Chapter Seven: Cheryl
Cheryl yawned as she stumbled along the path. Her legs ached and her feet felt like two blocks of blistered wood. The light was cresting the horizon. At least they would have light to travel by. The dead of night had been so dark that she hadn't been able to see the forms of the two men walking with her.
"How much further?" she asked, trying not to show how bone-weary she was. She wasn't sure that she would be able to take another step but somehow kept her legs still moving.
"We'll get there by noon," Bjorn said.
Maskin grabbed her arm and shoved her to the ground. Cheryl cried out as the rough stones tore her palms. But before she was even down, a dozen warriors leaped from the surrounding bushes. They moved silently like shadows, but the swords that gleamed in their hands were all too solid. Cheryl screamed as the nearest one stabbed at Maskin. He deflected the blow with his own sword, putting his dagger to the attacker's throat. His feet were planted firmly as he fought off the attackers.
On her other side, Bjorn danced and leaped like a flame. His movements were so quick, she could hardly tell where his arms ended and his sword and dagger started. The warriors that crowded him soon found themselves with gashes over their eyes or in their throats.
Together the two men stood over her, trusting one another to hold their backs. Cheryl curled into a ball, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. Twice she saw an open space and threw rocks at their attackers, but the defense of her men was so tight that she saw very little but them.
The warriors suddenly broke off their attack and fled back into the trees. Bjorn growled and took a step to follow, but Maskin grabbed his shoulder.
"They are trying to lure us away from Cheryl."
"Are they trying to steal her or kill her?"
Maskin shook his head. His body was still tense, eyes scanning the tree line. "I couldn't tell. But they were lying in wait for us."
Cheryl's heart was in her throat as she scrambled to her feet and shivered, glancing around. "They guessed that we were coming this way? So we have to go the other way?"
"No, my Lapis Lazuli." Maskin put an arm around her. "If this path is guarded, then the other one will be as well."
"Unless they weren't laying in wait at all," Bjorn argued. "If they were merely checking if we were coming this way, we can still reach the communications bunker before they can move their soldiers to block our path."
The prince took a step down the path.
Maskin grabbed him again. "If they were looking for us on this path, that means they know where we are headed. If our quarry is smart enough to check all possible routes to the bunker, they will have it heavily guarded. We won't be able to make it."
"Can we fix communications on the ship?"
"No."
Cheryl pressed both of her hands to her mouth, feeling sick. Intermittent tremors moved down her spine and she pressed herself to Maskin's side, grabbing Bjorn's hand as well. His nanite armor was stiffer than she expected, making it difficult to breathe. Even though the fear pounded through her, there was a sense of calm as well. Whatever happened, she knew that her two men would allow no harm to come to her.
But what if they died protecting her? How could she be queen without her kings?
"I don't want to be queen if I can't have you," she blurted out, looking between them. "Both of you. You were both chosen by the Gods to be king, I don't care what Quincy said, you are both my kings!"
Bjorn kissed her forehead. "Hush. You don't have to choose between us."
"But—"
"We can worry about being kings after we leave the Shrine alive," Maskin said grimly. "If we can't call for help, then we will have to wait until help comes to us."
Bjorn glanced over his shoulder. "If we are going to wait, then we need a place to hide. An acolyte kitchen is a place we can fortify. We have to get back to the heart of the shrine unless we can fly the ship without navigation."
Maskin gave him an annoyed look. "Can you fill a cup that has a hole drilled through the bottom? Carry her. We'll go through the forest. The path is too dangerous."
The trees were so thick that Cheryl didn't know how Maskin and Bjorn found a way to move through them, but they did. Maskin led, sword strapped to his back, dagger in hand. They moved quickly, and far more quietly than Cheryl had expected. They ran into no more enemies as they made their way back to the heart of the Shrine.
Once there, Maskin retrieved his armor and they made their way to the acolyte kitchen. The acolytes themselves seemed to have disappeared. Cheryl shivered as they entered the kitchen. What could have happened to them?
Every open space was boarded over and fortified, except for a single slot by the door where Maskin stood watch. Bjorn found some food and urged Cheryl to eat, but her stomach churned too much to swallow anything down.
"Why are they attacking us?" she asked.
"We can't know for certain." Bjorn smoothed her wild hair from her face. "I suspect that someone's angry that Maskin, a warrior-slave, was permitted the chance to become king."
Maskin shook his head. "I disagree. They may have been a little more reluctant to attack you, but they were still going for the kill. I suspect that someone has decided they want to be king and is after Cheryl."
The human shuddered. "But the Gods decided on you and Bjorn. It's my choice."
"When has a queen ever chosen her king?"
Cheryl had no response to Maskin's question. If somebody was after her–and that seemed like the most likely scenario to her–then they didn't care what she wanted.
"This is why I wanted to be king," Bjorn said, putting an arm around Cheryl as she shivered. "The injustices that we live within our society are reprehensible. We need a king who will evoke change, not think of expansions or increasing his own wealth."
Cheryl glanced at Maskin. It was almost exactly what he had told her about why he wanted to be king. Now he stared at Bjorn with surprise in his eyes. "That's why I looked to become king as well."
Both men eyed each other. Cheryl's heart skipped a beat. She could actually see respect dawn as they regarded each other. And despite being locked away in the acolyte kitchen with who knew how many warriors out there hunting them for reasons that were yet unknown, her heart rose.
Maybe there was a chance that they could get along. The hostility between the two of them had been steadily declining since that first night that they had shared her. She still didn't know who had claimed her rose, and who had been at her back, but it didn't matter.
They were hers and she was theirs.
Cheryl had made her choice at long last. Both of them. And they would be good kings. Maskin had warrior's knowledge to protect the system, Bjorn had knowledge of politics that was needed to invoke change from the inside. They were like two halves of the same coin, and they were her kings.
Her heart sank as quickly as it had risen. The choice wasn't hers anymore. When they left the shrine, one or both would be put to death, depending on whether or not she was pregnant. Then what was she supposed to do?