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All Chapters of The Queen is Man: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

71 Chapters

41

"Stop. Please."Noah’s voice didn't crack. It dropped. The high, airy lilt of Abigail—the voice that had been a silken cage for months—hit the damp floor of the tunnel and shattered. He spoke from his chest. Deep. Rough. Masculine.Ethan’s hand, currently clamped onto Noah’s wrist like a dying man to a mast, jerked. The King stumbled. His sightless eyes stared at the dark stone two inches from his nose."What is that?" Ethan’s whisper was a jagged blade. "Where is she? Where—""There is no she, Ethan."Noah stood in the blackness. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. He let the silence sit between them, heavy and wet with the smell of mold and old fear. He reached up. His fingers found the heavy gold wig, matted with soot and Ethan’s own blood. He ripped it off.The weight left his head. He dropped it. It hit the puddle at their feet with a dull, pathetic splash."What did you do?" Ethan lunged forward. He didn't have his sight, but he had his rage. He fumbled, his hands hitting Noah’s

42

"You're late."Noah’s sword arm jerked. He stepped in front of the blind King, the heavy leather of Ethan’s old armor creaking. The tunnel was a throat of wet stone and black shadows. In the center of the path stood a figure. A silhouette.Jonathan Hayes.The General didn't have his helmet. His hair was matted with soot. A deep gash across his brow wept red down the left side of his face. He held his shield—the one embossed with the Silver Wolf—but it was dented, the metal scarred by axe-blows."Move, Jonathan," Noah rasped. His real voice, the low one, echoed off the damp walls. "The Southern Prince is on the beach. He's coming for me. If you want to live, get out of the way.""I’m not here for the Prince." Jonathan stepped forward. The light from his guttering torch hit Ethan’s face. The General stopped. His shield lowered. "What happened to his eyes?""Flash-powder." Noah didn't lower his blade. "Lucas Reed. Your Purists. They did this.""They aren't my Purists." Jonathan’s voice w

43

"He’s still breathing. Fix it."Lucas Reed’s voice cut through the ringing in my ears. I stayed low in the tall grass. The damp earth smelled of rot and cold iron.Twenty feet away, Jonathan Hayes was pinned against a jagged rock. His shield was gone. His armor was a shredded mess of leather and his own blood. Six men circled him like starving dogs."Where did they go, General?" Lucas stepped into the torchlight. He wiped a spray of red from his cheek. "The King. The bitch. Tell me, and I’ll make the next one quick."Jonathan didn't answer. He couldn't. His jaw was hanging by a thread of skin. He spat a tooth into the dirt. He tried to raise his sword, but his arm snapped back down. Dead weight."I don't have all night," Lucas snarled. He grabbed a spear from a nearby guard."Noah..."The whisper was so quiet I almost missed it. Jonathan’s head rolled back against the stone. He wasn't looking at Lucas. He was looking at the shadows where I was hiding."What was that?" Lucas leaned in.

44

"Eat the rabbit, Ethan."The metal bowl clattered against the stone floor. Ethan didn't move. He sat in the corner of the Ravine cabin, his back against the damp wood, legs pulled to his chest. The white bandages I’d wrapped around his head were gray now. Frayed. Smelling of old blood and the sharp, herbal mash I’d pounded from roots."I'm not hungry." His voice sounded like gravel sliding down a chute."You haven't eaten in two days. You want to die in this hole? Fine. But don't make me watch you do it." I grabbed the wooden spoon. Shoved it into the bowl. The stew was thin. Mostly water and the stringy meat of a snare-trap kill."I can't find the spoon, Noah."He didn't yell. He didn't growl. That was the worst part. The Silver Wolf was gone. Just a broken man in a shredded silk tunic remained."I'm holding it. Open your mouth."He hesitated. His jaw worked, a muscle leaping in his cheek. Then he leaned forward. Blindly. Pathetically. I fed him. One spoonful at a time. He swallowed

45

"Take it off."Noah’s fingers froze on the leather laces of his tunic. The cabin was a coffin of shadows, lit only by the dying orange pulse of the hearth. Outside, the waterfall screamed, a wall of sound that buried the rest of the world."You can't even see me, Ethan." Noah’s voice was a rough rasp."I see enough." Ethan sat on the edge of the rope bed. He turned his head, his cloudy, silver eyes tracking the heat of Noah’s body. "I see a dark shape. I see the way the light catches your skin. I hear your heart. It’s hammering against your ribs. Like a bird in a cage."Noah ripped the laces free. He pulled the tunic over his head and hurled it into the corner. The air was freezing. The sweat on his back turned to ice. He stood there, bare-chested, his shoulders broad and scarred from the mountain climb."Is this what you wanted?" Noah stepped closer. He didn't move like a girl. He didn't glide. His boots hit the floorboards with a heavy, masculine thud. "The truth? No silk. No perfum

46

"I smell smoke."Noah froze. He didn't move a muscle. He stood in the center of the cabin, the heavy iron poker still gripped in his hand. The wood under his boots groaned."Smoke?" Ethan’s head tilted. He was sitting on the furs, his back against the wall. His silver eyes were wide, staring at a point three feet to Noah’s left. "The hearth is dead, Noah. I didn't light it.""Not the hearth." Noah dropped to his knees. He pressed his face against the floorboards. A thin, grey ribbon was snaking up through the cracks. It smelled of pitch and dry pine. "The crawlspace. They’re under us.""Abigail!"The voice didn't come from inside. It came from the ridge.Noah’s heart slammed against his ribs. He knew that voice. It wasn't Lucas. It was sharper. Like a blade drawn across a whetstone.Charlotte Reed."I know you're in there," Charlotte called out. Her voice was calm. Almost bored. "And I know the King is with you. Or what’s left of him.""Noah, what—""Stay down!" Noah lunged across the

47

"Don't move, Noah."The assassin’s finger tightened on the trigger. The crossbow bolt hummed, a black needle pointed at my throat. Behind me, the cabin was a roaring furnace, the heat peeling the skin off my back."Step away from him." I didn't recognize my own voice. It was a dry rattle. My hand went to the dagger at my belt. "He's the King. You touch him and the North burns your cities to the ground.""The King is a ghost." The assassin stepped into the light. The gold sun on his chest glinted. "And ghosts don't start wars. They just haunt the people who failed them. Your father sends his regards, Prince. He says the map in your head is a liability he can no longer afford.""My father is a coward.""Your father is a pragmatist. He’s already signing the treaty with the Regency. They get the territory. He gets the peace. And the boy who knows too much gets a bolt in the neck."The hound barked. Not a normal bark. It was a scream.Charlotte Reed lunged from the smoke, her face a mask o

48

Who gave you permission to stop?"The captain of the Black Wolf staggered back. He tripped over a coil of wet rope. Ethan didn't move a muscle, but his presence filled the deck like a storm front. The winter-blue in his eyes burned."The—the harbor chains are up, my King," the captain stammered. He pointed toward the stone throat of the capital. "The Regency. They’ve blocked the inlet. If we move closer, the ballistas will—""I didn't ask about the ballistas." Ethan stepped to the railing. He wasn't wearing the King’s silk. He was wrapped in raw wolf pelts, his broad chest scarred and bare to the freezing spray. "I told you to dock. Do it, or I'll throw you overboard and steer this ship myself."Noah adjusted the weight of the steel breastplate. It was heavy. It pinched the skin at his waist. He stood a half-step behind Ethan, his hand resting on the hilt of a Northern broadsword. No dress. No lace. Just the cold bite of armor."They won't fire," Noah said.The captain turned to him.

49

"Step into the circle, Southern rat."Lucas Reed spat on the stone floor of the arena. He didn't look like a man about to fight. He looked like a man about to slaughter a pig. He rolled his shoulders, the heavy steel of his pauldrons clanking. In his right hand, a broadsword caught the grey light filtering through the cathedral’s high, shattered windows. The blade was dark. Not from blood. From a dull, oily sheen that didn't belong on a clean weapon."Is that the best the North can do?" I tightened the straps on my leather bracers. My left arm was still stiff, the wolf-blood from the night before humming in my marrow. It felt like a hive of bees under my skin. "A drunk who couldn't even keep his sister from burning?""Don't speak her name." Lucas’s face turned the color of a bruised plum. He raised the sword. "By the time I'm done, there won't be enough of you left for a grave. The Priest wants your head. I just want your screams."I looked up.Ethan sat on the High Throne. He looked

50

"You're late."Lucas Reed didn't look up from his whetstone. The rhythmic shirr-shirr of steel against rock filled the damp arena. He was already in his let's-kill-a-peasant gear. Leather reinforced with iron studs. Greaves that had seen more blood than the capital’s gutters. He looked at me, and his mouth twisted. "I thought you’d have run for the border by now. Or tucked your tail between your legs and crawled back to your father’s brothel.""I'm not the one hiding behind a whetstone, Lucas." My hands were steady. A miracle. I gripped the hilt of the Northern short-sword Ethan had smuggled into my cell. It was cold. Balanced. "The Priest is waiting. The King is waiting. Let’s get this over with so I can go back to my bed.""Your bed?" Lucas stood up. He was six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. He looked at my male armor—the steel breastplate I’d stolen from the guardhouse—and laughed. "You won't be sleeping in a bed tonight, little bird. They’re digging a hole for you behind

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