The Queen of Traitors (The Fallen World Book 2) Page 22

  Now I’m running, my footfalls echoing against the marble. I can hear my pulse between my ears.

  When I burst into the medical facilities, the lights are still on.

  “Serenity?” I call.

  Silence.

  My heart rate continues to ratchet up, and the cloying sensation of dread floods my veins. I find myself holding my breath briefly each time I enter a new room, fearing that this will be the one that contains her lifeless body.

  I should’ve hid Marco better. I should’ve simply known she’d react the way she did. I scour the facility for her, but she’s not here.

  Relief doesn’t come.

  Where would she go once she left this place?

  Short of death, she might try to escape.

  That thought sends me stalking towards the palace gardens. I consider asking the guards if she’s passed this way, but I don’t want to shed light on the fact that I can’t control my queen. I’m not that desperate. Yet.

  She’s not outside. Not in the gardens. Not near the fence.

  I head back inside, scrubbing my face. Where could she be?

  Her office.

  I go there at once. The lights are on, the computer’s running, but Serenity isn’t here. She’s leading me on a goose chase.

  I head over to her desk and pick up the thin pile of papers sitting on top of her keyboard.

  At first they don’t make sense. I’m looking at a rib cage, a pelvis. Another rib cage, another pelvis. Someone’s gone in and circled orbs—tumors. As I flip through the scans, a horrifying pattern shows up. The tumors are becoming bigger, and more numerous. Some disappear, but those are the minority.

  The last image I see is not an x-ray; it’s a color-coded image of the brain. A small cluster of color is circled.

  I nearly drop the papers. As it is, I stop breathing.

  I’m almost positive that I’m looking at Serenity’s cancer. The Sleeper should’ve minimized or altogether eliminated the growth of malignant cells. But these images suggest a different story.

  The papers crunch in my hand. I bring my fist to my mouth.

  While the Sleeper can’t cure someone of cancer—yet—it is capable of controlling it. Yet I hold proof it hasn’t done that.

  This was a deliberate act of sedition. And it will cost Serenity her life.

  Usually I’m a cold, calculating bastard. Not this time. My wrath is a living, breathing thing. Every ounce of fear I feel—and I feel a great deal—fuels it.

  Goldstein is a traitor.

  “Guards!” I bellow.

  They come running into the room.

  “Collect Dr. Goldstein and take him to interrogation,” I order.

  They leave just as swiftly as they came.

  I promised the man that his life was tied to my child’s. Not only did he ignore that warning, he also tried to take Serenity away from me. And he might have succeeded.

  It’s time to let him know just why no one crosses me.

  Now I must find where Serenity went. She’s a smart woman, she knows I won’t let her die, and it appears she’s figured out before me that Goldstein played us both.

  All this time I thought Serenity’s symptoms had been the result of her pregnancy.

  Fool.

  I’d been had.

  The thought brings on a wave of rage so strong an animalistic cry forces its way out of my mouth. Without thinking, I grab the back of the bookcase next to Serenity’s desk and topple it over.

  I do the same to the filing cabinet. I hurtle a paperweight across the room, and it punches a hole through the drywall. I can hear my guards running back towards this room.

  “Stay out!” I yell.

  So help me God, I will kill the first man that comes through the door, and I’ll enjoy it. Lucky for them, they listen to my order.

  The quiet drone of the computer catches my attention. The screen is dark but all it takes is a jiggle of the mouse and it comes to life.

  Two windows are up on the screen. The first is an informational page on two drugs. A single, chilling word pops up repeatedly throughout the article.

  Abortion.

  I taste bile at the back of my throat. For one sheer instant I believe my wife rid herself of our child.

  Anger, betrayal, and soul-searing fear all move through me, and for one second I feel the devastation Serenity always alludes to. I feel as though I’m losing everything all at once.

  And then I remember. The x-rays, the scans. She found her medical file. The site she left open gave her only a definition.

  She didn’t seek out the drug; she must’ve found evidence of it in her medical records.

  The second wave of my rage rushes through me. Her miscarriage was no accident.

  Goldstein killed my child.

  I almost leave then. I already know that Goldstein will not die quickly, and I’m eager to see that man suffer as none have before him.

  However, the second window catches my eye. On the screen is the palace’s directory. It’s listed in alphabetical order, and about five people and their corresponding contact information fill the space of the screen. Four of the names and faces mean nothing to me. But the fifth one, the fifth one I see almost daily.

  It’s my newest recruit. The Beast of the East. Alexander Gorev.

  Serenity

  Dr. Goldstein and the Beast of the East. Two traitors who are in communication. Two traitors who are sharing my personal information. Two traitors who’ve tried to kill me—if my assumptions are correct—and succeeded in killing my child.

  I smile viciously as I head to the office Gorev uses while in Geneva. This is one of the few times I’m actually pleased with my fractured conscience. I wanted an excuse to kill this sad sack of human flesh. Now I have it.

  The random assortment of numbers scribbled on Goldstein’s note referred to Gorev’s fax machine, a number registered in the royal directory.

  I don’t bother going after Goldstein. Not yet. The doctor will face my wrath later, once the Beast is nothing more than ashes.

  Do these men not realize what I did when my father died? Did they think it would be any different with my child? How cocky both must be to think I wouldn’t find out.

  I reach Gorev’s office. Another thumb scan and I’m inside. I make myself at home. Immediately I begin to flip through his drawers. In the first one I find cigarettes, a fancy metal lighter, and a bottle of 186 proof whiskey.

  A man’s most important professional items are those closest at hand. Alexei’s are his vices. He’s not a man plagued by his demons; he’s ruled by them. It actually makes me more curious about the Beast. What his motives are for getting involved in treason when he’s just about as high up as one can be?

  Then again, in the king’s world, all roads lead back to greed.

  I pocket the lighter and uncap the whiskey, taking a swig as I continue to peruse the traitor’s office. I almost choke on the stuff. My eyes tear up as it burns its way down.

  I glance at the label again. This stuff isn’t alcohol; this is lighter fluid.

  I find nothing else of interest in the office. Gorev is less careless than Goldstein when it comes to leaving damnable breadcrumbs.

  I kick my legs up on the desk, and then I wait.

  When the Beast walks in, I’m playing with fire.

  I flick Alexei’s lighter open and closed. Open. Closed. Open. Closed.

  He stops.

  My gaze is focused on the fire. “Do you know why I’m here?” I ask.

  Alexei steps into the room and closes the door behind him. He leans back against it. No one in the WUN would be so stupid as to lock themselves in a room with the person they were betraying. When you live amongst casual violence, you never underestimate people. Not
even a young, dying queen.

  Especially not a young, dying queen.

  But perhaps the infamous Beast of the East sees me as just another meek woman.

  “You wanted to speak with me?” he says, one side of his mouth curving up. His eyes fall on the bottle of whiskey.

  My mouth curves upward as well. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. Even when you know that I know.”

  He tenses, and it’s the signal I need. Grabbing the 186 proof alcohol, I saunter around the desk. I stop in front of him.

  He has no idea what I’m going to do next.

  I tilt whiskey bottle to read the label better. “You know, what it really comes down to is this: you killed my child.”

  My eyes flick up to him, and before he has a chance to react, I backhand him with the bottle. Glass shatters against his cheekbone, and the force of the impact throws him to the ground. The alcohol soaks his face and his hair, and it drips down his neck and seeps onto his chest.

  The Beast cradles his injured cheek as blood drips between his fingers. I must’ve cut him with the jagged edge I still hold. I drop it to the ground and smash it with my boot.

  Then, ever so slowly, I stroll towards him.

  He’s drenched in whiskey and glass shards, and he’s losing his calm facade as he crawls away from me.

  “The attacks on my life—those I could’ve forgiven. The attacks on Montes’s—well, you know my history. But you involve an innocent?” I kick him onto his back and flick open the lighter I still hold. “That’ll bring out the sadist in me.”

  Now I’m seeing this hateful man’s fear. Wrapped up in it is anger and incredulity. I’d like to think that last one has to do with my gender.

  I hold the lighter over him. “Just how fast do you think you’ll go up in flame?”

  The cocky man who entered his office is gone. Alexei keeps swallowing, and I think he’s desperately trying to hold back vomit.

  “There’s alcohol on you,” he says. “If you drop that on me, I’ll make sure you catch fire as well.”

  I flash him an indulgent smile. “You think I’m scared of death? Goldstein’s been informing you on my health. You know how advanced my cancer is,” I say. “The king can’t stop it. I might be squandering … oh, a few months if you do manage to kill me. But you know just as well as I do that with cancer, the final months are the worst.

  “You, on the other hand,” I continue conversationally, “probably have decades left.” My gaze moves back to the flame. “I’ve heard death by fire is the worst way to go.”

  I let him see my eyes. My empty, empty eyes. I am the result of a life of loss. This is what happens when you live through every fear you’ve ever owned.

  “Please,” he says.

  “Please what?”

  “I don’t want to die.”

  I stare down at him. My hand is practically shaking from the need to drop the lighter on his body and see him go up in flame. Vengeance is whispering in my ear, and it’s such a seductive lover.

  “Who else?” I ask.

  He’s looking at me with confusion.

  “Who else is in on it?” I doubt his word is any good, but every once in a while someone squeals who’s actually telling the truth the first time around.

  He opens his mouth, but before he has a chance to talk, we both hear footfalls approaching the door.

  “This could end very badly for you depending on who enters,” I say.

  Several seconds later the door bursts open. I shouldn’t be surprised when I see Montes, but I am. Sometimes I forget just how resourceful my husband is. And this time, he’s come alone.

  His eyes take in the scene. He’s seen me kill, but this is the first time he’s ever seen me truly cruel.

  “Do it,” he says.

  My eyes move back to Alexei. He knows he’s a dead man.

  “I’ll tell you everything, just please don’t kill me.”

  And then he begins to list off names.

  Chapter 30

  Serenity

  It’s worse than we imagined.

  The Beast and the royal physician aren’t the only traitors amongst us. There’s a whole ring of them, and most Montes meets with on a daily basis.

  His advisors betrayed him.

  He’d been right all along to begin that witch hunt amongst his councilors. At the time I’d been horrified at the thought of him killing one of them. I’d even saved one from death, an advisor whose guilt the Beast admitted to several hours ago.

  I saved the man who helped plot my assassination. Who facilitated the death of my child.

  I have to work to keep my features expressionless.

  The advisors trickle in, all but Alexei. The king’s newest advisor will never again take his seat, or walk, or eat, or conspire.

  He’s now nothing more than a lump of cooling flesh, and my only regret is that he didn’t die slow enough. Those women he raped and tortured, they deserved better justice than I gave them.

  I pick out a bit of glass from underneath a fingernail. My eyes flick to the king’s remaining advisors. These fuckers, however, we haven’t dealt with. They sit down in their expensive suits and chat idly as they wait for the king.

  Next to me, Montes lounges in his chair, watching them all, a small smile on his face. He’s utterly still—no bouncing legs, no drumming fingers. Whatever fuels my husband, he doesn’t waste it on tells. Not even that vein in his temple throbs at the moment.

  Suddenly, Montes’s chair screeches as he slides it back. He stands, bracing his hands against the table.

  The room falls silent.

  “For the longest time I believed the Resistance was behind the attacks on Serenity’s life,” he begins. “But a king has many enemies.” His gaze moves over his advisors, and the men eye one another uneasily.

  The door to the conference room opens, and the king’s soldiers storm inside. They head up either side of the conference table, boxing the advisors in.

  It’s a nice show of force; the soldiers even have their guns out.

  “Half of you have committed high treason. Traitors do not get the benefit of a fair trial. I am your judge, jury, and executioner.”

  I glance over at Montes.

  Executioner?

  I’m about to stand when the officers aim their guns. It all happens so quickly. I only have a second to take in everyone’s shock before half a dozen guns go off at the same time.

  I jerk back at the deafening sound. Blood sprays across the room and mists in the air.

  Foreheads and eyes are missing from a handful of the world’s evilest men. The smell of meat and gun smoke fills the room as their bodies slump over. The rest of the councilors stare at their dead comrades with horror.

  I draw in one shallow breath, then another.

  Slowly I turn my head to Montes. He meets my gaze, and I see rather than hear him say, “I did what I had to do to keep you safe.” And then he leads me out of the room.

  He’s holding my upper arm, and I realize it’s because I’m weaving. I’m so goddamn tired.

  I shrug his hand off me and walk ahead of him.

  He grabs my arm again. “I did that for you—and for our … child.” He can barely even say it, now that it’s gone. For once we actually created someone rather than destroyed them. In a sea of old experiences, this is a new, intimate one, and it binds us together in a way that nothing else can.

  “I’m not mad,” I say, weary. “I wanted them to die. Horribly.” That’s the problem. “I don’t want to be that ruler, Montes. I don’t want to be what you’ve become.”

  Not twenty-four hours later we get wind that the rest of Montes’s advisors—as well as several of his staff, including Dr. Goldstein—have fled the king’s palace. The next day, the ki
ng’s intel alert us to their whereabouts.

  South America.

  The land of Luca Estes and now over a dozen more traitors.

  The king’s council has dissolved. I’ll never have to attend another ridiculous dinner party with his men because they’re either dead, or they’ve absconded to the wilds of the West.

  Montes and I are all that’s left of his inner circle: two enemies brought together by war and bound by peace. I was wrong when I believed that the king and the Resistance were two sides of the same coin; in reality, it’s the king and I who are. The East and the West, the conqueror and the conquered. We complement each other nicely in all things, even ruling.

  Montes and I sit next to each other in his cavernous map room. He hasn’t taken down the assassinated men or his intricate war strategies plotted out across the map. I eye the web of thread and the crossed out faces with unconcealed disgust.

  “It still bothers you?” Montes asks, not looking up from the paper he’s reading.

  “It will always bother me.” But tearing down distasteful wallpaper is a battle for another day.

  Our thighs brush as I return my attention to the latest reports, and concentrating on work becomes a task in itself.

  “All seven of your advisors have been spotted in South America,” I say, once we’ve gone through the documents.

  They hadn’t just been spotted in South America, they’d been spotted near the former city of Salvador. It’s awfully close to a Resistance stronghold and the city of Morro de São Paulo, where the king and I nearly lost our lives.

  Too close.

  The vein in Montes’s temple throbs, and one of his hands is curled into a fist so tightly his knuckles are white.

  “Alexei gave us the wrong names.” The Beast’s final bit of treason.

  The last laugh is on Montes—or us, rather, since I’m involved in this feud as well. Alexei tricked the king into killing his honest advisors.