23. Elena #2
“Boring,” Clara mutters. “What I want to know is what we’re doing to actually get Oksana. And Wendell, the traitorous rat.”
Ruslan doesn’t look at her when he speaks. “Whatever is decided, it needs to be ten steps ahead. She already is.”
Clara turns on him, brow arched. “Not surprised the Russians want to sit back.”
He finally looks at her, expression cool. “And it’s typical that the British want to run headfirst into a fight without a plan. That’s how you lose, no?”
“You—”
“Enough.”
Alexei’s voice cracks through the air like a whip. “This isn’t a sparring match. It’s war. And the last thing we need is fractures within our own team. Understood?”
A chorus of nods follows.
Alexei moves immediately into command mode, laying out orders, intelligence consolidation, asset redeployment, pressure on financial channels, and covert sweeps through known proxy regions. Defensive lines tightening. Offensive pieces sliding quietly into place.
The meeting winds down not with relief, but resolve.
Chairs scrape back. Screens go dark. One by one, they file out, purpose sharp in every step.
I remain seated for a moment longer, hands resting on the table, feeling the weight of the board we’re about to tip.
Oksana wants me to move.
So be it.
Let her see what happens when I do.
Hannah’s room is alive in a way the rest of the palace isn’t.
Her voice carries first, animated, breathless, her hands cutting through the air as she recounts her ordeal for what I suspect is the third or fourth time.
Zoe sits perched at the edge of the bed, utterly rapt, chin lifted, eyes bright with the kind of fascination that borders on reverence.
Abby stands nearby, arms crossed loosely, smiling in that tight, relieved way of someone who’s already replayed the worst-case scenarios and survived them.
No wonder Braydon is waiting outside.
When I step inside, Hannah’s entire face lights up.
“El!” she squeals, like I’m a miracle she didn’t expect to see again so soon.
Zoe turns at the same time, expression softening instantly. “My dear girl,” she says, already moving toward me.
She stops short, gives me a slow, long once-over, eyes sharp, missing nothing, then pulls me into a hug that smells faintly of incense and old paper. Her arms are warm. Grounding.
“How are you?” she asks into my hair.
“I’m okay.”
She pulls back enough to look at me, one brow lifting in a way that speaks volumes. Are you actually okay, or is this the answer you give as queen?
I smile at Hannah and Abby. “Do you mind if I steal Zoe for a bit? I’ll be back later to check on you.”
Hannah waves me off immediately. “Go. She’s been dying to interrogate you anyway.”
Zoe snorts softly but lets me guide her out.
The library is quiet when we enter, the heavy door closing behind us with a decisive click. Sunlight slants through the tall windows. Zoe doesn’t speak at first. She studies me quietly.
She’s dressed like she always is, an ankle-length strap dress, loose and flowing, patterned with faded browns and pressed flowers. Earthy. Unbothered. Like she belongs more to the forest than to marble halls.
Her gaze sharpens. “You’ve looked better,” she comments at last.
“Thanks,” I reply dryly.
She tilts her head. “What’s going on?”
I exhale and tell her. About Oksana. The tunnels. The rose pendant. The photo, the cracked frame, the two girls frozen in time. How the pieces slid together with a terrible kind of clarity.
“The vision had been a clue,” I say quietly. “The photo…it was my mother. And Oksana. Something happened. She left at fourteen and cut ties with everyone.”
Zoe goes still, fingers coming to rest at her chin as she thinks.
“Has my mother tried to reach you at all?” I ask.
She shakes her head, sadness flickering across her face. “No.”
My teeth catch my bottom lip. The words weigh heavily before I let them go. “There’s more.”
Her brow lifts. “More?”
I tell her.
About the bullet. The darkness. Waking between worlds.
Seeing my parents again, whole, radiant.
And then Inanna. Ancient and immense and unknowable.
I watch Zoe closely as I speak, cataloguing every reaction: the widening of her eyes, the slow tilt of her head, the way her lips part at the part where Inanna speaks of a fall. One will fall. No name. No mercy.
“And then,” I finish, voice quieter now, “she came back. After she said she wouldn’t. She said I alone could make a decision that could bring suffering to the world.”
Silence stretches between us.
I study her face, bracing myself. Finally, I let out a shaky breath. “Well. It’s finally happened. You think I’m crazy.”
Zoe snorts. “I talk to the dead for a living. I’m hardly in a position to judge.”
I swallow. “Do you believe me?”
She smiles then, soft and certain. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that nothing in your life is ever simple, or coincidental.”
My voice cracks. “I don’t know what to do.”
She makes a soft tsk sound and takes my hands. “Nonsense. You always know what to do. You collect the clues. You put the pieces together.” Her eyes sharpen. “You figured out the photo. That means it leads to something else. Tell me again, every fragment.”
I close my eyes briefly, then open them.
“A kneeling silhouette in the snow. Faceless, but important. A chessboard without the king. My crown, half-buried in frozen earth. And a scream. A scream so raw it feels like my heart stops trying to beat.” I sigh heavily.
“The chessboard,” I add slowly. “They tried to destroy Alexei by calling him a traitor. When that failed, they tried to drown him. But he lives. The king remains.”