Chapter 36
Iris scrutinizes Ludwig for a long moment, before shifting my attention to the queen.
“My father the king sends you his respects,” she tell her, my mouth bitter with hatred.
The queen’s face turns pale.
“My mother the queen belongs to where she stands now,” Ludwig retorts.
“She doubtlessly does. You’ve got your rewards at last, it seems,” Iris says ironically.
“Not all of them,” Ludwig replies.
“I’m here to set the terms, not to obey” Iris hears herself state.
“You will come with me and return the last thing that belongs to me,” Ludwig says.
“What would that be?” Iris asks, although she know.
Ludwig sighs, as if making a huge effort to remain patient.
“Either you follow me spontaneously, or I will take you against your will. Either way, you will come with me and return what belongs to me,” he says calmly.
Arthur brings his hand to the sword, and I sense his gest reflected in the body language of our soldiers. I no longer know if I am witnessing the scene or living it.
“This was not the deal,” Iris replies.
“This is the deal now,” Ludwig says.
“If you hurt me, you will hurt yourself. And if you kill me, you’ll die,” Iris states, coolly.
Sitting in my spaceship light years away from Earth, I observe myself having a conversation I don’t fully understand, in a time from which I’ve departed.
“I never said I wanted to hurt or kill you. At least for now,” Ludwig grins.
“I am saying it,” I intervene, and now it’s really me talking, Iris in the spaceship looking at the projection of me reverberating from the channel at frequency ‘o’, 3 dot 2 dot shift dot eon dot local.
Everyone freezes, including the other me.
“No, Iris,” the two Arthurs say in unison.
“No, Iris,” Ludwig echoes.
It’s too late though, because I’ve triggered something in that other me and now the sword that hung from my belt is pressing against my throat, as my hand holds it defiantly. I am filled with hatred for everything, including myself, in this spaceship and in that other time. My vision blurs, I cannot care if I die.
“Don’t,” repeats Ludwig, but that’s a mistake, because the fear in his voice only galvanizes my anger.
“Don’t,” Arthur repeats, and his pleading tone flexes my determination for the briefest moment, before the blade sinks into my flesh and the life seeps out of my neck in crimson gushes.
I am one with the other me now, and when she falls from the horse, holding the wound she inflicted to herself, I drop on the floor too, moaning.
“Iris,” I hear in duplicate, the incredulous despair echoing from the two Arthurs.
I attempt one last smile, refusing to yield to death till blackness dawns on the colours of my day.