Chapter Eleven: Cheryl
Cheryl held Maskin's hand tightly as Bjorn covered the entrance of the hollow tree they hid in. It was an ancient tree, the trunk so wide that a dozen men Maskin's size could stand with their arms outstretched and still be barely able to encircle it. It had been luck–or an act of the Gods–that Bjorn had seen the hollow in the trunk that was just big enough for them to slip through. The inside was cool and dry and smelled strongly of wood and earth.
"Can you save him?" she asked.
Bjorn activated the regenerator. "I'll do everything I can."
He ran the regenerator over the deep, bloody gash in Maskin's side. The queen couldn't look at it without feeling like she was about to vomit, so she concentrated on Maskin's face, kissing his lips again and again. His already pale blue skin looked almost white.
She had never seen a corpse before, but right now the warrior looked like one.
"Don't leave me," she ordered in a whisper. "Don't you dare leave me. You are my king, and I am your queen."
His facial muscles twitched and a low groan reverberated from his chest. It was like he was trying to roar a challenge, but couldn't quite make it. Cheryl cupped his face and kissed him again before laying her head on his chest.
"Stay with me."
His heartbeat was so slow that she almost thought it had stopped. She clung to him, whispering his name over and over.
"There," Bjorn said after what seemed like hours. He sat back and wiped sweat from his forehead. "That's stopped the bleeding at least. How well his internal organs patched up… It's up to him now, Cheryl. I wish…"
Cheryl grasped his hand but didn't leave Maskin's side. "I wish we had stayed as well."
A pained look crossed the prince's look. "No. Getting you away from those warriors was the right thing to do. But I wish I hadn't told him that he was sterile. Without a chance to have children with you… I'm afraid that he won't fight."
Cheryl felt like she had been slapped. "Sterile?"
"All warrior-slaves are made sterile. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I should never have agreed to come here when I knew that this—"
She held up her hand and took a deep breath. As much as she wanted to be angry with Bjorn at the moment, her worry for Maskin was too great. She didn't have the strength for two such strong emotions.
"When I lived at the temple, Priest Quincy would sometimes perform fertility rites for same-sex couples. If he could clone and combine DNA from two individuals, why can't we do the same for three?"
Bjorn's eyes widened. "That's possible?"
"Doesn't everybody know?"
The prince shook his head. "Cloning is… well, it was declared unviable hundreds of years ago. But if the temples can do it… Do you hear that, Warrior?" He poked Maskin's arm. "You can have children. The three of us can be parents. So you have no excuse to give up, do you hear me? Unless you want to give up your claim and give Cheryl to me to enjoy all by myself."
Cheryl opened her mouth angrily, about to scold him for saying such dreadful things, but Maskin stirred. He didn't open his eyes, but a smile twitched his lips. A grunt rose from his throat before he relaxed back into unconsciousness.
"He can hear us!" Cheryl kissed him. "Maskin, I love you. Come back to me. Fight. We'll have dozens and dozens of beautiful babies."
"Maybe not that many. But as many as you want." Bjorn rested his hand on her back. The bandages around his injured shoulder were soaked through with blood. With a grimace, he began to peel them back to use the regenerator on himself.
"I want lots of babies," Cheryl said. "I have all their names picked out already."
Bjorn smiled. It was a sad smile, but Cheryl wasn't going to think about that. Right now, she was just going to keep holding Maskin's hand and make sure he knew how much she loved him.
***
Cheryl woke to Bjorn gently shaking her. She rubbed her eyes, her gaze immediately going to Maskin. He was the same as he ever was, eyes closed, skin pale, breathing deep. Cheryl reached to touch his hand. His skin was cool. Not fevered, not overly cold. A small smile crossed her lips. He was a fighter. There was a chance all three of them would make it out of this.
"I have to go find food," Bjorn said gently. He put a dagger in her hand. "Remember, if someone enters without first giving the password—"
"Stab between the neck and shoulder."
"Good." He kissed her lightly. "Stay here. Do not leave for anything."
Cheryl nodded, though her stomach twisted at the idea of being alone here again. It had been several days since they had hidden in the hollow tree. Since then, Bjorn had to leave to get water and food for them, and Maskin hadn't moved. She hated being left alone, but if they didn't eat and drink, they wouldn't be able to fight off the warriors Quincy had sent when they were discovered.
The thought of the priest had her shuddering again as Bjorn slipped out of the tree and disappeared silently into the forest. When had Quincy decided to become king? Was it before he became the priest in charge of her training, or after? When he made her wear dresses that stopped her from looking like a woman, was that because a queen must be modest, or was it to control his lustful thoughts towards her? When he told her to lose weight, was it because she was meant to be regal, or because he wanted her curves flat for himself?
Whatever it was, she would not live under his thumb. She would not live without her kings, and if Quincy thought he could replace them…
She would kill him.
Cheryl gripped Bjorn's knife tighter, imagining plunging it into Quincy's heart. When the image had first come to her mind it had surprised her so much she had felt sick. Now, though… Now all she felt was determination.
A shout from inside the forest made her jump. It was Bjorn's voice. The sound was followed by a clash of swords. Her heart began racing and she clutched the dagger more tightly, retreating to the far end of the hollow tree next to Maskin's still form. They had been discovered. Again.
Her eyes closed briefly and she whispered a prayer to the Gods to protect her and her kings.
A shadow darkened the exit to the tree. Cheryl's heart nearly stopped. She stared with wide eyes as a head emerged into the tree. In the darkness, she couldn't see his face.
He did not give the password. It was not Bjorn.
Cheryl yelled as she threw herself forward. In the darkness, she found the joint between neck and shoulder and stabbed her dagger in. It sunk, feeling like she was cutting through a melon. The man yelled in pain. The smell of blood filled the hollow tree.
She would never eat meat again after this.
The man tried to back out of the tree, but Cheryl grabbed a fistful of hair and stabbed again and again into the neck. A horror rose in her but so did desperation. She wasn't going to let Quincy take her. She wasn't going to let him kill her kings.
When the man no longer moved, Cheryl released him. He slid out of the tree like a rock thrown from a cliff. The human rolled over and vomited. Her chest heaved and sweat coated her arms and face. Every muscle in her body trembled.
But somewhere in killing that man, she had made a choice. There was only one way to end this before her kings were killed. She hid the dagger in her skirt and wormed out of the tree.
Cheryl took a deep breath to brace herself. She ran from the tree, praying to the Gods that this would work.
"Quincy!" she shouted. "Quincy! Do you want me? Come and get me!"