Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Matthew had once asked me what I would sacrifice, what I could endure. I believed he needed me now, and it was the least I could do.
Though my abilities have wilted, I still had a wellspring of power.
I can endure this.
57
The Fool
Year 59 N.D.
Evie’s room. Candlelight.
She lay in her big bed, eyes closed. Not yet asleep, she was lost in memories of being young.
Her chronicles sat on a nearby table. Her descendants had been reading them to her each night. She wanted them to read only about this game. But she couldn’t tell them so.
She couldn’t talk any longer. I barely could. Almost hadn’t made it up the stairs. Never been old before. Effort! Hurts!
From my jacket, I slipped pages into her chronicles. I’d written them from Jack’s point of view. Tredici’s. Mine. Even the Hanged Man’s.
Then I crossed to her. I had just moments left before I was to die. I hadn’t meant to arrive so late, hadn’t meant for the Empress to be like this for so long. The thread of time had slipped from my grasp, the loom unattended. I had the thread back—the straight line into eternity.
She must have sensed me or heard my faint call; her lids fluttered open, and her gaze landed on me. Recognition.
In her, I recognized the girl I’d first met millennia ago. She tried to say something. Failed. Her tiny form tensed with frustration.
She pursed her lips, then mentally called —Can you hear me?—
I nodded.
A hint of a smile. —We haven’t spoken like this in so long. I’ve missed you.—
“I missed Evie.” Talking was difficult. My heart hurt all the time. It wanted to rest.
—Oh, Matthew, I still see in you the boy you used to be.—
“You are the Empress.” Her face changed from game to game and year to year, but her eyes stayed the same.
She started to cough. I offered her the glass of water from her bedstand, but she shook her head.
—I haven’t seen you in person since I left Fort Arcana all those years ago. You had a single tear streaking down your cheek, and I was so worried about you! But Aric told me, “He’ll find you when you least expect it.” How right he was. What have you been doing?—
“Spreading the good word.” For decades I’d traveled with the Wands, but I’d parted ways with them once they knew everything they needed to know. They were Wise. Their descendants would be Wise. They would rule as they should.
And me? The straight line . . .
—Please, come closer.— When I stepped into the low light, she sucked in a breath, and her eyes watered. —You’re in even more pain than I am.—
In a way, I was. I was, in a way.
—Come closer. Come.—
With great effort, I lay beside her on the bed and waited for her to strike. I’d arrived here determined, but my stomach churned. What finality this course would bring.
—That’s it.— Her voice was soothing, even as she frantically tried to muster poison in her claws, just one last time. —We used to lie like this when out on the road with Jack and Selena. Do you remember that, sweetheart?—
I nodded with difficulty. “I do. Knowledge is my burden. I have only ever tried. I won’t fail you.”
Perspiration dotted her brow as she struggled to make her claws work. She inwardly cursed her weakness. She was also angry because she’d thought no one could compel her to play the game again—yet right at the end, the gods had forced her back into it. Just as Tredici had warned her.
But she would do anything to spare me the lonely road of immortality. She would suffer, so I did not.
Her loyalty . . . incandescent.
Lifetimes ago I had foreseen this brilliant beacon—this very moment—and I had loved her ever since.
My friend.
I heard her hectic thoughts: —One last strike, one last kill, let me end this!— She would, in a way. In a way, she would.
She didn’t realize that in calling upon her power, she would . . . expire.
I understood. I understood everything. I would teeter on the very brink of dying for centuries.
—Sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re doing!— She coughed again. When her icons started to transfer from her hands, she cried —No, no, you’re all alone.— Her worst fear. —This is my burden to bear. Not yours!—
Tingling. New markings on my baggy skin. “I wear them once more. The markings must be earned. By me.” I stroked her cheek with my shaking hand. “I vowed never to win again; you’ll forgive me.”
—I never meant for this to happen!— Her coughing worsened. —Oh, God, I’ve damned you.— The lights in the room grew dimmer for her.
As Evie passed from this life, she heard me whisper, “Matthew knows best.”
58
Ivy Lierre, Potential Empress
Year 800 N.D.
Breathe, I told myself as I hurried out of Haven House. Just breathe.