The Gender End (The Gender Game #7)

For three days we were confined to our cells, going stir crazy, just waiting. The woman never answered our questions. I was beginning to think she was hard of hearing, or even mute, because she never said a word. The only solace we had was in each other, so we talked. We talked about all sorts of things—speculating what was happening with our group of rebels, the boys, Morgan and Sierra, Matrus. Then we talked about all the things we had to do when we got back to Patrus. Then the cycle began again.

At night, Viggo and I would lie next to each other with only the bars to separate us, and talk about what we would do if we got out of here. Nothing to do with the war or the rebuilding—we talked about where we could put our home, what we wanted it to look like, what kind of motorcycle Viggo had been hoping to buy, whether I could start a self-defense center for women in the hills of Patrus… There was even the slightest mention of children. Our children. The speculation, cut off from all politics and current events, helped, even if it was bittersweet. It was tantalizing to think about this whole thing in terms of being done and over with. To think about the life we might have, if none of this were burdening us anymore.

On the morning of the fourth day, I woke up and saw the old woman standing on the other side of my cell door, looking at me intently.

Rubbing my eyes, I sat up, then reached my hands through the bars to wake Viggo.

“Yes?” I asked, my voice cracking with a yawn. “What is it?”

The woman smiled kindly and waved her hand at me.

“You and your friends are to accompany me.”

She nodded and took a step back as two wardens appeared and unlocked our cells. They held open the doors, and I saw Amber and Logan peering at us through the bars of their own cells, looking groggy.

Tim snored on, oblivious to the change in our status, while Owen watched warily from his own cell. I exchanged a look with Viggo and then stood, stepping out into the hallway. Viggo did as well, and after a long pause, I moved over to him and took his hand.

“Who are you?” I asked the older woman, and she clasped her hands behind her back.

“Edith Carmichael,” she replied. “Warden High Commander, retired now, of course. Edi for short. You and your people will be escorted to some better rooms, where food and fresh clothes await you. Would you like a moment to prepare before you meet the queen?” As she spoke, the two wardens began unlocking the others’ cells, releasing them.

“It depends,” Viggo said cautiously. “Who’s the queen now?”

Edi just smiled and slowly turned away, lapsing back into her staunch silence and moving down the hall at a sedate pace. The wardens opened the other cell doors, letting everyone emerge as Viggo and I moved hand in hand down the hallway.

The older woman led us through the control room for the prisons and up a flight of stairs, and I could hear hammering and sounds of construction coming from the doors.

“The palace has suffered quite a bit of damage,” Edi said dryly. “But most of it was superficial.”

I thought of Ms. Dale going over the side of the building and the explosion that had followed, and leaned into Viggo. We continued to follow Edi, and she continued to lead us up, until she stopped at a landing and opened the door.

“Your rooms are here. Everyone has their own except for Mrs. Bates and Mr. Croft. I understand that they are married.”

“We are,” Viggo said, and she nodded and pushed open a door.

“This will be your room. Mr. Bates,” she said, addressing Tim. “You are across the hall, and everyone else can pick their own room. I’ll give you an hour to shower and change, but the queen will only be speaking with Mrs. Bates and Mr. Croft.”

“Why?” Amber demanded. “You’ve locked us in here for three days. We deserve answers.”

“And you’ll have them,” Edi replied acerbically. “Now, go rest in some nice rooms with much better food than what you were getting in the prison, and be patient for just a little bit longer. We don’t want to stress the queen with too many visitors at once. Mrs. Bates and Mr. Croft will fill you in.”

Owen was the first to accept her decision—he simply lumbered silently by, heading to a room down the hall and stepping into it. He shut it with a click, leaving us all standing in the hall.

“Let it go, Amber,” I said softly. “Let’s just see what happens.”

“I can stay with you,” Logan added, a slow smile tugging on his lips. “Make sure you’re safe.”

Amber looked up at him, her answer evident in the fact that she said nothing at all, and then moved down the hall, past Owen’s door and into the next room, shutting the door as well. Logan watched her go, bemused, and then went to the room across the hall.

“Good luck,” he called as he stepped into it, leaving the four of us alone.

“More sleep,” Tim yawned as he opened the door, wincing a little as his neck stretched. He shut the door with a click, and I looked at Viggo, who shrugged.

“See you in an hour,” I informed Edi, and she gave me a wry grin.

One hasty lovemaking session in the shower and a hurried breakfast coupled with frantically getting dressed later, we were five minutes late getting out the door, and I was completely okay with that. Viggo had made love to me like the world were caving in around us, as if I were his only safe place. And in those minutes, he was mine. We took shelter in each other’s arms and solace in each other’s touch, and for a brief moment, I felt a spark of hope that maybe things were going to get better—and clung to it, for the both of us.

Still, I could tell Edi was perturbed at our tardiness as she led us down the hall, grumbling under her breath. I didn’t care. They had locked a pair of newlyweds apart for several days. It was really their own fault.

The door she led us to was nondescript, and she pushed it open and stepped inside. I went in first and immediately saw Morgan lying in a hospital bed, Sierra sitting next to her. She looked at me curiously when I stepped in, and then reached over to gently touch Morgan’s shoulder.

“They’re here,” she whispered, and Morgan’s eyes opened. Her face was horribly bruised, her left eye almost swollen shut, and I could tell when she tried to sit upright that more than a few of her ribs were broken.

“Hey, guys,” she whispered harshly, her voice coming out raw, and Sierra grabbed a small plastic cup from the table next to the bed and handed it to her. Morgan took a sip and then handed it back, groaning.

“Morgan!” I said, taking a step toward her, relieved to see her alive, when Edi loudly rapped her knuckles across the door.

“You will address her as ‘Queen Morgana,’” she said primly. “Of Matrus, of course.”

“Edi, you old windbag, lay off them.” Morgan coughed and then shuddered, her hands going to her sides. “I’m really tired, Edi, and I just want to let them know what’s going on. So back off—they aren’t enemies or subjects. They’re friends.”

Edi sighed and nodded.

“A queen should have friends… I just wish they weren’t the same people who killed the last queen.” She shut herself on the other side of the door as she spoke, ensuring her words were the final ones in the conversation, and I smiled.

“She’s interesting,” I said, and Morgan gave a halfhearted chuckle.