Was the Queen dead now?
How would the death happen?
As those questions played through her head over and over again, she—
“. . . has arrived! He has arrived!”
Out in the hall, the sound of voices shouting the same thing permeated the dense quiet of the chamber.
Frowning, she picked up the skirting and walked forth—only to remember she couldn’t activate the door to the corridor.
“Will you please open this up?”
“At once, Your Highness.”
The Chief Astrologer rushed forward, placed his palm on the wall, and the panel obligingly retracted.
“. . . Anointed One has arrived!”
It was mad chaos outside, people running and jumping with joy, a celebration breaking out. For a split second, she stood in the doorway, taking it all in—before remembering there was carnage in the circular room behind her.
“Come out here,” she hissed to the Astrologer.
Just as he walked through, the door shut automatically, her presence registered to the multitudes racing up and down the corridor.
Everyone stopped. Dropped to the floor. Prostrated themselves.
As the citizens began to murmur the required greeting to royalty, they clearly assumed she was the current Queen.
While that dawned on her, so did another thought. “Cleansing . . .” She wrenched around and forced herself to keep her voice down. “Oh, stars above, they’re going to cleanse him—quick, we must go unto the high priest!”
The Astrologer didn’t ask any questions. He just followed her as she ran through the palace. Fortunately for them, her presence carried with it a wave of genuflections, what would have been a congested trip freed up by the fact that everybody, from courtier to Primary to servant, hit the floor as soon as they saw her.
AnsLai’s sacred chamber was not far from the ceremonial hall, and when she came to it, she went to put her hand on the wall—but the Astrologer ducked in first and found the spot with his palm.
As the panel slid back, she got a look at a large naked male form stretched out on a black slab of marble, his arms down at his sides, his feet together.
AnsLai was across the way, standing before a fire pit, both palms up to the heavens as he whispered an incantation.
“Stop!” she said. “I command you to stop!”
The high priest wrenched around—and promptly dropped to his knees. “Your Highness, I thought you were still in the ritual room?”
Catra rushed over to the male who was lying with his eyes closed. “Tell me you haven’t cleansed him—”
“I have just administered the solution unto his veins—”
“Oh, no, no, no,” she said. “No!”
“Whate’er do you speak of, Your Highness?” the high priest said, straightening. “He has been on the outside for decades. He is impure to mate with your daughter—”
“He’s not the Anointed One.”
At that, the male they were discussing turned his head slowly toward her.
And that was how she finally met, after all those years, TrezLath.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed to him, bending down and clasping his hand. “I didn’t make it in time—I’m so sorry. . . .”
As Trez lay on the table, he could feel a burning on the inside of his forearm from where they had injected him using a surprisingly modern, human-world needle.
He would have assumed, given how ancient the ritual was, that they would have preferred some kind of reed or hand-fashioned ancient metal syringe.
But no. It was actually precisely the same kind that his Selena had been injected with.
Instantly, he had felt the poison in his veins, and, rather like the venom of a snake’s bite, it wasted no time in spreading, multiplying, taking over.
Weakened as he was from grief and exertion, he realized there was a good chance he wouldn’t survive this.
And that made him focus on the ceiling above him. Funny, whenever he’d pictured this ritual, it had always been with him tied down.
Strange where you ended up. Now, he welcomed the coming pain—because it might just be his ticket back to Selena. Gossip held that you didn’t get into the Fade if you committed suicide, but if you were killed?
Not your fault.
There was, of course, an existential issue to be reconciled: namely how the pair of them, coming from different traditions, could in fact find each other on the other side of life. If there was another side.
But if faith had any power, he was going to believe they would.
He might as well go out on that note.
Gradually, he became aware of two other presences in the room with him and AnsLai. And one of them sparkled from head to foot in a rainbow of colors.
The Queen.
She began speaking to AnsLai after the high priest bowed down to her. And then AnsLai was straightening, talking, looking alarmed . . . then panicked.
The Queen approached Trez—and after a lifetime of hating the female, he thought idly of reaching up and trying to strangle her.
He didn’t have the strength, however. Especially not as the pain intensified even further.
He hadn’t intended to move, but he began to writhe, his body trying to escape the poison.
And then suddenly his entire suit of flesh was on fire on the inside.
The last thing he remembered was more people racing into the room, and they did not drop to the floor. They stared at the Queen in confusion.
And then the Chief Astrologer in his red robes addressed them all.
A moment later, they did hit the floor before the female.
Oh, what did it matter, Trez thought.
What did any of this, even the monumental pain, matter . . .
EIGHTY-THREE
That fallen angel got them to the Territory.
And as iAm re-formed, he realized it was a good thing that Lassiter had taken control of the flight. With his brother in the clutches of the Queen, he doubted he would have been able to concentrate enough to dematerialize.
“I’ll take it from here,” iAm said.
“Got your back.”
With a nod of gratitude, iAm strode over to the front entrance of the s’Hisbe. Among the things the Brotherhood had given him as parting gifts were a couple of pounds of C4 plastic explosive. All he had to do was set a serving or two of it up at the huge gates and—
As if the entrance to the s’Hisbe wanted to avoid bodily harm, the giant halves split and opened before the pair of them.
But it wasn’t a fortuitous departure of someone on the far side.
s’Ex stood tall and proud, the perfect guard to the Queen’s lands.
Except . . . something was all wrong. The male was wearing the kind of farshi servant dress he’d given to iAm before, and it was dripping with blood.
There was also a red-stained, serrated dagger in his hand that was as long as a male’s forearm.
“We don’t have a lot of time, come on,” the male said urgently.
Ordinarily, iAm would have thought twice about going anywhere with a Grim Reaper like that. But he’d already trusted the male once—and it was clear there was a coup in play.
Falling into a jog, he and Lassiter followed the executioner to the palace complex and entered the compound through a hidden door. Once inside, s’Ex led them through corridors that were utterly empty.
No servants. No courtiers.
And s’Ex had no apparent concern that they would be detained, questioned . . . threatened.
The male had either lost his mind or . . .
“What the hell is going on here?” iAm demanded.
“You’re the Anointed One, not your brother.”
iAm stopped so fast that Lassiter had jump to the side or mow him down. “What.”
“No time. Your brother’s being cleansed—he’s on death’s door. If you want to say good-bye to him, you’d better hurry up.”
As iAm just stood there, like someone had unplugged him, Lassiter and s’Ex grabbed him under the arms, jacked his feet off the ground, and carried him off.