The Queen of Traitors (The Fallen World Book 2) (19 page)

Chapter 28

Serenity

Long after Montes
and I finish, I lay in bed awake.

Outside our windows, the night is dark. The city gives off no light, and for once it feels like the darkness is pressing in on me, rather than beckoning me away.

Next to me the king’s breaths are deep and even.

My throat works as I gaze at the ceiling.

Event one—the king’s palace comes under siege. I lose my memory in the process. Event two—I catch a strain of plague concocted in one of the king’s laboratories, a laboratory nations away. A strain of plague no one else catches. Event three—the stabbing. Again meant solely for me. Event four—an ambush meant to end my life and the king’s.

Four events spread over a couple months. All of them took place in areas the king deemed safe. All around people the king trusted.

There’s a traitor amongst us.

My heart beats faster. The more I mull over it, the surer I am. No average Resistance member could know where the king’s blast door was, the door Marco and I never made it inside. Nor could an average Resistance member know our movements enough to try to stab me or ambush me and the king. And to acquire and transfer a super virus like the plague—for that, one would need a scientist or, perhaps, a doctor …

I bolt upright in bed.

Dr. Goldstein? Is it possible?

A terrible, terrible thought clutches me. On the evening of my coronation, I had a miscarriage.

Panic seizes up my lungs.

What if … ?

The king reaches for me in his sleep, murmuring something. I move out from under his hand.

I need to know.

I slip out of bed, dress, and leave our room.

My boots click against the marble floors as I stride down the hall.

I touch the gun I holstered to my side. If what I fear is true, there is no place my enemies can hide where I won’t find them.

It takes me almost ten minutes to reach the royal medical facilities, which are housed belowground. Even here guards are stationed along the hallways. They look on, impassive, as I pass them.

Ahead of me are two double doors. When I reach them, they’re locked shut, but next to the door is a fingerprint scanner. I place my thumb against the surface. In theory, being queen essentially grants me access to anywhere I want to go, but this is the first time I’m actually testing that power.

A light next to the scanner blinks green and the door unlocks.

I don’t question my luck.

I flip the lights on, and a moment later the fluorescent bulbs flicker to life.

The royal medical facilities are some strange hybrid of hospital and palace. The walls have gilded molding and the floors are made of marble, but the smell of the place is exactly what you’d find in any hospital.

The soles of my boots sound deafening against the floor, but there’s no one here to startle.

I’m looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. The chances of finding anything are slim, but I won’t fall back asleep again until I know for sure whether the doctor has been compromised.

I move through the first set of sterile rooms towards the labs, using another thumbprint scanner to make my way into another room.

I hear the hum before I see the Sleeper. This machine holds none of the answers I seek. Still, I feel compelled to approach the hated device.

Over the last several months, I’d been in one of these things longer than I’d been out of it. At the end of this particular Sleeper is a window, similar to a porthole on a ship.

I hesitate. The machine’s on; I have no idea what I’ll see if I peer through that glass pane, and I’m not here to sightsee. But curiosity gets the better of me. Who else is important enough to incubate in one of these coffins?

My shoes click as I near it, I tilt my head and peer down.

I inhale sharply.

Dear God.

I recognize the dark, close-cropped hair and that hateful face that’s so serene at the moment. I watched that very face kill my father, and then, later, himself.

Marco, the king’s former right hand.

He’s supposed to be dead.

But apparently he’s not.

My hands began
to tremble. First the king’s immortality, now this—resurrecting a dead man from his grave. Where I come from, things are simple: you live, you age, and then you die—in that order.

I back away.

This is unnatural. More than that, it’s wrong.

“I see you found Marco.”

I’m reaching for my gun before I fully recognize the king’s voice.

When I turn, he’s carefully watching me. His hair is swept back; he wears slacks and another button-down, the sleeves rolled to his elbows like he’s ready to get his hands dirty.

Had he watched me as I dressed? Waited for me to leave before he dared to follow? I keep forgetting that no one can even sneeze in this place without the king learning of it. And when it comes to me, he always wants to learn.

“You sick bastard,” I whisper. “What have you done?”

The king steps up to my side, but his eyes are focused on the Sleeper. “He was my oldest, most loyal friend.” He touches the glass fondly, his eyes sad. “When you and Marco were sealed off—and then I found out that at least one of you was dead—” he shakes his head, “I wasn’t willing to lose either of you.”

“You can’t change these things,” I say.

Montes is shaking his head. “Do you remember what I told you?”

I furrow my brows.

“So long as the brain survives, the Sleeper can save him.”

“Marco put a bullet in his brain. I saw him do it. By your own logic, Montes, the Sleeper can’t revive him.”

“You’re right,” the king says, leaning against the machine. “The man you’re staring at is a vegetable. My friend is gone.”

I shouldn’t be affected by how desolate his voice is. Not after witnessing this.

I don’t bother asking how Montes secured Marco’s body. The king has his ways; if he wants something badly enough, he’ll get it. I’m firsthand proof of that.

“Would you do this to me?” I nod to the Sleeper. “Leave me in one of these things rather than letting me die?”

This is an important question because I
am
dying.

The king doesn’t say anything, just continues to gaze down at his fallen friend.

“Montes, would you do this to me?” I repeat.

His eyes flick to mine. And then very deliberately, he turns on his heel and walks away.

I stand there
for several seconds, processing that. I hear the far doors open and close. My husband left me with his silence. And in that silence, I have my answer.

Heaven help me, that was a yes.

He’d shove me into one of these coffins and prevent my body from dying.

Now I’m faced with the very real prospect that at some point in the near future, I’m going to need to take matters into my own hands. I rub my eyes. My heart’s heavy.

After every sacrifice I’ve made, must I make this one too? Is it wrong to not want immortality? That the price I’d have to pay would be too steep?

My hand drops. I stare down at Marco as unease settles low in my belly. Had he known the king would do this? Had he rejected the idea as well? Was that why he took the bullet instead of the serum?

I force myself away from the device. I didn’t come here to ponder Montes’s plans. I wanted answers.

I begin rifling through everything. No one comes back for me—not Montes, not the guards. I’m sure someone’s got eyes on me, but I don’t much care.

I move out of the lab and deeper inside the facility. Back here the doors have bronze name plates fastened to them. I stop when I come to Goldstein’s.

Using the thumb scanner, I enter his office.

Stacks of charts sit in piles around the doctor’s desk. But it’s the one sitting right in front of his computer that captures my attention.

It’s mine. I read my name clearly along the tab.

Serenity F. Lazuli

On the front, a note’s been paper clipped to it. I pick up the folder and begin to flip through it. The first page appears to be a form for a prescription. The only thing that’s written in at the bottom of it are two drugs I can barely pronounce.

Behind this page are the latest readouts from the Sleeper, mostly x-rays of my brain and body. The doctor’s gone through and circled certain sections. Malignant tumors, by the looks of them. Not that I know anything about this. I was trained to kill, not to heal.

As I flip through the x-rays, they appear time lapsed. Each gets smaller, but then, the dates get older. My eyebrows pinch together.

That can’t be right. I spent weeks upon fucking weeks in the Sleeper in an attempt to reduce these. The machine might not be able to cure cancer, but it can remove a tumor.

I recheck the dates. My eyes aren’t deceiving me; my cancer hasn’t been treated.

If anything, it’s been expedited.

Chapter 29

Serenity

A shaky hand
goes to my mouth. The warm breath of anger is pushing against my shock, and I welcome it. Dr. Goldstein tricked me and Montes.

An inside man.

I need to find the good doctor, but first I have to figure out the depth of the deception.

I fold the x-rays and scans in half and shove them into the back of my waistband. Carefully I put my file back on the desk where I found it.

My eyes move to the note paper-clipped to the front of the file.

I grab a pen and notepad from the doctor’s desk and scribble down the series of numbers written on the note, followed by the medication I read on the first page of my file. Once I finish, I rip the sheet of paper from the notepad and, clutching it in my hand, I leave the palace’s medical facility.

But I don’t go back to my room. Instead I head to the office I’ve been using here in Geneva.

I sit down at my desk and boot up my computer. Time to find out what else the good doctor’s been up to.

The King

Serenity never came
back to find me. I’m pissed, both at her refusal to simply accept her situation and at my own burgeoning dependency on her.

Two hours after I left her, I leave my office. I thought that work—rather than lying in bed awake—would better take my mind off of her; I was wrong.

I’m going to find my wife, and then I’m going to make her understand that I am not a monster for wanting her to live.

I head for the medical facility, almost dreading the possibility that she’s still there.

She has to know that I won’t give her up to death. For Christ’s sakes, she should be more desperate to live than I am. Why would she want it to all end when she knows I have the power to keep her alive, and that, one day soon, I’ll have the power to cure her of her cancer?

Another thought chills my blood: what if she’s already tried to kill herself?

She’s the furthest thing from depressed, but if she got it in her head that she had to take her own life, she would. Without hesitation. It wouldn’t be suicide to her; it’d be a mercy killing.

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.