Chapter 23 Queen Takes Queen #2
It’s the kapha’s own magic that will be the reason for its death.
And I feel a sick sweetness in being the one who gets to dole it.
My feet press into the world like roots.
My arms extend, and trees shoot up from the ground beside me.
As if I am the wielder of life itself. The thorns push out from every inch of skin; they coat my arms, my legs and hands, down my spine.
The blood trickles, from neck to shoulder, but the pain is nothing against this peace.
My trees pull on the kapha’s arms, forcing them apart. Desdemona falls first. Then, the sword tumbles beside an unconscious Leiholan.
My heart races as if I’m running from the monster itself, all while I pull it apart. Two trees hold onto the kapha, keeping it down.
Quickly, I pick up the sword.
I lift it over my head.
And as I sink the blade into the kapha’s chest, I understand Ma for the first time.
There is something glorious about the kill.
I am more than a mender.
I am stronger than a murder.
I am the very giving and taking of life.
I carve the blade down the kapha’s body. Blood sprays on my face. Organs spill on my feet. The sight, the feeling, it’s too powerful. I don’t know what I do next, only that when I’m done, the sword is buried to the hilt. The blade sticks through the other end of the monster.
But the kapha isn’t dead. In its last moments, that dark swirling gaze meets mine. It sees through me, understands me. It knows what I am.
Because it does to me what I do to others.
With a final, twisted flourish, the kapha reaches out, and it controls its prey.
The agony of the monster’s last moments are transmitted into me, a thousand times over. The dread of death, sharp and suffocating, pulses through my veins. It’s as if I’m drowning in it, the weight of its terror crushing me from the inside out.
I fall to the floor, trying to catch my guts before they spill.
Trying to stop my mind from calling out: Desdemona.
The kapha wants her help—her saving.
Slowly, oh so slowly, the kapha takes its last breath, and with it, it finally releases me. My head crashes to the floor. Have I cracked my skull open against the packed soil?
My vision swims, the world blurring as I sink into it—unable to escape, unable to breathe.
Desdemona’s cries fill the air around me, singing me to sleep. I can’t do anything more. I have nothing more to give. She shouts, cries. I look at her holding a very near dead Leiholan, and I wonder: Who are you, Desdemona?
I realize, too late, that she’s looking at me, asking for something. Her hands are in front of me for the taking. For a moment, I stay silent, staring at her flesh.
Then I peel off my glove and, while wondering what she is expecting me to do with her hands, I hold them. An idea blossoms in my mind.
I meet her gaze, her pliant pupils.
“You will answer my questions, but they do not mean anything to you,” I say. “You will not wish to recall these questions. Do you understand?”
Desdemona’s eyes gloss over, glazed. Her will, gone. A blank slate for the taking.
“I will answer, and I won’t care.”
I look at Leiholan, fully aware that he could bleed out while I get my answers.
But one man’s life isn’t worth a universe. If this is how I can save us all, I would let him die. I would let anyone die.
“That isn’t true,” the boy interrupts.
Immediately, I think he’s right. My eyes drift down to Leiholan’s missing leg. It’s too similar to Ma.
It’s too similar.
“What did the kapha want?” I ask Desdemona quickly.
Her mouth opens and from it comes a string of words, similar to the prophecy. “‘For you, pain awaits. Free me and accept. Your fire draws you closer to my home.’ That’s what it told me, but what it wants, I didn’t understand.”
“Told you?”
“Yes, it spoke to me,” she answers.
“But you are not its controller?” I clarify.
“No.”
“Who is?”
“I don’t know.”
Something else ties them together. But as Leiholan groans, I know the boy was right. I won’t be the death of him. Though, I hardly have the energy to hold my body, let alone save a life.
I twist to Desdemona. “Give me your energy.”
Desdemona closes her eyes, doing as I ask.
She channels her power to me, moving through my body like a line of fire. I nearly cry out in pain as my blood heats, sure that there are boils forming on my skin.
Desdemona’s hands fall from my grasp, and in the blink of an eye, she regains control of her consciousness. Without a word, we pick up Leiholan, carrying him to the infirmary. His blood splashes down my ankle, but I hardly recognize the feeling.
My mind is occupied with the monsters, the prophecy, everything but the blood smearing on my hands.
We hand Leiholan off to the healers—each Eunoia looking at my blood stained clothes in shock, then acceptance.
They think all I did was save Leiholan.
They do not know I killed a monster.
Why is the first more acceptable than the latter, when killing the monster is how I saved him?
The second I can, I leave, weakly stumbling through the halls.
“Come to me,” the boy says. If the circumstances were only slightly different, I would ignore him.
But he took too much from me today.
I crash against the marble walls, my back cracking against the pressure. I slide down, closing my eyes. The boy is in front of me in the hallway, but the walls are muddy. Instead of beige marble, they’re dark brown blobs, nearly black.
Like a child painted the landscape.
Rising, I grab the collar of the boy’s shirt. It’s looser than usual, like the shirt isn’t a real shirt at all. I release it, shoving him into the wall and holding my forearm to his chest.
“You’re the reason Desdemona is still breathing!” I scream.
He is not fazed by my violence. How could he be? He is a figment of my imagination. This scene is not real.
It never was.
“If I cannot be a person, I will be your conscience.”
“I have a conscience!” Much too large of a conscience.
“What would you have done if Desdemona died? Could you have beaten the kapha on your own? The very peace the kapha bestowed upon her in death is the reason you could continue the fight.”
I don’t answer.
“And what of Leiholan?” the boy asks. “You said you’d allow one man to die to save the universe, and that’s almost what happened. For one simple reason: he was there.”
Shaking my head, I take a step back as a tear falls from my eye. Only, in my mind, the tear does not tumble down my cheek. It moves before me, creating a bubble between me and the boy. Smudging the already blurry lines of the make believe.
The very manifestation of my unease.
“Don’t.”
“I don’t have to. You know what being close to Azaire will do.” The boy reaches a hand to my cheek. “It’s what happens to everyone who gets too close.”
The words—my own words—haunt me. Leiholan was there, and because of that, he almost died. Because I brought him there, he almost met his end. For the simple reason that he was in my presence.
The same way that Azaire is bound to be in my presence one day. One bad day is enough to end it all. Just like Ma. Just like Xander.
For a moment, I lean into the boy’s touch. I feel at home with him, and in the midst of this storm, all I need is four walls of comfort.
A roof of relief.
“Everyone but me.” The boy touches his forehead to mine, his thumb stroking my cheek as our noses brush. Our eyes meet. His voice is tender. “It’s always been you and me.”
I nod against him, and he doesn’t move. He just holds me close.
“I know.”
“Do it,” the boy responds, his voice wholly consoling. There isn’t an ounce of animosity. “Do what you must with him before you come to me.”
I shake my head, feeling his nose against mine for one final second before opening my eyes. I force myself away from the marble wall, walking down the hallway once more as the tears tangle in my eyelashes, blurring my vision.
In the corner of my mind, I think, I’m not going to come to you.
And I wonder if he can hear such an obvious lie.