Queen Yavara Ch. 58

Revisionist history, old man, I chuckled to myself. This boy was brave and virtuous, and I had been a sniveling coward hiding behind a bookshelf while my whole temple was massacred. Still, it touched something in me. I turned the boy over onto his back, and awoke him with a spell. His eyes fluttered open.

"Did we win?" He croaked.

"One of us did." I said, and briefly transformed back into Zander before donning Destiny's more appealing visage.

The boy blinked. "You mother fucker," he whispered.

"I know." I smiled compassionately, and rested my hand on his chest, "How old are you?"

He tried to spit in my face, but only managed to splatter saliva all over his cheeks and eyes. I blotted him clean, and asked again, "How old? Don't make me pry it from your mind."

"Nineteen."

"And already so powerful?" I raised my brow, "What a little overachiever you are. Prestira must've loved you."

"Don't speak her name, you bastard!"

I rolled my eyes. "None of you knew her; I don't know why you're all so keen to defend her. She would've ground your bones to powder if she thought it would've given her complexion a nicer glow."

"Fuck you!"

"She was a psychotic drunk who only respected those stronger than her, which is why she ran off with me and Yavara, and abandoned all of you without a second thought."

"Lying slut!"

"She certainly was."

"You know what I mean!"

"You are a stubborn little fucker, aren't you? Some people think stubbornness is a virtue, but look where it got you." I tapped him on the chest, and smiled, "Adaptability is what survivors have. Let's see if you've got any of it. How would you like a job?"

"What?"

"An apprenticeship, actually. I need to reestablish the Alkandran Magical Order, and there's a dearth of candidates within the Great Forest. How would you like to be my first?"

The boy just stared at me with his mouth agape. I watched the gears in his mind tick behind his eyes, and I felt a pang of disappointment when he made the decision to try to kill me. He raised a feeble hand to touch my chest, and I burst his heart. Blood shot out of his mouth, and speckled my face. With his dying breath, he croaked out a single guttural word, then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he went limp.

I frowned, and looked at the place where his forefinger was touching my breast. I peeled back my robes, pulled my bra down, and revealed a small black dot just above my nipple. What had he said with his last breath? "Cancer." The little fucker had used a death curse on me.

"Oh, you bastard." I chuckled to myself, watching the black dot vanish into my flesh. That's what I get for trying to be nice.

How much time did I have left? Hours at the most. It would metastasize rapidly, eating through my blood, then my lymphnodes, then my organs. Already I could feel a fever setting on from my weakened immune system, and a dull ache in my chest.

"Well," I muttered, "no reason to be cautious now." I got to my feet, and surveyed the burning city, "Time to have some fun."