Coldbloods (Hotbloods #2)

I nodded. As reluctant as I was to go anywhere near that queen again, Lazar’s suggestion made sense. “She’s terrified of losing her crown,” I said. “A little pep talk could be just what she needs to get her back on track. The last thing this place needs is a mad queen, executing people left, right, and center. And, if people doubt her, things will start to fall apart… Civil war would destroy this place.”

“You had me at ‘mad queen’,” Navan muttered, stuffing the black box into his bag. I just hoped we’d be able to get something off it before Orion started to lose patience.

Zipping back across the harsh landscape, with Lazar crammed into the Snapper with us—since he’d decided it would be better if he kept his ship at the cabin, as a getaway vehicle, if necessary—I thought about home. If everything went well, I’d soon be returning, with plenty of time to intercept the blood-pod on the way. Glancing at Navan, I wondered what he’d do when this mission was over, and the blood had been retrieved. Would he come back with me to Earth? It was something I had assumed in the back of my mind but never asked. Given his hatred for Vysanthe, I hoped he would.

The icy palace came into view, and the Snapper descended into what felt like our usual spot. We got out and walked through the vast entrance, the guards letting us past without so much as a grunt or a gruff word.

Everything looked so different now, compared to the previous night. All the decorations had been torn down, the walls and ceilings looking strangely bare, and the grand hall had been cleared of all party evidence. There were no opaleine towers bearing vials upon vials, no crystal glasses with red liquid inside, and no chairs and tables. It was one big expanse, devoid of festive spirit.

Crossing the empty floor quickly, Lazar led us down the same hallway that Queen Gianne had disappeared through after Kalvin had been executed. It was broad and wide, ending in a familiar set of double doors. This was the throne room, where Navan and I had visited the queen. Frowning, I guessed several corridors must lead here.

Navan stepped up to the door and rapped hard on the metal surface. A moment later, a guard came to the door and poked his head out.

“What?” he barked.

“I’m Navan Idrax, here to see the queen,” Navan said. “I think she might be expecting me.”

The guard shook his head. “Not today, she’s not.”

“What do you mean?” Navan frowned.

“Queen Gianne isn’t seeing anyone today,” he replied tersely. “She doesn’t wish to be disturbed, and I’m here to ensure she gets her privacy. Now, I suggest you scoot back the way you came, before I’m forced to throw you out.”

Navan pulled a face, and I knew it mirrored my own. This guard was half the size of Navan—there was no way he’d be doing any throwing out. But, of course, it wouldn’t come to that. The queen had given her orders.

“Do you know when she’ll be receiving visitors again?” Navan pressed. If the queen was isolating herself, it had to be bad. Paranoia was a leech, and I had a feeling it had taken hold of Queen Gianne.

“Yeah, of course, let me just whip out the queen’s diary,” the guard scoffed. “No, I don’t know when she’ll be receiving visitors again, but it’s definitely not today!” With that, he slammed the door shut in our faces.

“Well, he was rude.” I whistled.

“Small man syndrome,” Navan muttered, though the humor didn’t reach his eyes. I could tell he was worried about the queen, too. Jareth had already admitted she was becoming crazier, and this only proved it was getting worse.

As we walked back through the palace hallways, Navan pulled us away from the corridor that led to the exit, and into a side room. It looked out onto a courtyard filled with white blossoms that fell to the ground like snow. Here, monitors and screens beeped and thrummed, and two bulky coldbloods sat in front of desks, looking bored out of their brains.

They turned as we entered. “Navan?” one said, a look of surprise on his face.

“Idrax!” the other, a female, cried. “Thought you were on the far side of the universe!”

Navan smiled. “Had to come back sometime, right? Hafar, Kwen, it’s good to see you guys.” Leaving Lazar and me, he walked over to them and patted them both on the back as they embraced him warmly.

“What brings you here? You in trouble again?” the male coldblood, Hafar, asked, pulling away and flashing a glance of suspicion.

“No, no, nothing like that—for once,” Navan laughed. “My father has made me his, uh… deputy-chief advisor, and he wants me to look through some files. The queen’s worried about rebels, so we’re checking the perimeters for any breaches. I got this disc from one of the guys up at the Observatory, but I think he was a newbie. The thing keeps saying the data is corrupted.”

The female, Kwen, nodded. “The tech up there is ancient, man! They’re always losing important stuff,” she said, grimacing. “You want us to take a look at it for you?”

Navan grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. Although, my father will kill me if he finds out I’ve lost all that data, so if you could keep it on the down low, I’d be eternally grateful.”

Hafar laughed. “Say no more. Leave it with us, and we’ll have something for you in a couple of hours.”

“Thanks, guys, I owe you one,” Navan replied, giving Hafar a playful punch in the shoulder.

“Hey, you owe us many!” Kwen pouted.

“And, one glorious day, I will pay you back,” Navan promised, before turning to leave the room.

As we all returned to the hallway, I looked up at Navan in surprise. “Who were they?” I asked, curious.

“Old friends,” Navan replied with a chuckle. “Let’s just say we were all a bad influence on each other when we were younger. How they landed jobs here, I’ll never know, but I’m certainly glad they did.”

I smiled, picturing Navan as a younger man, in his early teens, running amok in the palace, no doubt causing his father endless hassle. It was always nice to see the relaxed, funny side of Navan—I hadn’t had much chance to see it, here on Vysanthe. Home put him in an almost perpetually somber mood, and while I understood why, I still loved to see a glimpse of his happier self.

“Let’s roam around the gardens for a while. I hear they’re beautiful this time of year, and I’m sure the queen won’t mind,” Lazar suggested with a wink, plucking out a curious, pen-shaped object. Only, it was longer and wider than a normal pen, and didn’t seem to have a discernible nib of any kind. When he pressed a button on the side, the object glowed a dim purple. And as he flourished it in the air, a trace of blue followed the path of the pen, before dissipating.

“What’s that?” I asked Navan. We headed through another network of corridors, following Lazar’s lead.

“It’s an Escribo,” he replied softly. “It creates an image that stores itself inside the pen. Lazar is creating a map with it.”