Chapter 23 Queen Takes Queen
Queen Takes Queen
I
’m watching Desdemona; she’s watching the monster drift toward us.
A giant creature with four elongated limbs and a tail dragging along the ground.
Its body billows like smoke, flickering between transparency and solidity—unreal, then real.
It towers over Desdemona by at least two heads, staring down at her with unreadable intent.
If there was somebody I could tell this to, they’d never believe me.
Because I swear to the gods, Desdemona is communicating with the monster.
Her eyes are locked with its hollow, swirling gaze—somewhere beneath the darkness it’s shrouded in—as though she’s listening to some silent, unspeakable sound.
The kapha reaches for her, its movements slow, almost tender, like it’s afraid to startle her.
Like they’re on the same team.
There’s no way I can fight both a Fire Folk and a kapha.
I take a deep breath, calling to the nearest tree. I feel the thorns pricking through my skin; the very possibility of them haunts me. I push past the sharp sting of fear, reaching for the tree with an arm that exists only in my mind—and stretching it far beyond my shoulder would ever let it go.
The air hums, wrapping itself around my senses as my feet solidify beneath me.
The power is overwhelming, grounding me, rooting me so deep into the world.
I’ve become part of the very trunk itself.
With a heavy sweep of my arm, the branches surge forward, curling tightly around the kapha’s four arms.
With a tired heart, I summon another tree, its bark groaning as it twists upward from the ground.
It’s a lethargic thing, the branches stretching wide after being rooted down for so long—like it’s no different than a child waking from a long night’s rest. My limbs feel nimble, as if I, too, have been stationary for centuries.
But despite its groans of protest, the tree heeds my commands.
Branches wind around the monster’s torso, pulling tighter than the last, holding the kapha still.
Then, almost instinctively, another one of my trees begins to stretch toward Desdemona. I hesitate—I haven’t decided what I’ll do with her yet.
Before I can, Desdemona turns to face me.
“Thanks,” she mutters, breathing heavily as the kapha wails behind her. Its loose limbs yank and twist against the bark of my tree, but they don’t break. Not yet. The tree holds steadily onto life.
Though I fear the monster is getting close. The breakage brews in my bones. The carnage curls in my stomach.
The pain of the tree I brought to life.
“We need to drain its blood,” I say, hoping—praying—that killing the kapha is truly what Desdemona intends.
To my relief, she nods. I can’t shake the worry that it’s just for show.
“Go to Leiholan,” she tells me.
For a moment, my worries fade, replaced by a rush of excitement at the thought of stepping into the combat room.
But that excitement is fleeting.
Behind Desdemona, I hear it—the sickening crack. The kapha breaks through the barrier of bark, its smoke-like limbs tearing free. I feel the tree’s agony as if it’s my own, a sharp, jagged pain ripping me apart.
Like a knife plunging in my stomach and yanking down, tearing my torso in two.
The kapha charges, legs dangling above the ground as four arms reach toward me. Its movements are faster now, more focused, and yet again I wonder: what does it want?
Because it didn’t attack Desdemona. It talked to her.
“Go!” she shouts.
I run, nearly tripping on overgrown roots. The pain of the tree buds in my torso. But my curiosity for Desdemona is more ferocious than any ache.
Once I turn the corner, I lean against the academy wall, waiting for the pain to pass, but more importantly, searching for an answer.
I close my eyes, my gaze swiveling behind my eyelids. There are so many emotions, materializing as spots of light, overtaking the darkness. But one is certain: Desdemona feels a familiarity with this creature—an interest in the monster.
When I open my eyes, I stare into the garden before me. The kapha has no intention to hunt me—it hardly remembers my existence. The only question now is: do I want to go back there? If the kapha isn’t going to hurt Desdemona, then she doesn’t need me.
But I don’t know it isn’t going to hurt her.
And yet, if it does, that’s a problem solved—a prophecy avoided.
If it doesn’t, and she survives this, then I may never know what the kapha wants from her.
The garden blurs into a watercolor mess. I think I understand why. Despite my attempts at murder, I know if Desdemona dies out there, I will be guilty.
I will be complicit.
It’s the answer I asked of the boy not that long ago. It shouldn’t matter, but it means the entire world to me.
If my actions lead to a death, does that make me the killer?
Yes.
Yes, yes, yes.
It would.
It does.
I want to know what the kapha wants.
I want to hold onto some idea of innocence, I think.
Running again, my shoes skid on the marble floor when I reach the academy. As I enter the combat room, Leiholan sits in the corner drinking, and my eyes land on the display of weapons in the back.
His eyes meet mine—confused, but not overly so.
“Kapha.” I heave a breath. “We need help.”
Leiholan nods like it’s a secret language only he understands. He runs to the back of the room, immediately alert, as if he has been waiting for someone to tell him they need him.
He searches the armory in seconds, the movements a blur of superspeed.
“Where?” he asks, grabbing a rusted blade—old. It must have the type of metal needed to kill a kapha. Every monster can be killed only one way, lest their magic bring them back to life.
“Zola’s circle.”
Leiholan sheathes the blade, grabs me around the back, and races toward the fountain. We’re there in seconds, and what I see is not what I expected.
Desdemona is touching the kapha. I look to Leiholan, searching for a companion in my suspicion. He, like everyone else, is oddly protective of this girl.
My stomach churns with power as I pull another tree from the ground, its roots growing into legs. The tree moves like a sentient being toward the monster. Its roots shift and creak with a life of their own. It takes every ounce of my strength to keep it upright, alive, and moving.
My heart races. The trees pulse beating inside of me.
Blood drips down my arm, passing over my glove and to the floor, as thorns break through my skin.
My knees wobble, my core gives in. Fatigue feels like dying.
As best as I can, I listen to the kapha. My hands stretch before me, aiming for something I can’t reach. I don’t understand what I reach for or why I do it.
I know only that there is no other option.
This feeling—one that isn’t mine—distracts me from my magic, the life of the tree. The kapha longs for something, but the longing does not belong to it. This is artificially placed, as if this monster is doing a greater monster’s dirty work.
For just a moment, I think of Desdemona. Speaking to it. Touching it.
A greater monster.
There’s a hum of sound—Desdemona and Leiholan speak. My tree keeps the kapha from killing them.
Desdemona couldn’t be the monster—not unless this entire fight is a show.
Each time I push against the kapha, it feels like I’m betraying myself, as if its motives are replacing mine.
Put down your hands, Wendy.
Reach with me, Wendy.
The monster speaks to me through emotion.
The humming in my brain blurs my mind, making it impossible to hear Desdemona and Leiholan. They’re planning something. Leiholan will fight, and Desdemona will not, I’m guessing, by the way they feel.
Leiholan brandishes the sword.
No! I nearly shout. Don’t kill me! I need something.
I try to fight, to pull myself into reality. To release the kapha and read Desdemona. What is she doing here? The monster?
Why is her prophecy the one that will end us all?
But someone is ripping my organs out. First my lungs—I can’t breathe. Next my kidney—I’m going to puke.
Finally my heart—I fall to the floor.
Glancing down, I see my body fully intact.
But my tree has died.
I am dying.
I claw at the floor, my nails digging past the grass and seeping into the cool soil. The sensation wakes me up, but not nearly enough. I push further into the world, begging for something else—any other feeling to hold onto. There is only failure and fear.
From the ground, I watch helplessly as the kapha strangles Leiholan in its arms. Desdemona throws knives at its limbs. When she manages to cut one off, another wraps around Leiholan’s leg. I reach for mine, feeling his breaking bones.
The kapha drags Leiholan across the ground and into its chest. Limbs wrapping him like a blanket, before the Combat teacher disappears entirely.
Devastation weakens my heart.
Desdemona fears he will die.
Soil sinks deeper under my nails. Then, the monster wraps two long arms around Desdemona, coiling her within its body until she’s completely disappeared, like prey being swallowed by a snake.
I take a deep breath, fighting myself to rise. Begging myself to resist before the monster captures me, too.
And suddenly, I feel bliss. Oh, sweet, glorious bliss.
For a moment, I breathe deeply, sinking into the sensation, letting it wash over me. I lie on my back and stare up at the sky, a smile tugging at my lips, as if the world itself has paused to gift me this moment.
I smile while Desdemona suffocates. I’m ready to leave, to give in, to go out. This is bliss—to be able to die.
But I’m not the one dying.
I’m not the one surrendering.
Desdemona is.
The kapha subdues its prey, weaving its will over Desdemona, coaxing her into a false peace, so she doesn’t struggle in her final moments.
To make the kill easier.
Conversely, that very peace fills me. Offers a break from these aching bones. My bloody thorns. For the first time in this entire fight, I take a deep breath—I finally have the mind to.
I rise from the ground.