Page 4 of The Dawn of the Cursed Queen

The memory faded as the roaring and whooping came back, glasses slamming against each other and tables. The generals from across the cosmos, all vicious and vile, cheering and celebrating his death. All of them know her next move will be to liberate the realms. She had taken and converted the most cruel and deadly for her reign, and now, nothing would stop her. Nothing ever could, so what choice did I ever have?

Samkiel was a light. He promised peace and change, and I had helped snuff it out. A part of me hoped I burned in Iassulyn for eternity for it. Another part of me knew Dianna would hunt me, hunt us all like she did for her sister. I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t welcome it.

THREE

KADEN

“We will never tell you anything,” he said, spitting at Nismera’s feet.

Her lip turned up as she shook it off her pointed, armored boot. “That’s fine.” Her smile was cold as she lifted a hand. Power erupted from her palm and scattered across the sky. Lightning, pure and blinding, ripped back as she created and controlled the sparks of energy, shooting them toward the floor. Runes lit with her silver power, and the floor beneath our feet spun. I jolted to the side. Beside me, Isaiah did not even falter, as if this was a normal occurrence to him. The floor opened in a massive spiraling vortex, saltwater reaching toward the ceiling with a hollow roar. The rows of chained armored men glared toward it as the room stopped shaking. Nismera walked behind them, one by one, and fear coated the air.

“I know you won’t talk, and I don’t need that from you. The Eye is, and has always been, about the same dribble. Why else would they send their little pawns? I know they hide from me, too.”

“The Eye does not hide,” an older, graying soldier spat from the end of the line. “We wait for the perfect opportunity—”

Nismera barked an ugly laugh. “An opportunity. Oh, Sir Molten. I’ve been dying to have my hands on you. You’ve been nothing but a pain in my side.”

“Your day is coming.” He straightened his back. No fear rolled from him – at least, none I could smell.

“When exactly? You lot have been trying to overthrow me for how long now? I’m a bit bored, honestly.” She leaned toward the soldier nearest to her, and he shook. “But I have a hungry beastie, and what better treat to feed it than traitors? I think fear quenches its appetite the most.”

Nismera shoved the soldier into the vortex, the man’s scream cut short by a loud crunch. Chaos erupted as the others saw what had befallen their companion, and most tried to shuffle to the side to escape. One by one, Nismera’s gold and black army kicked the remaining rebels in, and one by one, their screams were the last thing we heard before they disappeared below. The last soldier, older by far with a gray beard tied at the end, didn’t even so much as blink as she came to him.

“And will you beg, Sir Molten?” She dug her nails into his armored shoulders as the material cracked against it. He did not so much as falter.

His chin held high, the age lines creasing across his face as he sneered and glared at her in his last act of defiance. “I hope their prison remains locked for eons.”

Nismera’s hand whipped out faster than light, severing his head from his body. Blood coated her front and splattered her face. She blinked rapidly, chasing away the overwhelming anger that filled her expression.

Their prison? The question rattled around in my thoughts but died as the severed head rolled toward me over the stone floor. I lifted my boot, stopping its path. Unseeing eyes stared back at me, hair clipped close to the scalp with shaved markings on the side—markings of rebels.

“Four hundred and seventy-two rebels. Four hundred and seventy-two heads.” Nismera cleaned her hand. The room stayed deathly quiet as she stepped forward.

“Take Sir Molten’s head to Severn.” She nodded toward the large male armored guard to my left. “I want to send a message to any rebels who think now is the time to attack. We have far too much to do.”

Isaiah made a noise in his throat and shuffled. Armored boots echoed in the carved stone room as the guards did as she commanded and left. Nismera kicked his remaining corpse to the beast in the water below before sealing the floor.

Isaiah whistled low. “You seem uptight, Mera. It’s been weeks. Shouldn’t you be the least bit happy? Big brother’s home and all the realms now belong to you.”

A warm smile spread across her face as she glanced behind us, making sure every guard had left as if she didn’t want them to see she did have emotions. She glared at me, her temper barely leashed. “I am happy, but The Eye seems to think now, above all else, is the time to attack.”

“Attack is overstating it,” I said, nodding toward the closed floor behind her. “An attack would imply they have a chance.”

She merely shrugged before stalking past us both, heading for the main entrance of her ostentatious, shimmering white fortress. Onuna changed my perspective on architecture. I had forgotten how massive most palaces were, and Mera loved the finer things above all. Drapes embroidered with the twisted, legless, mighty ryphors along the hem hung from the top of every entrance. The long tassels of her war banners danced across the pristine floor.

We turned and followed after Nismera. Isaiah wrapped his arm around my shoulder, squeezing once. “You’ve been so quiet since your return, brother. I thought you’d be far happier to see me.”

I swallowed the growing lump in my throat. I was happy to see him. Happy to be off of blasted Onuna, but another aching pit ate at my gut. One thing I could not, or had not, forgotten.

“You’re a monster,” she said, sneering at me and pulling at the restraints.

“I halted plans for you, searched for that damned book, hoping there was another way that I could keep you.” My hand slid across her jaw as she pulled away from me in disgust. “I love you.”

We strode down the gold and cream halls, the reflection of the ceiling splayed across the dark shiny floors, the stone unscuffed even with the guards shuffling about. Nismera climbed the massive stairwell, prattling on, but my mind wasn’t present and hadn’t been for weeks. I was thinking of her and how to bring her back, but I had a plan this time. Samkiel was dead. No one would be left in any of these realms for her, no one but me.

Guards pushed open the large doors, and the chattering inside the room died, the massive stone war room quieting. The Order surrounded the rectangular raised table, maps and scrolls scattered over the top, with small totem-shaped beings in between. Nismera’s guards followed inside, taking their place in the four corners as she headed toward the back of the room. The war drapes were yanked open with one flick of her hand.

Sunlight flooded the room, giving the impression of warmth and peace, when I knew damned well the goddess that controlled this realm could wipe us all away with a flick of her brow if she so deemed necessary. Unir and Samkiel were nothing but dust, and neither Isaiah nor I could match her power. No living being could.

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