All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [285]
Eliot snorted.
Fiona glared at his proffered gesture like it was a rattlesnake. “Once we are out of the picture, did you and Sarah get on a winning team like you wanted?”
Jeremy tilted his head, but said nothing.
“If I ever catch you off campus,” Fiona said, “there won’t be any rules or Headmistress to save you.”
“Oh, Fiona.” Jeremy retracted his hand. “I so love your hotheadedness. Completely endearing. You’ll come around.”
He squeezed past her and entered Miss Westin’s office.
Sarah remained where she was. “I am so, so sorry,” she squeaked. “He’s always doing things like this. There’s this archaic seniority system in the Clan Covington . . . and he’s technically the eldest member. I have to go along.”
“You don’t have to go along with murder,” Fiona said.
Sarah flinched. She looked deeply conflicted, and then finally said, “Aye. You’re right. There’s no excuse for what we did. I promise, I will make amends.”
She nodded to Eliot and then Fiona, and hurried into Miss Westin’s office.
“Maybe she wasn’t to blame,” Eliot said. “Jeremy did throw her back at the last moment before he locked the gate. She couldn’t have been responsible.”
“Whatever,” Fiona muttered. “I’ve got better things to do than worry about the Covingtons right now.”
She glanced at her book list, picking out the ones she’d already read trying to track down what had happened to Zeus.
Zeus, the once-leader of the Immortals, the one who had united them against the Titans, and had led them against all odds in battle with the Infernals.
A leader. That’s precisely what the world and the Immortals needed—now more than ever.
Fiona stood there . . . as a plan took shape in her mind.
83
LAST-MINUTE DETAILS FOR ARMAGEDDON
Sealiah, undisputed Queen of the Poppy Lands and the Hysterical Kingdoms, shivered with pleasure. No more armor. While the metal plates, layers of chain mail, and padding had been a necessity to survive, she required a new kind of protection for today’s dangers.
She spun, and the layers of gold chiffon drifted about her and then settled against the coppery curves of her body. Much better.
She was alone in her map room. No guards. No Jezebel. The Post twins long departed—and the sounds of all their whining and pleading for their lost loves finally silenced.
She lingered a moment, thinking of Robert Farmington.
Him she would miss. She did so appreciate a hero of few words.
Overcast light filtered through the open windows and mingled with the shadows.
Sealiah slipped into a pair of gold sandals and checked the fit of her summer dress, making sure just enough was hidden and just enough showed through its sheer layers. It was infinitely impractical, and yet the most effective tack for those she was about to face: her cousins on the Board. Those malefactors would never dream of a simple frontal attack . . . when they had such expertise in the art of betrayal.
Her best defense was distraction.
She moved to the map table and examined the dire state of the battle when it had last been updated: her twelve towers surrounded and Mephistopheles marching upon her.
Tiny figurines lay on their sides, souls that had fought for her cause. She touched one, a Napoleonic dragoon, and righted it with her fingertip.
Tragic was their suffering . . . but why else had these souls come to her domain? That was their fate. It was what they deserved. It was what they wanted.
What would they do if she released them? Would the souls of the damned be lost without their torment? Would they even know where to go after all this time? Or would they crawl to her and beg her to take them back?
Well, she would never know. They were forever hers.
These philosophical musing aside, the important thing was that she had prevailed in the war by her superior cunning—or, at least, she had not been so distracted by noble sentiments as poor Mephistopheles had.
She touched the shattered obsidian figurine that represented her Infernal cousin.
And where was his soul now? Dust and ashes?