The Clay Queen Read online

  The young Sister’s tears fell on the soil as she balled it tight and cradled it. “To dust,” she whispered to herself.

  Sister Kaypore, in halting breaths that faded with each word, intoned the departing prayer. “The golden cord is broken. The flower of the earth is returned to thee.” Wiping her tear-stained face, she opened a latch, revealing an opening in the railing at the threshold of the cavern shaft.

  Sister Qhy, holding the earth in her hand, looked at the last living person she would see. She swallowed. “I would have loved to see the Miracle of the Sun.”

  “I wish you could have,” Sister Kaypore replied. “It’s beautiful.”

  “My mother saw it—the flaming orb kisses the rainbow. She said that you can look directly at the sun as it dances in the sky; it bobbles and twists and shoots down toward us.” She turned back to the cavern. “It’s one reason I joined the Order.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sister Kaypore replied.

  “Don’t be. I am going to the real Sun and her Angel, beyond the shadows of this world.” She paused. “In two weeks, when you watch the sun, will you remember me?”

  “I will,” Sister Kaypore replied. “And when you come into the presence of Ryna, in the land without shadow, remember us.” Her face twitched. “I love you so much.” Don’t hug her. Don’t touch her. Let her go.

  “I love you too, Sister,” Sister Qhy’s whisper, through quivering lips, cut through the howling gusts. Sister Kaypore nodded, allowing her tears to flow freely now.

  Sister Qhy stood at the edge of the cavern and crossed her forearms over her chest. She took another deep breath. “Nunc dimittis.” She closed her eyes and let herself drop deep into the darkness.

  Chapter 3

  Jeremy Blade splashed water on his face and looked into the mirror. He straightened his blue shirt, buttoned his cuffs, and smiled at his reflection. Not bad for having slept on park benches for the last four nights. Bridget, he thought with a sigh. He needed to get back to Bridget, his wife, whom he’d left outside the South American snake exhibit. It was never a good idea to leave her unsupervised for long.

  “Long day?”

  Jeremy turned to a large middle-aged man washing his hands. He chuckled. “Honeymoon. Five years late.”

  “Congratulations,” the man said, wiping his hands. “Couldn’t have picked a better spot than Paris. American?”

  Jeremy nodded and reached out his hand. “Jeremy Blade.”

  “Jeremy Blade? I know you.” The man’s eyes widened. “You’re the special science economy guy the president appointed—”

  “To lead the Economic and Technological Innovation Council. Yes.”

  “Well, Dr. Blade, you’re looking at a live, walking, talking product of all your good work. You’re a good man, and just as handsome in person. You should’ve seen my wife every time you showed up on the news. My Lord. She would be absolutely hysterical. She has all your books: The Market Quotient, Quantifying your Brand, and she’s reading the one on leadership.”

  Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “I have more books—”

  “I know it’s not all of them,” the man chuckled. “There’re all those complicated finance things you write, but she figured the other books put your ideas into layman’s terms. She wants me to read them. Hey! Maybe I can develop and sell a company for a cool few hundred million. Didn’t you just do that a few months ago? Any stray ideas lying around?”

  Jeremy smiled. “You’ll be the first to know. I’m sorry, I have to check on my wife. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  Jeremy rushed out of the bathroom into the dark corridor and toward the exhibit. He oriented himself as he looked both ways. The large paneled exhibits on either side were all clear, in contrast to all the activity a few minutes ago. Odd. No one was interested in any other reptile exhibit except the South American snake exhibit, down the corridor where he’d left Bridget. Hurrying to the exhibit, he pressed through the thick crowd, calling for his wife.

  Jeremy, taller than the average person, scanned over the heads of the crowd. “Bridget!” he yelled.

  Turning at the collective gasp, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Bridget—in the enclosure! She was on her haunches; her hand was stretched over a small pool of water, reaching toward a snake wound tightly over a piece of wood. Her lips were moving. She was talking to something.

  “Bridget! No. No. No.”

  Panicked, he forced his way through the crowd and ran his hands along the wall until he found a door to the right of the enclosure. He tugged it open, revealing a confined, dark hallway with back entrances into the reptile enclosures. He locked the door behind him.

  “Madame! Madame! No!”

  Jeremy ran toward the voice.

  “Sir, you cannot be here.” A uniformed man waved him away.

  “C’est ma marie—That’s my wife,” Jeremy said, in fluent French. He pressed his face against the door. “Bridget!”

  The snake reached toward her—its pale green skin, which was dotted with yellow spots, shimmered in the enclosure’s light. Its underbelly and the bottom half of its head were a deep mustard yellow. Its forked tongue flicked as it recoiled. Its strike was much faster than Jeremy thought possible. Bridget, crouched in front of the snake, fell backward and grimaced.

  “Bridget!” Jeremy screamed. He tugged on the door and pounded on the glass. “Ouvrez la porte—Open the door!”

  “Excuse me, sir.” The man pushed Jeremy aside and rushed into the exhibit with a long metal pole, tapered at the end with a large hook. He took slow, careful steps. “Madame, you must come with me. You’ve been bitten.”

  Bridget, her face contorted in obvious pain, followed him slowly, mimicking his careful steps until they exited the enclosure.

  “Sweetheart,” she said, her voice full of obvious relief. “You’re here.”

  “What were you thinking?” Jeremy yelled. He lifted her t-shirt and crouched to inspect the bite on her torso.

  “We must get an antidote.” The curator, agitated, dropped his rod. “We have little time. That was our most venomous snake. I don’t know why I let you in there.”

  Jeremy stopped the man. “No. Just give us a second here. Please.”

  The man stared at Jeremy with knotted eyebrows. “Sir?”

  Bridget winced at Jeremy’s touch.

  “Are you okay?” Jeremy asked her, quietly. “Tell me what to do.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, with eyes closed and fists clenched. “Let’s go. There’s still a few places we have to visit this evening.” She remained still, as though afraid to move.

  “Will your body take care of the venom?” Jeremy asked in a whisper.

  She nodded and smiled at him. Her face relaxed, returning to its natural spectral beauty. She always looked and moved as though she were a ghost trapped in this world. “Let’s go.”

  “But Madame, you must get treatment,” the curator said.

  “Should we at least get some of the venom? Jeremy asked.

  “Can you and Bede synthesize it?” she asked.

  “Yes. It can’t be that hard.” Jeremy leaned into her ear. “Make him give you the snake.”

  She smirked and whispered back, “You’re just being naughty now. We don’t need the whole snake—just a vial of venom.”

  “Yes, but we haven’t done this before,” Jeremy said. “It’ll take a few tries. Look, the only other option is to take you to a hospital—”

  She shook her head. “Okay,” she said with a sigh.

  She moved Jeremy to the side and addressed the curator in perfect French. “Sir, I know you are worried, but you need not be. Nothing in nature will kill me. I don’t die. I suffer. I suffer greatly, but that’s all. This pain will pass with time.” She touched his shoulder lightly and looked into his face. “An antidote will not be the difference between me living or dying, but it may reduce my pain. I feel pain much more than anyone. It is amplified in my body and doesn’t stop until it’s run its course. If you le
t me take the snake, my husband and his brother can synthesize an antidote. I would be very grateful and I will never forget you.”

  The man stood, unmoving, as though waiting for her to say more. He then snapped out of his trance and nodded. Picking up the rod, he re-entered the enclosure, and returned a minute later with the snake twined around his snake pole. He motioned them to his workspace further down, and once there, forced the snake into a sack and then gently into a plastic container with a handle.

  “Thank you, sir,” Jeremy said, picking up the container. He handed the man his business card. “I don’t know how you’ll explain all this. God knows, I can’t. Contact my office, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

  Bridget pulled Jeremy out through the door, past confused employees who’d been trying to get in. They disappeared through the crowds and ran until they had left the zoo.

  BRIDGET, CROSSED-LEGGED on a bench, watched in amusement as Jeremy wolfed down his third dinner of the evening—this one from the roadside stand across the brightly-lit square.

  He mopped up the sauce from his roasted lamb stew with what was left of his flatbread. “This is delicious.”

  “You’ve said that five times now,” she laughed. “I believe you. We ate at Le Quatrieme and Le Palais, two of the world’s finest restaurants, tonight, and you hardly said anything about the quality of the food there.”

  He stopped eating his meal and looked up at her. “I said something about the wines.” He cocked his head in the direction of his backpack.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been surly and bad-tempered all through the attractions and sights. The only times you’ve been happy, besides now, have been when I became your little experiment. You light up then. It makes you so happy.”

  “Aren’t you ever curious about just how far this can go?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “At each restaurant, we ordered up to a thousand dollars worth of food, including these very expensive bottles of a rather fine vintage. All free. Thanks to you and those eyes of yours.”

  “It’s not my eyes.” Shuddering at the mention of her eyes, which she thought were large, set too deep, and cold—discolored whites like soured cream framing her uniformly night-black pupils and irises.

  “Well, whatever spell you cast, it works,” he laughed. “We could rule the world.”

  “It’s not a spell,” she said. “They do it willingly and I resent your taking advantage of it.”

  “I didn’t force you.”

  “But you know I can’t say no to you,” she said.

  “Someday, I will put our Rynean vows to the test. I will ask you to give me the world.” He swung his arms wide in a grand gesture.

  “Remember that our marriage vows work both ways,” she said. “I can demand of you as much as you can demand of me.”

  “I’m not worried. I’ve always said I would give you anything I have to give.”

  Her heart swelled at his declaration. There was never any hesitation from him. All that he was and will be was hers. He was always so sure, so trusting of her, so willing to put his life in her hands.

  “The world is not mine to give,” she said.

  “But it could be, with a million more spells like today.”

  “You act like it’s the first time you’ve seen me do it.”

  “It’s always the first time. I can never get used to it,” he said.

  “It’s not a spell. All I do is get them to see me, and—”

  “They fall in love with you. Yes, I know,” he chuckled. “It is impossible to not fall in love with you. If any other Rynean heard you say this, it would be blasphemy. Eros is Ryna’s alone. She alone is irresistible. You’re flirting with heresy.”

  “I love Ryna more than anyone alive. I’m just speaking the truth as I know it.”

  “Someday, we’ll meet someone who is impervious to you,” he said.

  “That could mean only one thing—that he or she already knows and loves me and cannot be induced to love me more.”

  “So if we met a man who—“

  “Jeremy,” she said, cutting him off. “It’s our honeymoon. There’ll never be another. For someone who has so much and is so steadfast, you’re really insecure when it comes to me. I’ve made a vow to you. I will give you the world if I ever have it to give.”

  “You’ll never have it to give.” He sat back and looked at her. His mood had morphed from light playfulness to barely perceptible disdain. “You can make individuals or small groups love you. But love is limited. Fear is much more effective. What you accomplish in weeks with love, I can do in hours with fear. I can call up the President of the United States right now and he’d take my call.”

  “And yet,” she countered triumphantly, “here you are with me, sleeping on park benches because I ask you to. This is why I love you. You are my slave. Yes, you may coerce and dominate the world, but you will lay it at my feet because you love me.”

  Jeremy folded his arms and looked out toward the busy square.

  “Can we not talk about this right now? I just want us to have a nice time tonight,” she said.

  After a minute had passed—“I saw you check on the snake,” Jeremy said. “Snake all right?”

  “A little lethargic, but I got to feed it right after it bit me. It’s nourished.”

  “You got to feed it,” he repeated. “You say that like it’s nothing. Does it ever occur to you what you put us through with your crazy escapades?”

  “Jeremy, not this again. You said you weren’t angry.”

  “Well, I lied,” he said. “Last year it was wild mushrooms. They didn’t even look safe and you ate them. And almost died. I sat there day after day after day. Do you understand what Bede and I went through? What we go through worrying about what crazy thing you’re going to do next?”

  “Jeremy, I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to turn out that way.”

  “Oh, really?” he said. “How exactly was it meant to turn out? You enter into a venomous snake habitat, reach out for the snake, and you expect what, exactly?”

  She swallowed and turned away from him. She hated it when he was angry, but it was worse when his anger at her was not undeserved. She’d done so well these past four days just to make this honeymoon a memorable experience, and in one impulsive action, she’d tainted the whole experience.

  Ten minutes later, breaking the silence that had persisted between them, he asked softly, “What are you thinking?”

  “Calculating probabilities. See our buddy there?” She pointed at the food stand where Jeremy had bought one of tonight’s dinners. “I thought I’d predict his customer rate in the next ten minutes and compare it to the sandwich guy.” She smiled at him. “I thought I’d use a discrete probability distribution, like Poisson’s.”

  “An exponential calculation in your head? Now you’re just showing off.”

  She squeezed his hand in response.

  “I suppose this is what happens when a theoretician and a mathematician go on their honeymoon,” Jeremy said.

  “We could do this together?”

  “Is this where we’re sleeping tonight?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Sure. Let’s start again. I’ll get the average on my lamb-stew guy and you get the sandwich man.”

  She snuggled up to him and leaned on his shoulder.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  Both knew she wasn’t. She was in excruciating pain from the venom, but all they could do was wait and hope her body expelled it soon.

  From the Author

  Thank you for reading this preview. The Clay Queen is available for pre-order at

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075B3K9VR (Amazon)

  and on

  https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-clay-queen/id1278637347?mt=11 (iBooks)

 

 

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