Queen of Swords (24 page)

Chapter Thirty One

The guards took Ophelia to a harem. It was the only word to describe the room where they left her. She stood just inside the door, taking in the bathing pools whose steam clouded her vision of the far wall, of the women taking up most of the remaining floor space, all of whom were barely clothed. They were every color and species, ranging from the pale, ethereal female Hansardian clans, to the spike-covered Bolkerian huddled in the back corner. Kristian sure had diverse tastes.

“What are you looking at, my pretty?”

Picking out the owner of the coarse voice, she almost groaned. Evarven. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this was Gee’s Marcy. Ophelia bit her lip, uncertainty surging. Just because she wanted to flay Gee for putting everyone she cared about in danger didn’t mean this woman was to blame. It was hardly her fault for being kidnapped.

Besides, it was far too late to back out now. She was in Kristian’s clutches, almost within reach of her goal. She raised an eyebrow at the Evarven. “A wrinkled old lady.”

The Evarven laughed so hard, she submerged completely. Ophelia was considering jumping in after her—it wasn’t as if the other women in the pool were doing anything—when the woman came up, still laughing. “You are something, pretty.” Something dark passed through her too-large orange eyes.

“You Marcy?” As if she could be anyone else. The Evarven weren’t that common, but Ophelia had been surprised before.

The Evarven’s gaze sharpened. “How do you know that name?”

So Gee had been telling the truth. Not that Ophelia doubted him. It didn’t excuse what he’d done, even if she understood the panic of knowing your loved ones were in danger. It was bad enough with her family in Kristian’s grasp. If it were Boone…

But that was the difference between her and Gee. Gee caved, gave the monster what he wanted. Ophelia would have done everything and anything to make sure Kristian’s blood covered the walls. Thinking about it only served to remind her of the timetable. Kristian thought Boone would come for her, planned for it. She needed to see him dead before Boone walked straight into a trap. Nothing like a little pressure to get the blood flowing.

Ophelia forced her mind back to the present. “I flew on the
Psyche
.” If this was really Marcy, she would know what Ophelia meant.

The Evarven made a little hiccup noise. “You know my Gee, then.”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t much else Ophelia could say without going into how much she wanted to skin him alive.

Marcy cocked her head to the side. “He’s done some horrible things for me. Unforgivable things, I’m sure. Get over it.”

That startled a laugh out of Ophelia. “If I can get everyone I care about out of here alive, I’ll consider it. Until then, not likely.”

“Glad we understand each other.” Marcy climbed out of the pool, the water running rivers over her wrinkled skin. She looked eighty if she was a day, but Ophelia knew better. The Evarven was probably only her age, maybe a bit older. As she got closer, her orange gaze passed over Ophelia from head to toe, stopping at her eyes. “Diviner.”

Ophelia shrugged. “It happens.”

“I’m sure it does.” Marcy glanced over her shoulder. “There’s another of your kind in here, older.”

The world seemed to stand still. Ophelia had assumed Kristian would keep her family together, would keep them separate from this place. She was a damned fool. “Where?”

“Far corner. They mostly leave us new ones alone, give us time to adjust.”

Ophelia nodded, but she was already skirting past the Evarven. Several of the women jeered at her as she strode past their pools, but she paid them no mind, all of her attention focused on the figure sitting cross-legged against the wall, looking as if she were taken captive and stuck in a filthy harem all the time. Ophelia went to her knees in front of her. “Mama.”

Mama opened her eyes and gave a tired smile. “Daughter. I don’t know whether to say that I’m happy to see you, or to berate you for coming here in the first place.” She scanned Ophelia. “You are looking well. How is the sickness?”

“As bad as ever.” Ophelia glanced to either side. No one seemed to be paying them the slightest bit of attention, but looks could be deceiving and she desperately didn’t want Kristian to know about her pregnancy. “And the cards led me here. I could hardly refuse.” Not if she wanted a chance to survive.

“Yes, the Lady is a harsh mistress sometimes.” Mama leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

Alarm bells rang through Ophelia, too panicked to ignore. “What have you seen?”

“Nothing of importance yet. Just a feeling here, a nudge there. We are against an age-old enemy, but then you know that.” She reached out and took Ophelia’s hands. “I am simply glad to have seen my daughter one last time.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Mama couldn’t, couldn’t… Oh hells, Ophelia couldn’t even think the word. She bit her lip, gripping her mother’s hands tightly. “You can’t leave.”

“You know, daughter, you cannot change the universe simply because you will it. Some things were meant to be.”

Ophelia was already shaking her head before Mama finished speaking. “No. Stop it.” Even as she protested, the coldness stirred inside her, giving truth to her mother’s words. “Please no. I’m not ready.”

Mama smiled, the peaceful expression doing nothing to calm Ophelia’s inner turmoil. “I am. I have had a good life. But enough of this. You must focus on the other. Your happy ending is not yet assured.”

“Tell me.” Easier to focus on surviving than to think about her mother’s warnings. If Ophelia could be guilty of ignoring the cards’ warning, then her mother could be as well. Even the status of
Fortuna
didn’t protect her from individual interpretation. There were no absolutes, not with hunches and faith. That this also applied to Ophelia’s certainty she would be the one to kill Kristian didn’t bear thinking about. The Lady’s presence whispered through her mind like a summer wind, a warm band wrapping around her chest and giving a gentle squeeze before dissipating.

Boone
.

Damn, damn, damn. She couldn’t have it both ways, no matter how much she wanted.

“Nothing specific. Smoke and mirrors, hunches and feelings.” Mama shrugged. “I am not perfect.”

That her words so closely mirrored Ophelia’s own thoughts sent a shiver up her spine. “So we’re working blind here.”

“No, daughter. We still have the Lady. She’s brought us here for a reason, positioned us just so.” Mama let go of Ophelia and held her hands shoulder-width apart. “Things will move fast now. It’s all I know for sure.”

A heartfelt declaration of Ophelia’s victory would have been more welcome, but she’d take what she could get. “Do you know where Papa is?”

Mama winced, the peace leaving her expression. “No. I haven’t seen him since I was brought here.”

The castle was far too huge for Ophelia to check in a timely manner, even if she wasn’t locked in this room. Trying to do it after the prince died and the alarms were going would be a nightmare. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Okay. We can work with this.”

“I have faith, daughter. Faith in the Lady and faith in you.”

Ophelia nodded, wishing like hells she felt the same.

A throat cleared. Ophelia turned to find Marcy standing not a meter away. She’d been so wrapped up in her mother that she’d let the Evarven sneak up on them. Digging her nails into her palm, she barely refrained from snapping at the other woman. Marcy hadn’t chosen to be here anymore than she and Mama had. “Yes?”

“I figured the Royal Shit will be calling for you soon.” Marcy shrugged. “He likes the fresh ones, especially when they’re young and pretty. Thought you might use this.” She moved forward and to the left, drawing Ophelia’s gaze to the camera above the door. Marcy lifted her miniscule top and withdrew two wickedly sharp sticks. “I would have used them myself, but he has no taste for my kind.” She looked away. “Wish I could say the guards shared his prejudices.”

“Thank you.” Unless she could get him in an artery, the stakes wouldn’t kill him, but they’d sure as shit slow him down.

“I want to see him dead, same as you. Turn around.” When Ophelia obeyed, going to her knees, Marcy pulled her hair up into a bun and stuck the sticks in. “The guards won’t think to worry about these. Dumber than a box of rocks, they are.”

“I see.” Ophelia cautiously felt her hair, pleased when it seemed sturdy.

“Yeah, well.” Marcy started backing away. “I’ll just be going.”

“Stay,” Mama said, her eyes still closed. “We must take comfort in each other’s presences while we still can.”

For a moment, Marcy looked like she might argue, but she finally nodded and sat on the other side of Ophelia’s mother. “It’s not as if I have any pressing engagements.”

Mama patted Marcy’s knee, and then reached over and took Ophelia’s hand. “Now, daughter, tell me what you’ve been up to since we last spoke.”

“Okay.” They hadn’t talked, really talked, since that day in the kitchen, and Ophelia missed it more than she could have guessed. Ophelia scooted over and settled against the wall. She started the story directly after leaving home, getting Mama to laugh at her descriptions of Jenny and Boone, and making Marcy smirk when she recounted her arguments with Gee. Ophelia chose to exclude his reading, leaving that up to the Lady to fulfill.

The list of things that were out of her hands had become so very, very long.

Ophelia knew the Lady watched over her and had a hand in the events she was embroiled in, but the Lady helped those who helped themselves. She couldn’t sit back and wait for a happy ending to be delivered—she’d have to cut her way through her enemies until there were none left to threaten her loved ones.

Chapter Thirty Two

“It’s time.”

Ophelia startled awake, her hand flying to the laser on her hip before she remembered the guards had taken it from her. She blinked, trying to focus. “What?”

Mama smoothed her hair back and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, daughter.”

“I love you too.” It was hard to get the words past the fear clogging her throat, but she did. Now was not the time to hesitate or doubt. Now was the time for action. Ophelia climbed to her feet as the doors to the harem swung open with a boom. Someone liked to make an entrance.

Kristian strode in, four guards at his back. Several of the women swooned and Ophelia threw up a little in her mouth. Couldn’t they see the monster shining through his too-familiar gray eyes?

Mama squeezed her hand and stepped back, her face a perfect mask of disinterest. Ophelia wished she could wipe every emotion from her face, but she’d never possessed that skill. Instead she gave him a grin that had his eyes widening.

“Play nice, little Diviner.” Kristian smiled, motioning his guards forward with a flick of his manicured hands. “We have very important guests to meet.”

She wanted to struggle, to fight, to do anything but go meekly with him, but Ophelia followed Mama’s lead, letting the brutes magcuff her hands behind her back without a word.

“Come along, then.” Kristian turned and strode from the room. She didn’t need the prod from the guard to get moving. The prince was prey and she’d be damned before she let him out of her sight.

They didn’t go far, climbing one set of stairs and stopping in front of the first door on the right. Ophelia looked around, taking in the stone- and blood-colored decorations. “Not really a cheery kind of place, is it?”

“Hmm?” Kristian glanced over. “Oh, I find it suites me quite nicely.”

“Blood doesn’t stain the carpet, you mean?”

“Something like that.” He went through the doors and it was as if he were a different person. Gone was the sadistic glint in his eyes, replaced by a smiling, beautiful man. If Ophelia hadn’t seen the transformation, she wouldn’t have believed it possible.

Kristian clasped the hand of a red-robed man, giving it a firm shake. “High Priest, so pleased you could join us.”

The High Priest of Ba’al was the same stooped old man pasted to every available wall space on Keiluna. After seeing them so often, she had actually memorized the location of the ten hairs on his age-spotted skull. His face was so familiar by now it shouldn’t have caused the fear that nearly paralyzed Ophelia at the sight of him. But it did. He turned rheumy eyes in her direction. “I see you have followed through on the last aspect of our bargain.”

“So I have.” Kristian gave her a wide-eyed look. He held a hand out when the High Priest took a step closer to Ophelia, giving her a mouthful of old man smell. “Ah, ah. Our deal has two sides, after all.”

“What?” The old man didn’t seem able to drag his gaze from Ophelia and her mother.

Another man stepped forward, his white robe lined with red—as if it were bleeding. Apt. He was tall, taller than Boone, and had dark, wavy hair that any girl would envy. Then he turned those black eyes on her, and Ophelia’s world slowed down. This man was easily more monster than the High Priest.

He nodded. “There are ten warships waiting just out of Control range. They will be dirtside by morning.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Oberon, I will withhold the Diviners until that happens.”

The High Priest finally turned back to the prince. “Not very trusting, are you, boy?”

If Kristian objected to being called boy, he gave no indication. “Of course not. It’s how I’ve retained my position as heir for as long as I have.” He paused as if considering something. “I’ll hold the Diviners until tomorrow, but you can have your traitor tonight, if it would please you.”

The old man coughed, a wet, hacking sound that made the guards on either side of Ophelia cringe. He blinked slowly and Ophelia wondered how long he had left to live. “That would be delightful.”

“No.” She hadn’t realized she was going to speak until she did. Ignoring the High Priest—there would be no pity from his corner—she focused on Kristian. “Don’t give him my father.” It went against every fiber of her being to beg, but she would do anything for Papa. “Please.”

Kristian raised his eyebrows, taking a step closer. “And what would you do to postpone your father’s death?”

Postpone, not stop. Ophelia choked back angry words and whispered, “Anything.”

“Interesting.” Kristian tapped two fingers to his lips, his eyes assessing her. The High Priest made an angry sound, but the other man just watched them all as if he’d already decided how this would end. The prince sighed. “I’m terribly sorry. There’s nothing I’d like more than to take you up on your offer, but I simply cannot.”

“No.
Please
.” Another flick of his hands and the guards grabbed her arms, dragging her backward through the door. The last thing she saw before they slammed shut was the smirk on the High Priest’s wrinkled face.

…

It was a short flight from Valneci to Hansarda, only one jump, but it felt like the longest of Boone’s life. He sat in the pilot’s seat, tracking their progress on the map above his head. “Two hours.”

“Yes, I can read as well,” Cole muttered. He sheathed and unsheathed his claws, over and over again, the movement a flash in the corner of Boone’s eye. He forced down the urge to tell the Beshmaiite to stop. It was just a nervous tic, the same way he kept obsessively checking the time.

“The stealth system will hide us from their Control, and, if we time it right, we’ll come in under the cover of darkness. If not, we wait.”

Cole exhaled, his brindled hair rippling over his body in a wave. “We’ve gone over this. Seven times. I know, Boone.” He held up a clawed hand. “And, while I understand you’re nervous and micromanaging, I could do without the reports every three seconds.”

Boone tapped a few keys, bringing up the map. They had timed it perfectly, breaching Hansarda’s atmosphere an hour before midnight. Plenty of time to get to the castle and sneak in. Plenty of time for things to go wrong. His hand went to the laser strapped to his hip. He could only hope and pray this craziness went down without a hitch. He was suddenly profoundly grateful Jenny had agreed to stay behind. At least their cause would live on even if this went down the shitter.

“She’s okay.”

“We don’t know that. What Sanctify will do to her, especially if they find out she’s pregnant…” It didn’t bear thinking about.

Cole’s fur stood on end, nearly startling Boone out of his chair. “They won’t. The ritual cleansing isn’t until dawn. We’ll get there in time.”

“You can’t know that.” There were no guarantees—even Ophelia knew that with her thrice-damned cards. To say otherwise was madness. Boone glanced at the clock. One hour, fifty-nine minutes.

…

They landed under the cover of darkness. There wasn’t much in the way of cover, but Boone made do, setting them down on the other side of a monstrous dune about a kilometer from the castle. There would be patrols, but most of them focused their energy on the south side, where there was a mostly permanent settlement for the tribes. The Senate’s Council was still a few weeks away, but people would be filtering in by now, swelling the settlement population.

He, Cole, and the triplets climbed down the ladder. Boone debated bringing in more, but he’d move faster and attract less attention with a small group. They were all dressed in grays and browns, effectively blending them into the sand. Cole, on the other hand, had stripped down to a small pair of shorts. His pale brindle coloring was perfectly suited for crawling around in the dirt, even if he hated it. Which he very much did, complaining he’d never get all the sand out.

Boone double-checked his laser and took the lead, sliding down the dune followed by Shadrach and Caeden. Hadriel and Cole brought up the rear. They were less than one hundred meters from the castle when they encountered the first patrol. Cole slipped into the lead, pouncing on the men and dispatching them with a muffled grunt.

They left the bodies—there was no time or place to hide them. It left a bad taste in Boone’s mouth, but he reconciled himself with promising to burn their bodies respectfully as soon as this thing was done.

The northern doors weren’t doors so much as a secret entrance. No one but the heir and the ruler were supposed to know it existed, but Boone had found it when he was thirteen, hiding to recover from one of Kristian’s torture sessions. He’d used it as an escape out of the castle until he was old enough to actually space. Now it would be his way in.

He counted up from the stones at the bottom, stopping on six, and pressed two that were shoulder-width apart. The passageway opened with a harsh grating sound, leaving a space just large enough for a small man to slip through. It would be a tight fit, but they’d manage.

Boone pulled his knives free, wishing he could use his laser instead. But it would be too loud, too attention-catching, for him to risk it. They were already on a suicide mission as it was—no need to tip the odds against them.

Hadriel was the last one through, and they formed a half circle around Boone, awaiting orders. He wanted to storm the dungeons, to save Ophelia, but it would have to wait. The greatest danger right now was Kristian. If Boone could supplant him as heir, he could command Hansarda’s army and fend off Sanctify.

But that was a rather large
if
.

He couldn’t just kill Kristian—he had to do it publicly and honorably. Which meant a challenge. The main problem was forcing his half brother to accept the challenge.

Good thing Boone had a plan.

“We need to hide.”

…

The guards came for them at dawn. Or what Ophelia figured was dawn because Lady only knew what time it was when Sanctify came marching through the harem door. The six men spared disgusted looks for the half-dressed women but didn’t hesitate in their path to where Ophelia and Mama sat.

As one, they climbed to their feet, shoulders brushing. One of the men, a redheaded guy who looked like he was twelve years old, stepped forward and handed two lengths of rope to the men on either side of him. “Bind them.”

At least they weren’t using magcuffs. Ophelia still had her bracelet, still had a chance to do something other than die a horrible death. But now wasn’t the time to start stabbing anyone within range. These monsters still had her father and if she went on a rampage, she had no doubt they would kill Papa long before she reached him.

The men bound the women’s wrists behind their backs, the knots uncomfortably tight. Then they marched Ophelia and her mother through the bloodred halls and out into the glaring sunlight. She blinked, but they didn’t give her a chance to orient herself, dragging her up a set of wooden stairs and forcing her to her knees.

When her vision finally cleared, Ophelia stopped breathing. Someone had built a wooden stage directly in front of the castle. All the better to see the upcoming show. There were three perfectly shaped poles, each with a hook on the top, obviously designed so that their hands could be tied above their heads.

“Lady save us,” Mama whispered beside her.

Not only was Sanctify going to torture and kill them, they were going to do it in front of a crowd.