The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [192]
“Of course I won’t,” Anne replied. “We’ll rule together, won’t we?”
“Anne, Cazio is dying,” Austra said. “Can you heal him?
“No,” she said. She hadn’t realized until she said it that it was true.
Seize the Vhen throne, Qexqaneh interrupted. Then you can heal any of these worms if that is your wish.
“He’s lying, Anne.”
“Why should he? He’s sacrificing himself for me.”
“He’s using you to destroy the world.”
“So he thinks,” Anne said. “But I’m the one with the power now. Anyway, what’s so great about this world? You’re part of me now; you can see what vermin people are. I’ll create another world. I already see how it could be done. We’ll make it the way we want it, the way it ought to be.”
“That’s crazy, Anne. That means killing everyone you’ve ever known, everyone dear to you.”
“Like who?” Anne screamed. “My father? Fastia? Elseny? My mother is dead, too; did you know that? Everyone I care for is already dead except you and Cazio, and my patience is wearing a little thin with you. Now, if you want Cazio to live, either join me or give up your gifts, because we’ve got one battle left, and I need all the strength I can muster. After that we can have everything, Austra, just the way we want it.”
Austra opened her mouth again, but then she looked beyond Anne.
“I’ll save you, Anne,” she said.
Anne turned.
She stood in a field of ebony roses, the pearls of her dress gleaming like dull bone in the moonlight. The air was so thick with the scent of the blooms that she thought she would choke.
There was no end to them; they stretched to the horizon in a series of low rises, stems bent by a murmuring wind. She turned slowly to see if it was thus in all directions.
Behind her the field ended abruptly in a wall of trees, black-boled monsters covered with puckered thorns bigger than her hand, rising so high she couldn’t see their tops in the dim light. Thorn vines as thick as her arm tangled between the trees and crept along the ground. Through the trees and beyond the vines was only darkness. A greedy darkness, she felt, a darkness that watched her, hated her, wanted her.
“I’ve been here before,” she told the forest. “I’m not frightened this time.”
Something pushed through the thorns, coming toward her. Moonlight gleamed on a black-mailed arm and the fingers of a hand, uncurling.
And then the helmet came through, a tall tapering helm with black horns curving up, set on the shoulders of a giant.
But this time, standing her ground, she saw it wasn’t mail but bark, and the helmet was moss and horn and stone. And of the face she could only see the eyes, wells of life and death, birth and decay—need and vengeance.
You have the power, the fading voice of the Kept told her. Kill him and complete yourself.
Anne gathered herself, but her peripheral vision caught motion, and she saw Austra running across the field, running straight for the Briar King.
If he gets her, you lose, the Kept said. You must kill her now.
Anne stood, watching.
Kill her, Qexqaneh said more urgently. Do you understand? Through her he can defeat us.
Anne lashed out at Austra, and the girl stumbled. She tried to rip through the connection between them, recover her power, but she saw what the Kept meant, how intimate that connection really was. Killing Austra was the only way for Anne to be whole, to possess everything.
She reached out, felt the life beating in Austra, knew the familiar smell of her, that little lock of hair that was always out of place, always had been since they were little girls. The Briar King reached for her, and Anne, hot tears in her eyes, started to squeeze Austra’s heart.
Austra stumbled to her knees. She looked toward Anne, her eyes mortal now, wide as saucers, just another Mannish beast that didn’t understand why it had to die.
Yes, the Kept sighed. Finally.
Somehow Austra stood back up, even as the strength drained out of her, as Anne took her in. The sky dimmed as she diminished and then went away.
“Our secret place,” she heard Austra whisper in the darkness.
But it wasn’t complete darkness, and Anne saw they were