61. Isabel
Chapter sixty-one
Isabel
I materialized along the coast of the lake several hundred paces northeast of Cradle. I threw myself into the water and caked mud into my hair. It took a few minutes of struggling, but I managed to rip my dress in several places. I tossed one shoe into the lake and hobbled back onto shore. When I stepped within a hundred paces of the outer buildings, I forced myself to sob loudly.
“HELP! Please, somebody help me!” I called out, more wail than cry. I didn’t want to look too weak—Alfred would never buy that—so I called a ball of flame and sent it high into the air.
Men in uniform, bows nocked and ready, poured out of the town. When the first one recognized me, he shouted to the others, “It’s the Queen! Get a Healer!”
I allowed myself to be swept away by a brawny soldier with a handlebar mustache. He kept asking if I was all right, practically knocking me unconscious with his putrid breath. I winced every time he spoke and covered my mouth and nose, feigning exhaustion. A few malodorous moments later, the man laid me out on the King’s bed.
Alfred hovered.
A desperate, worried look creased his face.
“Issy!” He dropped to his knees and gripped my hand. “Issy, are you okay? Talk to me.”
Spirits, this might be easier than I thought.
I feigned disorientation. “I’m—where am I? Alfred?”
“You’re here with me in the inn. You’re safe, thank the Spirits.” Tears dribbled down his cheeks.
What a weak little moron. Time to twist the knife.
“Alfred . . . I’m so cold. Where’s Justin? Where’s my baby?” I ran my fingers down his face, wiping the tears from one side.
The King choked up even more. “Issy . . . he’s . . . I . . . I didn’t stop him. Oh, Issy . . .”
I bolted upright and threw off his hand, my voice growing suddenly stern. “What do you mean, ‘you didn’t stop him’? What have you done, Alfred ?”
The King lost himself.
I reached into a pocket sewn on the inside of my robe and removed a vial filled with clear liquid, then bent to smooth his hair. I forced my voice into a soothing balm. “Here, sweet husband, drink this. It will calm your nerves and let you sleep. I will find our boy. ”
Alfred barely glanced at the vial as he downed the potion and rubbed his eyes. Before I could stop him, he wrapped me in his arms and held me for several interminable minutes. I was only able to free myself when his arms went limp.
Lifting Alfred onto the bed proved more challenging than anything I had done that day. I removed his shoes and coat, then positioned him on his back as though he had decided to nap.
Now, I needed to find a way back across that blasted lake.
I crept to the door and peered out. Two guards flanked either side.
“The King is sleeping. Get me High Chancellor Thorn. Now!”
The guards startled, and one ran to fulfill my wish.
When the door creaked open and Danai entered, I rose from my chair by the fireplace. Danai bowed, then glanced toward the King with a questioning brow.
“He can’t hear us.” Fire bloomed in my eyes. “I need you to get a message to the temple. Tell them to prepare again, immediately . Tell them I will return in three hours to complete the ceremony. Then, I need you to get me on a boat and across to the other side.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Right away.” He made to turn.
“No, Danai. Do the communication here. Speak your Telepathy. I want to hear every word. ”
He blanched, then nodded and reached out to the mind of the chief priest in the temple. He spoke my message, both aloud and in the cleric’s mind.
“Good. I need that boat and two men we can trust. I will be at the docks in fifteen minutes.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. Won’t that look suspicious?”
“Let tongues wag. The world will see everything after this ceremony.” He flinched beneath my grin. “The time for skulking in the shadows has passed. Now, go!”
Danai fled the room.
He would do my bidding. He was the only man alive who knew what I was capable of—what I would do for power. He would never cross me, the pompous little weasel.
I gathered a few things from my dresser, straightened my hair again, and turned to walk out. My eyes drifted to my husband’s prone form.
It would take these fools hours to realize he wasn’t asleep.
Plenty of time to change the world.
I straightened my crimson robe and donned my mask of flesh, then stormed into the ceremonial chamber. The hall had been thoroughly cleansed and reset. Only a handful of high-ranking priests attended me now, as every other Child was armed and positioned outside the building, ensuring there would be no further interruption.
I turned to the priest standing closest to the base of the stage and ordered, “Get him in here. Now!”
The man scurried to the corner of the room and yanked a tasseled cord. A heartbeat later, the bronze doors at the far end parted, revealing three silhouettes.
My throat clenched at the sight of Justin’s head hanging limply to the side. I never wanted to involve him, but there was no choice now. Between Alfred’s stupidity and my people’s incompetence, Jess was no longer in my possession, and nothing, not even my baby boy, would stand in my way.
The men dragged Justin forward at a deliberate pace, minding the ritual’s mandate to the letter. I strummed my fingernails against the back of the throne, tapping in time with the drums.
The priests’ humming swelled.
The drums beat faster and louder.
Moments later—moments that felt like hours—Justin and his escorts stood before the throne.
The Prince’s eyes drifted open.
“Where am I? What’s going on?” He looked down at his golden robe with the Phoenix stitched across his chest .
“Honored Vessel, the heir.” The fox, the traditional escort for every ritual, spoke.
“E vesh Irina!” Those assembled chanted the phrase, then returned to their discordant melody.
“Heir? I’m not the heir to anything. What’s going on?” Justin struggled against his escorts as they forced him onto the throne.
The fox shoved a crown on Justin’s head and stepped back.
I stepped to stand before him.
My voice was that of a scholar instructing an ignorant child. “The King is dead. Your sister is Queen. You are the heir.”
Justin’s mouth fell open. His eyes darted about, then widened as the voice—
“Mother?” he gaped. “What—”
Before a sob could take me, I whispered, “I’m so sorry,” then plunged the ceremonial dagger into his heart.
He shuddered and gasped, then stilled.
I stared down at my hand. The bloody blade clattered to the cold stones below.
What have I done?
My eyes found Justin’s vacant stare, and waves of anguish gripped my soul. I drew my bleeding, lifeless boy to my heaving chest. His weight fought against me, but I clung to him with a mother’s ferocity.
My hand pressed his head into my shoulder .
I stroked his hair.
The scent I could never forget, learned from my child’s first breath, drifted into me. I drew it in, held it with all my strength, willed it to never leave. With an exhale, it was gone, and my sobs grew.
The world froze as I held the limp shell of my beautiful boy.
After an eternity of tears, I tore myself away, seized the crown from his head, and turned toward the priests. As Justin’s spirit drifted away, I lowered the crown onto my brow, and the seventh diamond flared to life.
I raised my hands above my head and screamed, “E vesh Irina!”
Wind swirled and whistled throughout the room.
Drums beat louder and faster.
The refrain of the Children became cries of wicked ecstasy.
Massive gears that hadn’t budged in a thousand years began to grind, screeching through the stone hall.
The ceiling far above crept open, revealing a bright, moonlit sky.
No longer concerned with a mother’s love—or love of any other—I tossed my son’s shell aside and settled onto the throne.
Stone tore from stone as the entire stage uprooted and began to rise.
The priests stumbled back .
The dais soared high above the building’s roof before grinding to a halt. I surveyed the robed figures gaping up at me, and I screamed down, “E vesh Irina.”
They answered my call, repeating the phrase again . . . and again.
Their chanting froze when the orb held aloft by the statue towering above and behind me flared, its crimson light coating the night sky in blood. The orb shattered into a thousand shards as the glow within flared brighter, then streaked from the statue’s palm to hover before me.
I spread my arms wide and opened my mouth.
The scarlet flame rushed in.
My head snapped backward, and I released a primal cry.
The figures below wailed.
When the glow faded, the woman formerly known as Isabel, Queen of the Kingdom of Spires, gazed down at the sycophantic mob and bellowed three simple words.
“I am returned!”
Thank you.