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“You don’t know when you were born?”
“The point is, I can’t be him. The sooner you stop hoping I am, the better.” Leaf’s cold calculation returned. He continued as though he hadn’t just crushed her heart. “So you believe Nero destroyed the world because of a vendetta against you? Because he couldn’t beat you in games?”
“I might enjoy strutting around in a bikini, but I’m not that conceited. It might have started that way, but he soon realized that if he could manipulate me in other ways, my family, friends, and Jace… Eventually, he manipulated the world. Even though it feels like months to me, I’ve probably been gone from Nile’s life for decades from the sounds of how long ‘Nero’ has been here. He’s moved onto the next obstacle.”
“Ruling everyone.”
A sad smile stretched her lips. “It’s ironic that he thinks winning these so-called races will fill the gaping void in his soul. But he’s a psychopath. He doesn’t have that emotional capacity.” Her eyes lost focus as the stark reality of their future hit. “You think he’s dangerous now, but he was broken from his conception. Just wait until he realizes nothing fills that void. Not even ruling the world.”
ChapterEleven
Stationed at the door of Queen Maebh’s private chambers, Pollock tried not to stare as she paced her library like a dark, veiled wraith.Sweet-Mighty Moon Goddess, yes, he tried very hard. He tried even harder not to notice the drool dangling from the demogorgon’s split mandibles as he watched the guards.
Patting his sweating jowls, Pollock wondered how he’d lasted three years. He and his co-guard had not seen their queen’s face beyond portraits gracing the palace’s obsidian hallways. They’d witnessed everything from bloody murder to emotional wailing and cold despair.
Well-damned cousin Dingus.If Pollock ever found his good-for-nothing half-goblin cousin, he’d give him awhat for.The floater had recommended this job—put in a good word for Pollock. Didn’t mention that he would be stuck at this door every waking minute, fearing for his life.
Today, the queen wore black lace from head to toe, including gloves. Sometimes, her pacing stopped, and she would stare at the crackling fireplace for hours. Sometimes, he thought Her Majesty was dead—a petrified statue beneath those veils—but then lace rippled at her mouth, and she continued pacing.
Then there were the books.Sweet-Mighty Moon Goddess, don’t get him started about the books. Since Pollock commenced his shift this evening, she’d pulled no less than twenty ancient tomes from the shelves.
It was sad if you asked him. Sad because she did something that broke the preservation spells as she flipped through the pages. She would tear them out sometimes, stare at them against the flames, then drop the book, utterly ignorant of all the others decaying on the floor.
Pollock might not be a fan of humanity, but he liked books. Watching historical artifacts wither away made him highly irritated. His queen didn’t even see the rotting pages. She kicked the dust left behind as she paced about.
He’d once offered to tidy, to see if he could salvage the knowledge, but she’d hissed at him loudly behind her veil.
He wasn’t stupid like his cousin, Dingus. He never asked again.
But today, the frigid air was fraught with tension. It felt like something was about to snap. Or, if he let his mind run off with itself—and he did sometimes because he fancied a tale or two before going to bed—a tear in the world might open beneath them.
Her Majesty was particularly obsessed tonight with locating something. She strode to her war table at the center of her library and stared at the map of Elphyne. One of her generals came once a week, apprised her of progress, and marked out territories he’d claimed or razed in her name. Then he left.
She used to care.
She used to tell him what land or city to destroy next.
But that was before she started searching her library.
A low, guttural growl slipped out of the basking demogorgon.Oh, sweet Goddess. It growled at Pollock. He must have scowled or something.
He gripped his spear to stop his fingers from trembling and made his expression clear. When the demogorgon relaxed and blinked at his queen, she pulled another book from the shelf, searched through the pages, snarled, and tossed it—already forgotten as she pulled another. Pollock’s colleague held his vacant stare at the air and shrugged.
“Not our place.”
The queen gasped. Pollock’s gaze shot to her in time to glimpse folded paper tumbling from the pages of a book. She picked it up, unfolded it, and stilled as she read.
“Aleksandra.” Her hissed breath puffed the veil.
The Prime of the Order of the Well?
They couldn’t see her eyes. Couldn’t see her face. But they understood the queen’s intent when she strode to the war table, swiped everything from the map, and placed that paper in the center.
She beckoned her pet. Stench bloomed as the nightmarish creature unfolded and slinked to her side. It crept on four legs, trailing tentacled wings through the dusty floor, then sat on its haunches so the queen could scratch beneath its chin.
“I haven’t lost everything yet, have I pet?” Her voice was shaky and weak.
The demogorgon clicked in the back of its throat, replying to the queen in that strange language only she understood.
