Page 14

Chapter Fourteen

Thirty-two disapprovals

And a weakness

“T he princess of change has been digging around the grave,” my mother wheezed to me across the growing circle. My fragile, sunken mother, who was such a woeful contrast to the other vibrant mothers sitting in vigil of my tower.

I finished stitching on the last recent arrival—mother thirty-two. Three had arrived during the day as I slumbered. I had needed to venture to the outskirts for this mother too. She had collapsed there and been unable to complete the journey from the barren beyond to my tower in this world.

I answered Mother, “Is there danger from her digging?”

She did not respond, but Mother would not utter such words for no reason. I would need to place some restrictions on Princess Change. “Could a monster come through the grave?”

“You must complete the circle,” said Cassandra.

Another mother murmured, “No gaps.”

“No entry,” hissed another.

“No exit,” chanted another three.

I considered their words. “Once the circle is closed, there is no way to reach the tower.”

I had assumed this place was safe from all, and in fairness to that assumption, only a very foolhardy monster would leap into this place. Only a monster who had given up hope of all else… which was a definition I could apply to most kings.

Drat.

I had hidden my bridal gifts here, and also the key to King Change’s kingdom. More than that, my mothers were here, stitched in place. They were warning me of the limitations of their ability to protect my tower and all it held while their circle remained incomplete.

“Can you sense the other mothers?” I asked.

“We are not created of stitch,” said Cassandra.

She had a point. I knew exactly which of my thirty-two stitches belonged to the present mothers. So I knew which of my remaining stitches belonged to the eighteen remaining mothers. I touched one, and was driven to my knees, gasping, at her despair. She wandered in the barren land, so very far from here. Too far beyond the outskirts. I stared out at the haze, terror welling within. “She is afraid.”

I am afraid.

“As we all were,” thirty-two mothers whispered in unison.

“Will a queen be content to wait?” Cassandra turned her determined gaze upon me.

I shook my head. “A queen cannot be content to wait. In obsession, in fullness, in any aspect of monsterdom.”

Mothers smiled and closed their eyes, their faces tipped to my grayscale conservatory atop a tower.

I considered the distant haze that I had come to see as the end of the world. That is what I imagined The Real End would be like, an emptiness of color and life. No creature, no plant, no mineral, and no humanity. “I hear what you say, Mother. Once obsession is resolved, I shall return to collect the mothers who have not arrived.”

Thirty-two gazes fell upon me.

Disapproval.

“Fear stays you, Daughter,” wheezed my mother. There was no judgment there, but observation surely. Understanding too. She had chosen to exist in this state for her immortal death, yet I could not summon the courage to venture out into the haze.

“I would enter that place and perhaps never return.” How could I return from such emptiness? There was a strong warning in me indeed, a screaming rather.

“Not as you are,” she agreed. “This mother knows that she must allow her daughter to suffer.”

I tore my focus from the barren haze. “She would only do so if her daughter should need to transform.”

And yet.

There were kings to conquer, and when suddenly confronted with entering the haze, I was shocked by an unexpected desperate and urgent need.

Matters with King See were unresolved, and closer to finding resolution than they had been for some time. At dusk we had shared understanding. We had sat beside each other. We had laughed at our beginnings. I had confided in him and trusted him with a truth. He had helped me to perceive a way forward while displaying confidence in my ability to take down a second king, though nothing should really fuel that confidence. King See had been blind to the outcome, after all, and See’s fate and destiny was intertwined with mine, yet he did not allow his fear of losing me drive him to desperation. That was surely a culmination of all the qualities See said were stronger than love.

Goodness, and was I beginning to believe in all he said?

“Love weakens you,” said Cassandra. Her words were echoed by all mothers.

I stared at the haze and felt the sudden weight of everything unresolved. Those matters would haunt me in the haze. They would drive me to nothingness. Faced with that fear, ever the disapproval of my ancestors could not sway me.

I released a breath. “I love him. I love him, and that is not enough, so he says. I cannot do what is needed yet.”

I turned from the haze and toward the disapproval of mothers. That was easier to face, and that is how I knew to feel content with my decision. “I will do what is needed. But not now.”

Their reactions were as diverse as their natures.

I did not look at my mother, but as I strode to the grave, she caught at my hand and forced me to do just that. “Tomorrow night is another night.” She coughed.

Another chance. I gently squeezed her hand. “Yes, Mother.”

“No one has stood where you stand. You are perantiqua.”

No one else could do what I had to do. I had no one to guide me. Though besides my instincts, these women were the next best thing. “I will do what is required of me.”

“I know, Daughter, for you are mine and ours.”

Her murmur was not taken up by the others, and that was unusual. As I stepped into hellebores to return to color and monsters, there remained an inward discomfort. I had never returned from the grave feeling unsettled. The circle of mothers was my place of unconditional support and understanding.

Perhaps I had chosen wrong… yet I would choose wrong a while longer.

For love or the pursuit of whatever may be greater than love. My error still was in assuming I had time. In this instance, time to explore my destiny with King See. I had not gone after the answer to our lover’s impasse, so overwhelmed with the struggle of understanding how our love must never be. Now I had little time to discover romantic destiny.

Our hearts thumped in tandem. That much I knew. We would walk together in destiny.

I growled and climbed out of the grave.

“My queen, might I assist you in some way?” Valetise asked from the wall of bars where she had peered longingly after Picket, who toiled beyond.

I exhaled. “How is Picket since the conquering of a king.”

Valetise sighed. “There was an instant, just a day, where everything seemed well. He has much to do, Your Majesty. His purpose is important indeed, and my feelings are as fibrous as he. I can await romance.”

“Your romance will come. He is quite unraveled by you.”

She looked back, hope shining in her eyes. “But unraveled?”

“Practically coiled on the ground, dear Valetise.”

Perhaps my words would chase away some misery for a night.

“Where is Princess Raise?” I asked.

“With her radio in the small lounge, my queen.”

I strode that way, and burst into the lounge not long after. “Princess Raise.”

She held up a finger. “Matters of humans grow dire. The thatched village begins to retaliate. They have recently and unexpectedly allied with the humans who were their strongest adversaries.”

The humans in my changing territory had fallen victim to the whisperings of my queendom. Good.

I sifted back through my memories from the gate just now. Yes, there had been an unusual quiet and stench of suspense. “Who do they retaliate against?”

The princess smoothed her crisp suit as she rose, then adjusted her wide-brimmed fedora. “My husband’s part of the city. We have always respected one another’s intellect, Queen Perantiqua. You go to conquer my husband this night.”

I did feel sorry for her fear. I was but a queen in sorry love, too, and in lucid and cold moments such as this, I could feel extremely grateful that King See was strong enough not to love me back. What mess might monsterdom be in? “I do, Princess. You will come.”

“You will use me against him.”

“I had thought to, yes.”

“It will not work,” she cried, toppling into lovers’ tragedy. “You will not harm a monster. You did not harm King Change!”

I considered that. “I greatly enjoyed rendering King Change to a powerless state. It stroked my queenly ego.”

Her posture slackened. “But th-there is such goodness and kindness in you.”

“That too. Let us see what comes of things.”

“But that is no reassurance at all!”

Likely not.

I swept up to my conservatory with a cursory glance at King Change. His eyes were closed, and his princess tended to flowers close by, as if I would not guess she planned to free him if ever possible.

Princess Raise lamented behind me in hiccups and sobs as I jerked open the glass panel that had once filled me with so much fear. That was before I had stared at the end of the world with thirty-two mothers urging me to walk into a haze I might never return from. The stairway kingdom was nothing on that barren horror. “Kindly enter, Princess.”

She crossed her arms, probably glaring, and marched ahead. Princess Raise held her arms tight against her body and locked her legs straight, then executed a neat jump into thin air.

The princess plummeted into the stairway kingdom, and her fedora floated free to twist and twirl a slow descent behind her.

King Change rasped behind me, “Raise was a mere foot soldier.”

I glanced back. His eyes were open. His eyes were… yellowed. I focused and spotted faint black lines between the scars and mange on his face. Plague. A third.

“What meaning does that hold, sir?” I asked.

He laughed under his breath and said no more.

So helpful. I mimicked the princess and held my arms tight against my sides, then leaped into thin air.

Unlike my previous escape from this kingdom that had clawed at me to remain, everything about the kingdom welcomed my entry. I felt warmth and reassurance and hope. Because once a creature was in this kingdom, escape came with conditions. The trap was brilliant, really, now that I held no fear of the place.

The idea of being stuck here amused, in fact. My power was at least equal to Raise’s. My queendom had not found fullness, either, and obsession was on my side. No wise immortal would scoff at such ancient design.

As I fell, I could perceive no trace of the princess.

She had disappeared. Probably called her own stairway to cut out the fall.

“To warn her husband.” I groaned at her predictability.

I continued descending through the thousands of stairways, twisting and jumping as needed. Each stairway denoted a contract made with a human, past, present, and future. These stairways were the source of King Raise’s power, as beastliness was the source of Change’s, and regrets and ambitions and hopes were the source of King See’s.

Each stairway I landed upon dissolved, but I did not wish for kings to be weakened. This helped me in conquering, but not beyond.

The revelation came just in time, for as I took care not to land on the next staircase—instead using my power to push around it—I was struck in the stomach by a feeling from the staircase.

I held a tie to it. There was an importance.

The staircase was mine—that of my ancestors. Horror could still find me, then, for I had been seconds away from dissolving the staircase by stepping upon it, and where would my queendom and ancestral mothers be then?

My heart raced all the way down, and I took more care than ever not to destroy more contracts. How close I had come to ending everything. A near miss, and a reminder of the cunning of whom I sought to conquer.

My feet settled on stone, and I stood in the never-ending hallway from my memories.

Princess Raise’s shrieks could be heard, and the king’s lower reassurances hummed through the hall too. I recalled how doors had appeared for Prince Sign long ago. None appeared for me, but I kept walking to wherever King Raise wished to lead me.

He had a trap in mind, no doubt, or I would not be able to hear him and the princess.

A door appeared. Clearly a dungeon.

I entered, and the door slammed shut behind me.

I looked around with interest. “A torture room of princes, I see.”

There were any number of wooden and metal apparatus. Any number of instruments and devices intended to pull a king back to purpose.

“Protocol ten,” ordered a cool voice. King Raise appeared through a sudden doorway, and his princess lurked behind him, her stance equally as threatening.

The door disappeared after they entered.

“Is ten the worst?” I asked.

“Naturally. I have never been above seven myself,” he said, a grin in his voice.

Princess Raise gripped his arm, and he faced her. The Raises had a silent form of communication, but I had grown ancient enough to make sense of it apparently.

My love, she was saying, you have experienced protocol eight too.

Protocol eight . The shadows of his face showed his disbelief. No, my only love. I have experienced no such thing. I would know.

She released his arm. My mistake, my love.

They turned to me.

“I doubt my pawns shall help you with protocol ten against their queen,” I said to the king.

He unbuttoned his cuffs, then rolled his sleeves. “I shall do it myself.”

The princess turned him back to face her. My husband, my king, protocol ten. Are you sure?

He replied silently, She comes to conquer me.

A king had to be sure he had given everything in the fight for his kingdom. I was heartened by her concern, though. I would not expect to be more important to her than her husband, but Princess Raise did feel some level of care for me.

I walked to a table covered in all manner of straps. “Do I lie here?”

“If you would,” he said simply.

I assessed the contraptions by the table, some long, some thin, some barbed. “You will use these against me?”

“Just so, and the machine behind the table too. The machine tears at your being apart. When a monster becomes more than their purpose, this snaps them back to a malleable level.”

Good to know.

I cast out a stitch to wrap around the throat of Princess Raise. “Be still, King Raise.”

He froze with his oily hands a mere whisper from my throat. Goodness, he was fast.

“Release her,” he gasped.

“No,” I answered.

The king did not close his oily hands about my throat. Neither did he lower them.

Now to the matter of their love.

I glanced at the choking princess. “I have listened to the nature of your warped union. Over and over again. ’Tis time for the truth, Princess.”

Princess Raise was frightened beyond her fear that I would kill her with my stitch, and that was something to behold. She loved her king more than life itself. Princess Raise abandoned her choking to beseech me with a widening of face and utter slackening of posture. Please do not do this to me.

I was about to reveal her betrayal. She had taken her king’s place to save him, but he would feel a fool. A played fool. Princesses did not hold grudges, I had been told. Kings did not share that sentiment.

Her beseeching posture might not have convinced me, in truth, as I was not always warm and good, especially when obsession was involved, yet there was a heaviness in my stomach at her reaction. I had felt that heaviness when staring out at the barren haze recently. The feeling was a wrongness. A fear? A warning?

I could not say, but the feeling was fate altering. Yes, that was the description: Fate altering. If I drove a wedge into the Raises’ love, I could destroy them. Him and her. I could conquer a king that way.

I might need to conquer him that way. I could not say other than that the heaviness of the feeling in my stomach bid me to caution in revealing truths.

“What truth?” hissed King Raise. “What does she say, my wife, my love?”

What truth? How profound his question.

The truth was that unions were seams, and if I picked one apart, then whatever the union held together would assumedly fall apart, the seam destroyed. The seams were fraying, said the original poem of kings. And if golden fate deemed fit, she would mend them.

“Heal the warping of our union,” Princess Raise had begged, not realizing how ancients may toy with her so.

Toy with us all.

Here was the moment of my fate-altering choice, it seemed, and I had little to go upon. My purpose remained murky, and I was half mad with obsession that grew stronger by the minute. I was meant to conquer kings, meant to enter the barren haze, and not meant to love.

All that to contend with, and another crucial choice was upon me.

Would I mend seams? Did I deem fit to do so?

Princess Raise was right, or at least in this instance. I believed in monsters and in their worthiness, and in their futures. I always had. To safehold these futures, monsters would need a world, and while I had little idea how to save a world sliding to The Real End, I could not see how that would come to fruition through ruining anything.

“ What truth? ” boomed King Raise.

Princess Raise bowed her head.

I answered him, “That you are sick. Or will soon be so.”

The princess stilled.

King Raise lowered his hand. “What? You jest to distract me.”

“No, King Raise. I do not jest. Perhaps the sickness of kings does not yet affect you, but it soon shall. King Bring is already rife with the plague. Princess Take keeps her king’s sudden ailment a secret. No wonder he had ceased negotiations with me without further letter. No wonder he has not met with you as usual, though you might ally with him against me. At dusk, I observed the startings of plague on King Change too.”

King Raise’s chest halted in its rhythmic rise and fall. He knew of what I spoke. He had already felt a change within himself.

My thoughts flicked to King See. I had not noticed change in him, but I had only processed the news that Princess Bring had wiggled out of Vassal, and had not thought to inspect or interrogate See.

“You have set the plague upon us,” said King Raise grimly.

The princess gasped from where she knelt, my stitch about her throat. “You are sick, my one and only?”

He faced her. The smallest signs. The cure is defeating this queen.

The opposite, I wagered. “’Tis a good question. Why are only kings plagued with this illness? How sudden, how terrifying. For you have always been the five powers of the world.”

The king snarled, “Then you admit to unleashing it upon us.”

“I do not. If I had thought to release a plague, then I would not have guessed how to do so, nor would I have felt right in doing so, unless gripped in madness toward a queenly end. But you distract from the important issue. Why are kings plagued with illness and no other? To me, the origin appears clear. King Bring attempted to kill an immortal. From there, what is the connection? Or does the plague on king have to do with my fate?”

“You seem to have all the answers,” said the king, circling.

“Theories, sir. I theorize as any ruler must and I cannot avoid doing so. I theorize that kings have lost their way, and if a queen cannot conquer them, then the world will be done with kings and monsters for good. They will be removed by ancients with plague. Therefore, I theorize that this plague is my countdown. My deadline, if you will forgive the pun.”

I perched on the torture table, and faced the princess. “The cure is not in the conquering of a queen. She is the medicine, but not as you might believe, King Raise. Here exists a precipice, a veritable sword’s edge, and one must choose which way to fall. They must choose this while knowing they cannot claw their way back up to choose again. There is one chance in this matter. Is the conquering of a queen the cure? Or is the queen herself the cure? The cure to illness and plague and warping. She is meant to rise above kings, recall. Kings will alter in their roles, as have princes. As have princesses.”

“How will kings alter?” rasped Princess Raise, earning a swift focus from her husband.

I shrugged. “I cannot say how a king’s role will alter, or what they will become to me. But you know how things have always been despite your best efforts, Princess. You know there is no unwarping to be gained from repeating the same endeavors over and over.” I took a breath. “Hope has led you this far…”

King Raise stood between us. “You speak in twisted riddles designed to convince a fragile heart!”

Fragile heart? I would no sooner call Princess Take an ignorant flower. But King Raise was a monster in love. I was beginning to detest its failings, and detest myself for detesting it too. I must be free of my love for See. I must work to see it so.

I must break my own heart if need be. I sucked in a sharp breath at the thought.

Princess Raise took his hand and pulled him upright. I loosened my stitch to allow her more strength and freedom.

She held a hand against his face. “My love, there is such tragic warping to us. Why is there such tragic warping?”

“’Tis the price of love,” he whispered.

Princess Raise said, “There is something more in it, my love, and we must figure out the whole or exist as this always.”

“I do not follow you,” he said in confused wonder. “How is that so when I am king?”

“What do you suggest?” she asked me.

I answered, “A reversal of damage. I cannot say what this might look like.”

Her gaze flickered to the table, and she blinked away sheer terror before looking at her king again. Her husband. “My love, come with me.”

“Where to, my one and only, my very breath?” He allowed himself to be led by her, and I loosened my stitch more. Princess Raise was not the danger any longer, but King Raise may choose to strike on a whim.

I stepped away from the torture table.

She said to him, “You drift from purpose. Ancients will not have it.” The princess pushed her king flat on the table.

His breath quickened. “My love?”

A fool. Truly. So blind his trust and love.

She fastened straps, and as she fastened them, I released stitches from my fingers to make the straps unbreakable, then removed the stitch around her throat last, once her king was trapped.

King Raise stared up at his wife and she held either side of his face. “You must go with her now, husband. We must fix that which was broken.”

“Nothing is broken,” he whispered. “My princess, I love you. I will love you always. There is nothing wrong with that.”

Her voice hitched. “Do not fear, my life. I am here.”

She stepped back, and as King Raise strained and thrashed against the straps covering him from forehead to ankle, I said to her, “Do you recall what I said about the warping of your union?”

Princess Raise was broken as she replied, “You asked me what I would do if the healing stole away my love or his.”

I nodded. “Your answer?”

“You gave me the answer, my queen,” she said. “I know how things have always been, and there is no healing to be gained from that. I have chosen which side of the sword to topple down. Nothing waits for me in what has always been.”

Wise . Brave. Bold. “I will do everything I can.”

“I know that too,” she whispered. “What first?”

The king shouted threats. Doors opened at random in the buckling walls, a sign of his undoing. There was more to come. “A reversal in fullness, Princess. Protocol eight.”