The Evil Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil) Page 37

  Yes, Roth. Stop. Help me hate you, too.

  Suddenly, his spine jerked ramrod straight, his gaze darting around the room. Like everyone else, he’d sensed me. He settled his hand on the hilt of a dagger, and I ended the connection.

  My reflection stared back at me, my disappointment clear. Briefly, I considered spying on Queen Violet, but discarded the idea. She only ever ranted about how I’d ruined her life, and I’d had enough rejection for a hundred lifetimes. Maybe tomorrow.

  Sighing, I returned the glass to my pillow and eased up. A slight scuffing noise drew my gaze to the floor. Phobia and Webster had returned.

  “Thank you for coming back.” With a laugh, I maneuvered to my knees. “I missed you so much, and I’m so—” I frowned. A web trailed behind them, a bejeweled comb caught within the gossamer strands.

  “Thank you?” Why would they gift me with such an item?

  The answer slammed into me, and I laughed harder. In the fairy tale, the Evil Queen defeated Snow White with a corset—check—then a poisoned comb. I could do the same.

  “Why, you smart little devils, you.” I pumped my fist toward the ceiling. “What I need next is a fairy’s hand. The fairy body may or may not be included. You guys think you can provide one?”

  They hopped up and down, eager to please.

  Well, then. I’d found my way out. I only needed time.

  35

  Beware false hope and its lures.

  Seek the truth and its cures.

  By the third week of confinement, my back had mostly healed, and my limbs had full mobility. I could sit, stand and pace like a boss, with only a few aches and pains. Not that I had much room. My cell was spacious, yes, but the rocky walls had begun to close in.

  I’d reached out to Noel many times, hoping to trick her into revealing any flaws in my escape plan, but I’d received no response.

  Roth had cut his number of visits. He came once every evening, and sent Annica in his stead once every morning—the girl he trusted to deal with my “lady stuff.” How did he not see her awfulness?

  A few days ago, I’d told Roth, “Real smart move, having your ex tend to me. That isn’t uncomfortable at all.”

  “I know her. She does as ordered.”

  “How boring for you.”

  He’d narrowed his eyes and added, “I can trust her not to harm you.”

  “Can you?” Annica might not be Hickey, I decided. She might be Viper.

  She brought me food and other necessities, and even tidied up my cell, but she did so while muttering insults and death threats. Twice, she’d hit me with a broom, and I’d had to stop my precious spidorpions from attacking her.

  Not yet, my darlings. But soon.

  When we made our escape, Phobia and Webster could do whatever they wanted to her, with my blessing. They’d become my best friends, saving graces and passport to fun. They kept me sane in an insane world, saving me from the tempting allure of depression and self-pity. They deserved the best, always!

  The sweethearts had even introduced me to a whole slew of other new friends. The “dregs” of the palace. I was the most popular girl at Tower High. Hair fluff. And yeah, okay, since I’d released the other prisoners, I was the only girl at Tower High, but whatever. I’d developed a special connection with Cuddles the boa constrictor, Boomer the feral cat and Crouton the bird. Although, I had nothing but love for my rats and lava ants. And my squirrels, racoons and dogs.

  I’d noticed a correlation: the mangier the animal, the more it liked me. Which I didn’t understand. I didn’t wield Hartly’s magic, so how and why did I draw the critters in the first place? Because of the earth magic I’d taken from the witches? My connection to the Tree of New Beginnings? My tentative friendship with Allura? Like calling to like?

  Now, as I lay in bed with Cuddles curled atop my belly, breathing in the pervasive scent of fur and the subtle hint of Christmas Roth always left behind, I watched Dust Mote TV, the only channel I could access. Because of the frigid temperature, the lava ants had burrowed inside the mattress. They heated the fabric, creating my own personal electric blanket.

  When the time came, I held out my arm and said, “Bite me, darling Phobia.” Like all spidorpions, my baby created two different types of venom. The one that flowed through his little fangs caused instant pain and paralysis. The one that flowed through his stingerless tail caused death in high doses.

  —Again?—He made a twittering sound. His version of a moan.

  “Again,” I confirmed. “And give me more venom this time.” If I couldn’t get my hands on poison, I had to become poison. And I could. I remembered what Roth had said. That some sorcerers ate spidorpions to acquire venomous blood, that spidorpion venom wasn’t normal; it possessed a thrum of magic, and with the torque, I stored any magic I received.

  I would strengthen, even while wearing my stupid metal collar. I would become living poison. A weapon.

  Helpless? Me? Never again. But I wouldn’t harm my babies to get this done. I would rather harm myself.

  At first, I’d instructed Phobia to bite me at breakfast, lunch and dinner. We were now up to eight times a day. Since we’d started, I’d burned up with fever, basically boiling inside. Worth it! As I stored more and more of the venom’s magic, my blood became more and more deadly—to others.

  Phobia remained reluctant, but he denied me nothing. He crawled up my arm and bit. I felt the sting, but not the inundation of heat and pain. I frowned.

  “Again,” I said. “You, too, Webster.”

  Bite. Bite. Just as before, I felt the sting, but no heat or pain. I laughed. We could finally move on to stage two of my plan. Human testing.

  “Gang, we are one step closer to freedom,” I announced with a grin.

  Both spidorpions gave me a look—Who are you?

  “What?” I asked, and yeah, I sounded maniacal and creepy. “A frightening laugh is mandatory for a villain. Now that I’ve nailed mine, I should update my résumé.” Nah. I’d rather play Where’s Roth.

  I moved Cuddles to the mattress, kissed his adorable face, then stood at the edge of the bed to peer out the barred window. Thanks to Annica and her broom of doom, my bruised ribs protested.

  Icy wind blustered, summoning goose bumps to the surface of my skin. So high up, I could see mile after mile of snowcapped mountains and, in the far distance, the barest hint of the Enchantian Forest. Avian warriors glided through clouds, riding bright beams of sunlight. In a nearby pasture, sheep with translucent wings and cows with braided red fur grazed. People of every size, shape and color worked alongside a variety of creatures. Mining had been temporarily suspended. Now, the worker bees carried bags of grain or wheeled manure out of barns. Stable hands walked horses and unicorns, children played, and armed guards staffed a parapet atop a border wall, surveilling the kingdom. The centaur blacksmith worked on a pair of horseshoes today, the sound of his banging hammer music to my ears.

  Through the enchanted glass, I’d heard whispers of discontent from both palace guards and everyday average citizens, just as Farrah had claimed. The bulk of Roth’s subjects feared what would happen if Queen Violet made good on her promise of war.

  A small copper-colored snake slithered under my door, snagging my attention.

  —He comes, he comes.—Phobia’s voice shouted inside my head.

  He? As in Roth? “I’m not excited, you’re excited. Go, go,” I whispered, making shooing motions. My friends scattered, hiding in an assortment of places.

  I performed a mental inventory of my two most treasured items. Enchanted glass—inside the pillow. Comb—under my mattress. Excellent!

  The broom was in position, and the spidorpion bites were—oops, not yet hidden by the sleeves of my shirt. I hurriedly rolled down the material.

  My heart performed a tap dance as I settled at the edge of the mattress, doing m
y best to appear nonthreatening and innocent. One way or another, I would be testing my venomous blood today.

  Only a few hours ago, I’d pricked my finger and smeared the blood over the broom’s handle. The next person to clean the cell...

  I grinned. Oh, how I loved the irony and justice of it all. The broom was used as a weapon against me. Now, I would use the broom as a weapon against my foe.

  So you enjoy repeating Violet and Farrah’s mistakes?

  What? Who? Me?

  A familiar melody started up, distracting me. The rattle of keys. Creaking hinges. Footsteps. In strolled King Roth and his mouthwatering cinnamon scent.

  Shock. The excitement I’d denied. Relief. Happiness. The fury I could never shake. Each emotion delivered a one-two punch to my solar plexus, sending me on a wild carousel ride and stealing my breath. Was he more muscular than yesterday? He was definitely more beautiful. He exuded raw strength.

  Here was a boy...a man whose enemies should do everything possible to avoid him in a dark alley. Or a well-lit garden. And here I was, missing his hugs.

  As I jumped up, a twinge of pain made me cringe.

  “Sorceress,” he said with an incline of his chin. An endearment I despised. “You are hurt. What happened?”

  Argh! He always noticed everything about everything. “Don’t act as if you care.”

  “I would give anything not to care,” he groused.

  Oh, that burned! “Boo-hoo. Poor you. You have the hots for a spectacular sorceress.” I rubbed my fists under my eyes, mimicking tears. “The travesty!”

  He tilted his head and raked his frosty gaze over me, as cold as Truly once claimed. So why did I heat up? And how did I become more acutely aware of my clothing—a thin knee-length tunic and a pair of panties?

  “You’ll have to forgive my state of undress, kingling.” The huskiness of my voice startled me. Even more stunning, the pulse in my neck fluttered so forcefully, I thought it might be attempting Morse code: kiss me, touch me. “Had I known you’d honor me with your company, I would have worn...less.”

  His pupils flared, scraping away the frost.

  I’d once thought to encourage his goodwill so he wouldn’t strike at me, as fate seemed to want. In spite of everything that had happened between us, I could see the plan still had merit. I just had to remain detached this time.

  Not a problem. I’d learned my lesson well. Fall for Roth and suffer.

  Heart dancing wildly, every beat shouting distance, distance, distance, I raked my gaze over him. As usual, he wore a well-fitted white tunic and black leather pants, no speck of dirt or wrinkle in sight.

  “No training today? Or did you play hooky to come here and punish me?” I could think of no other reason for his earlier than normal visit.

  “Why would I punish you?” he asked. “Is there a crime you’d like to confess?”

  “There is, yes. Yours. You didn’t snap up your dream girl while you had the chance. Look at all this goodness.” I waved a hand over my body. “Now it’s too late. I’ve met someone new. A sorcerer. The fallen angel to your devil in disguise.”

  He flicked his tongue over an incisor. “Give me a name.”

  Such vehemence. “Do you remember the blond hottie with Nicolas? His name isn’t your business. Want to know what I like most about him? He’s never called me a parasite.”

  Rage exploded in Roth’s eyes, discharging bombs of tension throughout the rest of him. Muscles knotted. Hands balled. Vibrated limbs. “You’ve had contact with him? When? How?”

  Jealous, my king? Or just worried I’d found a way out? “I have my ways,” I all but purred.

  He bared his teeth and took a step closer, only to pause. “I didn’t come here to argue with you. I want to move you to a more comfortable room and—”

  “No! I’m staying in my cell. It’s mine.” Mostly, my friends could come and go here without being stepped on.

  “Very well,” he said, then we lapsed into silence. A group of men arrived, bringing a small table, two chairs and a good-size box with elaborate carvings.

  The servants never glanced in my direction. They came in, deposited their burdens, and left, shutting the door behind them.

  Roth waved to the table, saying, “Sit. Please.” He’d gotten control of his temper. “I’d like us to get to know each other better.”

  I longed to get to know him better. But I studied my nails and said, “You assume I want to get to know you better.”

  The diabolical jerk called my bluff. “If you’d rather be alone, I’ll leave.”

  “No,” I rushed to say, then inwardly cursed my gullibility. I tried to recover. “I’m bored, and you could be a...tolerable distraction, I suppose.”

  He looked smug. Too smug.

  I added, “I’m impressed. You went to a lot of trouble for our first date. If only I’d known you ascribed to the ‘Beauty and the Beast’ method of romance. You can make the girl love you...if you lock her up long enough.”

  His smugness vanished, and I preened, all innocence, a smile growing.

  Wasn’t long before he smiled, as well. “Your barbs are sharp, but the wounds are worth the reward.” He traced a fingertip along the corners of my mouth.

  Too flirty! I cleared my throat. “Yes. Well. Stop being nice to me.” Smooth as butter, EQ.

  “Let’s see if I can—” He went still. “Careful, Everly. There’s a spidorpion on your bed.”

  “A spidorpion? Oh, no. That’s...terrifying?” I turned, blocking Roth’s path, and mouthed, Go. At top volume, I shouted, “Get out of here, you filthy abomination.”

  I think my sweetie rolled his eyes, but he also scrammed, so no harm, no foul.

  “There,” I said, pretending to sag with relief. “The horrid creature is gone.” I turned back to the king. “Now, then. You were saying something about being desperate to get to know your dear, dear stepmother.”

  He blanched. “Do not refer to yourself in such a way.”

  “Why? Thanks to you and your magic, I’m a bride and an insta-mom.”

  Several beats of brusque silence.

  In the end, he moved on, saying, “We’re going to play a game.”

  “A game to get to know each other?” Um, why not just ask each other questions straight up? “What game?”

  “Inquisition.”

  “Never heard of it.” With a false air of lassitude, I eased into a chair.

  He sat as well and opened that elaborate box. Inside, a type of chessboard and toy soldiers. “Magic ensures we are honest with each other.”

  Color me intrigued. If I could use this game to my advantage...

  “Each player has an army,” he said. “I will ask a question or request information and you will respond. If you respond truthfully, you can advance a soldier. If you refuse to respond, I can advance a soldier. If you lie, one of your soldiers will die.”

  In other words, truth was a weapon against your enemy, and lies were a weapon against yourself. “How will you know if I’m telling the truth?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. Dang it, how could I find him charming, even now? “Go ahead. Try it and find out.”

  Surely he wouldn’t know. He must think the threat of defeat would trick me into being honest. Not that trickery was necessary—which proved he didn’t know me.

  “If you move a soldier to a certain block, you can gain a special power, or send us into a rapid-fire-question round,” he continued. “The more complicated the question, the more detailed the answer, the more choices our soldiers have in terms of advancement.”

  “Give me an example of a special power.”

  “Making a soldier a turncoat who kills his comrades.”

  Neat! “I assume the winner receives bragging rights, nothing more?” Though the true prize would be the information we garnered.

>   “Yes. Exactly.”

  The wooden soldiers were shockingly lifelike, some mortal, some mythical.

  “I’ll start us off easy,” Roth said. “Tell me your full name, title and age.”

  “Hey! You’re not getting a three for one special.”

  He shrugged, sheepish. “You can’t fault a guy for trying.”

  “Yes, I can. But I won’t.” I decided to lie, as he’d suggested, just to test the waters. “I’m Everly Hartly Morrow, current Queen of Sevón, future Queen of Airaria, and twin to Truly.”

  My eyes widened as my soldiers began to move, coming alive. Though they remained inside the confines of their individual squares, they ducked, leaned or contorted as one of Roth’s soldiers knelt down, anchored the end of his rifle to his shoulder, and fired off a shot.

  Boom!

  I yelped. Smoke wafted from the gun’s barrel as one of my players fell face-first onto the board.

  Shocked, I zoomed my gaze back to Roth, whose irises sparkled with a hint of merriment.

  “Told you,” he said, smug once again.

  “My name is Everly Solene Morrow,” I said, basically vomiting words. I waited, hopeful, but the soldier never revived. I put a trembling hand over my mouth. “He’s dead. Because of me.”

  “I’m sure his family will be well compensated.”

  “Family?” The heat in my cheeks drained, leaving me chilled. I whimpered.

  Roth gave me a confused look.

  Vision blurring, I picked up the fallen soldier. I expected blood, some sign of life or death. Instead, I found a little piece of wood, nothing more, nothing less.

  “Everly. Sweetling. I apologize for teasing you.” Soft, gentle tone. “The soldier isn’t dead or alive. The pieces were made with enchanted wood and bespelled by a witch centuries ago. I promise you, the soldier felt no pain and has no family. He will revive for the next game.”

  “But...how can that be? Enchanted or not, bespelled or not, wood cannot craft an—an illusion on its own.”

  “Magic survives even when the one who used it dies. Much like our hands, or a unicorn’s horn, an enchanted and bespelled object is a conduit. The witch’s magic flows through it, activated by our verbal cues—like spells. We see the end result,” he replied, sliding one of his pieces to a new square.