Alyssa rolls her eyes.
“Me too,” Lily says. “At this point, we either die in here or we die fighting.”
“What do you say, Lost Boy? You with us?” I ask.
Pete nods before a small smile appears on his face. It’s the first hint of a smile I’ve seen from him in a long time.
“Get us out of here, Pickpocket,” Pete says.
“You got it, boss!” Pickpocket says, fiddling with Lily’s cell door lock first.
The Bloodred Queen’s greenish hand strokes the metal wings on the mechanical raven. It’s the very creature that brought the two of us together. A simple hand-scrawled note, a vial of the Horologia antidote, and just like that, we were partners.
“You have information?” she hisses, sounding more like a serpent than a human.
I stoke the blaze within the fireplace, one of many tasks I’ve taken on since arriving at Lohr Castle. Due to the Bloodred Queen’s cold-blooded nature, she prefers the heat. Cold nights tend to make her drift into a hibernated sleep. While cooking and cleaning is hardly what I belong doing, it’s sufficed since I’ve arrived here at Lohr. It makes me look useful and, for now, that’s what I need the Bloodred Queen to see me as.
The antidote had affected her much differently than those of us in England. While most of the adults who survived the queen’s initial onslaught died rather quickly after taking the antidote, the younger ones gradually morphed into having reptilian qualities. But nothing like the woman who sits before me. It’s almost painful to look at her.
Sitting on her ominous throne and peering at herself in the ornate mirror set just behind her seat, the Bloodred Queen reflects what I will be unless Doc creates the cure. While the antidote saved her life, it did not spare her beauty. Once known as the loveliest woman in all of Europe, it is difficult to look at her without pity. She spends hours each day staring at herself in the mirror, obsessed with her transformation. Furious that it’s happening, but unable to stop it or look away.
“Although most of this is hearsay, it is believed that King Osbourne was never entombed in the royal crypt as once thought,” I say.
“Those tales have been rumored for years,” the Bloodred Queen says. “This is nothing new.”
Placing one more log on the fire, I continue feeding her bits of information, waiting for her to bite. “They say he is being kept on the east side of the Emerald Isle.”
“Lies! The king is dead. I watched him take his last breath with my own eyes.” She stares at me, daring me to say more.
“Of course, Your Highness,” I say, bowing my head.
She regards me for a moment longer, and I keep my eyes on the floor. Then, finally, she speaks again.
“Tell me what you know of this ridiculous story of the Emerald Isle,” the Bloodred Queen.
Climbing the scarlet-carpeted stairs, I approach her throne. She expects me to kneel or at least curtsy. It’s what I always do when addressing her. But today I do neither. Instead, I run my hand over her chair. Its elegant ruby-encrusted metal twinkles under the lamplight. Soon, I promise myself. This throne will be mine.
Dismayed, the Bloodred Queen watches me as I rest on the arm of the chair. I delight in the horror on her face. No one else would dare approach her throne, much less sit on it. But in this moment, she has no choice. I suppose she could always behead me like she has so many others, but then my knowledge will go with me to my grave. And with the possibility that King Osbourne still lives and may one day return for the crown, she won’t harm a single hair on my sweet little head. Not yet, anyway.
“According to my sources, the coffin is indestructible and can only be opened with a key,” I say.
“What key?” she asks.
I wave a hand in the air. “Oh, that’s the least of your worries. What is disconcerting is that I’m not the only one who knows this, and if this information falls into the wrong hands,” I say, running a finger over the seat back, “this elegant seat may no longer be yours.”
“And how do you know this?” she says, a calculating look on her face.
“Because for my queen, I would find out anything,” I reply coyly. “And seeing as this is vital information, I figured you’d want to know right away.”
If she knew how long I’ve really known about it, I have no doubt my punishment would be swift and painful. Worse yet, if she’d discovered that I’d destroyed the actual cure, she’d have me killed.
Seeming satisfied with my answer, she sits back in her chair. “Tell me about this key,” she demands again.
I look up, meeting her eyes, wanting to capture her expression when I tell her that those who served her also betrayed her.
“The key was made by the Zwergs,” I say.
The Bloodred Queen bolts to her feet and I step back. “That can’t be. They were taken care of years ago.”
“Yes, but not before they entombed the king,” I say. “A coffin made on your orders.”
Appearing to realize the timeline fits, anger flashes across her face.
“Again, this is merely theory,” I say, not wanting to reveal too much to her. “According to those I have spoken with, the Zwergs were a skilled group of people. Not only were they collectively coal miners in the southern regions of Germany, they were also trained in other trades. Many of them offered their expertise to the crown before they were imprisoned in the Labyrinth.” I pause. “When you sent them there.”
Her frown twitches.
Standing, I pace between her chair and the large mirror. “The Zwergs suspected you were behind the king’s death and together, with their combined trades, an impenetrable but life-sustaining glass coffin was built, sealing the king inside until he had the strength to return and defeat you. The Zwergs were fiercely loyal to the king, and they saved his life. But before they could retrieve him, you’d imprisoned them within the Labyrinth, making it impossible for the keymaker to take the key to the Emerald Isle.”
“Bok?” she snarls. “Of course he’d be the one behind these tales.”
“Indeed. Only the single key made by Bok could open it. Bok sent his daughter, Ginger, to look after the king with the promise that he’d follow soon. The plan was to release the king after he recovered from the attack on his life, return him to his throne, and kill the one who attempted to assassinate him.”
The Bloodred Queen turns her gaze away, refusing to meet my stare, confirming what I’ve assumed all along. Rumors were whispered in the days following the announcement of the king’s death. Although someone eventually hanged for his assassination, it wasn’t his murderer who swung from the gallows. His killer watched an innocent man die from the comfort of her royal balcony.
“When you ordered that he be entombed, the Zwergs paid a heavy price to have his body discreetly taken from the castle and escorted to the Emerald Isle by ship. And there he still resides,” I say.
The Bloodred Queen rises, giving me a slight shove to the side, and stands before her mirror. Her gold eyes glow with rage. With a swipe of her hand, she runs her claws across her reflection, leaving four deep cuts in the glass.
“How foolish I was to trust the Zwergs would turn on their king,” she says, the tone of her voice low and thick with fury. “I should’ve killed him myself.”
She spins on her heels, whirling toward me. “He must be killed, but this time I’ll be sure he’s dead,” the Bloodred Queen says.
“Your Majesty, I’ve already taken the liberty to dispatch your army to find and retrieve Osbourne,” I say, slipping the gold circlet from the silk ribbon tied around my waist.
“Where did you get that?” the Bloodred Queen hisses.
Ducking my head, I hand her the crown. “I found it in your sleeping quarters as I was making up your room. When I heard that Osbourne was alive, I assumed you’d want him to be found right away, but now I return it to its rightful owner, Your Majesty.” I bow and turn away, descending the steps, waiting for the queen’s next move.
“Halt!” she says. I
turn back to her. She stands boldly in front of her throne, fury etched in her features. The Haploraffen guards in the room draw in close to me, waiting for her next command. “Your open lack of respect for my authority begs to be disciplined harshly. Lesser offenses have resulted in beheadings.”
A flare of panic ignites in my belly, but I steel myself. Again, I bow. “I beg for your forgiveness, Your Majesty. I only did what I thought was right. I don’t know how many others know of the king’s existence. Had I not done what I did, the king may have very well been rescued before your army found him. That is, if he hasn’t already been discovered.”
The Bloodred Queen’s next words are clipped. “Despite my displeasure with you removing things from my room, I’m pleased that you took the incentive to act upon the information you’ve received—for now.”
She tosses the circlet back to me. “You will use the Haploraffen Halo only to conduct the king’s retrieval and to have him brought to me immediately. And you will return the halo once Osbourne is in custody.” Her stare fixed on me, she makes her way down the stairs, almost like she’s slithering. She holds a scaly finger to my face. “Let me remind you, Katt, that my army is first and foremost loyal to me. Don’t think of trying to double-cross me.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” I say humbly. I bow once more and place the circlet on my head.
“I expect a report by the end of the day,” the Bloodred Queen says.
Giving her a slight nod, I hold back the grin creeping to my face and prepare to exit the room. Perhaps I’ll save my last surprise for later. It’s only a matter of time before she’ll be as dead as the skin she sheds regularly. As if on cue, the clock tower dings, counting off another hour of her life.
“Katt!” the Bloodred Queen calls. “Just one more thing.”
When I turn back to her, she is within centimeters of my face. Startled, I take a step away.
“That’s a lot of information from a girl who hails from England,” she says, quickly snatching me around the throat. “May I ask how you know all this? Are you certain the king is indeed alive? Who revealed this information to you?”
I cough as her scaly fingers press against my windpipe. “The traitor was one of your own,” I choke out.
“One of my own?” the queen says suspiciously.
I try to nod, but end up coughing more. “Your Majesty …” The world is a little fuzzy at the edges. “Yes … a traitor … with proof.” I motion frantically for her to put me down. She loosens her grip enough that I can gasp in air, but her nails still rest dangerously on my throat.
I raise a hand, gesturing for the winged machines, and croak out, “Bring him.” After a moment, both guards return, dragging Jack between them. Jack shouts through the gag tied around his mouth. With his wrists bound, he looks quite adorable in his helpless state. He is shoved hard to the floor in front of the Bloodred Queen. He groans but doesn’t look up at his stepmother. She drops her grip from my neck, and I’m grateful to take in a full breath of air. Crouching, I grab Jack by the arm.
“Don’t you forget our deal. Play along or we’re both dead,” I whisper in his ear as I yank him to his feet.
“Jack!” the Bloodred Queen hisses. “First your father and now you? You’re supposed to be dead!”
“But he’s not,” I dare to say. I can feel her wrath pulsating from her as I add, “The same apple you fed to the king, your son, Hook, fed to Jack. Proof that the king could also be alive.”
“Impossible!” she screams as her pupils nearly disappear in her eyes.
“Not impossible. He’s far from dead and singing like a songbird. That’s usually the way I like my prisoners, don’t you?”
“That means …” The Bloodred Queen stiffens.
“That means you’re not a widow after all. Your husband still lives,” I say. I have to bite my tongue to keep from adding, “You must be so relieved.” But I don’t need her to direct her anger at me.
“Why would he whisper such vital information to you?” the Bloodred Queen asks.
I wave a hand in the air. “Why not? He’s got nothing to lose except his life. And what better person to provide information than the one person who has managed to infiltrate the Marauders, the Lost City, and the Labyrinth’s townsfolk. This boy has been doing a lot of listening to campfire talks about the good King Osbourne. The fact of the matter is that just like Jack, the king still lives and intends to retake his throne.”
“He can’t be trusted,” the Bloodred Queen says, glaring at her stepson. “He speaks lies.”
“Hmm, perhaps,” I say, shrugging. “It’s possible given his history of deception we shouldn’t listen to him.” Jack squirms by my side.
“But if I may,” I venture. “He is the son of the king. It’d make sense that he’d know of his whereabouts if anyone did. Even if there were whispers of where the king might be, he’d surely be the one who would benefit the least from the king’s return. Think about it: If King Osbourne is indeed alive and he returns, he and his followers will destroy you. Have no doubt about that. But where does that leave poor Prince Jack?” I brush his long dark hair out of his eyes. “Still just a prince—and a traitorous one at that. But if the king were dead, then Jack’s only threat is you, Your Highness.” I have no idea if Jack ever wanted the throne, but it doesn’t matter now anyway. He’s going to ascend it, if only so I can kill him upon it and take what was stolen from me.
“Never!” the Bloodred Queen says, rearing back in horror. She spins, her gaze fixed on the ground as she considers the situation. After a few moments, she turns back to me.
“Kill him!” she declares, pointing her clawed finger at Jack.
The Haploraffen lunge for him.
“Stop!” I shout.
The guards turn in my direction, waiting for their next command.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” I say quickly, “I’m not so certain that is the right decision. Jack is valuable. He not only has information on the king’s whereabouts, but he lived in Everland and the Labyrinth, with the young doctor who has created the proper cure. He may know things, and if not, perhaps we can use him to our advantage.”
“How so?” the Bloodred Queen asks, staring at me suspiciously.
A crooked grin grows on my face. “I think perhaps we should go for a stroll through the castle. I have a few others you might like to meet.”
Steel bars cover a cavern dug within the hillside. Amzo opens the door and unceremoniously shoves me in. I fall onto the hard ground. Bolting to my feet, I race for the opening, but the cage slams shut with a loud clang. Gripping the bars, I lean my face against the cold metal. “Let me out!” I shout.
Amzo grins, revealing a mostly toothless smile. “Not until you tell me how you got this key and what your intentions are with it.”
Frowning, I stand defiant. There’s no way I intend to tell this woman where it came from, much less what its purpose is.
“Suit yourself. You’re not the first, nor will you be the last. There are those who have heard the stories and come barreling in demanding to know its whereabouts. But they’re all just as young and naive as you are.” Amzo chuckles. “They all end up dead.”
“But if you know what that key is for, why imprison me? My being here with the key means the treasure must be retrieved,” I say.
“That’s not up to the likes of a child,” she says, sneering. “Ginger will decide what to do with you.”
With those parting words, she turns in her mechnosuit and leaves.
Shouting for her to come back and release me is pointless. It will only fuel her power over me, so I search for someone who might be willing to help me.
Boys and men scurry about, tending to the daily domestic duties of the coastal village. The women, however, stand guard in their mechnosuits, armed and ready for anything. It occurs to me that every soldier on the beach was female other than Jo. I’m not sure what sets him apart. Clearly, he was supposed to be with the rest of the men.
While the village appears peaceful, there is an air of vigilance, as if an attack on the community is imminent. If someone like me could heighten their anxiety, I can only imagine what they’ve endured.
No one pays any attention to me. I shrink down to the ground and lean against the bars. With my head tilted back and my eyes closed, exhaustion overwhelms me.
I’m not sure how long I’ve slept when the sound of music stirs me awake. Jo sits just beyond the bars, resting on a rock and playing a sad song on a fiddle. The long, weepy notes dance mournfully through the air.
Nearby, a bowl consisting of carrots, potatoes, and some sort of meat in a thick gravy is emanating a scent that makes my stomach growl. I’ve eaten nothing in nearly three days, and I devour the stew. When I’m done, I place the bowl outside the prison bars.
“Hey, Jo!” I call out. When he doesn’t respond, I call for him once more. He ignores me until the end of his tune. Then he slowly rises from the rock and saunters over.
“What do ye want?” he asks, blinking at me.
“I need to speak to Ginger,” I say. “It’s urgent.”
He sets his fiddle and bow down and folds his arms. “Ginger, ye say?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes, is she here? When can I talk to her?”
Jo rolls his eyes. “Yer chance with Ginger is gone. What with ye flaunting yer key off, ye’re lucky to be alive.”
“Look, that key is why I need to speak to her immediately,” I beg.
“Well, now that Amzo caught ye, I doubt ye’ll ever see General Ginger,” he says.
“But you know where she is? You can take me to her, can’t you?” I ask.
Before he can reply, a blare of sirens cuts him off. Shouts rumble throughout the village. Dizziness overwhelms me as I wonder if the alarms are for me.
“People of Wicklow, take up your weapons and prepare for battle!” a woman shouts. She is also armored in a mechnosuit, only instead of the dark steel armor the soldiers wear, hers stands out in a tone so bronze, the sunlight reflecting from it blinds me. She clearly is the leader of this army. This must be General Ginger.