Page 21 of The Faceless Queen

It had been a fully grown chimera that wounded my mother in the woods that day. And it was my touch that couldn’t heal her, couldn’t help her. No matter how much I prayed to the Gods, screaming and crying out for help, all I could do was make it worse. All I did was weaken her further. And I was so fucking sorry every day that had passed. I would never know if she could have been saved, never know what might have happened if I hadn’t touched her at all, if the Azete hadn’t awoken. If maybe, just maybe, the healers could have reached her in time if it weren’t for me.

I would always be forced to live with the fact that it was my touch that stole her last breath. And that as poisonous as I was, she was still reaching for me—still trying to hold onto me, even at the end.

There was another crash. The floor shook, followed by more terrified yells.

I gasped, nearly stumbling, as the scar on my arm, the one this body hid, began to burn, reminding me. Warning me.

“Hey. Hey now,” Brennan said, steadying me again. He turned my face up. “Look at me. It’s going to be all right. I need you to barricade your door.”

“W—What?” I asked, my mind halfway between the horrors of the past and the ways in which it was about to cruelly catch up to me.

“Samara, we don’t have much time. Take the torch from the wall,” he continued, “and hold it tight. I pray it doesn’t come to this, but have it ready in your hands to defend yourself.” Stepping back from me, his face hardened, the muscle in his jaw tensing. “I will come back for you.” He reached for the hilt of his sword.

Frantically, I shook my head, reaching out for him. But he was already too far away, and I could barely move from the wall. I was stuck to it, my legs not yet working.

“No. Don’t,” I begged. “Don’t go.”

“I must,” he gritted through his teeth. “My friends are down there. And so are yours. As are my—” He shook his head. “You’ll be safe up here, I swear. I will make it so. You survived once. Believe you can do so again.” He eyed the room again. “Does your door lock?”

I nodded dumbly, my heart thundering as he withdrew his blade, the metal gleaming in the firelight. It was as new and shiny as I’d expected when I first saw it, but thick and sharp enough to kill.

“Lock it then,” he said. “Once I’m gone, push your dresser in front, and don’t move it away. Don’t open the door. Not for anyone, no matter what you hear. Promise me. Samara, promise me.”

But I only stared. My heart pounded, the sound of the chimera’s howl repeating through my mind like a death rattle. I still remembered the blood, the horror.

My mother’s final gasp. The trusting, loving look in her eyes when I killed her. Our final touch. The last time her skin felt warm.

Fear was crawling through me. Fear and disgust and love. Because that was all I’d known in her final moments.

Brennan lowered his chin to me without waiting for my answer. His emotions were so strong, so focused on me, they poured out of him and into my body. His thoughts were fuzzy, but their meaning was clear. He was afraid, terrified of fighting the chimera. But he was more afraid of losing his friends, of seeing me hurt. The protective need he had to keep everyone safe was giving him courage, enough to face the beasts.

His gaze moved desperately to the torch still propped into its metal rungs, and back to me, our eyes locking—one last time.

Samara, he thought, the words suddenly coming through clearly. Please. Survive. Be safe and be well.

And then he turned, as another cry of pain exploded through the walls. He ran out the door. Ran to fight a chimera. A fully grown chimera. To protect me. To protect his friends. To protect mine.

And he was going to get himself killed.

Fuck. Fuck!

I could feel it then, suddenly, rising above the panic and fear—sensations that were too powerful for me to ignore—that were rising too powerfully within me. I’d been feeding off of Brennan since we began speaking. And that was on top of all I’d taken from him the night before. He’d fed me so easily, so freely.

And because of that, he was in so much more danger than he knew. Everyone in the tavern was. Chimera were demons of the old world, enormous monsters made up of many beasts. Their body was that of a bull, topped by two mismatched heads. One of which could always breathe fire. A poisonous snake was their tail, always ready to strike and incapacitate prey. Between their three heads, the beast could attack from every angle, killing in a thousand torturous ways. They were worse than a nightmare, more horrifying than you could imagine, until you faced one.

And I was sure that there was only one person in the tavern who had ever done so, who had ever faced one, fought one, and lived.

Me.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror across the room, barely recognizing my face. But I knew this was the last time I’d see it.

I darted to the wall and reached for the torch, the flames flickering against the mirror’s glass. Then I closed my eyes, concentrating my energy across my body. My coin belt, bra, and dancing skirts shifted into black riding pants and boots. I topped it with a matching linen tunic—clothes I could move in, clothes I could fight in.

Clothes I could wear to run away.

I eyed Brennan’s purse, still sitting on the desk across the room. My escape money. My freedom. I took a step toward it.

But I heard another cry from below.