

I forget about my macabre plan the moment the mountains part. The deep blue Pacific stretches across the horizon, and my eyelids flutter as I take it in. Nothing that men can do to one another will ever make this sight less beautiful.

Breathtaking as it is, the ocean captures my attention for only a moment.

Directly ahead of us is a gigantic wall made out of cement and stone. I can see nothing beyond it.

Our vehicle drives up to a heavily guarded gate—a checkpoint of sorts. We’re waved through, and then I’m inside.

On the other side of the gates is a city like nothing I’ve ever seen.

Built into the mountainside overlooking the water, this place doesn’t look like a city of the future. It looks like the city of the past. Each structure is made of stone and adobe and plaster—every one beautifully crafted, but all with a handmade look to them.

In spite of the wealth of information I learned since I woke, I never read about this place. I don’t even know the name of it.

At the center of the walled city a giant glass dome rises above most other buildings, reminding me of the greenhouse Montes took me to a long time ago.

Even that small reminder of the king causes so many emotions to flood through me—grief, hope,
vengeance
.

Our vehicle makes its way towards the domed building. I’m not surprised when we pull up in front of the behemoth.

“This is where I’ll be meeting the representatives?” I ask, looking up at it.

“We call it the
Iudicium
in the West,” Collins says. He steps out of the car then offers a hand to help me out as well, cuffed as I am. “And yes, it is.”

I ignore his hand, though as soon as I exit the car, he grips my upper arm anyway. A series of other guards surround us, keeping the crowd at bay.

I’ve done this before—been paraded through enemy territory. The Queen of the East. What an acquisition.

I spare another glance at the sprawling building before me.

So this is where the representatives work. Corrupt leaders love their palaces.

I only have a moment to take it in before I’m shuffled forward, away from the eyes of the crowd and inside the building.

The doors close behind us, the sound echoing through the chambers I now stand in. Despite the rich furnishings and ample marble that adorns the interior, the place is cold and dark.

I’m led to a set of double doors on the other end of the expansive entry hall. Two guards open them, and then I’m staring into a cavernous, circular room filled with twelve men.

The representatives.

Twelve of them.
Twelve
. I bet this is more than the king has ever heard of gathered in a single room. The only representative missing is the mysterious thirteenth one.

The rest of them sit at the far end, behind a wooden bench, and each wears a different expression when they catch sight of my face. Most appear bored or impassive. A couple seem curious. The rest of them look at me like I killed their sons.

I might’ve.

“Come in,” one says.

Collins forces me forward, and I walk down the aisle, past rows and rows of empty seats. I’ve only stopped once I stand in front of the representatives.

I recognize each from their photo. Jeremy, the one who established the work camps; Alan, who’s likely responsible for kidnapping the regional leaders; Gregory, who legalized human trafficking. On and on I name them, along with the atrocities they’ve sanctioned.

Some of these men are Montes’s former advisors, men who plotted my death. Men that were involved in the death of my unborn child.

A quiet calmness settles over me. This is the place I go to when I kill.

They should never have met with me. They’re now all marked. I won’t let them live, not so long as I have life in me.

“Serenity Freeman Lazuli, Queen of the East,” begins Alan. “Welcome to the West. I hear it was your home once.”

“Once,” I agree.

A drawn out silence follows that, until someone clears their throat.

“In the hundred years you’ve been gone, you have become quite a legend,” Alan says.

My eyes flick to Montes’s old advisors. Their frowns deepen.

The feeling’s mutual.

“So I’ve heard,” I say.

“Oh no,” Alan says from where he’s perched above me, “you’ve more than just heard. You’ve incited revolution. You are the world’s rallying cry.

“And you’ve
acted
. Giving speeches, fighting the enemy,” he says this with a wry twist of his lips. “It’s all quite impressive.

“We talked to a certain paramilitary leader—Styx Garcia. He says you wanted to speak with us. So here you are.”

I hide my surprise. He helped set this up?

The others watch me carefully.

“That was before you bombed a peaceful gathering.”

This earns me a grim smile from Alan. “I would imagine a true rebel queen would be more eager, not less, to speak with the men that threaten
her people
.” He says the last two words with disdain, like I’m a charlatan for supporting the citizens of the East rather than the West.

“And maybe this rebel queen feels she is beyond the point of civilly discussing
her people
,” I shoot back.

“You don’t have to be our prisoner,” Jeremy interrupts. “The war has gone on for too long.”

Begrudgingly, I incline my head. “It has,” I agree. On this subject we have common ground. Ground I wish to exploit.

My eyes cut to one of the long, narrow windows that line the walls high above us. Through it I can see a sliver of the wall that encircles the city.

I feel the responsibility of this world, of my title, settle onto my shoulders. Today, I will be joining in the machinations of men.

It’s time to finally set my terrible plan into motion.

The representatives watch me shrewdly.

“I know why I’m here,” I say.

Diplomacy is a treacherous thing when neither party trusts the other but both want to work together. They need me, I need them, and we’re all known for our ruthlessness.

“You want the war to end,” I continue. “You want Montes dead, and you want me to be the one that kills him.”