Behind the doctor a wall of computer screens come to life. The main one catches my eye. On it I can see my skeleton, and fainter but no less clear, I spot my reproductive organs, then my intestines, then my heart and lungs, and lastly my head.

The doctor scrutinizes the computer screens for a long time, looking over the images and the readouts. “There are no cysts, no apparent scarring or obvious swelling. I don’t see anything that might indicate you’re infertile, Queen Lazuli.”

The king’s hold on my hand loosens with his relief.

“Great,” I say, lifting my torso off of the bed. “That means I can go, right?” I ask, trying to rush this along.

The doctor hasn’t looked away from the main screen. “Hmm,” he says.

Montes’s grip tightens again, and he pushes my chest back down. “What is it?” the king asks.

The doctor sucks in a breath, and the king’s hand begins to crush mine.

“Ow.” I pull my hand out of his.

“Sorry,” Montes says, distracted. He recaptures my hand and watches the doctor.

My heart thumps. Montes actually apologized. For squeezing my hand too tightly. The man who apologizes to no one.

“What is it?” King Lazuli asks the doctor.

The doctor pauses. “The queen has cancer.”

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Serenity

There it is, the burden I’ve been hiding for a year now. Radiation-borne cancer. It was common in the WUN, especially in and around big cities where the king deployed the nukes.

Montes stands up and drops my hand. “Cancer?” I’ve never heard that tone in his voice. Like devastation and disbelief wrapped into one. Surely I’m not the source of that anguish.

“We’ll have to do a biopsy to be safe, but judging from the imaging here,” the doctor says, returning his attention to the screen, “it’s overwhelmingly likely that what I’m seeing is cancer. It looks like it’s metastasized.”

And that’s the other discovery I made earlier today when I coughed up blood. I’ve had stomach problems for the last year, not lung problems. However, I’d seen several bunker residents suffer through the various stages of cancer. I know this is the tail end of the process.

The Pleiades granted me my wish. I’m going to join them soon.

Montes glances down at me, and I see true fear in his eyes. “What can we do?” he asks the doctor.

“It depends on the particulars. The queen will need to be placed in the Sleeper to remove the cancerous tissue where possible.”

The Sleeper?

“She’ll also need to be put on the same medication as you, Your Majesty.” The doctor gives Montes a meaningful look.

“It’s already done,” Montes says, and there’s something fierce in his voice now.